Lloyd Alexander - The Book of Three

"I wonder what happened to Achren," she went on. "She'll really be furious," she added with a delighted laugh, "and probably blame everything on me, for she's always punishing me for things I haven't even thought of yet."

"If Achren is under those stones, she'll never punish anyone again," Taran said. "But I don't think we'd better stay to find out." He buckled on his sword.

The blade Eilonwy had taken from the barrow was too long for the girl to wear comfortably at her waist, so she had slung it from her shoulder.

Taran looked at the weapon with surprise. "Why― that's the sword the king was holding."

"Naturally," said Eilonwy. "It should be the best one, shouldn't it?" She picked up the glowing sphere. "We're at the far side of the castle, what used to be the castle. Your friend is down there, among those trees― assuming he waited for you. I'd be surprised if he did, with all this going on…"

They ran toward the grove. Ahead, Taran saw the shadowy forms of a cloaked figure and a white horse. "There they are!" he cried.

"Gwydion!" he called. "Gwydion!"

The moon swung from behind the clouds. The figure turned. Taran stopped short in the sudden brightness and his jaw dropped. He had never seen this man before.

TARAN'S SWORD LEAPED OUT. The man in the cloak hurriedly dropped Melyngar's bridle and darted behind a tree. Taran swung the blade. Pieces of bark sprayed the air. While the stranger ducked back and forth, Taran slashed and thrust, hacking wildly at bushes and branches.

"You're not Gwydion!" he shouted.

"Never claimed I was," the stranger shouted back. "If you think I'm Gwydion, you're dreadfully mistaken."

"Come out of there," Taran ordered, thrusting again.

"Certainly not while you're swinging that enormous― here now, watch that! Great Belin, I was safer in Achren's dungeon!"

"Come out now or you won't be able to," Taran shouted. He redoubled his attack, ripping furiously through the underbrush.

"Truce! Truce!" called the stranger. "You can't smite an unarmed man!"

Eilonwy, who had been a few paces behind Taran, ran up and seized his arm. "Stop it!" she cried. "That's no way to treat your friend, after I went to all the bother of rescuing him."

Taran shook off Eilonwy. "What treachery is this!" he shouted. "You left my companion to die! You've been with Achren all along. I should have known it. You're no better than she is!" With a cry of anguish, he raised his sword.

Eilonwy ran sobbing into the woods. Taran dropped the blade and stood with bowed head.

The stranger ventured from behind the tree. "Truce?" he inquired again. "Believe me, if I'd known it was going to cause all this trouble I wouldn't have listened to that redheaded girl."

Taran did not raise his head.

The stranger took a few more cautious steps. "Humblest apologies for disappointing you," he said. "I'm awfully flattered you mistook me for Prince Gwydion. There's hardly any resemblance, except possibly a certain air of…"

"I do not know who you are," Taran said bitterly. "I do know that a brave man has bought your life for you."

"I am Fflewddur Fflam Son of Godo," the stranger said, bowing deeply, "a bard of the harp at your service."

"I have no need of bards," Taran said. "A harp will not bring my companion to life."

"Lord Gwydion is dead?" Fflewddur Fflam asked. "Those are sorrowful tidings. He is a kinsman and I owe allegiance to the House of Don. But why do you blame his death on me? If Gwydion has bought my life, at least tell me how, and I shall mourn with you."

"Go your way," said Taran. "It is no fault of yours. I trusted Gwydion's life to a traitor and liar. My own life should be forfeit."

"Those are hard words to apply to a winsome lass," said the bard. "Especially one who isn't here to defend herself."

"I want no explanation from her," he said. "There is nothing she can tell me. She can lose herself in the forest, for all I care."

"If she's as much of a traitor and a liar as you say," Fflewddur remarked, "then you're letting her off easily. You may not want her explanation, but I'm quite sure Gwydion would. Allow me to suggest you go and find her before she strays too far."

Taran nodded. "Yes," he said coldly, "Gwydion shall have justice."

He turned on his heel and walked toward the trees. Eilonwy had gone no great distance; he could see the glow of the sphere a few paces ahead, where the girl sat on a boulder in a clearing. She looked small and thin; her head was pressed into her hands, and her shoulders shook.

"Now you've made me cry!" she burst out, as Taran approached. "I hate crying; it makes my nose feel like a melted icicle. You've hurt my feelings, you stupid Assistant Pig-Keeper, and all for something that's your own fault to begin with."

Taran was so taken aback that he began to stammer.

"Yes," cried Eilonwy, "it's every bit your fault! You were so close-mouthed about the man you wanted me to rescue, and you kept talking about your friend in the other cell. Very well, I rescued whoever it was in the other cell."

"You didn't tell me there was anyone else in the dungeon."

"There wasn't," Eilonwy insisted. "Fflewddur Fflam or whatever he calls himself was the only one."

"Then where is my companion?" Taran demanded. "Where is Gwydion?"

"I don't know," Eilonwy said. "He wasn't in Achren's dungeon, that's sure. What's more, he never was."

Taran realized the girl was speaking the truth. As his memory returned, he recalled that Gwydion had been with him only briefly; he had not seen the guards put him in a cell; Taran had only guessed at that. "What could she have done with him?"

"I haven't any idea in the world," Eilonwy said and sniffed. "She could have brought him to her chambers, or locked him in the tower― there's a dozen places she could have hidden him. All you needed to say was, 'Go and rescue a man named Gwydion,' and I would have found him. But no, you had to be so clever about it and keep everything to yourself…"

Taran's heart sank. "I must go back to the castle and find him. Will you show me where Achren might have imprisoned him?"

"There's nothing left of the castle," said Eilonwy. "Besides, I'm not sure I'm going to help you any more at all, after the way you've behaved; and calling me those horrid names, that's like putting caterpillars in somebody's hair." She tossed her head, put her chin in the air, and refused to look at him.

"I accused you falsely," Taran said. "My shame is as deep as my sorrow."

Eilonwy, without lowering her chin, gave him a sidelong glance. "I should think it would be."

"I shall seek him alone," said Taran. "You are right in refusing to help. It is no concern of yours." He turned and started out of the clearing.

"Well, you don't have to agree with me so quickly," Eilonwy cried. She slid off the boulder and hastened after him.

Fflewddur Fflam was still waiting when they returned. In the light of Eilonwy's sphere, Taran had a better view of this unexpected arrival. The bard was tall and lanky, with a long, pointed nose. His great shock of bright yellow hair burst out in all directions, like a ragged sun. His jacket and leggings were patched at knees and elbows, and sewn with large, clumsy stitches― the work, Taran was certain, of the bard himself. A harp with a beautiful, sweeping curve was slung from his shoulders, but otherwise he looked nothing at all like the bards Taran had learned about from The Book of Three .

"So it seems that I've been rescued by mistake," Fflewddur said, after Taran explained what had happened. "I should have known it would turn out to be something like that. I kept asking myself, crawling along those beastly tunnels, who could possibly be interested whether I was languishing in a dungeon or not?"