Lloyd Alexander - The Book of Three

There was no time for further regrets. Doli set them an even swifter pace. They still followed the hills along the Ystrad valley, but at midday the dwarf turned west and once more began to descend toward the plains. The sky had grown as thick and gray as lead. Violent gusts of wind whipped at their faces. The pale sun gave no warmth. Melyngar neighed uneasily; Hen Wen, placid and agreeable until now, began to roll her eyes and mutter to herself.

While the companions rested briefly, Doli went ahead to scout the land. In a short time he was back again. He led them to the crest of a hill, motioned them to stay close to the ground, and pointed toward the Ystrad below.

The plain was covered with warriors, on foot and on horseback. Black banners snapped in the wind. Even at this distance, Taran could hear the clank of weapons, the steady, heavy drumming of marching feet. At the head of the winding columns rode the Horned King.

The giant figure towered above the men-at-arms, who galloped behind him. The curving antlers rose like eager claws. As Taran watched, terrified but unable to turn away, the Horned King's head swung slowly in the direction of the heights. Taran pressed flat against the earth. Arawn's champion, he was sure, could not see him; it was only a trick of his mind, a mirror of his own fear, but it seemed the Horned King's eyes sought him out and thrust like daggers at his heart.

"They have overtaken us," Taran said in a flat voice.

"Hurry," snapped the dwarf. "Get hustling, instead of dawdling and moaning. We're no more than a day away from Caer Dathyl and so are they. We can still move faster. If you hadn't stopped for that ungrateful spy of Annuvin, we'd be well ahead of them by now. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"We should arm ourselves a little better," the bard said. "The Horned King will have outriders on both sides of the valley."

Taran unstrapped the weapons on Melyngar's back and handed a bow and quiver of arrows to his companions, as well as a short spear for each. King Eiddileg had given them round bronze bucklers; they were dwarf-size and, after his view of the marching hosts, Taran found them pitifully small. Gurgi buckled a short sword around his waist. Of all the band, he was the most excited.

"Yes, yes!" he cried. "Now bold, valiant Gurgi is a mighty warrior, too! He has a grinding gasher and a pointed piercer! He is ready for great fightings and smitings!"

"And so am I!" Fflewddur declared. "Nothing withstands the onslaught of an angry Fflam!"

The dwarf clapped his hands to his head and gnashed his teeth. "Stop jabbering and move!" he sputtered. This time he was too furious to hold his breath.

Taran slung the buckler over his shoulder. Hen Wen hung back and grunted fearfully. "I know you're afraid," Taran whispered coaxingly, "but you'll be safe in Caer Dathyl."

The pig followed reluctantly; but as Doli set off once again, she lagged behind, and it was all Taran could do to urge her forward. Her pink snout trembled; her eyes darted from one side of the path to the other.

At the next halt Doli summoned Taran. "Keep on like this," he cried, "and you'll have no chance at all. First a gwythaint delays us, now a pig!"

"She's frightened," Taran tried to explain to the angry dwarf. "She knows the Horned King is near."

"Then tie her up," Doli said. "Put her on the horse."

Taran nodded. "Yes. She won't like it, but there's nothing else we can do." A few moments before, the pig had been crouched at the roots of a tree. Now there was no sign of her.

"Hen?" Taran called. He turned to the bard. "Where did she go?" he asked in alarm.

The bard shook his head. Neither he nor Eilonwy had seen her move; Gurgi had been watering Melyngar and had not noticed the pig at all.

"She can't have run off again," Taran cried. He raced back into the woods. When he returned, his face was pale.

"She's gone," he gasped. "She's hiding somewhere, I know it."

He sank to the ground and put his head in his hands. "I shouldn't have let her out of my sight, not even for a moment," he said bitterly. "I have failed twice."

"Let the others go on," Eilonwy said. "We'll find her and catch up with them."

Before Taran could answer, he heard a sound that chilled his blood. From the hills came the voices of a hunting pack in full cry and the long notes of a horn.

The companions stood frozen with dread. With the ice of terror in his throat, Taran looked at the silent faces around him. The dire music trembled in the air; a shadow flickered across the lowering sky.

"Where Gwyn the Hunter rides," murmured Fflewddur, "death rides close behind."

NO SOONER HAD THE NOTESof Gwyn's horn sunk into the hills than Taran started, as though waking from a fearful dream. Hoofbeats drummed across the meadow.

"The Homed King's scouts!" cried Fflewddur, pointing to the mounted warriors galloping toward them. "They've seen us!"

Up from the plains the riders sped, bent over their saddles, urging on their steeds. They drew closer, lances leveled as if each gleaming point sought its own target.

"I could try to make another web," Eilonwy suggested, then added, "but I'm afraid the last one wasn't too useful."

Taran's sword flashed out. "There are only four of them," he said. "We match them in numbers at least."

"Put up your blade," Fflewddur said. "Arrows first. We'll have work enough for swords later."

They unslung their bows. Under Fflewddur's orders, they formed a line and knelt shoulder to shoulder. The bard's spiky yellow hair blew in the wind; his face shone with excitement. "I haven't had a good fight in years," he said. "That's one of the things I miss, being a bard. They'll see what it means to attack a Fflam!"

Taran nocked an arrow to the string. At a word from the bard, the companions drew their bows and took aim.

"Loose!" shouted Fflewddur.

Taran saw his own shaft fly wide of the leading horseman. With a cry of anger, he seized another arrow from the quiver. Beside him, he heard Gurgi shout triumphantly. Of the volley, only Gurgi's bolt had found its mark. A warrior toppled from his home, the shaft deep in his throat.

"They know we can sting!" Fflewddur cried. "Loose again!"

The horsemen veered. More cautious now, the warriors raised their bucklers. Of the three, two drove directly for the companions; the third turned his mount's head and galloped to the flank of the defenders.

"Now, friends," shouted the bard, "back to back!"

Taran heard Doli grunt as the dwarf loosed an arrow at the nearest warrior. Gurgi's shot had been lucky; now the shafts hissed through the air only to glance off the attackers' light shields. Behind Taran, Melyngar whinnied and pawed the ground frantically. Taran remembered how valiantly she had fought for Gwydion, but she was tethered now and he dared not break away from the defenders to untie her.

The horsemen circled. One turned his exposed side to the companions. Doli's arrow leaped from the bowstring and buried itself in the warrior's neck. The other horsemen spun their mounts and galloped across the meadow.

"We've beaten them!" cried Eilonwy. "That's like bees driving away eagles!"

The panting Fflewddur shook his head. "They'll spend no more men on us. When they come back, they'll come back with a war band. That's highly complimentary to our bravery, but I don't think we should wait for them. A Fflam knows when to fight and when to run. At this point, we had better run."

"I won't leave Hen Wen," cried Taran.

"Go look for her," growled Doli. "You'll lose your head as well as your pig."

"Crafty Gurgi will go," suggested Gurgi, "with bold seekings and peekings."

"In all likelihood," said the bard, "they'll attack us again. We can't afford to lose what little strength we have. A Fflam never worries about being outnumbered, but one sword less could be fatal. I'm sure your pig is able to look out for herself; wherever she may be, she is in less danger than we are."