Read The Castle of Llyr Online
Authors: Lloyd Alexander
The Castle of Llyr (13 page)
“That I should prove my valor to the Princess? Yes,” Rhun said slowly. “But it is my wish no longer. I'm quite content proving it to myself. And I rather guess you might really be the one Eilonwy would prefer to see first.”
Taran glanced at Gwydion, who nodded and directed the others to move to the landward side of the castle. As Rhun went to join Gurgi and Fflewddur, Gwydion knelt and drew the book and golden sphere from his jacket.
“If aught should go amiss, these must not fall into Achren's hands,” he said, setting the objects carefully beneath the loose stones. Deftly he replaced the rubble and smoothed the earth around it. “This must serve to guard them until we return.”
Kaw had flown back to Taran. Gwydion rose and from his belt
took a coil of slender rope, made a loop on the end, and held it out to Kaw, murmuring softly to the crow. The bird snatched the line with his beak and flapped silently to the jagged pinnacle, hovered above a jutting stone, then dropped the loop securely over it.
took a coil of slender rope, made a loop on the end, and held it out to Kaw, murmuring softly to the crow. The bird snatched the line with his beak and flapped silently to the jagged pinnacle, hovered above a jutting stone, then dropped the loop securely over it.
Gwydion turned to Taran. “I know what is in your heart,” he said gently. “Climb up, Assistant Pig-Keeper. I leave this task to you.”
Taran raced to the bottom of the tower. The rope pulled taut under his weight and the mist swirled about him, as he sought a foothold in the rough wall. He tightened his grip on the cord and drew himself upward. A sharp gust of sea wind buffeted him. For an instant he swung free of the tower. Below, the waves dashed against the rocks. He dared not look down, but desperately strove to halt the dizzying motion. His foot struck stone again. Bending all his strength to the rope, he climbed higher.
A casement opened just above him and Taran hoisted himself to the ledge. Within the small chamber a rush light burned fitfully. His heart leaped. Eilonwy was there.
The Princess lay motionless on a low couch. She still wore the robe Teleria had given her, though now it was torn and mudspattered. The red-gold hair tumbled about her shoulders and her face was pale and drawn.
Taran hurriedly swung himself over the ledge, dropped to the flagstones, and hastened to Eilonwy's side. He touched her shoulder. The girl stirred, turned her face away, and murmured in her sleep.
“Quickly!” Taran whispered. “Gwydion waits for us.”
Eilonwy roused, passed a hand over her forehead, and opened her eyes. At the sight of Taran she gave a cry of surprise.
“Gurgi is here, too,” Taran said. “Fflewddur, Prince Rhunâall of us. You are safe. Hurry!”
“That's very interesting,” said Eilonwy sleepily. “But who are they? And for the matter of that,” she added, “who are you?”
A Meeting of Strangers
“I
am Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad Daughter of Regat,” continued Eilonwy, putting her hand to the silver crescent at her throat. “But who are you?” she repeated. “I haven't the least idea in the world what you're talking about.”
am Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad Daughter of Regat,” continued Eilonwy, putting her hand to the silver crescent at her throat. “But who are you?” she repeated. “I haven't the least idea in the world what you're talking about.”
“Wake up,” Taran cried, shaking her. “You're dreaming.”
“Why, yes, as a matter of fact I was,” Eilonwy answered, with a vague and sleepy smile. “But how did you guess? I don't believe dreaming actually shows when you're doing it.” She paused, frowning. “Or does it? Sometime I shall have to find out. The only way, I suppose, is to look at myself when I'm asleep. And how I might go about that, I can't imagine.” Her voice faltered and trailed away; she seemed suddenly to forget Taran was even there and sank back to the couch. “Difficultâdifficult,” she murmured. “Like trying to turn yourself inside out. Or would it be outside in?”
“Eilonwy, look at me!” Taran tried to raise her, but Eilonwy, with a little cry of annoyance, drew away. “You must listen,” Taran insisted.
“That's what I've been doing,” she replied. “So far you've made
no sense whatever. I was much more comfortable asleep. I'd rather dream than be shouted at. But what was I dreaming? A pleasant dreamâwith a pig in itâand someone whoâno, it's gone now, faster than a butterfly. You've spoiled it.”
no sense whatever. I was much more comfortable asleep. I'd rather dream than be shouted at. But what was I dreaming? A pleasant dreamâwith a pig in itâand someone whoâno, it's gone now, faster than a butterfly. You've spoiled it.”
Taran had forced the girl to sit upright once more. Now he stared at her with dread. Despite her travel-stained garments and disheveled hair, she appeared unharmed. But her eyes were strangely depthless. It was not sleep that filled her, and his hands trembled as he realized Eilonwy had been drugged orâhis heart chilled at the thought of itâbewitched.
“Listen carefully,” he pleaded. “There is no time ⦔
“I don't believe people should be allowed to come stamping into other people's dreams without asking first,” Eilonwy said, with some vexation. “There's something impolite about it. Like walking into a spiderweb when the spider's still using it.”
Taran ran to the casement. He could see nothing of the companions below, nor any sign of Kaw. The moon was down and the sky would soon lighten. Quickly he turned back to Eilonwy.
“Make haste, I beg you!” he cried. “Climb down with me. The rope is strong enough for both of us.”
“A rope?” exclaimed Eilonwy. “Me? Go sliding down with you? I've only known you these few moments, but it seems to me you make the silliest suggestions. No, thank you.” She stifled a yawn. “You might try sliding down the rope yourself,” she added with a certain sharpness, “and let me go back to sleep. I hope I can remember where I left off. That's the worst of having your dream broken into. You can never find it again.”
Taran, sick with alarm, knelt beside her. “What holds you?” he
whispered. “Fight against it. Can you not remember me? Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper ⦔
whispered. “Fight against it. Can you not remember me? Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper ⦔
“How interesting,” remarked Eilonwy. “Sometime you must tell me more about yourself. But not now.”
“Think,” Taran urged. “Remember Caer DallbenâCollâHen Wen ⦔
Through the casement the sea wind carried trails of mist like tangled vines. Taran spoke the names again and the names of the companions.
Eilonwy's glance was so distant that she herself seemed far from the chamber. “Caer Dallben,” she murmured. “How curiousâI think that might have been part of my dream, too. There was an orchard; the trees were in blossom. I was climbing up, as high as I could go ⦔
“Yes, so it was,” Taran pressed eagerly. “I, too, remember the day. You said you'd climb to the very top of the apple tree. I warned you not to, but you did anyway.”
“I wanted to learn the trees,” Eilonwy went on. “You must learn them anew every year,” she said, “for they are always different. And in the dream I'd gone to the last branch.”
“It was no dream,” Taran urged, “but the life you know; your own life, not a shadow that vanishes in the sun. Indeed, you went to the highest branch. It snapped, as I feared it would.”
“How should anyone know someone else's dream?” said Eilonwy, as though speaking to herself. “Yes, it broke and I was falling. There was someone below who caught me. Could it have been an Assistant Pig-Keeper? I wonder what became of him?”
“He is here now,” Taran said quietly. “He has long sought you
and in ways even he himself did not know. Now that he has found you, can you not find your path back to him?”
and in ways even he himself did not know. Now that he has found you, can you not find your path back to him?”
Eilonwy rose to her feet. Her eyes flickered and for the first time a light shone in them. Taran held out his hands to her. She hesitated, then took a step forward.
But even as she moved to him, her glance turned shallow and the light died. “It is a dream, no more than that,” she whispered, and turned away.
“Achren has done this to you!” Taran cried. “She will harm you no longer.” He seized the girl's arm and drew her toward the casement.
At the sound of Achren's name, Eilonwy stiffened and tore herself from him. She spun to face him. “You dare touch a Princess of the House of Llyr?”
Her voice was sharp; her eyes had lost their warmth; and Taran saw the brief moment of recollection had fled. He knew that Eilonwy, at all costs, must be taken from this dread place. His terror and dismay grew with the thought that perhaps even now she was beyond hope. He struggled to catch her by the waist and put her over his shoulder.
Eilonwy struck him full in the face with such force that he staggered back. Yet it was not the blow that pained him but her scornful glance. On her lips now was a smile of mockery and malice. He was a stranger to her and he feared his heart would break.
Once more he tried to seize her. Eilonwy, with a cry of rage, twisted away and broke free.
“Achren!” she called. “Achren! Help me!”
She ran to the portal of the chamber and into the corridor. Taran
snatched up the rush light and raced after the fleeing Princess. Her sandals clattered down the shadowed hallway, and he glimpsed an edge of her robe vanishing around a corner. She had not ceased to call Achren's name. In another moment the castle would be roused and the companions discovered. Taran cursed himself for a blunderer. He had no choice now but to overtake the bewitched girl before every hope of escape faded. Already he heard a shout from the wall and the clash of blades.
snatched up the rush light and raced after the fleeing Princess. Her sandals clattered down the shadowed hallway, and he glimpsed an edge of her robe vanishing around a corner. She had not ceased to call Achren's name. In another moment the castle would be roused and the companions discovered. Taran cursed himself for a blunderer. He had no choice now but to overtake the bewitched girl before every hope of escape faded. Already he heard a shout from the wall and the clash of blades.
The rush light scorched his hand and he cast it aside. In the darkness he sped to the end of the corridor and flung himself down a flight of steps. The Great Hall of Caer Colur stretched before him, the crimson haze of daybreak filling its ruined casements. Eilonwy fled across the wide stretch of worn and crumbling flagstones and vanished again. A hand gripped his jacket and spun him around. A torch flared in his eyes.
“The Pig-Keeper!” hissed Magg.
The Chief Steward plucked a dagger from a fold of his garments and thrust at Taran, who flung up an arm to ward off the blow. The dagger glanced aside. Magg cursed and swept the torch like a sword. Taran fell back, seeking to draw his own weapon. The shouts of the awakened guards filled the Great Hall. In another instant he caught sight of Gwydion, the companions at his heels.
Magg spun around. Fflewddur had broken away from the press of warriors and was racing at top speed toward the Chief Steward. The bard's spiky yellow hair streamed behind him and his face shone with furious triumph.
“The spider is mine!” cried Fflewddur, his blade whistling about his head. Magg, at the sight of the frenzied bard, yelled in terror and tried to flee. The bard was upon him in a moment, striking right and left with the flat of his sword in such a wild onslaught that most of his blows missed their mark. Magg, with the strength of desperation, sprang at the bard's throat and grappled with him.
Before Taran could come to Fflewddur's aid, a warrior with an axe beset him and, despite his stout defense, Taran found himself driven back toward a corner of the Hall. Amid the confusion of the fray, he saw Gwydion and Rhun struggling against other warriors. The Prince of Mona laid about him furiously with his broken sword, and it was to one of Rhun's sharp blows that Taran's assailant fell.
Fflewddur and Magg were still locked in combat. As Taran raced to the side of the bard, the dark, shaggy form of Gurgi overtook him. With a yelp of rage, Gurgi leaped into the air and clung to Magg's shoulders. The Chief Steward still wore his silver chain of office; Gurgi snatched it and let himself swing free. Magg gasped and tumbled backward, choking and hissing while Gurgi dangled for an instant, then sprang clear of the falling Steward. In a flash the bard was upon the prostrate Magg. Heedless of the buffeting from Magg's flailing legs, Gurgi laid hold of him by the heels and hung on with all his strength, while Fflewddur, sitting on Magg's head, seemed indeed to be carrying out his threat of squashing the treacherous Chief Steward.
Gwydion, with Dyrnwyn unsheathed and blazing, had cut down two warriors who now sprawled motionless on the flagstones.
Terrified at the sight of the flaming weapon, the remaining guards fled. With long strides Gwydion hastened to the companions.
Terrified at the sight of the flaming weapon, the remaining guards fled. With long strides Gwydion hastened to the companions.
“Eilonwy is bewitched!” Taran cried. “I have lost her.”
Gwydion's eyes went to the end of the Hall where scarlet draperies had been flung back from an alcove. Eilonwy stood there and beside her, Achren.
The Spells of Caer Colur
T
aran's heart froze, and within him echoed the nightmare memory of another day when he had stood in terror before Achren. As if he were still the same frightened lad he had been, he trembled once again at the sight of the black-robed Queen. Her hair, unbound, fell in glittering silver tresses to her shoulders; the beauty of her features had not changed, though her face was deathly pale. At Spiral Castle, long ago, she had been decked in jewels; now, neither rings nor bracelets adorned her slender hands and white arms. But her eyes, hard as jewels themselves, drew Taran's gaze and held it.
aran's heart froze, and within him echoed the nightmare memory of another day when he had stood in terror before Achren. As if he were still the same frightened lad he had been, he trembled once again at the sight of the black-robed Queen. Her hair, unbound, fell in glittering silver tresses to her shoulders; the beauty of her features had not changed, though her face was deathly pale. At Spiral Castle, long ago, she had been decked in jewels; now, neither rings nor bracelets adorned her slender hands and white arms. But her eyes, hard as jewels themselves, drew Taran's gaze and held it.
Gwydion had sprung forward. With a cry Taran followed him, sword upraised. Eilonwy shrank back and clung to Achren.
“Put down your weapons,” Achren commanded. “The girl's life is bound to mine. Would you take my life? Then she must share my death.”
Seeing the black sword, Achren had stiffened, but made no move to flee. Instead, her lips curled in the shadow of a smile. Gwydion halted and looked searchingly at her. Slowly, his face dark with anger, he returned Dyrnwyn to its sheath.
“Obey her,” he murmured to Taran. “I fear Achren speaks the truth. Even in death she may be deadly.”
“You show wisdom, Lord Gwydion,” Achren said softly. “You have not forgotten me, nor have I forgotten you. I see, too, the Assistant Pig-Keeper and the foolish bard who should have been food for carrion crows long before this. The others, perhaps, know me not as well as you do, but soon they shall.”
“Unloose the Princess Eilonwy from your spell,” said Gwydion. “Return her to us and you shall depart unhindered.”
“Lord Gwydion is generous,” Achren replied with a mocking smile. “You offer me safety when your own peril is greatest. You were rash even to set foot on Caer Colur. And now the more hopeless your plight, the bolder your words.” Her glance lingered on him. “Pity that one such as you scorned to be my consort and rule with me when the chance was given.
“Unloose the girl?” Achren went on. “No, Lord Gwydion. She will serve me as I planned. My spells are not the only ones to bind her. You know her ancestry and the blood of enchantresses that flows in her veins. Caer Colur itself has long awaited its Princess. It calls to her, and so it ever shall, while one stone stands upon the other. This is her birthright; I do no more than help her claim it.”
“You force her to claim it!” Taran burst out. “Eilonwy did not come willingly to Caer Colur. She does not stay willingly.” His desperation drowned his caution and he could not keep himself from starting toward Eilonwy, who watched him curiously. Gwydion's hand on his shoulder drew him back.
“Is she indeed unwilling?” Achren raised her arm and gestured to the alcove where stood an ancient chest tall as Eilonwy herself.
“I have shown her what this contains,” Achren said. “All the implements of magic treasured up for her. Power such as she has never known lies within her grasp. Do you ask her to cast it away? Let her give you her own answer.”
“I have shown her what this contains,” Achren said. “All the implements of magic treasured up for her. Power such as she has never known lies within her grasp. Do you ask her to cast it away? Let her give you her own answer.”
At Achren's words Eilonwy raised her head. Her lips parted, but she did not speak. Hesitating, she toyed with the silver chain around her neck.
“Hear me, Princess,” Achren said quickly in a low voice. “They would deprive you of your heritage, of the enchantments that are yours by blood-right.”
“I am a Princess of Llyr,” Eilonwy said coldly. “I want what is mine. Who are these who would take it from me? I see the one who frightened me in my chamber. A keeper of pigs, so he claimed. The rest I do not know.”
Gurgi's heartrending wail filled the Great Hall. “Yes, yes, you know us! Oh, yes! Do not speak hurtful words to sad companions. You cannot forget! This is Gurgi! Humble, faithful Gurgi! He waits to serve wise Princess as he always did!”
Taran turned his face away. The grief of the wretched creature pained him even more than his own. Achren, watching Eilonwy carefully, nodded with satisfaction.
“And their fate?” Achren said to her. “What shall be the fate of those who seek to despoil the inheritance of a Princess?”
Eilonwy frowned. Her eyes strayed over the companions. As though perplexed and reluctant, she turned to Achren. “Theyâthey shall be punished.”
“She speaks with your voice,” Taran shouted in anger. “With your words! In her heart she does not wish us ill.”
“Think you so?” replied Achren, taking Eilonwy's arm and pointing to Magg, prostrate on the flagstones and firmly in the grasp of the bard. “Princess, one of your loyal servants is still captive of these intruders. Cause him to be released.”
Fflewddur, sitting astride Magg's shoulders, took a tighter grip on the scruff of the Chief Steward's neck. Magg spat and cursed while the bard shook him furiously. “Your trained spider is my prisoner!” Fflewddur cried. “He and I have business together, long unsettled. Do you want him back unsquashed? Then let the Princess Eilonwy come with us.”
“I have no need to bargain,” Achren answered. She made a curt gesture to Eilonwy. The girl's face, Taran saw, had taken on a harsh and severe expression; she lifted her arm, hand outstretched and fingers pointing.
“Which shall it be?” mused Achren. “The ill-favored creature who dared call himself your servant?”
Gurgi raised his head, puzzled and fearful, while Achren whispered words in a strange language to Eilonwy. The girl's fingers moved slightly. Gurgi's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief For an instant he stood unmoving and open-mouthed, staring at the Princess. Her hand, pointing straight at the baffled Gurgi, suddenly tensed. With a sharp cry of pain, Gurgi stiffened and clutched his head.
Achren's eyes glittered with pleasure. Again she whispered urgently to Eilonwy. Gurgi shrieked. He spun frantically, his arms flailing as though to ward off unseen tormentors. Screaming, he flung himself to the ground, doubled up, and rolled back and forth. Taran and Gwydion raced to his side; but the tortured creature, like a wounded animal, struck at them and thrashed blindly in agony.
Fflewddur leaped to his feet. “No more!” he shouted. “Harm Gurgi no longer! You shall have Magg. Take him!”
At Achren's command, Eilonwy dropped her hand to her side. Gurgi lay gasping on the stones. His body shook with sobbing. He raised his shaggy, disheveled head, and Taran saw his face streaming with tears that came not only from the suffering he had just undergone. Painfully, the exhausted creature drew himself up to crouch on hands and knees.
Gurgi crept forward a little way. His weeping eyes turned to Eilonwy. “Wise Princess,” he murmured, “it is no wish of hers to fill poor tender head with harmful hurtings. Gurgi knows this. He forgives her.”
Magg, meantime finding himself free of the bard's grasp, lost no time in scrambling to his feet and scuttling to the side of Achren. His encounter with Fflewddur had left the Chief Steward much the worse for wear. His handsome garments showed rips and rents, his lank hair fell damply over his forehead, his chain of office was bent and battered. Nevertheless, once near Achren, Magg folded his arms and haughtily threw back his head; rage and hatred filled his eyes, and Taran was certain that had Achren given him the power Magg's glance alone would have sufficed to send Fflewddur rolling in torments sharper than Gurgi's.
“You shall pay dearly for this, harper,” Magg spat. “I rejoice that I did not have you thrashed and driven away when first I laid eyes on you; for now it allows me to hang you in your own harp strings, from the highest tower of Rhuddlum's castle. And so shall I do, once I am Lord of Dinas Rhydnant.”
“Lord of Dinas Rhydnant!” Fflewddur exclaimed. “A Steward's chain is too much honor for you.”
“Tremble, harper!” sneered Magg. “Dinas Rhydnant is mine. It has been promised me. And all the realm. King Magg! Magg the Magnificent!”
“King Magg the Maggot!” the bard flung back at him. “Does Achren promise you a kingdom? A scullery would be more than you deserve!”
“Achren's promises are false,” cried Taran. “Learn this to your grief, Magg!”
The black-robed Queen smiled. “Achren knows how to reward those who serve her, as she knows how to punish those who defy her. Magg's kingdom shall stand among the mightiest in the land. And Caer Colur shall rise more glorious than ever. Its Great Hall shall be the seat of power over all Prydain. The Lord of Annuvin himself shall kneel in homage to me.” Achren's voice fell nearly to a whisper; a cold fire burned over her pale features. Her eyes were no longer on the companions, but far beyond them. “Arawn of Annuvin shall cower and beg for mercy. But his throne shall be toppled. It was I, Achren, who showed him the secret ways to power. He betrayed me and now he shall suffer my vengeance. It was I who ruled Prydain before him and none dared question my dominion. Thus shall it be once more. Thus shall it be evermore.”
“The lore tells of your ancient rule,” Gwydion said sharply, “and how you sought to keep hearts and minds in thrall to you. You tormented those who would not worship you; and for those who bowed to you, life was little better than a slow death. I know, too, of the blood sacrifices you demanded and your joy at the cries of your victims. No, Achren, it shall not come again. Think you this girl shall lead you to it?”
“She will obey me,” Achren replied, “as surely as if I held her beating heart in my hand.”
Gwydion's eyes flashed. “Your words are vain, Achren. They cannot deceive me. Do you seek to rule through the Princess Eilonwy? The enchantments she commands still sleep. You have not the means to waken them.”
Achren's face turned livid and she drew back as though she had been struck. “You speak beyond your knowledge.”
“Oh, no, he doesn't!” burst out Rhun, who had been listening in amazement. The Prince of Mona triumphantly faced Achren. “The book! The golden light! We've got them and we shall never give them up!”
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