The Castle of Llyr

Chapter 18 The Golden Pelydryn

PRINCE RHUN! BE SILENT!" Taran's warning came too late. Rhun himself realized his blunder and clapped a hand to his mouth; his round face filled with dismay and he glanced about him in confusion. Gwydion stood silently, his weathered features tight and pale; yet the glance he cast on the unhappy Prince of Mona was not of reproach but of sorrow. Prince Rhun's shoulders drooped; he bowed his head and turned wretchedly away.

Before Rhun's outburst, while Gwydion had been speaking, Taran had sensed a shadow of fear over Achren. It had passed now and her lips parted in a subtle smile.

"Do you think I wish to hide the truth from you, Lord Gwydion?" she said. "I knew the book of spells had vanished from Caer Colur and I have long sought it. The Golden Pelydryn was cast away or lost by the Princess herself. Indeed, to fulfil my plan only these objects are lacking. Accept my thanks, Lord Gwydion," Achren went on. "You spare me the labor of a tedious search. Spare yourself much pain by putting them in my hands. Now!" she commanded harshly. "Give them to me."

Gwydion's voice was firm and his words came slowly and carefully. "It is as the Prince of Mona says. We have found the book of spells and the light that reveals them. But it is also as he says; you shall never have them."

"Shall I not?" replied Achren. "It is as simple as reaching out."

"They are not in our possession," Gwydion answered, "but well-hidden and beyond your grasp."

"That, too, is easily righted," said Achren. "There are means that will cause tongues to be loosened and the deepest secret shouted aloud." She glanced at Prince Rhun. "The Prince of Mona speaks even without my urging. He shall speak again."

Rhun blinked and swallowed hard, but he faced Achren stoutly. "If you're thinking about torturing me," he said, "you're welcome to try it. It would be interesting to see how much you could find out, since I myself haven't the first idea where the Pelydryn is." He took a deep breath and shut his eyes tightly. "So there you are. Go ahead."

"Give the harper to me, Lady Achren," Magg said eagerly, while Fflewddur bristled and stared defiantly at him. "He shall sing better to my music than ever he sang with his harp."

"Hold your tongue, Chief Steward," Achren snapped. "They shall speak willingly enough before I have done with them."

Gwydion's hand went to the hilt of the black sword. "Harm none of my companions," he cried. "Do so and I vow to strike you down whatever the cost."

"Thus do I vow!" Achren flung back. "Seek to defeat me and the girl shall die!" Her voice lowered. "And so we stand, Gwydion, life against life and death against death. Which shall you choose?"

"If they have taken my bauble," said Eilonwy, drawing closer to Achren, "they must return it. It is not fitting for it to remain in the hands of strangers."

Taran could not hold back a cry of sorrow at Eilonwy's words. Achren, who had been studying the face of each companion, turned quickly to him.

"This does not please you, Assistant Pig-Keeper," she murmured. "It pains you to be called stranger by her. It cuts more cruelly than a knife, does it not? Sharper even than the torments of the wretched creature at your feet. She will remain thus because I so command it. Yet I could give back her memory of you. Is a golden trinket too high a price? Or a book of spells that are meaningless to you?"

Achren drew closer to Taran, fixing him with her eyes. Her voice had dropped to a whisper; her words, seeming to reach him alone, twined around his heart. "What cares an Assistant Pig-Keeper whether I or another hold sway over Prydain? Lord Gwydion himself cannot gain for you what you hold dearest; indeed, he can bring about only her death. But I can give you her life. Yes, a gift only I can bestow.

"And more, much more," Achren whispered. "With me, the Princess Eilonwy shall be a queen. But who shall be her king? Would you have me set her free to wed a witless Prince? Yes, Magg has told me she is to be given to the son of Rhuddlum.

"What then shall be the lot of an Assistant Pig-Keeper? To win a Princess only to lose her to another? Are these not your thoughts, Taran of Caer Dallben? Think of this, too, that Achren gives favor for favor."

Achren's eyes pierced him like dagger points and Taran's head whirled. Half-sobbing he tried in vain to stop his ears against the whispered words and buried his face in his hands.

"Speak now," Achren's voice went on. "The Golden Pelydryn― its hiding place…"

"You shall have what you ask!"

For an instant Taran thought it was his own voice crying out beyond his will to silence. Then he gaped in disbelief.

The words had come from Gwydion.

The Prince of Don stood with his wolf-gray head flung back, his eyes blazing, and on his face a look of wrath such as Taran had never seen before. The warrior's voice rang harsh and cold through the Great Hall, terrible to hear, and Taran trembled at the sound of it. Achren started in a sudden movement. "You shall have what you ask," Gwydion cried again. "The Golden Pelydryn and the book of spells are buried at the broken wall near the gate, where I myself set them."

Achren was silent a moment, then her eyes narrowed. "Do you lie to me, Gwydion?" she murmured through clenched teeth. "If it is not true, the Princess Eilonwy will not live beyond this instant."

"They are within your reach," Gwydion replied. "Shall you hold back from taking them?"

Achren made a curt gesture to Magg. "Fetch them," she ordered. The Chief Steward hastened from the Hall and Achren turned once more to Gwydion. "Beware, Prince of Don," she said in a hoarse whisper. "Touch not your sword. Make no move toward us."

Gwydion did not answer. Taran and the companions stood motionless and speechless.

Magg had returned to the Great Hall. His sallow face twitched with excitement as he triumphantly bore aloft the Golden Pelydryn. Breathless, he ran to Achren's side. "So it is!" he cried. "They are ours."

Achren snatched the objects from him. The golden sphere was dull as lead, its beauty gone. She held it avidly; her eyes glittered; and her smile showed the white tips of her sharp teeth. For a moment she stood as though reluctant to part with the treasures she had sought, then pressed them into Eilonwy's hands.

Magg was beside himself with impatience and eagerness. He gripped his silver chain with clawed fingers, while his cheeks trembled and greed lit his beady eyes. "My kingdom!" he cried, in a tight, highpitched voice. "Mine! It shall soon be mine!"

Achren spun and faced him scornfully. "Silence! A kingdom, groveling fool? Be grateful if you are allowed to keep your life."

Magg's jaw dropped and his face turned the color of moldy cheese at the import of Achren's words. Choking as much with terror as with rage, he cowered under Achren's threatening glance.

The book of spells lay open in Eilonwy's outstretched hand. She had taken the Golden Pelydryn and was looking at it curiously. In the depths of the golden sphere a tiny light like a whirling, blazing snowflake had begun to take shape. She frowned, and a strange expression came over her face. As Taran watched, horror-stricken, Eilonwy shuddered violently, her head flung from one side to the other as though in pain. For an instant her eyes opened wide and she appeared about to speak. Her voice was no more than a gasp. Yet in that fleeting moment it seemed to Taran she had regained some vague memory of herself. Was it his own name she had tried hopelessly to cry out? The girl swayed as if torn be­tween mighty forces that stormed within her.

"Read out the spells!" Achren ordered.

Little by little the light of the Golden Pelydryn grew brighter. Throughout the Great Hall rose a faint, confused whispering, as though the wind had gained tongue, urging cajoling, commanding. The very stones of Caer Colur seemed to have taken voice.

"Quickly! Quickly!" cried Achren.

Eilonwy, Taran realized in a surge of hope, was struggling against all that held her. The anguished girl was beyond all threats of Achren, beyond all help from the companions.

Then, suddenly, her lonely combat ended. Taran cried out in despair as Eilonwy raised the glow­ing sphere and in a quick motion brought it close to the empty pages.

The Golden Pelydryn flared brighter than he had ever seen it and Taran flung up his hand to shield his eyes. Light flooded the Hall. Gurgi threw himself to the ground and covered his head with his shaggy arms. The companions drew back fearfully.

Suddenly Eilonwy cast the book to the flag­stones. From the pages burst a crimson cloud that spread into a sheet of fire, leaping upward to the vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall. Even as the book of spells consumed itself in its own flames, the blaze did not dwindle but instead rose ever higher, roaring and crackling, no longer crimson but blindingly white. The shriveled pages swirled in a fiery whirlwind to dance within the shimmering heart of the flame, and as they did, the whispering voices of Caer Colur groaned in defeat. The scarlet curtains of the alcove blew outward, seized in the writhing column of fire. Now the book had vanished utterly, but still the flames mounted unappeased.

Achren was shrieking, shrieking in rage and frenzy, her face distorted with hopeless fury. Still clutching the Golden Pelydryn, Eilonwy crumpled and fell.