The sword Dyrnwyn, blazing white with flame, leaped from his hand, and fell beyond his reach. The Horned King stood over him. With a cry, Eilonwy sprang at the antlered man. Snarling, the giant tossed her aside.
A voice rang out behind the Horned King. Through eyes blurred with pain, Taran glimpsed a tall figure against the trees, and heard a shouted word he could not distinguish.
The Horned King stood motionless, his arm upraised. Lightning played about his sword. The giant flamed like a burning tree. The stag horns turned to crimson streaks, the skull mask ran like molten iron. A roar of pain and rage rose from the Antlered King's throat.
With a cry, Taran flung an arm across his face. The ground rumbled and seemed to open beneath him. Then there was nothing.
Chapter 19
The Secret
SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the high window of a chamber pleasantly cool and fragrant. Taran blinked and tried to lift himself from the low, narrow couch. His head spun; his arm, swathed in white linen, throbbed painfully. Dry rushes covered the floor; the bright rays turned them yellow as wheat. Beside the couch, a white, sun-dappled shape stirred and rose up.
"Hwoinch!"
Hen Wen, wheezing and chuckling, grinned all over her round face. With a joyful grunt, she began nuzzling Taran's cheek. His mouth opened, but he could not speak. A silvery laugh rang from a comer of the chamber.
"You should really see your expression. You look like a fish that's climbed into a bird's nest by mistake."
Eilonwy rose from the osier stool. "I was hoping you'd wake up soon. You can't imagine how boring it is to sit and watch somebody sleep. It's like counting stones in a wall."
"Where have they taken us? Is this Annuvin?"
Eilonwy laughed again and shook her head.
"That's exactly the sort of question you might expect from an Assistant Pig-Keeper. Annuvin? Ugh! I wouldn't want to be there at all. Why must you always think of unpleasant things? I suppose it's because your wound probably did something to your head. You're looking a lot better now than you did, though you still have that greenish-white color, like a boiled leek."
"Stop chattering and tell me where we are!" Taran tried to roll from the couch, then sank back weakly and put a hand to his head.
"You aren't supposed to get up yet," Eilonwy cautioned, "but I imagine you've just discovered that for yourself."
Wriggling and grunting loudly, the delighted Hen Wen had begun to climb onto the couch. Eilonwy snapped her fingers. "Stop that, Hen," she ordered, "you know he isn't to be disturbed or upset and especially not sat on." The girl turned again to Taran. "We're in Caer Dathyl," she said. "It's a lovely place. Much nicer than Spiral Castle."
Taran started up once more as memories flooded over him. "The Horned King!" he cried. "What happened? Where is he?"
"In a barrow, most likely, I should think."
"Is he dead?"
"Naturally," answered the girl. "You don't think he'd stand being put in a barrow if he weren't, do you? There wasn't a great deal left of him, but what there was got buried." Eilonwy shuddered. "I think he was the most terrifying person I've ever met, and that includes Achren. He gave me a dreadful tossing about― just before he was going to smite you." She rubbed her head. "For the matter of that, you pulled away my sword rather roughly. I told you and told you not to draw it. But you wouldn't listen. That's what burned your arm."
Taran noticed the black scabbard of Dyrnwyn no longer hung from Eilonwy's shoulder. "But then what…"
"It's lucky you went unconscious," Eilonwy continued. "You missed the worst of it. There was the earthquake, and the Horned King burning until he just, well, broke apart. It wasn't pleasant. The truth of the matter is, I'd rather not talk about it. It still gives me bad dreams, even when I'm not asleep."
Taran gritted his teeth. "Eilonwy," he said at last, "I want you to tell me very slowly and carefully what happened. If you don't, I'm going to be angry and you're going to be sorry."
"How― can― I― tell― you― anything," Eilonwy said, deliberately pronouncing every word and making extravagant grimaces as she did so, "if― you― don't― want― me― to― talk?" She shrugged. "Well, in any case," she resumed, at her usual breathless rate, "as soon as the armies saw the Horned King was dead, they practically fell apart, too. Not the same way, naturally. With them, it was more sort of running away, like a herd of rabbits― no, that isn't right, is it? But it was pitiful to see grown men so frightened. Of course, by that time the Sons of Don had their chance to attack. You should have seen the golden banners. And such handsome warriors." Eilonwy sighed. "It was― it was like― I don't even know what it was like."
"And Hen Wen…"
"She hasn't stirred from this chamber ever since they brought you here," said Eilonwy. "Neither have I," she added, with a glance at Taran. "She's a very intelligent pig," Eilonwy went on. "Oh, she does get frightened and loses her head once in a while, I suppose. And she can be very stubborn when she wants, which sometimes makes me wonder how much difference there is between pigs and the people who keep them. I'm not mentioning anyone in particular, you understand."
The door opposite Taran's couch opened part way. Around it appeared the spiky yellow head and pointed nose of Fflewddur Fflam.
"So you're back with us," cried the bard. "Or, as you might say, we're back with you!"
Gurgi and the dwarf, who had been standing behind the bard, now rushed in; despite Eilonwy's protests, they crowded around Taran. Fflewddur and Doli showed no sign of injury, but Gurgi's head was bound up and he moved with a limp.
"Yes! Yes!" he cried. "Gurgi fought for his friend with slashings and gashings! What smitings! Fierce warriors strike him about his poor tender head, but valiant Gurgi does not flee, oh, no!"
Taran smiled at him, deeply touched. "I'm sorry about your poor tender head," he said, putting a hand on Gurgi's shoulder, "and that a friend should be wounded for my sake."
"What joy! What clashings and smashings! Ferocious Gurgi fills wicked warriors with awful terror and outcries."
"It's true," said the bard. "He was the bravest of us all. Though my stumpy friend here can do surprising things with an axe."
Doli, for the first time, grinned. "Never thought any of you had any mettle to show," he said, attempting to be gruff. "Took you all for milksops at first. Deepest apologies," he added, with a bow.
"We held off the war band," Fflewddur said, "until we were sure you were well away. Some of them should have occasion to think unkindly of us for a while to come." The bard's face lit up. "There we were," he cried, "fighting like madmen, hopelessly outnumbered. But a Fflam never surrenders! I took on three at once. Slash! Thrust! Another seized me from behind, the wretched coward. But I flung him off. We disengaged them and made for Caer Dathyl, chopping and hacking all the way, beset on all sides…"
Taran expected Fflewddur's harp strings to sunder at any moment. To his surprise, they held firm.
"And so," Fflewddur concluded with a carefree shrug, "that was our part. Rather easy, when you come down to it; I had no fear of things going badly, not for an instant."
A string broke with a deep twang.
Fflewddur bent down to Taran. "Terrified," he whispered. "Absolutely green."
Eilonwy seized the bard and thrust him toward the door. "Begone!" she cried, "all of you! You'll wear him out with your chatter." The girl shoved Gurgi and the dwarf after Fflewddur. "And stay out! No one's to come in until I say they can."
"Not even I?"
Taran started up at the familiar voice. Gwydion stood in the doorway.
For a moment Taran did not recognize him. Instead of the stained cloak and coarse jacket, Gwydion wore the shining raiment of a prince. His rich mantle hung in deep folds. On a chain at his throat gleamed a sun-shaped disk of gold. His green eyes shone with new depth and power. Taran saw him now as he had always imagined him.