The High King

Gwydion had already mounted Melyngar and signaled them to hasten. Fflewddur clapped Taran on the shoulder and ran to climb astride Llyan, who was frisking gaily in the bright, cold sun and pouncing at the tip of her own tail.

King Rhun, Fflewddur, Eilonwy, and Glew soon were out of sight. Bearing westward, Taran rode between Gwydion and Coll, while Gurgi, on his pony, trotted at the rear.

They halted on the far bank of Great Avren. Midday passed without a sign of the other companions. Though Taran was anxious about them, he preferred to believe they had not come to harm. "Rhun has likely stopped to look at a badger tunnel or anthill," he said. "I hope it is no more than that."

"Never fear," said Coll. "Fflewddur will jog him along. They'll be here at any moment."

Taran sounded his horn, hoping the signal would guide the bard in case Fflewddur had mistaken the path. Still they did not come. Gwydion, having waited as long as he dared, chose to press on to Caer Cadarn. They continued at a brisk pace for the rest of the day.

Taran turned often in his saddle, expecting always to glimpse Rhun and the other companions galloping up behind them, or suddenly to hear the King of Mona's cheerful "Hullo, hullo!" However, as the day waned, Taran realized that Rhun, a slow horseman at best, was by now outdistanced. Fflewd­dur, he was sure, would not travel after nightfall.

"They have camped somewhere behind us," Coll assured Taran. "Were aught amiss, one of them would have reached us. Fflewddur Fflam knows the way to Smoit's castle. We shall all meet there. And if they seem too long delayed, Smoit will raise a searching party." The stout warrior put a hand on Taran's shoulder. "Ease your spirit until there is clear cause for alarm. Or," he added, with a wink, "is it the company of Princess Eilonwy you long for?"

"She should not have come with us," Taran replied, half angrily.

"No doubt." Coll grinned. "Yet you were not the one to speak against her."

Taran grinned back at him. "As for doing that," he said, "I have given it up long since."

AT MID-MORNING OF the following day, Caer Cadarn rose before them, and from a stone tower Smoit's crimson banner with its emblem of a black bear snapped in the wind. The stronghold had been built in a clearing, and the heavy walls jutted like the bearded King's own brows, scarred and pitted by many a battle. Coll, urging Llamrei ahead, shouted to the guards in the name of Gwydion Prince of Don. The massive gates opened and the companions galloped into the courtyard, where men-at-arms tethered the horses and a party of warriors led the way to Smoit's Great Hall.

Gwydion strode quickly down the corridor. Flanked by the guards, Taran, Coll, and Gurgi followed. "Smoit will be at his meat," Taran said. "His breakfast lasts till high noon." He laughed. "He says it whets his appetite for the rest of his meals. Gwydion will get no word out of him until we ourselves are stuffed."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried. "Gurgi longs for tasty crunchings and munchings!"

"You shall have them, old friend," Taran answered. "Be sure of it."

They entered the Great Hall. At one end, stood Smoit's huge throne, cut from half an oak tree and carved in the shape of a bear with paws upraised on either side.

The man seated there was not King Smoit.

"Magg!" Taran gasped.

Guards fell upon them instantly. Taran's sword was ripped from his belt. With a great cry, Gwydion flung himself against the warriors, but they pressed about him and bore the Prince of Don to his knees. Coll, too, was borne down and a spear pressed against his back. Gurgi yelled in rage and terror. A guard seized him by the scruff of his shaggy neck, buffeting him until the poor creature could barely stagger to his feet.

Magg grinned like a skull. With a slight movement of his skinny fingers, he gestured the warriors to stand away. His gray, pinched face twitched with pleasure. "Our meeting, Lord Gwydion, is one I did not foresee. My warriors hold Caer Cadarn, but this is an added prize, and a richer one than I had hoped."

Gwydion's green eyes blazed. "Have you dared even to enter King Smoit's cantrev? Begone from here before he returns. He shall deal with you less gently than I."

"You will join King Smoit," Magg replied. "Though King I scorn to call this rude cantrev lord." Magg's thin lips curled. Caressingly he put a hand to his embroidered cloak. Taran saw that Magg's garments were even richer than those the lank-haired man had worn as Chief Steward to the Court of Mona.

"More powerful than Smoit or the King of Mona, more powerful than Queen Achren is my liege lord," Magg said with a yellow smile. "And mightier now than the Prince of Don." He touched the iron chain hanging from his neck and fondled the heavy badge of office. In horror Taran saw it bore the same symbol that was branded on the foreheads of the Huntsmen.

"I serve no lesser liege," Magg said haughtily, "than the King of Annuvin, Arawn Death-Lord himself."