The High King

"She seems to be enjoying herself," Fflewddur sighed, huddling in his cloak. He had been obliged to dismount, for Llyan had suddenly taken it into her head to sharpen her huge claws against a tree trunk. "And so should I," he added, "if I had her coat."

Gurgi ruefully agreed. Since entering the hills, the poor creature had grown more and more to resemble a drift of hairy snow. The cold had even stopped Glew's endless whining; the former giant pulled his hood over his face and little could be seen of him but the frostbitten end of his flabby nose. Eilonwy, too, was unwontedly silent. Her heart, Taran knew, was as heavy as his own.

Yet Taran forced himself, as far as he was able, to put grief aside. His dogged pursuit had at last brought his warriors within striking distance of the Cauldron-Born, and now he thought only of the means to slow their march to Annuvin. As at the Red Fallows, the companions labored to build barriers of tree limbs, and set them across a narrow gorge, toiling until the sweat drenched their garments and froze in the bitter wind. This time the livid warriors overran them, mutely hacking away the branches with their swords. In despair, the men of the Commots clashed hand-to-hand with the oncoming foe; but the Caul­dron-Born slashed mercilessly through their ranks. Taran and the Commot men sought to block the way with heavy boulders; but even with the help of Hevydd's mighty arms this labor was beyond their strength, and the toll of the slain only rose higher.

The days were a white nightmare of snow and wind. The nights were frozen with hopelessness, and like exhausted animals the companions found respite amid rocky overhangs and the scant shelter of the mountain passes. Yet concealment served little purpose, the presence of the Commot warriors was known and their movements quickly sighted by the enemy captains. At first, the Cauldron-Born had chosen to disregard the ragged band; now the deathless marchers not only quickened their pace, they swung closer to Taran's riders as though eager to join battle.

This puzzled Fflewddur, who rode beside Taran at the head of the column.

Taran frowned and shook his head grimly. "I understand it all too well," he said. "Their power had waned when they were farther from Annuvin. Closer, it returns to them, and as we grow weaker, they grow stronger. Unless we halt them, one time for all, our efforts will do no more than sap our own strength. Soon," he added bitterly, "we shall defeat ourselves more sharply than Arawn's warriors could ever hope to do."

But he said nothing of another fear that lay in all their hearts. Each passing day showed more clearly the Cauldron Born were turning south, away from the Hills of Bran-Galedd and once again toward the swifter, easier way of the Red Fallows. With dour satisfaction, Taran judged this to mean the enemy still feared the pursuers and would strive to any lengths to be rid of them.

Snow fell that night, and the companions halted, blinded by the whirling flakes and by their own weariness. Before dawn the Cauldron-Born at­tacked their camp.

At first, Taran believed only one company of the mute warriors had overrun his outposts. As the Commot warriors sprang to arms amid the terrified shrieking of horses and the clang of blades, he quickly realized the entire enemy column was slashing across his lines. He spurred Melynlas into the fray. Fflewd­dur, with Glew clinging to his waist, was astride Llyan, who sped in great bounds to join the embattled defenders. Taran had lost sight of Eilonwy and Gurgi among the rush of warriors. Like a ruthless sword, the Cauldron-Born had split the Commot horsemen's ranks and were streaming through unhindered, crushing all who stood against them.

All day the uneven battle raged while the men of the Commots struggled vainly to rally their forces. By dusk the path of the Cauldron-Born was a bloody wake of wounded and slain. In one deadly blow, the Cauldron host had broken free of their pursuers to move swiftly and unfaltering from the hills.

Eilonwy and Gurgi were missing.

Fearful and dismayed, Taran and Fflewddur pressed their way through the shattered remnants of the war band struggling to regain their ranks. Torches had been lit to signal rallying points for the stragglers, who stumbled wounded and bewildered among the bodies of their fallen comrades. Throughout the night Taran searched frantically, sounding his horn and shouting the names of the lost companions. With Fflewddur, he had ridden beyond the battleground, hoping for some sign of either one of them. There was none, and the new snowfall, which began toward dawn, covered all, tracks.

By midmorning, the survivors had gathered. The passage of the Cauldron-Born had taken heavy toll of both mounts and men; of the Commot war­riors, one out of three had fallen beneath the swords of the deathless foe; and of the steeds, more than half. Lluagor galloped empty-saddled. Eilonwy and Gurgi were among neither the slain nor the living.