The High King

Taran had unbuckled Dyrnwyn from, his belt and held out the sword to Gwydion. "I understand now why Arawn sought possession of it― not for his own use but because he knew it threatened his power. Only Dyrnwyn could destroy his Cauldron-Born. Indeed, he dared not even keep it in his stronghold, and believed it harmless buried atop Mount Dragon. When Arawn disguised himself in your shape; he nearly tricked me into giving him the weapon. Take it now. The blade is safer in your hands."

Gwydion shook his head. "You have earned the right to draw it, Assistant Pig-Keeper," he said, "and thus the right to wear it."

"Indeed so!" put in Fflewddur. "It was mag­nificent the way you struck down that Cauldron-Born. A Fflam couldn't have done better. We're rid of those foul brutes forever."

Taran nodded. "Yet I hate them no longer. It was not their wish to bend in slavery to another's will. Now they are at peace."

"In any case, Hen Wen's prophecy came true after all," Fflewddur said. "Not that I ever doubted it for a moment." He glanced instinctively over his shoulder, but this time there came no jangling of harp strings. "But she did have a curious way of put­ting things. I still haven't heard any stones speaking."

"I have," answered Taran. "Atop Mount Dragon, the sound from the crest was like a voice. Without it, I'd have paid no heed to the stone. Then, when I saw how hollowed and eaten away it was, I believed I might be able to move it. Yes, Fflewddur, the voiceless stone spoke clearly."

"I suppose so, if you think about it in that way," Eilonwy agreed. "As for Dyrnwyn's flame being quenched, Hen was quite mistaken. Understandably. She was very upset at the time…"

Before the girl could finish, two frightened fig­ures burst from the Great Hall and raced to the companions. Much of Gurgi's hair had been singed away in ragged patches; his shaggy eyebrows were charred and his garments still smouldered. The former giant had fared worse, for he seemed little more than a heap of grime and ashes.

Taran had no time to welcome the lost com­panions, for the voice of Achren rose in a terrible cry.

"Do you seek Arawn? He is here!"

Achren flung herself at Taran's feet. Taran gasped and froze in horror. Behind him coiled a ser­pent ready to strike.

Taran sprang aside. Dyrnwyn flashed from its scabbard. Achren had clutched the serpent in both hands, as though to strangle or tear it asunder. The head of the snake darted toward her, the scaly body lashed like a whip, and the fangs sank deep into Achren's throat. With a cry she fell back. In an in­stant, the serpent coiled again; its eyes glittered with a cold, deadly flame. Hissing in rage, jaws gaping and fangs bared, the serpent shot forward, striking at Taran. Eilonwy screamed. Taran swung the flashing sword with all his strength. The blade clove the serpent in two.

Flinging Dyrnwyn aside, Taran dropped to his knees beside Gwydion, who held the limp body of the Queen. The blood had drained from Achren's lips and her glazed eyes sought Gwydion's face.

"Have I not kept my oath, Gwydion?" she murmured, smiling vaguely. "Is the Lord of Annuvin slain? It is good. My death comes easily upon me." Achren's lips parted as though she would speak again. but her head fell back and her body sagged in Gwydion's arms.

A horrified gasp came from Eilonwy. Taran looked up as the girl pointed to the cloven serpent. Its body writhed, its shape blurred. In its place appeared the black-cloaked figure of a man whose severed head had rolled face downward on the earth. Yet in a m ment this shape too lost its form and the corpse sank like a shadow into the earth; and where it had lain was seared and fallow, the ground wasted, fissured as though by drought. Arawn Death-Lord had vanished.

"The sword!" cried Fflewddur. "Look at the sword!"

Quickly, Taran caught up the blade, but even as he grasped the hilt the flame of Dyrnwyn flickered, as though stirred by a wind. The white brilliance dimmed like a dying fire. Faster then the glow faded, no longer white but filled with swirling colors which danced and trembled. In another moment, Taran's hand held no more than a scarred and battered weapon whose blade glinted dully, not from the flame that once had burned within it but only from the mirrored rays of the setting sun.

Eilonwy, hurrying to his side, called out, "The writing on the scabbard is fading, too. At least I think it is, unless it's just the dim light. Here, let me see better."

She drew the bauble from her cloak and brought it closer to the black scabbard. Suddenly, in the golden rays, the marred inscription glittered.

"My bauble brightens the lettering! There's more than what used to be there!" cried the surprised girl. "Even the part that was scratched out― I can see most of it now!"

The companions hastily gathered and, while Eilonwy held the bauble Taliesin took the scabbard and scanned it closely.

"The writing is clear, but fading quickly," he said. "Indeed, Princess, your golden light shows what was hidden.