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the sort of thing my war leader always enjoys--- to put us in a bold frame of mind, you understand. The
truth of the matter is," he admitted with a slight tone of discouragement, "I don't really know what's going
to come out of it next. My fingers go along, but sometimes I think this harp plays of itself.
"Perhaps," Fflewddur continued, "that's why Taliesin thought he was doing me a favor when he gave it to
me. Because when I went up to the Council of Bards for my examination, I had an old pot one of the
minstrels had left behind and I couldn't do more than plunk out a few chants. However, a Fflam never
looks a gift horse in the mouth, or, in this case, I should say harp."
"It was a sad tune," Eilonwy said. "But the odd thing about it is, you don't mind the sadness. It's like
feeling better after you've had a good cry. It made me think of the sea again, though I haven't been there
since I was a little girl." At this, Taran snorted, but Eilonwy paid no attention to him. "The waves break
against the cliffs and churn into foam, and farther out, as far as you can see, there are the white crests, the
White Horses of Llyr, they call them; but they're really only waves waiting their turn to roll in."
"Strange," said the bard, "personally, I was thinking of my own castle. It's small and drafty, but I would
like to see it again; a person can have enough wandering, you know. It made me think I might even settle
down again and try to be a respectable sort of king."
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"Caer Dallben is closer to my heart," Taran said. "When I left, I never gave it too much thought. Now I
think of it a great deal."
Gurgi, who had been listening silently, set up a long howl. "Yes, yes, soon great warriors will all be back
in their halls, telling their tales with laughings and chaffings. Then it will be the fearful forest again for poor
Gurgi, to put down his tender head in snoozings and snorings."
"Gurgi," Taran said, "I promise to bring you to Caer Dallben, if I ever get there myself. And if you like it,
and Dallben agrees, you can stay there as long as you want."
"What joy!" Gurgi cried. "Honest, toiling Gurgi extends thanks and best wishes. Oh, yes, fond, obedient
Gurgi will work hard..."
"For now, obedient Gurgi had better sleep," Taran advised, "and so should we all. Medwyn has put us
well on our way, and it can't take much longer. We'll start again at daybreak."
DURING THE NIGHT, however, a gale rose, and by morning a drenching rain beat into the cleft.
Instead of slackening, the wind gained in force and screamed over the rocks. It beat like a fist against the
travelers' shelter, then pried with searching fingers, as if to seize and dash them into the valley.
They set out nevertheless, holding their cloaks before their faces. To make matters worse, the path
broke off entirely and sheer cliffs loomed ahead of them. The rain stopped, after the travelers had all
been soaked to the skin, but now the rocks were slippery and treacherous. Even the sure-footed
Melyngar stumbled once, and for a breathless moment Taran feared she would be lost.
The mountains swung a half-circle around a lake black and sullen below threatening clouds. Taran halted
on an outcropping of stone and pointed toward the hills at the far side of the lake. "According to what
Medwyn told us," he said to the bard, "we should make for that notch, all the way over there. But I see
no purpose in following the mountains when we can cut almost straight across. The lake shore is flat, at
least, while here it's getting practically impossible to climb."
Fflewddur rubbed his pointed nose. "Even counting the time it would take us to go down and come up
again, I think we should save several hours. Yes, I definitely believe it's worth trying."
"Medwyn didn't say a word about crossing valleys," Eilonwy put in.
"He didn't say anything about cliffs like these," answered Taran. "They seem nothing to him; he's lived
here a long time. For us, it's something else again."
"If you don't listen to what somebody tells you," Eilonwy remarked, "it's like putting your fingers in your
ears and jumping down a well. For an Assistant Pig-Keeper who's done very little traveling, you
suddenly know all about it."
"Who found the way out of the barrow?" Taran retorted. "It's decided. We cross the valley."
The descent was laborious, but once they had reached level ground, Taran felt all the more convinced
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they would save time. Holding Melyngar's bridle, he led the group along the narrow shore. The lake
reached closely to the base of the hills, obliging Taran to splash through the shallows. The lake, he
realized, was not black in reflection of the sky; the water itself was dark, flat, and as grim and heavy as
iron. The bottom, too, was as treacherous as the rocks above. Despite his care, Taran lurched and nearly
got a ducking. When he turned to warn the others, to his surprise he saw Gurgi in water up to his waist
and heading toward the center of the lake. Fflewddur and Eilonwy were also splashing farther and farther
from land.
"Don't go through the water," Taran called. "Keep to the shore!"
"Wish we could," the bard shouted back. "But we're stuck somehow. There's a terribly strong pull..."
A moment later, Taran understood what the bard meant. An unexpected swell knocked him off his feet
and even as he put out his hands to break his fall the black lake sucked him down. Beside him, Melyngar
thrashed her legs and whinnied. The sky spun overhead. He was pulled along like a twig in a torrent.
Eilonwy shot past him. He tried to regain his footing and catch her. It was too late. He skimmed and
bobbed over the surface. The far shore would stop them, Taran thought, struggling to keep his head
above the waves. A roar filled his ears. The middle of the lake was a whirlpool clutching and flinging him
to the depths. Black water closed over him, and he knew he was drowning.
Chapter 15
King Eiddileg
DOWN HE SPUN, battling for air, in a flood that broke upon him like a crumbling mountain. Faster and
faster the waters bore him along, tossing him right and left. Taran collided with something--- what it was,
he could not tell--- but he clung to it even as his strength failed him. There was a crash, as though the
earth had split asunder; the water turned to foam, and Taran felt himself dashed against an unyielding
wall. He remembered nothing more.
When he opened his eyes he was lying on a hard, smooth surface, his hand tightly gripping Fflewddur's
harp. He heard the rush of water close by. Cautiously, he felt around him; his fingers touched only wet,
flat stone, an embankment of some kind. A pale blue light shone high above him. Taran decided he had
come to rest in a cave or grotto. He raised himself and his movement set the harp to jangling.
"Hello? Who's that?" A voice echoed down the embankment. Faint though it was, Taran recognized it as
belonging to the bard. He scrambled to his feet and crept in the direction of the sound. On the way he
tripped over a form, which became suddenly vocal and indignant.
"You've done very well, Taran of Caer Dallben, with all your short cuts. What's left of me is soaked to
the skin, and I can't find my bauble--- oh, here it is, all wet, of course. And who knows what's happened
to the rest of us?"
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The golden light flared dimly to reveal the dripping face of Eilonwy, her blue eyes flashing with vexation.
Gurgi's hairy, sputtering shadow rolled toward them. "Oh, poor tender head is filled with sloshings and
washings!"
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