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must be taken from this dread place. His terror and dismay grew with the
thought that perhaps even now she was beyond hope. He struggled to catch her
by the waist and put her over his shoulder.
Eilonwy struck him full in the face with such force that he
staggered back. Yet it was not the blow that pained him but her scornful
glance. On her lips now was a smile of mockery and malice. He was a stranger
to her and he feared his heart would break.
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Once more he tried to seize her. Eilonwy, with a cry of rage, twisted
away and broke free.
"Achren!" she called. "Achren! Help me!"
She ran to the portal of the chamber and into the corridor. Taran
snatched up the rush light and raced after the fleeing Princess. Her sandals
clattered down the shadowed hallway, and he glimpsed an edge of her robe
vanishing around a corner. She had not ceased to call Achren's name. In
another moment the castle would be roused and the companions discovered. Taran
cursed himself for a blunderer. He had no choice now but to overtake the
bewitched girl before every hope of escape faded. Already he heard a shout
from the wall and the clash of blades.
The rush light scorched his hand and he cast it aside. In the
darkness he sped to the end of the corridor and flung himself down a flight of
steps. The Great Hall of Caer Colur stretched before him, the crimson haze of
daybreak filling its ruined casements. Eilonwy fled across the wide stretch of
worn and crumbling flagstones and vanished again. A hand gripped his jacket
and spun him around. A torch flared in his eyes.
"The Pig-Keeper!" hissed Magg.
The Chief Steward plucked a dagger from a fold of his garments and
thrust at Taran, who flung up an arm to ward off the blow. The dagger glanced
aside. Magg cursed and swept the torch like a sword. Taran fell back, seeking
to draw his own weapon. The shouts of the awakened guards filled the Great
Hall. In another instant he caught sight of Gwydion, the companions at his
heels.
Magg spun around. Fflewddur had broken away from the press of
warriors and was racing at top speed toward the Chief Steward. The bard's
spiky yellow hair streamed behind him and his face shone with furious triumph.
"The spider is mine!" cried Fflewddur, his blade whistling about his
head. Magg, at the sight of the frenzied bard, yelled in terror and tried to
flee. The bald was upon him in a moment, striking right and left with the flat
of his sword in such a wild onslaught that most of his blows missed their
mark. Magg, with the strength of desperation, sprang at the bard's throat and
grappled with him.
Before Taran could come to Fflewddur's aid, a warrior with an axe
beset him and, despite his stout defense, Taran found himself driven back
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toward a corner of the Hall. Amid, the confusion of the fray, he saw Gwydion
and Rhun struggling against other warriors. The Prince of Mona laid about him
furiously with his broken sword, and it was to one of Rhun's sharp blows that
Taran's assailant fell.
Fflewddur and Magg were still locked in combat. As Taran raced to
the side of the bard, the dark, shaggy form of Gurgi overtook him. With a yelp
of rage, Gurgi leaped into the air and clung to Magg's shoulders. The Chief
Steward still wore his silver chain of office; Gurgi snatched it and let
himself swing free. Magg gasped and tumbled backward, choking and hissing
while Gurgi dangled for an instant, then sprang clear of the falling Steward.
In a flash the bard was upon the prostrate Magg. Heedless of the buffeting
from Magg's flailing legs, Gurgi laid hold of him by the heels and hung on
with all his strength, while Fflewddur, sitting on Magg's head, seemed indeed
to be carrying out his threat of squashing the treacherous Chief Steward.
Gwydion, with Dyrnwyn unsheathed and blazing, had cut down two
warriors who now sprawled motionless on the flagstones. Terrified at the sight
of the flaming weapon, the remaining guards fled. With long strides Gwydion
hastened to the companions.
"Eilonwy is bewitched!" Taran cried. "I have lost her."
Gwydion's eyes went to the end of the hall where scarlet draperies
had been flung back from an alcove. Eilonwy stood there and beside her,
Achren.
Chapter 17
The Spells of Caer Colur
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TARAN'S HEART FROZE, and within him echoed the nightmare memory of
another day when he had stood in terror before Achren. As if he were still the
same frightened lad he had been, he trembled once again at the sight of the
black-robed Queen. Her hair, unbound, fell in glittering silver tresses to her
shoulders; the beauty of her features had not changed, though her face was
deathly pale. At Spiral Castle, long ago, she had been decked in jewels; now,
neither rings nor bracelets adorned her slender hands and white arms. But her
eyes, hard as jewels themselves, drew Taran's gaze and held it.
Gwydion had sprung forward. With a cry Taran followed him, sword
upraised. Eilonwy shrank back and clung to Achren.
"Put down your weapons," Achren commanded. "The girl's life is bound
to mine. Would you take my life? Then she must share my death."
Seeing the black sword, Achren had stiffened, but made no move to
flee. Instead, her lips curled in the shadow of a smile. Gwydion halted and
looked searchingly at her. Slowly, his face dark with anger, he returned
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