Alexander, Lloyd - Prydain 05 - High King by Alexander Llyod

Author:Alexander, Llyod [Alexander, Llyod]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The Red Fallows

ALL NIGHT THE DESTRUCTIONraged and by morning Caer Dathyl lay in ruins. Fires smouldered where once had stood the lofty halls. The swords and axes of the Cauldron-Born had leveled the hemlock grove near the mounds of honor. In the dawn light the shattered walls seemed bloodstained.

The army of Pryderi, denying even the right of burial for the slain, had driven the defenders into the hills east of Caer Dathyl. It was there, amid the turmoil of the makeshift camp, the companions found one another again. Faithful Gurgi still bore the banner of the White Pig, though its staff had been broken and the emblem slashed almost beyond recognition. Llyan, with Fflewddur beside her, crouched in the scant shelter of a rocky outcropping; her tail twitched and her yellow eyes still glowed with anger. Hevydd the Smith built a campfire, and Taran, Eilonwy, and Coll tried to warm themselves at the embers. Llassar, though sorely wounded, had lived through the battle; but the enemy had taken cruel toll of the Commot men. Among those who lay stark and silent on the trampled battleground was Llonio Son of Llonwen.

One of the handful of survivors from the inner defenses of the fortress was Glew. A warrior of Don, finding him lost and dazed outside the walls, had taken pity on his plight and brought him to the camp.

The former giant was pathetically glad to rejoin the companions, though he was still too terrified and trembling to do more than mumble a few words. With a torn cloak over his shoulders, he huddled beside the fire and held his head in his hands.

Gwydion stood alone. For long, his eyes did not leave the column of black smoke staining the sky above the ruins of Caer Dathyl. At last he turned away and ordered all who had lived out the day to assemble.

Taliesin came to stand before them and, taking up Fflewddur's harp, sang a lament for the slain. Amid the black pines the voice of the Chief Bard rose in deep sorrow, yet it was sorrow without despair; and

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while the notes of the harp were heavy laden with mourning they held, as well, the clear strains of life and hope.

As the melody died away Taliesin lifted his head and spoke quietly. "Each broken stone of Caer Dathyl shall be a mark of honor, and the whole valley a resting place for Math Son of Mathonwy and all our dead. But a High King still lives. As I honor him, so do I honor all who stand with him." He turned to Gwydion and bowed deeply. The warriors drew their swords and cried out the name of the new King of Prydain.

Gwydion then called the companions to him. "We meet only to part," he said. "Pryderi's victory gives us one choice and one hope. Though messengers bear tidings of our defeat to King Smoit and his army, and to the lords of the north, we dare not await their help.

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