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his lips as if he were tasting each one.
"At length, I made my way to Annuvin," Magg said, "to the very
threshold of Dark Gate. Lord Arawn did not know me then, as he knows me now."
Magg nodded in satisfaction. "There was much he learned from me.
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"Lord Arawn knew the history of Dyrnwyn," Magg continued. "He knew
it had been lost and found again, and that Gwydion Son of Don bore it. But it
was I, Magg, who told him how best to gain it.
"Even your treachery is paltry," Taran said. "Late or soon, with or
without you, Arawn would have struck on that evil scheme himself."
"Perhaps," Magg said slyly. "Perhaps what he learned from me was
less than what I learned from him. For I soon discovered that his power was
dangerously balanced. His champion, the Horned King, had long been defeated.
Even the Black Crochan, the cauldron that gave him the deathless
Cauldron-Born, was shattered.
"Lord Arawn has many secret liegemen among the cantrev kings," Magg
went on. "He has promised them great riches and domains, and they are sworn to
serve him. But his defeats turned them restive. It was I who showed him the
means to win stronger allegiance. It was my plan, mine alone that put Dyrnwyn
in his hands!
"Word now spreads throughout the cantrevs that Arawn Death-Lord
holds the mightiest weapon in Prydain. He knows its secrets, far better than
you do, Lord Gwydion, and knows he cannot be defeated. His liegemen rejoice,
for they will soon taste victory. Other warlords will rally to his banner and
his host of warriors will grow.
"I, Magg, have wrought this!" the Chief Steward cried. "I, Magg,
second only to the Death-Lord! I, Magg, speak in his name. I am his trusted
emissary, and I ride from realm to realm, gathering armies to destroy the Sons
of Don and those who give them allegiance. All Prydain will be his dominion.
And those who stand against him--- if Lord Arawn chooses to be merciful, he
will slay them. His Huntsmen will drink their blood. The others will grovel in
bondage forever!"
Magg's eyes gleamed, his pale brow glistened and his cheeks quivered
violently. "For this," he hissed, "for this, Lord Arawn has sworn to me by
every oath: one day I, Magg, will wear the Iron Crown of Annuvin!"
"You are as much a fool as a traitor," Gwydion said, in a hard
voice. "And doubly so. First, to believe Arawn. Then to believe King Smoit
would heed your serpent's words. Have you slain him? Only dead would he listen
to you."
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"Smoit lives," answered Magg. "I care nothing for his allegiance. I
seek the fealty of the liegemen in his cantrev. Smoit shall order them, in his
name, to serve my cause."
"King Smoit would sooner have his tongue ripped out," Taran cried.
"And so perhaps he shall," replied Magg "Mute, he will serve me as
well. He will ride with me and I will speak on his behalf better than he would
speak on his own. Yet," he mused, "I would prefer the commands to come from
his lips rather than mine. There are ways to loosen his tongue instead of
cutting it from his head. Some have already been tried."
Magg narrowed his eyes. "The best means stand before me now. You,
Lord Gwydion. And you, Pig-Keeper. Speak with him. Let Smoit see that he must
yield to me." Magg smiled crookedly. "Your lives hang on it."
The Chief Steward moved his head slightly. The guards stepped
forward.
Roughly the companions were prodded from the Great Hall. Shock and
despair so filled Taran that he was hardly aware of the passages they were led
down, The warriors halted. One flung open a heavy door. Others thrust the
companions into a narrow chamber. The door grated shut and darkness swallowed
them.
As they groped blindly Taran stumbled on a prostrate form that
stirred and bellowed loudly.
"My body and blood!" roared the voice of King Smoit, and Taran was
grappled by a pair of bone-cracking arms. "Are you come again, Magg? You'll
not take me alive!"
Taran was nearly smothered and crushed before Gwydion called out his
own name and the names of the companions. Smoit's grip loosened and Taran felt
a huge hand on his face.
"My pulse, and so it is!" cried Smoit, as the companions gathered
around him. "The Pig-Keeper! Lord Gwydion! Coll! I'd know that bald pate of
yours anywhere!" His hand fell on Gurgi's disheveled head. "And the little---
whatever-it-is! Well met, my riends." Smoit groaned heavily. "And ill met,
too. How has that simpering sop trapped you? The lard-lipped, squirming lackey
has snared us all!"
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Gwydion quickly told Smoit what had befallen them.
The red-bearded King growled furiously. "Magg caught me as easily as
he did you. Yesterday I was at breakfast, and had barely set myself to my
meat, when my steward brought tidings that a messenger from Lord Goryon sought
words with me. Now then, I knew Goryon was at odds with Lord Gast. A matter of
cow-stealing, as usual. Ah, will the cantrev lords of Prydain ever stop their
endless bickering! However, since I'd heard Gast's side of it, I deemed I
should listen to Goryon's."
Smoit snorted and struck his massive thigh. "Before I could swallow
another mouthful, Magg's warriors were about me. My heart and liver! Some of
them will remember Smoit! Another troop had lain in ambush and stormed through
the gate." Smoit put his head in his hands. "Of my own men those not slain are
prisoned in the guardrooms and armories."
"And you," Taran asked anxiously, "are you in pain? Magg spoke of
torture."
"Pain!" Smoit bellowed so loudly the chamber echoed. "Torture? I
suffer till I sweat. But not at the hands of that long-nosed worm! My skin's
thick enough.. Let Magg break his teeth on my bones! He troubles me no more
than a fleabite or bramble scratch. Why, I've taken worse in a friendly
scuffle!
"Do you speak of pain?" Smoit stormed on. "By every hair of my
beard, I swear it pains me more than hot iron to be mewed up in my own castle!
My own stronghold, and a captive in it! Gulled in my own Great Hall! My own
food and drink snatched from my lips, and my breakfast ruined. Torment? Worse [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]