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Melynlas. He halted another moment by the mound of red earth and rough stones.
"Sleep well, grower of turnips and gatherer of apples," Taran murmured. "You are far from where you
longed to be. So, too, am I."
Alone he rode across the darkening Fallows to the waiting hills.
Chapter 13
Darkness
IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, the companions strove to overtake the Cauldron-Born and again
fling themselves across the path of the retreating warriors, but their progress was agonizingly slow. Taran
knew Coll had spoken truly when he had called the Hills of Bran-Galedd both friend and foe: the rocky
troughs and narrow defiles, the sudden drops where the ground fell away sharply into frozen gorges
offered the companions their only hope of delaying the deathless host moving onward like a river of iron.
But at the same time, from the high crags of the west, gusts of snow-laden wind battered the struggling
band with icy hammers. The winding trails were slippery and treacherous. The ravines held deep pits
filled with snow, where horse and rider might founder beyond rescue.
In the hills, Taran's most trusted guide was Llassar. Surefooted, long used to mountain ways, the
Commot youth was now shepherd to a different, grimmer flock. More than once, Llassar's keen senses
kept the companions from the icy traps of snow-hidden crevices, and he discovered pathways no other
eye could see. But the progress of the ragged band was nonetheless slow, and all suffered cruelly from
the cold, men and animals alike. Only the great cat, Llyan, showed no concern for the bitter blasts that
drove frosty needles against the faces of the companions.
"She seems to be enjoying herself," Fflewddur sighed, huddling in his cloak. He had been obliged to
dismount, for Llyan had suddenly taken it into her head to sharpen her huge claws against a tree trunk.
"And so should I," he added, "if I had her coat."
Gurgi ruefully agreed. Since entering the hills, the poor creature had grown more and more to resemble a
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drift of hairy snow. The cold had even stopped Glew's endless whining; the former giant pulled his hood
over his face and little could be seen of him but the frostbitten end of his flabby nose. Eilonwy, too, was
unwontedly silent. Her heart, Taran knew, was as heavy as his own.
Yet Taran forced himself, as far as he was able, to put grief aside. His dogged pursuit had at last brought
his warriors within striking distance of the Cauldron-Born, and now he thought only of the means to slow
their march to Annuvin. As at the Red Fallows, the companions labored to build barriers of tree limbs,
and set them across a narrow gorge, toiling until the sweat drenched their garments and froze in the bitter
wind. This time the livid warriors overran them, mutely hacking away the branches with their swords. In
despair, the men of the Commots clashed hand-to-hand with the oncoming foe; but the Caul-dron-Born
slashed mercilessly through their ranks. Taran and the Commot men sought to block the way with heavy
boulders; but even with the help of Hevydd's mighty arms this labor was beyond their strength, and the
toll of the slain only rose higher.
The days were a white nightmare of snow and wind. The nights were frozen with hopelessness, and like
exhausted animals the companions found respite amid rocky overhangs and the scant shelter of the
mountain passes. Yet concealment served little purpose, the presence of the Commot warriors was
known and their movements quickly sighted by the enemy captains. At first, the Cauldron-Born had
chosen to disregard the ragged band; now the deathless marchers not only quickened their pace, they
swung closer to Taran's riders as though eager to join battle.
This puzzled Fflewddur, who rode beside Taran at the head of the column.
Taran frowned and shook his head grimly. "I understand it all too well," he said. "Their power had
waned when they were farther from Annuvin. Closer, it returns to them, and as we grow weaker, they
grow stronger. Unless we halt them, one time for all, our efforts will do no more than sap our own
strength. Soon," he added bitterly, "we shall defeat ourselves more sharply than Arawn's warriors could
ever hope to do."
But he said nothing of another fear that lay in all their hearts. Each passing day showed more clearly the
Cauldron Born were turning south, away from the Hills of Bran-Galedd and once again toward the
swifter, easier way of the Red Fallows. With dour satisfaction, Taran judged this to mean the enemy still
feared the pursuers and would strive to any lengths to be rid of them.
Snow fell that night, and the companions halted, blinded by the whirling flakes and by their own
weariness. Before dawn the Cauldron-Born at-tacked their camp.
At first, Taran believed only one company of the mute warriors had overrun his outposts. As the
Commot warriors sprang to arms amid the terrified shrieking of horses and the clang of blades, he
quickly realized the entire enemy column was slashing across his lines. He spurred Melynlas into the fray.
Fflewd-dur, with Glew clinging to his waist, was astride Llyan, who sped in great bounds to join the
embattled defenders. Taran had lost sight of Eilonwy and Gurgi among the rush of warriors. Like a
ruthless sword, the Cauldron-Born had split the Commot horsemen's ranks and were streaming through
unhindered, crushing all who stood against them.
All day the uneven battle raged while the men of the Commots struggled vainly to rally their forces. By
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