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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. What we do must be done now. Not even a battle
host tenfold greater than Pryderi's can withstand the Cauldron-Born. Army after army can be flung
against them only to swell the ranks of the slain.
"Yet here is the seed of our hope," Gwydion said. "Never in man's memory has Arawn sent his deathless
warriors abroad in such strength. He has taken the greatest risk for the greatest gain. And he has
triumphed. But his triumph has become his moment of greatest weakness. Without the Cauldron-Born to
guard it, Annuvin lies open to attack. So must we attack it."
"Do you believe then that Annuvin is unguarded?" Taran asked quickly. "Are there none other who serve
Arawn?"
"Mortal warriors, surely," replied Gwydion, "and perhaps a force of Huntsmen. But we have strength to
overcome them, if the Cauldron-Born do not reach Annuvin in time to aid them."
Gwydion's blood-streaked face was hard as stone. "They must not reach Annuvin. As their power
dwindles the longer they remain beyond the Death-Lord's realm, so at all cost must they be hindered,
delayed, turned from every path they follow."
Coll nodded. "Indeed, this is our only hope, whatever. And it must be done quickly, for now they will
seek to return quickly to their master. But can we overtake them once they are on the march? Can we
hinder them and at the same time mount our own attack against Annuvin?"
"Not if we journey as one army," Gwydion, said. "Instead, we must separate into two bands. The first,
and smaller, shall be given as many horses as can be spared, and hasten to pursue the Cauldron-Born.
The second shall make their way to the Valley of Kynvael and follow its river northwest to the coast. The
valley land is gentle, and with forced marches the sea can be reached in no more than two days.
"The sea must aid our venture," Gwydion continued, "for Pryderi can too easily forbid our army's
journey overland." He turned to Taran. "Math Son of Mathonwy spoke to you of the ships that bore the
Sons of Don from the Summer Country. These vessels were not abandoned. Still seaworthy, they have
ever been held ready against a day of need. A faithful folk guard them in a hidden harbor near the mouth
of the river Kynvael. They will carry us to the western shore of Prydain, close to the bastions of Annuvin
itself.
"Two men alone have knowledge of the harbor," Gwydion added. "One was Math Son of Mathonwy.
The other is myself. I have no choice but to lead the seaward march. As for the other journey," he said to
Taran, "will you accept to lead it?"
Taran raised his head. "I serve as you command."
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"I do not command this," replied Gwydion. "I order no man to such a task against his will. And all who
follow you must do so willingly."
"Then it is my will to do so," Taran answered.
The companions murmured their assent.
"The vessels of the Sons of Don are swift," Gwydion said. "I ask you to delay the Cauldron-Born but a
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