Lloyd Alexander - Chronicles of Prydain 5 - The High King.pdf

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2001-12-02
The Chronicles of Prydain
Book Five
THE HIGH KING
Lloyd Alexander
Copyright © 1968
ISBN No. 0-440-43574-9
Published by
Bantam Doubleday
Dell Books for Young Readers
April, 1990
Author's Note
D ESPITE THEIR SHORTCOMINGS , no books
have given me greater joy in the writing than the
Chronicles of Prydain. I come sadly to the end of
this journey, aware of the impossibility of
commenting objectively on a work which has
absorbed me so long and so personally.
I must, however, warn readers of this fifth
chronicle to expect the unexpected. Its structure is
somewhat different, its range wider. If there is
more external conflict, I have tried to add more
inner content; if the form follows that of the
traditional hero-tale, the individuals, I hope, are
genuinely human And although it deals with a
battle on an epic scale, where Taran, Princess
Eilonwy, Fflewddur Fflam, even the oracular pig
Hen Wen, are pressed to the limits of their
strength, it is a battle whose aftermath is deeper in
consequences than the struggle itself. The final
choice, which even faithful Gurgi cannot avoid, is
almost too hard to bear. Fortunately, it is never
offered to us in the real world--- not, at least, in
such unmistakable terms. In another sense, we
face this kind of choice again and again, because
for us it is never final. Whether the Assistant Pig-
Keeper chose well, whether the ending is happy,
heartbreaking, or both, readers must decide for
themselves.
Like the previous tales, this adventure can be
read independently of the others. Nevertheless,
certain long-standing questions are resolved here.
Why was that sneering scoundrel, Magg, allowed to
escape from the Castle of Llyr? Whatever became
of the small-hearted giant, Glew? Can Achren really
be trusted in Caer Dallben? And, of course, the
secret of Taran's parentage. Readers who have
been asking me these questions will see why I
could not, until now, answer them fully without
spoiling the surprises.
As for Prydain itself, part Wales as it is, but
more as it never was: at first, I thought it a small
land existing only in my imagination. Since then,
for me it has become much larger. While it grew
from Welsh legend, it has broadened into my
attempt to make a land of fantasy relevant to a
world of reality.
The first friends of the Companions are as
steadfast today as they were at the beginning;
many I thought were new have turned out to have
been old friends all along. I owe all of them
considerably more than they may suspect; and, as
always, I offer these pages to them fondly, hoping
they will find the result not too far below the
promise. If time has tried their patience with me, it
has only deepened my affection for them.
-L.A.
Chapter 1
Homecomings
U NDER A CHILL, GRAY SKY , two riders
jogged across the turf. Taran, the taller horseman,
set his face against wind and leaned forward in the
saddle, his eyes on the distant hills. At his belt
hung a sword, and from his shoulder a silver-bound
battle horn. His companion Gurgi, shaggier than
the pony he rode, pulled his weathered cloak
around him, rubbed his frost-nipped ears, and
began groaning so wretchedly that Taran at last
reined up the stallion.
"No, no!" Gurgi cried. "Faithful Gurgi will keep
on! He follows kindly master, oh yes, as he has
always done. Never mind his shakings and achings!
Never mind the droopings of his poor tender head!"
Taran smiled, seeing that Gurgi, despite his
bold words, was eyeing a sheltering grove of ash
trees. "There is time to spare," he answered. "I
long to be home, but not at the cost of that poor
tender head of yours. We camp here and go no
farther until morning."
They tethered their mounts and built a small
fire in a ring of stones. Gurgi curled up and was
snoring almost before he had finished swallowing
his food. Though as weary as his companion, Taran
set about mending the harness leathers. Suddlenly
he stopped and jumped to his feet. Overhead, a
winged shape plunged swiftly toward him.
"Look!" Taran cried, as Gurgi, still heavy with
sleep, sat up and blinked. "It's Kaw! Dallben must
have sent him to find us."
The crow beat his wings, clacked his beak, and
began squawking loudly even before he landed on
Taran's outstretched wrist.
"Eilonwy!" Kaw croaked at the top of his voice.
"Eilonwy! Princess! Home!"
Taran's weariness fell from him like a cloak.
Gurgi, wide awake and shouting joyfully, scurried
to unloose the steeds. Taran leaped astride
Melynlas, spun the gray stallion about, and
galloped from the grove, with Kaw perched on his
shoulder and Gurgi and the pony pounding at his
heels.
Day and night they rode, hardly halting for a
mouthful of food or a moment of sleep, urging all
speed and strength from their mounts and from
themselves, ever southward, down from the
mountain valley and across Great Avren until, on a
bright morning, the fields of Caer Dallben lay
before them once again.

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