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warriors say they have gone to a certain place, but great fire turns them away. They are not pleased, and they still seek a piggy with outcries and horses.”
    “Gurgi,” said Gwydion firmly, “where is the pig?”
    “The piggy? Oh, terrible hunger pinches! Gurgi cannot remember. Was there a piggy? Gurgi is fainting and falling into the bushes, his poor, tender head is full of air from his empty belly.”
    Taran could no longer control his impatience “Where is Hen Wen, you silly, hairy thing?” he burst out. “Tell us straight off! After the way you jumped on me, you deserve to have your head smacked.”
    With a moan, Gurgi rolled over on his back and covered his face with his arms.
    Gwydion turned severely to Taran. “Had you followed my orders, you would not have been jumped on. Leave him to me. Do not make him any more frightened than he is.” Gwydion looked down at Gurgi. “Very well,” he asked calmly, “where is she?”
    “Oh, fearful wrath!” Gurgi snuffled, "a piggy has gone across the water with swimmings and splashings.'' He sat upright and waved a woolly arm toward Great Avren.
    “If you are lying to me,” said Gwydion, “I shall soon find out. Then I will surely come back with wrath.”
    “Crunchings and munchings now, mighty prince?” asked Gurgi in a high, tiny whimper.
    “As I promised you,” said Gwydion.
    “Gurgi wants the smaller one for munchings,” said the creature, with a beady glance at Taran.
    “No, you do not,” Gwydion said. “He is an Assistant Pig Keeper and he would disagree with you violently.” He unbuckled a saddlebag and pulled out a few strips of dried meat, which he tossed to Gurgi. “Be off now. Remember, I want no mischief from you.”
    Gurgi snatched the food, thrust it between his teeth, and scuttled up a tree trunk, leaping from tree to tree until he was out of sight.
    “What a disgusting beast,” said Taran. “What a nasty, vicious...”
    “Oh, he is not bad at heart,” Gwydion answered. “He would love to be wicked and terrifying, though he cannot quite manage it. He feels so sorry for himself that it is hard not to be angry with him. But there is no use in doing so.”
    “Was he telling the truth about Hen Wen?” asked Taran.
    “I think he was,” Gwydion said. “It is as I feared. The Horned King has ridden to Caer Dallben.”
    “He burned it!” Taran cried. Until now, he had paid little mind to his home. The thought of the white cottage in flames, his memory of Dallben's beard, and the heroic Coll's bald head touched him all at once. “Dallben and Coll are in peril!”
    “Surely not,” said Gwydion. "Dallben is an old fox. A beetle could not creep into Caer Dallben without his knowledge. No, I am certain the fire was something Dallben arranged for unexpected visitors.
    “Hen Wen is the one in greatest peril. Our quest grows ever more urgent,” Gwydion hastily continued. “The Horned King knows she is missing. He will pursue her.”
    “Then,” Taran cried, “we must find her before he does!”
    “Assistant Pig-Keeper,” said Gwydion, “that has been, so far, your only sensible suggestion.”
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 4
     
    The Gwythaints
     
    MELYNGAR BORE THEM
    swiftly through the fringe of trees lining Great Avren's sloping banks. They dismounted and hurried on foot in the direction Gurgi had indicated. Near a jagged rock, Gwydion halted and gave a cry of triumph. In a patch of clay, Hen Wen's tracks showed as plainly as if they had been carved. “Good for Gurgi!” exclaimed Gwydion. "I hope he enjoys his crunchings and munchings! Had I known he would guide us so well, I would have given him an extra share.
    “Yes, she crossed here,” he went on, “and we shall do the same.”
    Gwydion led Melyngar forward. The air had suddenly grown cold and heavy. The restless Avren ran gray, slashed with white streaks. Clutching Melyngar's saddle horn, Taran stepped gingerly from the bank.
    Gwydion strode directly into the water. Taran,