Let's Read the Chronicles of Prydain - What is a Gurgi?

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Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

What's this?

This is a thread wherein I will take you through the Chronicles of Prydain, a high fantasy series by the late Lloyd Alexander. First published in the late sixties, the five books detail the adventures of Taran, an Assistant Pig-Keeper who dreams of much bigger destinies than life on a farm, caring for a (very special) pig. Some of you might know the name Taran from the 1985 animated Disney movie, The Black Cauldron, which kinda mish-mashes the first and second books together, and is altogether a terrible adaptation of the novel if you ask me; we therefore will not be discussing it and focusing purely on the books. Despite the setting being filled with monsters, magic and heroes, the focus lies a lot more on Taran's growth as a person and his coming of age, and part of their appeal (in my opinion) is that character development, as well as the hard lessons that Taran has to learn without the books turning into edgy nonsense. I hope you will enjoy this journey with me, whether or not you have read the books before!

So what's Prydain?

Long ago, Prydain was a prosperous land, one filled with many master craftsmen from blacksmiths to potters to carpenters. But Arawn, the Lord of Annuvin (he's the bad guy) grew jealous of Prydain's prosperity, and one by one stole its many secrets and artefacts for himself, hoarding them in his fortress. Prydain thus fell into decary, and would have perished, if not for the mighty Sons of Don, who arrived to form an alliance between the peoples of Prydain and do heroic battle against Arawn's dark forces. Some manner of time has passed since, and Prydain now knows a measure of peace under the High King - but the lords of the various cantrevs fight petty squabbles amongst themselves, and Arawn still lurks in the shadows of the Land of Death, waiting for his time to strike once more.

Prydain takes a lot if inspiration from Welsh myth, in particular the Mabinogion. The geography is directly inspired by Wales itself, and nearly all the names are directly lifted from Welsh myth or history - with the exception of Taran, our protagonist, and Eilonwy. However, Alexander stresses that his tellings are his own, despite these similarities - see the Author's Note for the first book below.

quote:

THIS CHRONICLE of the Land of Prydain is not a retelling or retranslation of Welsh mythology. Prydain is not Wales--- not entirely, at least. The inspiration for it comes from that magnificent land and its legends; but, essentially, Prydain is a country existing only in the imagination. A few of its inhabitants are drawn from the ancient tales. Gwydion, for example, is a "real" legendary figure. Arawn, the dread Lord of Annuvin, comes from the Mabinogion, the classic collection of Welsh legends, though in Prydain he is considerably more villainous. And there is an authentic mythological basis for Arawn's cauldron, Hen Wen the oracular pig, the old enchanter Dallben, and others. However, Taran the Assistant Pig-Keeper, like Eilonwy of the red gold hair, was born in my own Prydain.

The geography of Prydain is peculiar to itself. Any resemblance between it and Wales is perhaps not coincidental--- but not to be used as a guide for tourists. It is a small land, yet it has room enough for gallantry and humor; and even an Assistant Pig-Keeper there may cherish certain dreams. The chronicle of Prydain is a fantasy. Such things never happen in real life. Or do they? Most of us are called on to perform tasks far beyond what we believe we can do. Our capabilities seldom match our aspirations, and we are often woefully unprepared. To this extent, we are all Assistant Pig-Keepers at heart.

How's this going to go?

Following in the footsteps of Epicurius' Let's Read Animorphs (and now Everworld) threads, I will post chapters in full. The books are pretty small (as they are, in the end, children's books) and there's only five of them, so it shouldn't take too long. I will endeavor to post 2 chapters a week - one on wednesday, one on saturday - barring any real life emergencies. When we meet characters for the first time, I will update the second post, to be a glossary of sorts, in case anybody gets lost about who this or that guy is, or what certain terms mean. I would ask everybody to respect spoilers and not talk about any events that have not yet been discussed in the thread. That includes future books! If you absolutely must refer to something that happens later, please use spoiler tags and indicate which book the spoilers are from. Now then: onwards!

Book 1 - the Book of Three

In which we meet Taran, the land of Prydain, and many of the characters that will feature in this great series. First published in 1964, it was apparently ranked number 18 among all-time best children's novels in a survey published by School Library Journal, in 2012. I don't know if that means anything, I have no idea what sort of authority the SLJ has, but it's a nice feather in the cap, I suppose.

Chapter 1 - The Assistant Pig-Keeper

quote:

TARAN WANTED to make a sword; but Coll, charged with the practical side of his education, decided on horseshoes. And so it had been horseshoes all morning long. Taran's arms ached, soot blackened his face. At last he dropped the hammer and turned to Coll, who was watching him critically.

"Why?" Taran cried. "Why must it be horseshoes? As if we had any horses!"

Coll was stout and round and his great bald head glowed bright pink. "Lucky for the horses," was all he said, glancing at Taran's handiwork.

"I could do better at making a sword," Taran protested. "I know I could." And before Coll could answer, he snatched the tongs, flung a strip of redhot iron to the anvil, and began hammering away as fast as he could.

"Wait, wait!" cried Coll, "that is not the way to go after it!" Heedless of Coll, unable even to hear him above the din, Taran pounded harder than ever. Sparks sprayed the air. But the more he pounded, the more the metal twisted and buckled, until, finally, the iron sprang from the tongs and fell to the ground. Taran stared in dismay. With the tongs, he picked up the bent iron and examined it.

"Not quite the blade for a hero," Coll remarked.

"It's ruined," Taran glumly agreed. "It looks like a sick snake," he added ruefully.

"As I tried telling you," said Coll, "you had it all wrong. You must hold the tongs--- so. When you strike, the strength must flow from your shoulder and your wrist be loose. You can hear it when you do it right. There is a kind of music in it. Besides," he added, "this is not the metal for weapons."

Coll returned the crooked, half-formed blade to the furnace, where it lost its shape entirely."I wish I might have my own sword," Taran sighed, "and you would teach me sword-fighting."

"Wisht!" cried Coll. "Why should you want to know that? We have no battles at Caer Dallben."

"We have no horses, either," objected Taran, "but we're making horseshoes."

"Get on with you," said Coll, unmoved. "That is for practice."

"And so would this be," Taran urged. "Come, teach me the sword-fighting. You must know the art."

Coll's shining head glowed even brighter. A trace of a smile appeared on his face, as though he were savoring something pleasant. "True," he said quietly, "I have held a sword once or twice in my day."

"Teach me now," pleaded Taran. He seized a poker and brandished it, slashing at the air and dancing back and forth over the hard-packed earthen floor. "See," he called, "I know most of it already."

"Hold your hand," chuckled Coll. "If you were to come against me like that, with all your posing and bouncing, I should have you chopped into bits by this time." He hesitated a moment. "Look you," he said quickly, "at least you should know there is a right way and a wrong way to go about it." He picked up another poker. "Here now," he ordered, with a sooty wink, "stand like a man."

Taran brought up his poker. While Coll shouted instructions, they set to parrying and thrusting, with much banging, clanking, and commotion. For a moment Taran was sure he had the better of Coll, but the old man spun away with amazing lightness of foot. Now it was Taran who strove desperately to ward off Coll's blows. Abruptly, Coll stopped. So did Taran, his poker poised in mid-air. In the doorway of the forge stood the tall, bent figure of Dallben. Dallben, master of Caer Dallben, was three hundred and seventy-nine years old. His beard covered so much of his face he seemed always to be peering over a gray cloud. On the little farm, while Taran and Coll saw to the plowing, sowing, weeding, reaping, and all the other tasks of husbandry, Dallben undertook the meditating, an occupation so exhausting he could accomplish it only by lying down and closing his eyes. He meditated an hour and a half following breakfast and again later in the day. The clatter from the forge had roused him from his morning meditation; his robe hung askew over his boney knees.

"Stop that nonsense directly," said Dallben. "I am surprised at you," he added, frowning at Coll. "There is serious work to be done."

"It wasn't Coll," Taran interrupted. "It was I who asked to learn sword play."

"I did not say I was surprised at you," remarked Dallben. "But perhaps I am, after all. I think you had best come with me." Taran followed the ancient man out of the forge, across the chicken run, and into the white, thatched cottage. There, in Dallben's chamber, moldering tomes overflowed the sagging shelves and spilled onto the floor amid heaps of iron cook pots, studded belts, harps with or without strings, and other oddments. Taran took his place on the wooden bench, as he always did when Dallben was in a mood for giving lessons or reprimands.

Meet our protagonist (who would like to call himself a hero, if only circumstances would let him), and his two teachers - Dallben, the enchanter who seems to be 379 years old, and Coll, the bald farmer, who apparently held a sword when he was younger.

quote:

"I fully understand," said Dallben, settling himself behind his table, "in the use of weapons, as in everything else, there is a certain skill. But wiser heads than yours will determine when you should learn it."

"I'm sorry," Taran began, "I should not have..."

"I am not angry," Dallben said, raising a hand. "Only a little sad. Time flies quickly; things always happen sooner than one expects. And yet," he murmured, almost to himself, "it troubles me. I fear the Horned King may have some part in this."

"The Horned King?" asked Taran. "We shall speak of him later," said Dallben. He drew a ponderous, leather-bound volume toward him, The Book of Three, from which he occasionally read to Taran and which, the boy believed, held in its pages everything anyone could possibly want toknow. "As I have explained to you before," Dallben went on, "---and you have very likely forgotten--- Prydain is a land of many cantrevs--- of small kingdoms ---and many kings. And, of course, their war leaders who command the warriors."

"But there is the High King above them all," said Taran, "Math, Son of Mathonwy. His war leader is the mightiest hero in Prydain. You told me of him. Prince Gwydion! Yes," Taran went on eagerly,"I know..."

"There are other things you do not know," Dallben said, "for the obvious reason that I have not told you. For the moment I am less concerned with the realms of the living than with the Land of the Dead, with Annuvin." Taran shuddered at the word. Even Dallben had spoken it in a whisper. "And with King Arawn, Lord of Annuvin," Dallben said. "Know this," he continued quickly, "Annuvin is more than a land of death. It is a treasure house, not only of gold and jewels but of all things of advantage to men. Long ago, the race of men owned these treasures. By craft and deceit, Arawn stole them, one by one, for his own evil uses. Some few of the treasures have been wrested from him, though most lie hidden deep in Annuvin, where Arawn guards them jealously."

"But Arawn did not become ruler of Prydain,"Taran said.

"You may be thankful he did not," said Dallben. "He would have ruled had it not been for the Children of Don, the sons of the Lady Don and her consort Belin, King of the Sun. Long ago they voyaged to Prydain from the Summer Country and found the land rich and fair, though the race of men had little for themselves. The Sons of Don built their stronghold at Caer Dathyl, far north in the Eagle Mountains. From there, they helped regain at least a portion of what Arawn had stolen, and stood as guardians against the lurking threat of Annuvin."

"I hate to think what would have happened if the Sons of Don hadn't come," Taran said. "It was a good destiny that brought them."

"I am not always sure," said Dallben, with a wry smile. "The men of Prydain came to rely on the strength of the House of Don as a child clings to its mother. They do so even today. Math, the High King, is descended from the House of Don. So is Prince Gwydion. But that is all by the way. Prydain has been at peace--- as much as men can be peaceful--- until now. What you do not know," Dallben said, "is this: it has reached my ears that a new and mighty warlord has risen, as powerful as Gwydion; some say more powerful. But he is a man of evil for whom death is a black joy. He sports with death asyou might sport with a dog."

"Who is he?" cried Taran.

Dallben shook his head. "No man knows his name, nor has any man seen his face. He wears an antlered mask, and for this reason he is called the Horned King. His purposes I do not know. I suspect the hand of Arawn, but in what manner I cannot tell. I tell you now for your own protection," Dallben added. "From what I saw this morning, your head is full of nonsense about feats of arms. Whatever notions you may have, I advise you to forget them immediately. There is unknown danger abroad. You are barely on the threshold of manhood, and I have a certain responsibility to see that you reach it, preferably with a whole skin. So, you are not to leave Caer Dallben under any circumstances, not even past the orchard, and certainly not into the forest--- not for the time being."

"For the time being!" Taran burst out. "I think it will always be for the time being, and it will be vegetables and horseshoes all my life!"

"Tut," said Dallben, "there are worse things. Do you set yourself to be a glorious hero? Do you believe it is all flashing swords and galloping about on horses? As for being glorious..."

"What of Prince Gwydion?" cried Taran. "Yes! I wish I might be like him!"

"I fear," Dallben said, "that is entirely out of the question."

"But why?" Taran sprang to his feet. "I know if I had the chance..."

"Why?" Dallben interrupted. "In some cases," he said, "we learn more by looking for the answer to a question and not finding it than we do from learning the answer itself. This is one of those cases. I could tell you why, but at the moment it would only be more confusing. If you grow up with any kind of sense--- which you sometimes make me doubt--- you will very likely reach your own conclusions. "They will probably be wrong," he added. "However, since they will be yours, you will feel a little more satisfied with them."

Taran sank back and sat, gloomy and silent, on the bench. Dallben had already begun meditating again. His chin gradually came to rest on his collarbone; his beard floated around his ears like a fog bank; and he began snoring peacefully. The spring scent of apple blossom drifted through the open window. Beyond Dallben's chamber, Taran glimpsed the pale green fringe of forest. The fields, ready to cultivate, would soon turn golden with summer. The Book of Three lay closed on the table. Taran had never been allowed to read the volume for himself; now he was sure it held more than Dallben chose to tell him. In the sun-filled room, with Dallben still meditating andshowing no sign of stopping, Taran rose and moved through the shimmering beams. From the forest came the monotonous tick of a beetle. His hands reached for the cover. Taran gasped in pain and snatched them away. They smarted as if each of his fingers had been stung by hornets. He jumped back, stumbled against the bench, and dropped to the floor, where he put his fingers woefully into his mouth.

And there we have our world-history exposition, as well as our first bit of magic in the series! Consent Matters for the Book of Three.

quote:

Dallben's eyes blinked open. He peered at Taran and yawned slowly. "You had better see Coll about a lotion for those hands," he advised. "Otherwise, I shouldn't be surprised if they blistered." Fingers smarting, the shamefaced Taran hurried from the cottage and found Coll near the vegetable garden.

"You have been at The Book of Three," Coll said. "That is not hard to guess. Now you know better. Well, that is one of the three foundations of learning: see much, study much, suffer much." He led Taran to the stable where medicines for the livestock were kept, and poured a concoction over Taran's fingers.

"What is the use of studying much when I'm to see nothing at all?" Taran retorted. "I think there is a destiny laid on me that I am not to know anything interesting, go anywhere interesting, or do anything interesting. I'm certainly not to be anything. I'm not anything even at Caer Dallben!"

"Very well," said Coll, "if that is all that troubles you, I shall make you something. From this moment, you are Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper. You shall help me take care of Hen Wen: see her trough is full, carry her water, and give her a good scrubbing every other day."

"That's what I do now," Taran said bitterly.

"All the better," said Coll, "for it makes things that much easier. If you want to be something with a name attached to it, I can't think of anything closer to hand. And it is not every lad who can be assistant keeper to an oracular pig. Indeed, she is the only oracular pig in Prydain, and the most valuable."

"Valuable to Dallben," Taran said. "She never tells me anything."

"Did you think she would?" replied Coll. "With Hen Wen, you must know how to ask--- here, what was that?" Coll shaded his eyes with his hand. A black, buzzing cloud streaked from the orchard, and bore on so rapidly and passed so close to Coll's head that he had to leap out of the way.

"The bees!" Taran shouted. "They're swarming!"

"It is not their time," cried Coll. "There is something amiss."

The cloud rose high toward the sun. An instant later Taran heard a loud clucking and squawkingfrom the chicken run. He turned to see the five hens and the rooster beating their wings. Before it occurred to him they were attempting to fly, they, too, were aloft. Taran and Coll raced to the chicken run, too late to catch the fowls. With the rooster leading, the chickens flapped awkwardly through the air and disappeared over the brow of a hill. From the stable the pair of oxen bellowed and rolled their eyes in terror.

Dallben's head poked out of the window. He looked irritated. "It has become absolutely impossible for any kind of meditation whatsoever," he said, with a severe glance at Taran. "I have warned you once..."

"Something frightened the animals," Taran protested. "First the bees, then the chickens flew off..."

Dallben's face turned grave. "I have been given no knowledge of this," he said to Coll. "We must ask Hen Wen about it immediately, and we shall need the letter sticks. Quickly, help me find them."

Coll moved hastily to the cottage door. "Watch Hen Wen closely," he ordered Taran. "Do not let her out of your sight." Coll disappeared inside the cottage to search for Hen Wen's letter sticks, the long rods of ash wood carved with spells. Taran was both frightened and excited. Dallben, he knew, would consult HenWen only on a matter of greatest urgency. Within Taran's memory, it had never happened before. He hurried to the pen.

Hen Wen usually slept until noon. Then, trotting daintily, despite her size, she would move to a shady comer of her enclosure and settle comfortably for the rest of the day. The white pig was continually grunting and chuckling to herself, and whenever she saw Taran, she would raise her wide, cheeky face so that he could scratch under her chin. But this time, she paid no attention to him. Wheezing and whistling, Hen Wen was digging furiously in the soft earth at the far side of the pen, burrowing so rapidly she would soon be out. Taran shouted at her, but the clods continued flying at a great rate. He swung himself over the fence. The oracular pig stopped and glanced around. As Taran approached the hole, already sizable, Hen Wen hurried to the opposite side of the pen and started a new excavation. Taran was strong and long-legged, but, to his dismay, he saw that Hen Wen moved faster than he. As soon as he chased her from the second hole, she turned quickly on her short legs and made for the first. Both, by now, were big enough for her head and shoulders.

Taran frantically began scraping earth back into the burrow. Hen Wen dug faster than a badger, her hind legs planted firmly, her front legs plowingahead. Taran despaired of stopping her. He scrambled back over the rails and jumped to the spot where Hen Wen was about to emerge, planning to seize her and hang on until Dallben and Coll arrived. He underestimated Hen Wen's speed and strength. In an explosion of dirt and pebbles, the pig burst from under the fence, heaving Taran into the air. He landed with the wind knocked out of him. Hen Wen raced across the field and into the woods. Taran followed. Ahead, the forest rose up dark and threatening. He took a breath and plunged after her.

For an Assistant Pig-Keeper, Taran really doesn't do a good job of Keeping the Pig, huh?

# ? Apr 22, 2023 13:52

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# ? Apr 27, 2024 11:35

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

The Glossary.

The Main Cast
Taran: An Assistant Pig-Keeper with big dreams and many lessons to learn. Our Protagonist.
Gwydion: Son of Don, Prince of Caer Dathyl. A mighty hero.
Gurgi: A gurgi.
Eilonwy: A girl of the Sea-people, related to Achren by blood, and very fond of metaphors and similes.
Fflewddur Fflam: A bard, with a harp that disagrees with him often.
Doli: A dwarf. Very grumpy.

Allies
Dallben: An enchanter, purportedly 379 years old, and master of Caer Dallben.
Coll: A farmer. Very bald.
Hen Wen: A pig what can tell the future, if you know how to listen.
Medwyn: A mysterious figure who lives in the mountains. Talks to animals. Seems to have a long memory.
Eiddileg: King of the Tylwyth Teg, a.k.a the Fair Folk. A complainer.

Ellidyr: Prince of Pen-Llarcau. Kind of a jerk. Introduced in Book 2.
Adaon: Son of Chief Bard Taliesin. A dreamer. Introduced in Book 2.
Smoit: King of Cantrev Cadiffor. Big eater. Big brawler. Big beard. Introduced in Book 2.
Morgant: King of Cantrev Madoc. Fearless. One of the greatest warlords of Prydain, after Gwydion. Introduced in Book 2.
Gwystyl: A Fair Folk, stationed at a waypost near the Black Gate. Depressed. Introduced in Book 2.

Rhun: Prince of Mona. Big heart. Bit clumsy. Introduced in Book 3.
Rhuddlum: King of Mona. Rhun's father. Introduced in Book 3.
Llyan: Big cat. Likes music. Introduced in Book 3.

Aeddan: A farmer. Has it rough. Introduced in Book 4.
Llonio: A family man. Lucky. Introduced in Book 4.
Hedwyn: A master smith. Susceptible to reverse psychology. Introduced in Book 4.
Dwyvach: A weaver-woman. Old. Introduced in Book 4.
Annlaw Clay-shaper: A master potter and a good host. Introduced in Book 4.

Villains
Arawn: Lord of Annuvin, a trickster and schemer, who has stolen many secrets that once made Prydain great.
The Horned King: A mighty warlord in Arawn's service.
Achren: Mistress of the Spiral Castle, an enchantress of great skill.

Morda: Enchanter. Likes turning people into animals. Introduced in Book 4.
Dorath Mercenary. Piece of poo poo. Introduced in Book 5.

Places
Prydain: The land in which our tales take place.
Annuvin: Arawn's fortress; the Land of the Dead.
Caer Dallben: Coll's farm, home to himself, Dallben, and Taran.
Caer Dathyl: Home to the Sons of Don.
Marshes of Morva: A foul marsh, to the east of Annuvin. Home to Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch.
The Free Commots: Lands in the east of Prydain, where a great many craftsmen of skill live.

Wahad fucked around with this message at 20:36 on Feb 27, 2024

# ? Apr 22, 2023 13:52

regulargonzalez: Aug 18, 2006; UNGH LET ME LICK THOSE BOOTS DADDY HULU YES YES GIVE ME ALL THE CORPORATE CUMMIES ADBLOCK USERS DESERVE THE DEATH PENALTY, DON'T THEY DADDY?
WHEN THE RICH GET RICHER I GET HORNIER

Such a great series. Books 4 and 5 in particular were favorites of mine.

"Munchings and crunchings" were always beef jerky in my mind, lack of crunch notwithstanding, and I always had a supply on hand when reading these as a kid so I could munch and crunch along with the group.

# ? Apr 22, 2023 21:51

Beefeater1980: Sep 12, 2008; My God, it's full of Horatios!

I absolutely loved these as a kid and kept on reading and rereading them.

# ? Apr 24, 2023 02:07

Kestral: Nov 24, 2000; Forum Veteran

I somehow missed this series as a kid despite reading Lloyd Alexander's The Remarkable Journey of Prince Jen about a thousand times, and finally got around to the first book last year. It holds up shockingly well, legit classic. It was interesting reading it almost immediately after McKillip's Riddle-Master series and going, "Heyyy... I recognize this!" at all the little bits of Welsh mythology they share.

I really want to know what Gurgi looks like, because the descriptions in the book never quite managed to cohere into a picture in my head, and there's precious little fan-art of him out there for some reason.

# ? Apr 24, 2023 02:48

Selachian: Oct 9, 2012

These books were a staple of my childhood, long before I ever knew what the Mabinogion was.

# ? Apr 24, 2023 04:09

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 2: The Mask of the King

quote:

HEN WEN HAD had vanished. Ahead, Taran heard a thrashing among the leaves. The pig, he was sure, was keeping out of sight in the bushes. Following the sound, he ran forward. After a time the ground rose sharply, forcing him to clamber onhands and knees up a wooded slope. At the crest the forest broke off before a meadow. Taran caught a glimpse of Hen Wen dashing into the waving grass. Once across the meadow, she disappeared beyond a stand of trees. Taran hurried after her. This was farther than he had ever dared venture, but he struggled on through the heavy undergrowth. Soon, a fairly wide trail opened, allowing him to quicken his pace. Hen Wen had either stopped running or had outdistanced him. He heard nothing but his own footsteps. He followed the trail for some while, intending to use it as a landmark on the way back, although it twisted and branched off so frequently he was not at all certain in which direction Caer Dallben lay. In the meadow Taran had been flushed and perspiring. Now he shivered in the silence of oaks and elms. The woods here were not thick, but shadows drenched the high tree trunks and the sun broke through only in jagged streaks. A damp green scent filled the air. No bird called; no squirrel chattered. The forest seemed to be holding its breath. Yet there was, beneath the silence, a groaning restlessness and a trembling among the leaves. The branches twisted and grated against each other like broken teeth. The path wavered under Taran's feet, and he felt desperately cold. He flung his arms around himself and moved more quickly to shake off the chill. He was, he realized, running aimlessly; he could not keep his mind on the forks and turns of the path.

He halted suddenly. Hoofbeats thudded in front of him. The forest shook as they grew louder. In another moment a black horse burst into view. Taran fell back, terrified. Astride the foamspattered animal rode a monstrous figure. A crimson cloak flamed from his naked shoulders. Crimson stained his gigantic arms. Horror stricken, Taran saw not the head of a man but the antlered head of a stag. The Horned King! Taran flung himself against an oak to escape the flying hoofs and the heaving glistening flanks. Horse and rider swept by. The mask was a human skull; from it, the great antlers rose in cruel curves. The Horned King's eyes blazed behind the gaping sockets of whitened bone. Many horsemen galloped in his train. The Horned King uttered the long cry of a wild beast, and his riders took it up as they streamed after him. One of them, an ugly, grinning warrior, caught sight of Taran. He turned his mount and drew a sword. Taran sprang from the tree and plunged into the underbrush. The blade followed, hissing like an adder. Taran felt it sting across his back.He ran blindly, while saplings whipped his face and hidden rocks jutted out to pitch him forward and stab at his knees. Where the woods thinned, Taran clattered along a dry stream bed until, exhausted, he stumbled and held out his hands against the whirling ground.

In which we meet The Horned King. He's the guy on the cover. Taran also gets his first taste of battle - and it doesn't go very well for him.

quote:

THE SUN HAD already dipped westward when Taran opened his eyes. He was lying on a stretch of turf with a cloak thrown over him. One shoulder smarted painfully. A man knelt beside him. Nearby, a white horse cropped the grass. Still dazed, fearful the riders had overtaken him, Taran started up.

The man held out a flask. "Drink," he said. "Your strength will return in a moment." The stranger had the shaggy, gray-streaked hair of a wolf. His eyes were deep-set, flecked with green. Sun and wind had leathered his broad face, burnt it dark and grained it with fine lines. His cloak was coarse and travel-stained. A wide belt with an intricately wrought buckle circled his waist. "Drink," the stranger said again, while Taran took the flask dubiously. "You look as though I were trying to poison you." He smiled. "It is not thus that Gwydion Son of Don deals with a wounded..."

"Gwydion!" Taran choked on the liquid andstumbled to his feet. "You are not Gwydion!" he cried. "I know of him. He is a great war leader, a hero! He is not..." His eyes fell on the long sword at the stranger's belt. The golden pommel was smooth and rounded, its color deliberately muted; ash leaves of pale gold entwined at the hilt, and a pattern of leaves covered the scabbard. It was truly the weapon of a prince. Taran dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "Lord Gwydion," he said, "I did not intend insolence.'' As Gwydion helped him rise, Taran still stared in disbelief at the simple attire and the worn, lined face. From all Dallben had told him of this glorious hero, from all he had pictured to himself--- Taran bit his lips.

Gwydion caught Taran's look of disappointment. "It is not the trappings that make the prince," he said gently, "nor, indeed, the sword that makes the warrior. Come," he ordered, "tell me your name and what happened to you. And do not ask me to believe you got a sword wound picking gooseberries or poaching hares."

"I saw the Horned King!" Taran burst out. "His men ride the forest; one of them tried to kill me. I saw the Horned King himself! It was horrible, worse than Dallben told me!"

Gwydion's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Who are you to speak of Dallben?"

"I am Taran of Caer Dallben," Taran answered,trying to appear bold but succeeding only in turning paler than a mushroom.

"Of Caer Dallben?" Gwydion paused an instant and gave Taran a strange glance. "What are you doing so far from there? Does Dallben know you are in the forest? Is Coll with you?" Taran's jaw dropped and he looked so thunderstruck that Gwydion threw back his head and burst into laughter. "You need not be so surprised," Gwydion said. "I know Coll and Dallben well. And they are too wise to let you wander here alone. Have you run off, then? I warn you; Dallben is not one to be disobeyed."

"It was Hen Wen," Taran protested. "I should have known I couldn't hold on to her. Now she's gone, and it's my fault. I'm Assistant Pig-Keeper..."

"Gone?" Gwydion's face tightened. "Where? What has happened to her?"

"I don't know," Taran cried. "She's somewhere in the forest." As he poured out an account of the morning's events, Gwydion listened intently.

"I had not foreseen this," Gwydion murmured, when Taran had finished. "My mission fails if she is not found quickly." He turned abruptly to Taran. "Yes,"' he said, "I, too, seek Hen Wen."

And Gwydion is here! To Taran's surprise, he doesn't look anything like in the stories. But he seems to be at a task - in pursuit of our very smart pig, no less.

quote:

"You?" cried Taran. "You came this far..."

"I need information she alone possesses," Gwydion said quickly. "I have journeyed a monthfrom Caer Dathyl to get it. I have been followed, spied on, hunted. And now," he added with a bitter laugh, "she has run off. Very well. She will be found. I must discover all she knows of the Horned King." Gwydion hesitated. "I fear he himself searches for her even now. It must be so," he continued. "Hen Wen sensed him near Caer Dallben and fled in terror..."

"Then we should stop him," Taran declared. "Attack him, strike him down! Give me a sword and I will stand with you!"

"Gently, gently," chided Gwydion. "I do not say my life is worth more than another man's, but I prize it highly. Do you think a lone warrior and one Assistant Pig-Keeper dare attack the Horned King and his war band?"

Taran drew himself up. "I would not fear him."

"No?" said Gwydion. "Then you are a fool. He is the man most to be dreaded in all Prydain. Will you hear something I learned during my journey, something even Dallben may not yet realize?" Gwydion knelt on the turf. "Do you know the craft of weaving? Thread by thread, the pattern forms." As he spoke, he plucked at the long blades of grass, knotting them to form a mesh.

"That is cleverly done," said Taran, watching Gwydion's rapidly moving fingers. "May I look at it?"

"There is a more serious weaving," said Gwydion, slipping the net into his own jacket. "You have seen one thread of a pattern loomed in Annuvin."

"Arawn does not long abandon Annuvin," Gwydion continued, "but his hand reaches everywhere. There are chieftains whose lust for power goads them like a sword point. To certain of them, Arawn promises wealth and dominion, playing on their greed as a bard plays on a harp. Arawn's corruption burns every human feeling from their hearts and they become his liegemen, serving him beyond the borders of Annuvin and bound to him forever."

"And the Horned King...?"

Gwydion nodded. "Yes. I know beyond question that he has sworn his allegiance to Arawn. He is Arawn's avowed champion. Once again, the power of Annuvin threatens Prydain."

Taran could only stare, speechless.

Gwydion turned to him. "When the time is ripe, the Horned King and I will meet. And one of us will die. That is my oath. But his purpose is dark and unknown, and I must learn it from Hen Wen."

"She can't be far," Taran cried. "I'll show you where she disappeared. I think I can find the place. It was just before the Horned King..."

Gwydion gave him a hard smile. "Do you have the eyes of an owl, to find a trail at nightfall? We sleep here and I shall be off at first light. With goodluck, I may have her back before..."

"What of me?" Taran interrupted. "Hen Wen is in my charge. I let her escape and it is I who must find her."

"The task counts more than the one who does it," said Gwydion. "I will not be hindered by an Assistant Pig-Keeper, who seems eager to bring himself to grief." He stopped short and looked wryly at Taran. "On second thought, it appears I will. If the Horned King rides toward Caer Dallben, I cannot send you back alone and I dare not go with you and lose a day's tracking. You cannot stay in this forest by yourself. Unless I find some way..."

"I swear I will not hinder you," cried Taran. "Let me go with you. Dallben and Coll will see I can do what I set out to do!"

"Have I another choice?" asked Gwydion. "It would seem, Taran of Caer Dallben, we follow the same path. For a little while at least." The white horse trotted up and nuzzled Gwydion's hand. "Melyngar reminds me it is time for food," Gwydion said. He unpacked provisions from the saddlebags. "Make no fire tonight," he warned. "The Horned King's outriders may be close at hand."

Taran swallowed a hurried meal. Excitement robbed him of appetite and he was impatient for dawn. His wound had stiffened so that he could not settle himself on the roots and pebbles. It had never occurred to him until now that a hero would sleep on the ground. Gwydion, watchful, sat with his knees drawn up, his back against an enormous elm. In the lowering dusk Taran could barely distinguish the man from the tree; and could have walked within a pace of him before realizing he was any more than a splotch of shadow. Gwydion had sunk into the forest itself; only his green-flecked eyes shone in the reflection of the newly risen moon.

Gwydion was silent and thoughtful for a long while. "So you are Taran of Caer Dallben," he said at last. His voice from the shadows was quiet but urgent. "How long have you been with Dallben? Who are your kinsmen?"

Taran, hunched against a tree root, pulled his cloak closer about his shoulders. "I have always lived at Caer Dallben," he said. "I don't think I have any kinsmen. I don't know who my parents were. Dallben has never told me. I suppose," he added, turning his face away, "I don't even know who I am."

"In a way," answered Gwydion, "that is something we must all discover for ourselves. Our meeting was fortunate," he went on. "Thanks to you, I know a little more than I did, and you have spared me a wasted journey to Caer Dallben. It makes me wonder," Gwydion went on, with a laugh that was not unkind, "is there a destiny laid on me that an Assistant Pig-Keeper should help me in my quest?" He hesitated. "Or," he mused, "is it perhaps the other way around?"

"What do you mean?" Taran asked.

"I am not sure," said Gwydion. "It makes no difference. Sleep now, for we rise early tomorrow."

We learn more of Arawn (in that he stays home a lot), the Horned King (he works for Arawn and he's up to no good) and Gwydion (he likes weaving). And Taran, we learn, is an orphan - which explains in some way the fervent wish to be something greater than an Assistant Pig-Keeper.

# ? Apr 26, 2023 14:51

Coca Koala: Nov 28, 2005; ongoing nowhere; College Slice

Man I loved these books as a kid! I'm excited to follow along with this thread.

# ? Apr 29, 2023 17:52

Selachian: Oct 9, 2012

Alexander's version of Gwydion is a lot more like Tolkien's Strider than he is the rather sleazy trickster figure in the Mabinogion, much like Alexander's Arawn is more like Sauron than he is the Arawn who appears in the Mabinogion's "Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed."

# ? Apr 30, 2023 07:09

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

I missed my post yesterday, so here's two chapters to make up for it!

Chapter 3: Gurgi

quote:

BY THE TIME Taran woke, Gwydion had already saddled Melyngar. The cloak Taran had slept in was damp with dew. Every joint ached from his night on the hard ground. With Gwydion's urging, Taran stumbled toward the horse, a white blur in the gray-pink dawn. Gwydion hauled Taran into the saddle behind him, spoke a quiet command, and the white steed moved quickly into the rising mist. Gwydion was seeking the spot where Taran had last seen Hen Wen. But long before they had reached it, he reined up Melyngar and dismounted. As Taran watched, Gwydion knelt and sighted along the turf.

"Luck is with us," he said. "I think we have struck her trail." Gwydion pointed to a faint circle of trampled grass. "Here she slept, and not too long ago." He strode a few paces forward, scanning every broken twig and blade of grass. Despite Taran's disappointment at finding the Lord Gwydion dressed in a coarse jacket and mudspattered boots, he followed the man with growing admiration. Nothing, Taran saw, escaped Gwydion's eyes. Like a lean, gray wolf, he moved silently and easily. A little way on, Gwydion stopped, raised his shaggy head and narrowed his eyes toward a distant ridge.

"The trail is not clear," he said, frowning. "I can only guess she might have gone down the slope."

"With all the forest to run in," Taran queried, "how can we begin to search? She might have gone anywhere in Prydain."

"Not quite," answered Gwydion. "I may not know where she went, but I can be sure where she did not go." He pulled a hunting knife from his belt. "Here, I will show you." Gwydion knelt and quickly traced lines in the earth. "These are the Eagle Mountains," he said, with a touch of longing in his voice, "in my own land of the north. Here, Great Avren flows. See how it turns west before it reaches the sea. We may have to cross it before our search ends. And this is the River Ystrad. Its valley leads north to Caer Dathyl. But see here," Gwydion went on, pointing to the left of the line he had drawn for the River Ystrad, "here is Mount Dragon and the domain of Arawn. Hen Wen would shun this above all. She was too long a captive in Annuvin; she would never venture near it."

"Was Hen in Annuvin?" Taran asked with surprise. "But how..."

"Long ago," Gwydion said, "Hen Wen lived among the race of men. She belonged to a farmer who had no idea at all of her powers. And so she might have spent her days as any ordinary pig. But Arawn knew her to be far from ordinary, and of such value that he himself rode out of Annuvin and seized her. What dire things happened while she was prisoner of Arawn--- it is better not to speak of them."

"Poor Hen," Taran said, "it must have been terrible for her. But how did she escape?"

"She did not escape," said Gwydion. "She was rescued. A warrior went alone into the depths of Annuvin and brought her back safely."

"That was a brave deed!" Taran cried. "I wish that I..."

"The bards of the north still sing of it," Gwydion said. "His name shall never be forgotten."

"Who was it?" Taran demanded.

Gwydion looked closely at him. "Do you not know?" he asked. "Dallben has neglected your education. It was Coll," he said. "Coll Son of Collfrewr."

"Coll!" Taran cried. "Not the same..."

"The same," said Gwydion.

"But... but..." Taran stammered. "Coll? A hero? But... he's so bald!"

Gwydion laughed and shook his head. "Assistant Pig-Keeper," he said, "you have curious notions about heroes. I have never known courage to be judged by the length of a man's hair. Or, for the matter of that, whether he has any hair at all." Crestfallen, Taran peered at Gwydion's map and said no more.

And here we learn more of Coll's past and how he came to learn how to use a sword; and the fact that Taran was clearly brought up on tales of Samson, for all his notions of heroism. Also, the comparison of Gwydion to Strider/Aragorn in Selachian's post is pretty apt; when I was a young lad first seeing The Fellowship of the Ring when it came out, I thought Viggo as Aragorn was a pretty good image for Gwydion. I had read the Lord of the Rings before seeing the movie, too, but Tolkien's prose is a lot drier than Alexander's, so I had read the Chronicles a lot more, which made the connection easy to make.

quote:

"Here," continued Gwydion, "not far from Annuvin, lies Spiral Castle. This, too, Hen Wen would avoid at all cost. It is the abode of Queen Achren, She is as dangerous as Arawn himself; as evil as she is beautiful. But there are secrets concerning Achren which are better left untold. I am sure," Gwydion went on, "Hen Wen will not go toward Annuvin or Spiral Castle. From what little I can see, she has run straight ahead. Quickly now, we shall try to pick up her trail." Gwydion turned Melyngar toward the ridge. As they reached the bottom of the slope, Taran heard the waters of Great Avren rushing like wind in a summer storm.

"We must go again on foot," Gwydion said. "Her tracks may show somewhere along here, so we had best move slowly and carefully. Stay close behind me," he ordered. "If you start dashing ahead--- and you seem to have that tendency--- you will trample out any signs she might have left."

Taran obediently walked a few paces behind. Gwydion made no more sound than the shadow of a bird. Melyngar herself stepped quietly; hardly a twig snapped under her hoofs. Try as he would, Taran could not go as silently. The more careful he attempted to be, the louder the leaves rattled and crackled. Wherever he put his foot, there seemed to be a hole or spiteful branch to trip him up. Even Melyngar turned and gave him a reproachful look. Taran grew so absorbed in not making noise that he soon lagged far behind Gwydion. On the slope, Taran believed he could make out something round and white. He yearned to be the first to find Hen Wen and he turned aside, clambered through the weeds--- to discover nothing more than a boulder. Disappointed, Taran hastened to catch up with Gwydion. Overhead, the branches rustled. As he stopped and looked up, something fell heavily to the ground behind him. Two hairy and powerful hands locked around his throat. Whatever had seize him made barking and snorting noises. Taran forced out a cry for help. He struggled with his unseen opponent, twisting, flailing his legs, and throwing himself from one side to the other. Suddenly he could breathe again. A shape sailed over his head and crashed against a tree trunk. Taran dropped to the ground and began rubbing his neck. Gwydion stood beside him. Sprawled under the tree was the strangest creature Taran had ever seen. He could not be sure whether it was animal or human. He decided it was both. Its hair was so matted and covered with leaves that it looked like an owl's nest in need of housecleaning. It had long, skinny, woolly arms, and a pair of feet as flexible and grimy as its hands.

Gwydion was watching the creature with a look of severity and annoyance. "So it is you," he said. "I ordered you not to hinder me or anyone under my protection." At this, the creature set up a loud and piteous whining, rolled his eyes, and beat the ground with his palms.

"It is only Gurgi," Gwydion said. "He is always lurking about one place or another. He is not half as ferocious as he looks, not a quarter as fierce as he should like to be, and more a nuisance than anything else. Somehow, he manages to see most of what happens, and he might be able to help us." Taran had just begun to catch his breath. He was covered with Gurgi's shedding hair, in addition to the distressing odor of a wet wolfhound.

"O mighty prince," the creature wailed, "Gurgi is sorry; and now he will be smacked on his poor, tender head by the strong hands of this great lord, with fearsome smackings. Yes, yes, that is always the way of it with poor Gurgi. But what honor to be smacked by the greatest of warriors!"

"I have no intention of smacking your poor, tender head," said Gwydion. "But I may change my mind if you do not leave off that whining and sniveling."

"Yes, powerful lord!" Gurgi cried. "See how he obeys rapidly and instantly!" He began crawling about on hands and knees with great agility. Had Gurgi owned a tail, Taran was sure he would have wagged it frantically.

"Then," Gurgi pleaded, "the two strengthful heroes will give Gurgi something to eat? Oh, joyous crunchings and munchings!"

"Afterward," said Gwydion. "When you have answered our questions."

"Oh, afterward!" cried Gurgi. "Poor Gurgi can wait, long, long for his crunchings and munchings. Many years from now, when the great princes revel in their halls--- what feastings--- they will remember hungry, wretched Gurgi waiting for them."

"How long you wait for your crunchings and munchings," Gwydion said, "depends on how quickly you tell us what we want to know. Have you seen a white pig this morning?"

A crafty look gleamed in Gurgi's close-set little eyes. "For the seeking of a piggy, there are many great lords in the forest, riding with frightening shouts. They would not be cruel to starving Gurgi-- - oh, no--- they would feed him..."

"They would have your head off your shoulders before you could think twice about it," Gwydion said. "Did one of them wear an antlered mask?"

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried. "The great horns! You will save miserable Gurgi from hurtful choppings!" He set up a long and dreadful howling.

"I am losing patience with you," warned Gwydion. "Where is the pig?"

"Gurgi hears these mighty riders," the creature went on. "Oh, yes, with careful listenings from the trees. Gurgi is so quiet and clever, and no one cares about him. But he listens! These great 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."

And we meet Gurgi! Gurgi is...well, he's Gurgi. As we'll come to find, nobody in story or out of story is really sure what Gurgi is beyond "a gurgi." The description makes him seem somewhat like a dog in a human body - eager to please 'mighty lords', fearful of harm (mighty smackings and hurtful choppings), and always looking for scraps from the table (crunchings and muchings). To further the Lord of the Rings comparisons, I always thought of Gurgi as a sort of hairy Gollum, but Gurgi is a lot more friendly than Gollum is. I said we wouldn't discuss the movie, but I'll bring it up this once to show you what Gurgi looks like there. Very dog forward, and much too clean - not even a single twig stuck in his fur. One of the covers for Taran Wanderer (book four), with art by Jody Lee, makes him look like this. More in line with the books, very messy and kind of disturbingly human-like. Other than that, there's very little 'official' art of Gurgi, so there's no real consensus on what he looks like, which furthers the mystery of his nature. If you have found any good fan-art of Gurgi, please link it!

Chapter 4: The Gwythaints

quote:

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, thinking it easier to get wet a little at a time, hung back as much as he could--- until Melyngar lunged ahead, carrying him with her. His feet sought the river bottom, he stumbled and splashed, while icy waves swirled up to his neck. The current grew stronger, coiling like a gray serpent about Taran's legs. The bottom dropped away sharply; Taran lost his footing and found himself wildly dancing over nothing, as the river seized him greedily. Melyngar began to swim, her strong legs keeping her afloat and in motion, but the current swung her around; she collided with Taran and forced him under the water. "Let go the saddle!" Gwydion shouted above the torrent. "Swim clear of her!" Water flooded Taran's ears and nostrils. With every gasp, the river poured into his lungs. Gwydion struck out after him, soon overtook him, seized him by the hair, and drew him toward the shallows. He heaved the dripping, coughing Taran onto the bank. Melyngar, reaching shore a little farther upstream, trotted down to join them.

Gwydion looked sharply at Taran. "I told you to swim clear. Are all Assistant Pig-Keepers deaf as well as stubborn?"

"I don't know how to swim!" Taran cried, his teeth chattering violently.

"Then why did you not say so before we started across?" Gwydion asked angrily.

"I was sure I could learn," Taran protested, "as soon as I came to do it. If Melyngar hadn't sat on me..."

"You must learn to answer for your own folly," said Gwydion. "As for Melyngar, she is wiser now than you can ever hope to become, even should you live to be a man--- which seems more and more unlikely." Gwydion swung into the saddle and pulled up the soaked, bedraggled Taran. Melyngar's hoofs clicked over the stones. Taran, snuffling and shivering, looked toward the waiting hills. High against the blue, three winged shapes wheeled and glided. Gwydion, whose eyes were everywhere at once, caught sight of them instantly.

"Gwythaints!" he cried, and turned Melyngar sharply to the right. The abrupt change of direction and Melyngar's heaving burst of speed threw Taran off balance. His legs flew up and he landed flat onthe pebble-strewn bank. Gwydion reined in Melyngar immediately. While Taran struggled to his feet, Gwydion seized him like a sack of meal and hauled him to Melyngar's back. The gwythaints which, at a distance, had seemed no more than dry leaves in the wind, grew larger and larger, as they plunged toward horse and riders. Downward they swooped, their great black wings driving them ever faster. Melyngar clattered up the river bank. The gwythaints screamed above. At the line of trees, Gwydion thrust Taran from the saddle and leaped down. Dragging him along, Gwydion dropped to the earth under an oak tree's spreading branches. The glittering wings beat against the foliage. Taran glimpsed curving beaks and talons merciless as daggers. He cried out in terror and hid his face, as the gwythaints veered off and swooped again. The leaves rattled in their wake. The creatures swung upward, hung poised against the sky for an instant, then climbed swiftly and sped westward. White-faced and trembling, Taran ventured to raise his head. Gwydion strode to the river bank and stood watching the gwythaints' flight. Taran made his way to his companion's side.

"I had hoped this would not happen," Gwydion said. His face was dark and grave. "Thus far, I have been able to avoid them." Taran said nothing. He had clumsily fallen off Melyngar at the moment when speed counted most; at the oak, he had behaved like a child. He waited for Gwydion's reprimand, but the warrior's green eyes followed the dark specks.

"Sooner or later they would have found us," Gwydion said. "They are Arawn's spies and messengers, the Eyes of Annuvin, they are called. No one stays long hidden from them. We are lucky they were only scouting and not on a blood hunt." He turned away as the gwythaints at last disappeared. "Now they fly to their iron cages in Annuvin," he said. "Arawn himself will have news of us before this day ends. He will not be idle."

"If only they hadn't seen us," Taran moaned.

"There is no use regretting what has happened," said Gwydion, as they set out again. "One way or another, Arawn would have learned of us. I have no doubt he knew the moment I rode from Caer Dathyl. The gwythaints are not his only servants."

"I think they must be the worst," said Taran, quickening his pace to keep up with Gwydion.

"Far from it," Gwydion said. "The errand of the gwythaints is less to kill than to bring information. For generations they have been trained in this. Arawn understands their language and they are in his power from the moment they leave the egg. Nevertheless, they are creatures of flesh and blood and a sword can answer them."There are others to whom a sword means nothing," Gwydion said. "Among them, the Cauldron-Born, who serve Arawn as warriors."

"Are they not men?" Taran asked.

"They were, once," replied Gwydion. "They are the dead whose bodies Arawn steals from their resting places in the long barrows. It is said he steeps them in a cauldron to give them life again--- if it can be called life. Like death, they are forever silent; and their only thought is to bring others to the same bondage. Arawn keeps them as his guards in Annuvin, for their power wanes the longer and farther they be from their master. Yet from time to time Arawn sends certain of them outside Annuvin to perform his most ruthless tasks. These Cauldron-Born are utterly without mercy or pity," Gwydion continued, "for Arawn has worked still greater evil upon them. He has destroyed their remembrance of themselves as living men. They have no memory of tears or laughter, of sorrow or loving kindness. Among all Arawn's deeds, this is one of the cruelest."

We learn some more of Arawn's servants. The Gwythaints are some sort of magical eagle creatures, brainwashed by Arawn into his service. And the Cauldron-Born...well, we'll find out more about them later.

quote:

AFTER MUCH SEARCHING, Gwydion discovered Hen Wen's tracks once more. They led over a barren field, then to a shallow ravine. "Here they stop," he said, frowning. "Even onstony ground there should be some trace, but I can
see nothing." Slowly and painstakingly he quartered the land on either side of the ravine. The weary and discouraged Taran could barely force himself to put one foot in front of the other, and was glad the dusk obliged Gwydion to halt. Gwydion tethered Melyngar in a thicket. Taran sank to the ground and rested his head in his hands.

"She has disappeared too completely," said Gwydion, bringing provisions from the saddlebag. "Many things could have happened. Time is too short to ponder each one."

"What can we do, then?" Taran asked fearfully. "Is there no way to find her?"

"The surest search is not always the shortest," said Gwydion, "and we may need the help of other hands before it is done. There is an ancient dweller in the foothills of Eagle Mountains. His name is Medwyn, and it is said he understands the hearts and ways of every creature in Prydain. He, if anyone, should know where Hen Wen may be hiding."

"If we could find him," Taran began.

"You are right in saying 'if,' " Gwydion answered. "I have never seen him. Others have sought him and failed. We should have only faint hope. But that is better than none at all."A wind had risen, whispering among the black
clusters of trees. From a distance came the lonely baying of hounds. Gwydion sat upright, tense as a bowstring.

"Is it the Horned King?" cried Taran. "Has he followed us this closely?"

Gwydion shook his head. "No hounds bell like those, save the pack of Gwyn the Hunter. And so," he mused, "Gwyn, too, rides abroad."

"Another of Arawn's servants?" asked Taran, his voice betraying his anxiety.

"Gwyn owes allegiance to a lord unknown even to me," Gwydion answered, "and one perhaps greater than Arawn. Gwyn the Hunter rides alone with his dogs, and where he rides, slaughter follows. He has foreknowledge of death and battle, and watches from afar, marking the fall of warriors."

Above the cry of the pack rose the long, clear notes of a hunting horn. Flung across the sky, the sound pierced Taran's breast like a cold blade of terror. Yet, unlike the music itself, the echoes from the hills sang less of fear than of grief. Fading, they sighed that sunlight and birds, bright mornings, warm fires, food and drink, friendship, and all good things had been lost beyond recovery. Gwydion laid a firm hand on Taran's brow.

"Gwyn's music is a warning," Gwydion said. "Take it as a warning, for whatever profit that knowledge may be. But do not listen overmuch to the echoes. Others have done so, and have wandered hopeless ever since."

Gwyn is an interesting figure. In Welsh folklore, he is Gwyn Ap Nudd (Gwyn, son of Nudd), a king of the Tylwyth Teg (the Welsh name for the Aes Side/Fair Folk/fairies). He is associated with the Wild Hunt, which is a whole digression in and of itself, with his pack of ghost-dogs, the Cŵn Annwn, or 'hounds of Annwn', which is the name for the Tylwyth Teg's land. To hear the baying of the hounds was an omen impeding death, but Gwyn himself is not so much an evil figure as much as he is a psychopomp; a creature that guides souls to the afterlive. In some tales, he is even a hero, and there's some tales of him being part of King Arthur's retinue. In the Chronicles, Gwyn is used as the leader of the Wild Hunt (though it is not named so); 'where he rides, slaughter follows' - a distant, looming threat. The description of the hunting horn invoking feelings of grief is one in particular that I love.

quote:

A whinny from Melyngar broke Taran's sleep. As Gwydion rose and went to her, Taran glimpsed a shadow dart behind a bush. He sat up quickly. Gwydion's back was turned. In the bright moonlight the shadow moved again. Choking back his fear, Taran leaped to his feet and plunged into the undergrowth. Thorns tore at him. He landed on something that grappled frantically. He lashed out, seized what felt like someone's head, and an unmistakable odor of wet wolfhound assailed his nose.

"Gurgi!" Taran cried furiously. "You sneaking..." The creature curled into an awkward ball as Taran began shaking him. "Enough, enough!" Gwydion called. "Do not frighten the wits out of the poor thing!"

"Save your own life next time!" Taran retorted angrily to Gwydion, while Gurgi began howling at the top of his voice. "I should have known a great war leader needs no help from an Assistant Pig-Keeper!"

"Unlike Assistant Pig-Keepers," Gwydion said gently, "I scorn the help of no man. And you should know better than to jump into thorn bushes without first making sure what you will find. Save your anger for a better purpose..." He hesitated and looked carefully at Taran. "Why, I believe you did think my life was in danger."

"If I had known it was only that stupid, silly Gurgi..."

"The fact is, you did not," Gwydion said. "So I shall take the intention for the deed. You may be many other things, Taran of Caer Dallben, but I see you are no coward. I offer you my thanks," he added, bowing deeply.

"And what of poor Gurgi?" howled the creature. "No thanks for him--- oh, no--- only smackings by great lords! Not even a small munching for helping find a piggy!"

"We didn't find any piggy," Taran replied angrily. "And if you ask me, you know too much about the Horned King. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd gone and told him..."

"No, no! The lord of the great horns pursues wise, miserable Gurgi with leaping and galloping. Gurgi fears terrible smackings and whackings. He follows kindly and mighty protectors. Faithful Gurgi will not leave them, never!"

"And what of the Horned King?" Gwydion asked quickly.

"Oh, very angry," whined Gurgi. "Wicked lords ride with mumblings and grumblings because they cannot find a piggy."

"Where are they now?" asked Gwydion.

"Not far. They cross water, but only clever,unthanked Gurgi knows where. And they light fires with fearsome blazings."

"Can you lead us to them?" Gwydion asked. "I would learn their plans."

Gurgi whimpered questioningly. "Crunchings and munchings?"

"I knew he would get around to that," said Taran.

Gwydion saddled Melyngar and, clinging to the shadows, they set out across the moonlit hills. Gurgi led the way, loping ahead, bent forward, his long arms dangling. They crossed one deep valley, then another, before Gurgi halted on a ridge. Below, the wide plain blazed with torches and Taran saw a great ring of flames.

"Crunchings and munchings now?" Gurgi suggested.

Disregarding him, Gwydion motioned for them all to descend the slope. There was little need for silence. A deep, hollow drumming throbbed over the crowded plain. Horses whickered; there came the shouts of men and the clank of weapons. Gwydion crouched in the bracken, watching intently. Around the fiery circle, warriors on high stilts beat upraised swords against their shields.

"What are those men?" Taran whispered. "And the wicker baskets hanging from the posts?"

"They are the Proud Walkers," Gwydion answered, "in a dance of battle, an ancient rite of war from the days when men were no more than savages. The baskets--- another ancient custom best forgotten."

"But look there!" Gwydion cried suddenly. "The Horned King! And there," he exclaimed, pointing to the columns of horsemen, "I see the banners of the Cantrev Rheged! The banners of Dau Gleddyn and of Mawr! All the cantrevs of the south! Yes, now I understand!" Before Gwydion could speak again, the Horned King, bearing a torch, rode to the wicker baskets and thrust the fire into them. Flames seized the osier cages; billows of foul smoke rose skyward. The warriors clashed their shields and shouted together with one voice. From the baskets rose the agonized screams of men. Taran gasped and turned away.

"We have seen enough," Gwydion ordered. "Hurry, let us be gone from here."

DAWN HAD BROKEN when Gwydion halted at the edge of a barren field. Until now, he had not spoken. Even Gurgi had been silent, his eyes round with terror. "This is a part of what I have journeyed so far to learn," Gwydion said. His face was grim and pale. "Arawn now dares try force of arms, with the Horned King as his war leader. The Horned King has raised a mighty host, and they will march against us. The Sons of Don are ill prepared for so powerful an enemy. They must be warned. I must return to Caer Dathyl immediately.'' From a corner of woodland, five mounted warriors cantered into the field. Taran sprang up. The first horseman spurred his mount to a gallop. Melyngar whinnied shrilly. The warriors drew their swords.

Gurgi returns - and we find out what the Horned King is up to. He's gathering an army to march under Arawn's banner, to crush the Sons of Don on their home turf. And some of them have spotted our heroes!

# ? Apr 30, 2023 18:58

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Man, this is great. Like many others these were maybe my favourite books as a child. Read them over and over again.

In retrospect, the comparison of Gwydion to Aragorn/Strider is very apt. And yes, in the Mabinogion he's much more of a wizard/trickster and honestly a bit of a dirtbag.

I think the books themselves are very much children's books in terms of the protagonist and his heroes journey (is bildingsroman the word?) But the writing holds up and would not be particularly out of place in a genre book for adults. Very effective.

# ? May 1, 2023 07:09

TheGreatEvilKing: Mar 28, 2016

A lot of the themes are instructional lessons for children, such as our recurring lessons about first impressions being misleading - Coll the farmer, Gwydion being a regular dude, Gurgi - but the writing is solid.

I still love these books.

# ? May 1, 2023 16:31

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 5: The Broken Sword

quote:

GURGI RAN OFF, yelping in terror. Gwydion was at Taran's side as the first rider bore down on them. With a quick gesture, Gwydion thrust a hand into his jacket and pulled out the net of grass. Suddenly the withered wisps grew larger, longer, shimmering and crackling, nearly blinding Taran with streaks of liquid flame. The rider raised his sword. With a shout, Gwydion hurled the dazzling mesh into the warrior's face. Shrieking, the rider dropped his sword and grappled the air. He tumbled from his saddle while the mesh spread over his body and clung to him like an enormous spiderweb. Gwydion dragged the stupefied Taran to an ash tree and from his belt drew the hunting knife which he thrust in Taran's hand. "This is the only weapon I can spare," he cried. "Use it as well as you can."

His back to the tree, Gwydion faced the four remaining warriors. The great sword swung a glittering arc, the flashing blade sang above Gwydion's head. The attackers drove against them. One horse reared. For Taran there was only a vision of hoofs plunging at his face. The rider chopped viciously at Taran's head, swung around, and struck again. Blindly, Taran lashed out with the knife. Shouting in rage and pain, the rider clutched his leg and wheeled his horse away. There was no sign of Gurgi, but a white streak sped across the field. Melyngar now had entered the fray. Her golden mane tossing, the white mare whinnied fearsomely and flung herself among the riders. Her mighty flanks dashed against them, crowding, pressing, while the steeds of the war party rolled their eyes in panic. One warrior jerked frantically at his reins to turn his mount away. The animal sank to its haunches. Melyngar reared to her full height; her forelegs churned the air, and her sharp hoofs slashed at the rider, who fellheavily to earth. Melyngar spun about, trampling the cowering horseman. The three mounted warriors forced their way past the frenzied mare. At the ash tree, Gwydion's blade rang and clashed among the leaves. His legs were as though planted in the earth; the shock of the galloping riders could not dislodge him. His eyes shone with a terrible light.

"Hold your ground but a little while," he called to Taran. The sword whistled, one rider gave a choking cry. The other two did not press the attack, but hung back for a moment. Hoofbeats pounded over the meadow. Even as the attackers had begun to withdraw, two more riders galloped forward. They reined their horses sharply, dismounted without hesitation, and ran swiftly toward Gwydion. Their faces were pallid; their eyes like stones. Heavy bands of bronze circled their waists, and from these belts hung the black thongs of whips. Knobs of bronze studded their breastplates. They did not bear shield or helmet. Their mouths were frozen in the hideous grin of death. Gwydion's sword flashed up once more. "Fly!" he cried to Taran. "These are the Cauldron-Born! Take Melyngar and ride from here!"

Taran set himself more firmly against the ash tree and raised his knife. In another instant, the Cauldron-Born were upon them. For Taran, the horror beating in him like black wings came not from the livid features of the Cauldron warriors or their lightless eyes but from their ghostly silence. The mute men swung their swords, metal grated against metal. The relentless warriors struck and struck again. Gwydion's blade leaped past one opponent's guard and drove deep into his heart. The pale warrior made no outcry. No blood followed as Gwydion ripped the weapon free; the Cauldron-Born shook himself once, without a grimace, and moved again to the attack. Gwydion stood as a wolf at bay, his green eyes glittering, his teeth bared. The swords of the Cauldron-Born beat against his guard. Taran thrust at one of the livid warriors; a sword point ripped his arm and sent the small knife hurtling into the bracken. Blood streaked Gwydion's face where an unlucky blow had slashed his cheekbone and forehead. Once, his blade faltered and a Cauldron-Born thrust at his breast. Gwydion turned, taking the sword point in his side. The pale warriors doubled their assault.

The great shaggy head bowed wearily as Gwydion stumbled forward. With a mighty cry, he lunged, then dropped to one knee. With his flagging strength, he fought to raise the blade again. The Cauldron-Born flung aside their weapons, seized him, threw him to the ground, and quickly bound him. Now the other two warriors approached. One grasped Taran by the throat, the other tied his hands behind him. Taran was dragged to Melyngar and thrown across her back, where he lay side by side with Gwydion.

"Are you badly hurt?" asked Gwydion, striving to raise his head.

"No," Taran said, "but your own wound is grave."

"It is not the wound that pains me," said Gwydion with a bitter smile. "I have taken worse and lived. Why did you not flee, as I ordered? I knew I was powerless against the Cauldron-Born, but I could have held the ground for you. Yet, you fought well enough, Taran of Caer Dallben."

"You are more than a war leader," Taran whispered. "Why do you keep the truth from me? I remember the net of grass you wove before we crossed Avren. But in your hands today it was no grass I have ever seen."

"I am what I told you. The wisp of grass--- yes, it is a little more than that. Dallben himself taught me the use of it."

"You, too, are an enchanter!"

"I have certain skills. Alas, they are not great enough to defend myself against the powers of Arawn. Today," he added, "they were not enough to protect a brave companion." One of the Cauldron-Born spurred his horse alongside Melyngar. Snatching the whip from his belt, he lashed brutally at the captives. "Say no more," Gwydion whispered. "You will only bring yourself pain. If we should not meet again, farewell."

We see a little more of Gwydion's skills - in addition to being an accomplished warrior, he also has some magic at his command! Alas, it is not enough to fend off the Cauldron-Born, that were first mentioned last chapter. They're...zombies, of a sort, as we see here, able to shrug off mortal wounds pretty easily. Very spooky.

quote:

THE PARTY RODE LONG without a halt. Fording the shallow River Ystrad, the Cauldron-Born pressed tightly on either side of the captives. Taran dared once again to speak to Gwydion, but the lash cut his words short. Taran's throat was parched, waves of dizziness threatened to drown him. He could not be sure how long they had ridden, for he lapsed often into feverish dreams.

The sun was still high and he was dimly aware of a hill with a tall, gray fortress looming at its crest. Melyngar's hoofs rang on stones as a courtyard opened before him. Rough hands pulled him from Melyngar's back and drove him, stumbling, down an arching corridor. Gwydion was half-dragged, half-carried before him. Taran tried to catch up with his companion, but the lash of the Cauldron-Born beat him to his knees. A guard hauled him upright again and kicked him forward. At length, the captives were led into a spacious council chamber. Torches flickered from walls hung with scarlet tapestries. Outside, it had been full daylight; here in the great, windowless hall, the chill and dampness of night rose from the cold flagstones like mist. At the far end of the hall, on a throne carved of black wood, sat a woman. Her long hair glittered silver in the torchlight. Her face was young and beautiful; her pale skin seemed paler still above her crimson robe. Jeweled necklaces hung at her throat, gem-studded bracelets circled her wrists, and heavy rings threw back the flickering torches. Gwydion's sword lay at her feet.

The woman rose quickly. "What shame to my household is this?" she cried at the warriors. "The wounds of these men are fresh and untended. Someone shall answer for this neglect!" She stopped in front of Taran. "And this lad can barely keep his feet." She clapped her hands. "Bring food and wine and medicine for their injuries." She turned again to Taran. "Poor boy," she said, with a pitying smile, "there has been grievous mischief done today." She touched his wound with a soft, pale hand. At the pressure of her fingers, a comforting warmth filled Taran's aching body. Instead of pain, a delicious sensation of repose came over him, repose as he remembered it from days long forgotten in Caer Dallben, the warm bed of his childhood, drowsy summer afternoons. "How do you come here?" she asked quietly.

"We crossed Great Avren," Taran began. "You see, what had happened..."

"Silence!" Gwydion's voice rang out. "She is Achren! She sets a trap for you!"

Taran gasped. For an instant he could not believe such beauty concealed the evil of which he had been warned. Had Gwydion mistaken her? Nevertheless, he shut his lips tightly.

The woman, in surprise, turned to Gwydion. "This is not courtesy to accuse me thus. Your wound excuses your conduct, but there is no need for anger. Who are you? Why do you..."

Gwydion's eyes flashed. "You know me as well as I know you, Achren!" He spat the name through his bleeding lips.

"I have heard Lord Gwydion was traveling in my realm. Beyond that..."

"Arawn sent his warriors to slay us," cried Gwydion, "and here they stand in your council hall. Do you say that you know nothing more?"

"Arawn sent warriors to find, not slay you," answered Achren, "or you would not be alive at this moment. Now that I see you face to face," she said, her eyes on Gwydion, "I am glad such a man is not bleeding out his life in a ditch. For there is much we have to discuss, and much that you can profit from."

"If you would treat with me," said Gwydion, "unbind me and return my sword."

"You make demands?" Achren asked gently. "Perhaps you do not understand. I offer you something you cannot have even if I loosened your hands and gave back your weapon. By that, Lord Gwydion, I mean--- your life."

"In exchange for what?"

"I had thought to bargain with another life," said Achren, glancing at Taran. "But I see he is of no consequence, alive or dead. No," she said, "there are other, pleasanter ways to bargain. You do not know me as well as you think, Gwydion. There is no future for you beyond these gates. Here, I can promise..."

"Your promises reek of Annuvin!" cried Gwydion. "I scorn them. It is no secret what you are!"

Achren's face turned livid. Hissing, she struck at Gwydion and her blood-red nails raked his cheek. Achren unsheathed Gwydion's sword; holding it in both hands she drove the point toward his throat, stopping only a hair's breadth from it. Gwydion stood proudly, his eyes blazing.

"No," cried Achren, "I will not slay you; you shall come to wish I had, and beg the mercy of a sword! You scorn my promises! This promise will be well kept!"

Achren raised the sword above her head and smote with all her force against a stone pillar. Sparks flashed, the blade rang unbroken. With a scream of rage, she dashed the weapon to the ground. The sword shone, still undamaged. Achren seized it again, gripping the sharp blade itself until her hands ran scarlet. Her eyes rolled back into her head, her lips moved and twisted. A thunderclap filled the hall, a light burst like a crimson sun, and the broken weapon fell in pieces to the ground.

"So shall I break you!" Achren shrieked. She raised her hand to the Cauldron-Born and called out in a strange, harsh language. The pale warriors strode forward and dragged Taran and Gwydion from the hall. In a dark passageway of stone, Taran struggled with his captors, fighting to reach Gwydion's side. One of the Cauldron-Born brought a whip handle down on Taran's head.

Our heroes are captured by Achren - another enchanter, on the side of the bad guys this time. Taran's easily impressed - and once again his preconceptions are almost his ruin - but Gwydion's having none of it, and she doesn't like that quite so much. I love Achren as a character, for reasons we'll see later, but for now, she's a clear and present danger to our heroes - and particularly Gwydion, as she doesn't seem to have a very high opinion of Assistant Pig-Keepers.

# ? May 3, 2023 14:55

TheGreatEvilKing: Mar 28, 2016

Wahad posted:

Chapter 5: The Broken Sword

We see a little more of Gwydion's skills - in addition to being an accomplished warrior, he also has some magic at his command! Alas, it is not enough to fend off the Cauldron-Born, that were first mentioned last chapter. They're...zombies, of a sort, as we see here, able to shrug off mortal wounds pretty easily. Very spooky.

Our heroes are captured by Achren - another enchanter, on the side of the bad guys this time. Taran's easily impressed - and once again his preconceptions are almost his ruin - but Gwydion's having none of it, and she doesn't like that quite so much. I love Achren as a character, for reasons we'll see later, but for now, she's a clear and present danger to our heroes - and particularly Gwydion, as she doesn't seem to have a very high opinion of Assistant Pig-Keepers.

Worth noting that Gwydion had a short bout with preceptions assuming that Taran was just being a dumbass instead of realizing Taran was trying to protect him, but he quickly realized the truth and changed his ways.

# ? May 4, 2023 04:31

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 6: Eilonwy

quote:

TARAN CAME TO HIS SENSES on a pile of dirty straw, which smelled as though Gurgi and all his ancestors had slept on it. A few feet above him, pale yellow sunlight shone through a grating; the feeble beam ended abruptly on a wall of rough, damp stone. The shadows of bars lay across the tiny patch of light; instead of brightening the cell, the wan rays made it appear only more grim and closed in. As Taran's eyes grew accustomed to this yellow twilight, he made out a heavy, studded portal with a slot at the base. The cell itself was not over three paces square. His head ached; since his hands were still bound behind him, he could do no more than guess at the large and throbbing lump. What had happened to Gwydion he dared not imagine. After the Cauldron warrior had struck him, Taran had regained consciousness only a few moments before slipping once again into whirling darkness. In that brief time, he vaguely remembered opening his eyes and finding himself slung over a guard's back. His confused recollection included a dim corridor with doors on either side. Gwydion had called out to him once--- or so Taran believed--- he could not recall his friend's words, perhaps even that had been part of the nightmare. He supposed Gwydion had been cast in another dungeon; Taran fervently hoped so.

He could not shake off the memory of Achren's livid face and horrible screaming, and he feared she might have ordered Gwydion slain. Still, there was good reason to hope his companion lived. Achren could easily have cut his throat as he braved her in the council hall, yet she had held back. Thus, she intended to keep Gwydion alive; perhaps, Taran thought wretchedly, Gwydion would be better off dead. The idea of the proud figure lying a broken corpse filled Taran with grief that quickly turned to rage. He staggered to his feet, lurched to the door, kicking it, battering himself against it with what little strength remained to him. In despair, he sank to the damp ground, his head pressed against the unyielding oaken planks. He rose again after a few moments and kicked at the walls. If Gwydion were, by chance, in an adjoining cell, Taran hoped he would hear this signal. But he judged, from the dull and muffled sound, that the walls were too thick for his feeble tapping to penetrate. As he turned away, a flashing object fell through he grating and dropped to the stone floor. Taran stooped. It was a ball of what seemed to be gold. Perplexed, he looked upward. From the grating, a pair of intensely blue eyes looked back at him.

"Please," said a girl's voice, light and musical, "my name is Eilonwy and if you don't mind, would you throw my bauble to me? I don't want you to think I'm a baby, playing with a silly bauble, because I'm not; but sometimes there's absolutely nothing else to do around here and it slipped out ofmy hands when I was tossing it..."

"Little girl," Taran interrupted, "I don't..."

"But I am not a little girl," Eilonwy protested. "Haven't I just been and finished telling you? Are you slow-witted? I'm so sorry for you. It's terrible to be dull and stupid. What's your name?" she went on. "It makes me feel funny not knowing someone's name. Wrong-footed, you know, or as if I had three thumbs on one hand, if you see what I mean. It's clumsy..."

"I am Taran of Caer Dallben," Taran said, then wished he had not. This, he realized, could be another trap.

"That's lovely," Eilonwy said gaily. "I'm very glad to meet you. I suppose you're a lord, or a warrior, or a war leader, or a bard, or a monster. Though we haven't had any monsters for a long time."

"I am none of those," said Taran, feeling quite flattered that Eilonwy should have taken him for any one of them.

"What else is there?"

"I am an Assistant Pig-Keeper," Taran said. He bit his lip as soon as the words were out; then, to excuse his loose tongue, told himself it could do no harm for the girl to know that much.

"How fascinating," Eilonwy said. "You're the first we've ever had--- unless that poor fellow in the other dungeon is one, too."

"Tell me of him," Taran said quickly. "Is he alive?"

"I don't know," said Eilonwy. "I peeked through the grating, but I couldn't tell. He doesn't move at all, but I should imagine he is alive; otherwise, Achren would have fed him to the ravens. Now, please, if you don't mind, it's right at your feet."

"I can't pick up your bauble," Taran said, "because my hands are tied."

The blue eyes looked surprised. "Oh? Well, that would account for it. Then I suppose I shall have to come in and get it."

"You can't come in and get it," said Taran wearily. "Don't you see I'm locked up here?"

"Of course I do," said Eilonwy. "What would be the point of having someone in a dungeon if they weren't locked up? Really, Taran of Caer Dallben, you surprise me with some of your remarks. I don't mean to hurt your feelings by asking, but is Assistant Pig-Keeper the kind of work that calls for a great deal of intelligence?"

Something beyond the grating and out of Taran's vision swooped down and the blue eyes disappeared suddenly. Taran heard what he took to be a scuffle, then a high-pitched little shriek, followed by a larger shriek and a moment or two of loud smacking. The blue eyes did not reappear. Taran flung himself back on the straw. After a time, in thedreadful silence and loneliness of the tiny cell, he began suddenly to wish Eilonwy would come back. She was the most confusing person he had ever met, and surely as wicked as everyone else in the castle--- although he could not quite bring himself to believe it completely. Nevertheless, he longed for the sound of another voice, even Eilonwy's prattling.

The grating above his head darkened. Night poured into the cell in a black, chilly wave. The slot in the heavy portal rattled open. Taran heard something being slid into the cell and crawled toward it. It was a shallow bowl. He sniffed carefully and finally ventured to touch his tongue to it, fearing all the while that it might be poisoned food. It was not food at all, but only a little water, warm and musty. His throat was so parched that Taran disregarded the taste, thrust his face into the bowl, and drank it dry. He curled up and tried to sleep away his pain; the tight thongs pinched, but his swollen hands were mercifully numb. Sleep brought only nightmares and he roused to find himself shouting aloud. He settled down once more. Now there was a rasping sound under the straw. Taran stumbled to his feet. The rasping grew louder.

"Move away!" cried a faint voice.

Taran looked around him, dumbfounded. "Get off the stone?" He stepped backward. The voice was coming from the straw.

"Well, I can't lift it with you standing on it, you silly Assistant Pig-Keeper!" the muffled voice complained.

Frightened and puzzled, Taran jumped to the wall. The pallet began rising upward. A loose flagstone was lifted, pushed aside, and a slender shadow emerged as if from the ground itself.

"Who are you?" Taran shouted.

"Who did you expect?" said the voice of Eilonwy. "And please don't make such a racket. I told you I was coming back. Oh, there's my bauble..." The shadow bent and picked up the luminous ball.

"Where are you?" cried Taran. "I can see nothing..."

"Is that what's bothering you?" Eilonwy asked. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Instantly, a bright light filled the cell. It came from the golden sphere in the girl's hand.

Taran blinked with amazement. "What's that?" he cried.

"It's my bauble," said Eilonwy. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"But--- but it lights up!"

"What did you think it would do? Turn into a bird and fly away?"Eilonwy, as the bewildered Taran saw her for the first time, had, in addition to blue eyes, long hair of reddish gold reaching to her waist. Her face, though smudged, was delicate, elfin, with high cheekbones. Her short, white robe, mud-stained, was girdled with silver links. A crescent moon of silver hung from a fine chain around her neck. She was one or two years younger than he, but fully as tall. Eilonwy put the glowing sphere on the floor, went quickly to Taran, and unknotted the thongs that bound him.

"I meant to come back sooner," Eilonwy said. "But Achren caught me talking to you. She started to give me a whipping. I bit her.

"Then she locked me in one of the chambers, deep underground," Eilonwy went on, pointing to the flagstones. "There are hundreds of them under Spiral Castle, and all kinds of galleries and little passages, like a honeycomb. Achren didn't build them; this castle, they say, once belonged to a great king. She thinks she knows all the passageways. But she doesn't. She hasn't been in half of them. Can you imagine Achren going through a tunnel? She's older than she looks, you know." Eilonwy giggled. "But I know every one, and most of them connect with each other. It took me longer in the dark, though, because I didn't have my bauble."

"You mean you live in this terrible place?" Taran asked.

"Naturally," Eilonwy said. "You don't imagine I'd want to visit here, do you?"

"Is--- is Achren your mother?" Taran gasped and drew back fearfully.

"Certainly not!" cried the girl. "I am Eilonwy, daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat, daughter of--- oh, it's such a bother going through all that. My ancestors," she said proudly, "are the Sea People. I am of the blood of Llyr Half-Speech, the Sea King. Achren is my aunt, though sometimes I don't think she's really my aunt at all."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I said I live here," Eilonwy answered. "It must take a lot of explaining before you understand anything. My parents died and my kinsmen sent me here so Achren could teach me to be an enchantress. It's a family tradition, don't you see? The boys are war leaders, and the girls are enchantresses."

"Achren is leagued with Arawn of Annuvin," cried Taran. "She is an evil, loathsome creature!"

"Oh, everybody knows that," said Eilonwy. "Sometimes I wish my kinsmen had sent me to someone else. But I think they must have forgotten about me by now."

She noticed the deep slash on his arm. "Where did you get that?" she asked. "I don't think you know much about fighting if you let yourself get knocked about and cut up so badly. But I don't imagine Assistant Pig-Keepers are often called on to do that sort of thing." The girl tore a strip from the hem of her robe and began binding Taran's wound.

"I didn't let myself be cut up," Taran said angrily. "That's Arawn's doing, or your aunt's--- I don't know which and I don't care. One is no better than the other."

"I hate Achren!" Eilonwy burst out. "She is a mean, spiteful person. Of all the people who come here, you're the only one who's the least bit agreeable to talk to--- and she had you damaged!"

"That's not the end of it," Taran said. "She means to kill my friend."

"If she does that," said Eilonwy, "I'm sure she'll include you. Achren doesn't do things by halves. It would be a shame if you were killed. I should be very sorry. I know I wouldn't like it to happen to me..."

"Eilonwy, listen," Taran interrupted, "if there are tunnels and passages under the castle--- can you get to the other cells? Is there a way outside?"

"Of course there is," Eilonwy said. "If there's a way in, there has to be a way out, doesn't there?"

"Will you help us?" Taran asked. "It is important for us to be free of this place. Will you show us the passage?"

"Let you escape?" Eilonwy giggled. "Wouldn't Achren be furious at that? She tossed her head. "It would serve her right for whipping me and trying to lock me up. Yes, yes," she went on, her eyes dancing, "that's a wonderful idea. I would love to see her face when she comes down to find you. Yes, that would be more fun than anything I could think of. Can you imagine..."

"Listen carefully," Taran said, "is there a way you can take me to my companion?"

Eilonwy shook her head. "That would be very hard to do. You see, some of the galleries connect with the ones leading to the cells, but when you try to go across, what happens is that you start to run into passages that..."

"Never mind, then," Taran said. "Can I join him in one of the passageways?"

"I don't see why you want to do that," said the girl. "It would be so much simpler if I just go and let him out and have him wait for you beyond the castle. I don't understand why you want to complicate things; it's bad enough for two people crawling about, but with three, you can imagine what that would be. And you can't possibly find your way by yourself."

"Very well," Taran said impatiently. "Free my companion first. I only hope he is well enough to move. If he isn't, then you must come and tell me right away and I'll think of some means of carrying him. And there is a white horse, Melyngar," Taran went on. "I don't know what's been done with her."

"She would be in the stable," Eilonwy said. "Isn't that where you'd usually find a horse?"

"Please," Taran said, "you must get her, too. And weapons for us. Will you do that?"

Eilonwy nodded quickly. "Yes, that should be very exciting."

She giggled again. She picked up the glowing ball, cupped it in her hands, and once again the cell was dark. The stone grated shut and only Eilonwy's silvery laugh lingered behind. Taran paced back and forth. For the first time, he felt some hope; though he wondered how much he could count on this scatterbrained girl. She was likely to forget what she started out to do. Worse, she might betray him to Achren. It might be another trap, a new torment that promised him freedom only to snatch it away, but even so, Taran decided, they could be no worse off. To save his energy, he lay down on the straw and tried to relax. His bandaged arm no longer pained him, and while he was still hungry and thirsty, the water he had drunk had taken some of the edge from his discomfort. He had no idea how long it would take to travel through the underground galleries. But as time passed, he grew more anxious. He worked at the flagstone the girl had used. It would not move, though Taran's efforts bloodied his fingers. He sank again into dark, endless waiting. Eilonwy did not return.

I decided to leave this chapter without any interruptions. We meet Eilonwy! And she's immediately gone off in search of Gwydion, and to free him - and Melyngar - from Achren's clutches, while Taran has to wait and hope that she actually manages to do so. She also has a magic bauble that gives off light - an enchantress in training, though one has to wonder who thought Achren would've been a good teacher - and a motormouth of outstanding endurance.

# ? May 6, 2023 15:27

Selachian: Oct 9, 2012

I'm pretty sure Achren is derived from Arianrhod in the Mabinogion, especially since she's associated with Caer Sidi, the Revolving Castle, which Alexander turns into Spiral Castle. In the Mabinogion, Arianrhod and Gwydion are enemies as well, although Arianrhod actually has some pretty good reasons to hate Gwydion rather than just being an evil sorceress.

Caer Sidi was a metaphor for the band of the zodiac; you can also see the association in Arianrhod's name, which means "silver wheel."

# ? May 6, 2023 16:47

regulargonzalez: Aug 18, 2006; UNGH LET ME LICK THOSE BOOTS DADDY HULU YES YES GIVE ME ALL THE CORPORATE CUMMIES ADBLOCK USERS DESERVE THE DEATH PENALTY, DON'T THEY DADDY?
WHEN THE RICH GET RICHER I GET HORNIER

I'm having a lot of fun reading this for the first time in years. Thanks for posting it in full!

# ? May 7, 2023 09:00

Ravenfood: Nov 4, 2011

Yeah this is great to reread.

# ? May 7, 2023 15:17

Silver2195: Apr 4, 2012

Kestral posted:

I really want to know what Gurgi looks like, because the descriptions in the book never quite managed to cohere into a picture in my head, and there's precious little fan-art of him out there for some reason.

Yeah, I don't think he was ever clearly described. I always imagined him as vaguely lemur-like, but with less of a clearly visible face than in the Jody Lee art, and maybe with larger eyes.

# ? May 8, 2023 18:14

regulargonzalez: Aug 18, 2006; UNGH LET ME LICK THOSE BOOTS DADDY HULU YES YES GIVE ME ALL THE CORPORATE CUMMIES ADBLOCK USERS DESERVE THE DEATH PENALTY, DON'T THEY DADDY?
WHEN THE RICH GET RICHER I GET HORNIER

In my mind he looks like the more animal / demon-y versions of Yallery Brown, somewhere between the Wikipedia and Eric Kincaid versions

# ? May 8, 2023 23:28

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 7: The Trap

quote:

FROM THE CORRIDOR, a faint sound grew louder. Taran hastened to press his ear against the slot in the portal. He heard the heavy tread of marching feet, the rattle of weapons. He straightened and stood with his back to the wall. The girl had betrayed him. He cast about for some means to defend himself, for he had determined they would not take him easily. For the sake of having something in his hands, Taran picked up the dirty straw and held it ready to fling; it was a pitiable defense, and he wished desperately for Gwydion's power to set it ablaze. The footsteps continued. He feared, then, they would enter the other cell. He breathed a sigh of relief when they did not stop but faded away toward what he imagined to be the far end of the corridor. Perhaps the guard was being changed. He turned away, certain Eilonwy would not be back, and furious with her and her false promises. She was a rattlebrained fool who would undoubtedly giggle and take it as a great joke when the Cauldron-Born came for him. He buried his face in his hands. He could hear her chatter even now. Taran started up again. The voice he heard was real.

"Must you always sit on the wrong stone?" it said. "You're too heavy to lift."

Taran jumped up and hurriedly cleared the straw away. The flagstone was raised. The light from the golden ball was dim now, but enough for him to see that Eilonwy looked pleased with herself.

"Your companion is free," she whispered. "And I took Melyngar from the stable. They are hidden in the woods outside the castle. It's all done now," Eilonwy said gleefully. "They're waiting for you. So if you get a move on and stop looking as if you'd forgotten your own name, we can go and meet them."

"Did you find weapons?" Taran asked.

"Well, no. I didn't have a chance to look," Eilonwy said. "Really," she added, "you can't expect me to do everything, can you?"

Eilonwy held the glowing sphere close to the stone floor. "Go first," she said. "Then I'll come down after, so I can put the stone back in place. Then, when Achren sends to have you killed, there won't be any trace at all. She'll think you disappeared into thin air--- and that will make it all the more vexing. I know it isn't nice to vex people on purpose--- it's like handing them a toad--- but this is much too good to miss and I may never have another chance at it."

"Achren will know you let us escape," Taran said.

"No, she won't," said Eilonwy, "because she'll think I'm still locked up. And if she doesn't know I can get out, she can't know I was here. But it's very thoughtful of you to say that. It shows a kind heart, and I think that's so much more important than being clever."

While Eilonwy continued to chatter away, Taran lowered himself into the narrow opening. The passage was low, he discovered, and he was obliged to crouch almost on hands and knees. Eilonwy moved the stone into place and then began to lead the way. The glow from the sphere showed walls of hard packed earth. As Taran hunched along, other galleries opened up on either side.

"Be sure you follow me," Eilonwy called. "Don't go into any of those. Some of them branch off and some of them don't go anywhere at all. You'd get lost, and that would be a useless thing to do if you're trying to escape."

The girl moved so quickly Taran had difficulty keeping up with her. Twice he stumbled over loose stones in the passage, clutched at the ground, and pitched forward. The little light bobbed ahead, while behind him long fingers of darkness grasped his heels. He could understand why Achren's fortress was called Spiral Castle. The narrow, stifling galleries turned endlessly; he could not be sure whether they were making real progress or whether the tunnel was merely doubling back on itself. The earthen ceiling trembled with racing footsteps.

"We're just below the guard room," Eilonwy whispered. "Something's happening up there. Achren doesn't usually turn out the guard in the middle of the night."

"They must have gone to the cells," Taran said. "There was a lot of commotion just before you came. They surely know we're gone."

"You must be a very important Assistant Pig-Keeper," said Eilonwy with a small laugh. "Achren wouldn't go to all that trouble unless..."

"Hurry," Taran urged. "If she puts a guard around the castle we'll never get out."

"I wish you'd stop worrying," Eilonwy said. "You sound as if you were having your toes twisted. Achren can set out all the guards she wants. She doesn't know where the mouth of the tunnel is. And it's hidden so well an owl couldn't see it. After all, you don't think I'd march you out the front gate, do you?"

Despite her chattering, Eilonwy kept a rapid pace. Taran bent close to the ground, moving half by touch, keeping his eyes on the faint glow; he skidded past sharp turns, fetched up against rough walls, skinned his knees, then had to move twice as fast to regain the ground he had lost. At another bend in the passageway, Eilonwy's light wavered and dropped out of sight. In the moment of darkness, Taran lost his footing as the ground rose steeply on one side. He fell and rolled. Before he could recover his balance, he was sliding rapidly downward in a shower of loose stones and earth. He collided with an outcropping of rock, rolled again, and dropped suddenly into the darkness. He landed heavily on flat stones, legs twisted under him. Taran climbed painfully to his feet and shook his head to clear it. Suddenly he realized he was standing upright. Eilonwy and her light could not be seen.

We learn some more about Eilonwy - despite being young, and rather talkative and prone to trains of thought that are more like derailments, she's clearly smart and capable. But, unfortunately, Taran just can't keep up.

quote:

He called as loudly as he dared. After a few moments he heard a scraping above him and saw the faint reflection of the golden ball.

"Where are you?" called the girl. Her voice seemed quite distant. "Oh--- I see. Part of the tunnel's given way. You must have slipped into a crevice."

"It's not a crevice," Taran called. "I've fallen all the way down into something and it's deep. Can't you put the light into it? I've got to get up again."

There were more scraping noises. "Yes," Eilonwy said, "you have got yourself into a mess. The ground's all broken through here, and below there's a big stone, like a shelf over your head. How did you ever manage to do that?"

"I don't know how," replied Taran, "but I certainly didn't do it on purpose."

"It's strange," Eilonwy said. "This wasn't here when I came through the first time. All that tramping must have jarred something loose; it's hard to say. I don't think these tunnels are half as solid as they look, and neither is the castle, for the matter of that; Achren's always complaining about things leaking and doors not closing right..."

"Do stop that prattling," cried Taran, clasping his head. "I don't want to hear about leaks and doors. Show a light so I can climb out of here."

"That's the trouble," the girl said. "I'm not quite sure you can. You see, that shelf of stone juts out so far and goes down so steeply. Can you manage to reach it?"

Taran raised his arms and jumped as high as he could. He could find no handhold. From Eilonwy's description, and from the massive shadow above, he feared the girl was right. He could not reach the stone and, even if he couldhave, its sharp downward pitch would have made it impossible to climb. Taran groaned with despair. "Go on without me," he said. "Warn my companion the castle is alerted..."

"And what do you intend doing? You can't just sit there like a fly in a jug. That isn't going to help matters at all."

"It doesn't make any difference about me," Taran said. "You can find a rope and come back when things are safe..."

"Who knows when that will be? If Achren sees me, there's no telling what might happen. And suppose I couldn't get back? You'd turn into a skeleton while you're waiting--- I don't know how long it takes for people to turn into skeletons, though I imagine it would need some time--- and you'd be worse off than before."

"What else am I to do?" cried Taran. Eilonwy's talk of skeletons made his blood run cold. He recalled, then, the sound of Gwyn the Hunter's horn and the memory of it filled him with grief and fear. He bowed his head and turned his face to the rough wall.

"That's very noble of you," said Eilonwy, "but I don't think it's really necessary, not yet, at any rate. If Achren's warriors come out and start beating the woods, I hardly think your friend would stay around waiting. He'd go and hide and find you later, or so I should imagine. That would be the sensible thing to do. Of course, if he's an Assistant Pig-Keeper, too, it's hard to guess how his mind would work."

"He's not an Assistant Pig-Keeper," Taran said. "He's... well, it's none of your business what he is."

"That's not a very polite thing to say. Well, nevertheless..." Eilonwy's voice dismissed the matter. "The main thing is to get you out."

"There's nothing we can do," Taran said. "I'm caught here, and locked up better than Achren ever planned."

"Don't say that. I could tear up my robe and plait it into a cord--- though I'll tell you right away I wouldn't enjoy crawling around tunnels without any clothes on. But I don't think it would be long enough or strong enough. I suppose I could cut off my hair, if I had a pair of shears, and add it in--- no, that still wouldn't do. Won't you please be quiet for a while and let me think? Wait, I'm going to drop my bauble down to you. Here, catch!" The golden sphere came hurtling over the ledge. Taran caught it in mid-air. "Now then," Eilonwy called, "what's down there? Is it just a pit of some kind?"

Taran raised the ball above his head. "Why, it's not a hole at all!" he cried. "It's a kind of chamber. There's a tunnel here, too." He took a few paces. "I can't see where it ends. It's big..." Stones rattled behind him; an instant later, Eilonwy dropped to the ground. Taran stared at her in disbelief.

"You fool!" he shouted. "You addlepated . . .What have you done? Now both of us are trapped! And you talk about sense! You haven't..."

Eilonwy smiled at him and waited until he ran out of breath. "Now," she said, "if you've quite finished, let me explain something very simple to you. If there's a tunnel, it has to go some place. And wherever it goes, there's a very good chance it will be better than where we are now."

"I didn't mean to call you names," Taran said, "but," he added sorrowfully, "there was no reason for you to put yourself in danger."

"There you go again," Eilonwy said. "I promised to help you escape and that's what I'm doing. I understand about tunnels and I shouldn't be surprised if this one followed the same direction as the one above. It doesn't have half as many galleries coming off it. And besides, it's a lot more comfortable." Eilonwy took the glowing sphere from Taran's hand and stepped forward into the new passageway. Still doubtful, Taran followed.

Taran is once again quick to judge - although, perhaps not entirely unreasonably here. After all, falling down a crevice that's not a crevice when you're trying to escape from an evil enchantress' castle is kind of a bummer. But Eilonwy seems to think there's still a way out.

# ? May 10, 2023 16:32

Coca Koala: Nov 28, 2005; ongoing nowhere; College Slice

Wahad posted:

"No, she won't," said Eilonwy, "because she'll think I'm still locked up. And if she doesn't know I can get out, she can't know I was here. But it's very thoughtful of you to say that. It shows a kind heart, and I think that's so much more important than being clever."

This is a good sentiment but man, Taran gets roasted a lot. It�s a tough world for assistant pig keepers.

# ? May 10, 2023 16:53

MadDogMike: Apr 9, 2008; Cute but fanged

Coca Koala posted:

This is a good sentiment but man, Taran gets roasted a lot. It�s a tough world for assistant pig keepers.

It's kind of funny how much he comes off like a complete idiot in this book in particular, though I think a lot of it is more showing him as a child to contrast with later on (certainly by the final books he's very mature compared to this one, but I like how he does have some capacity for self reflection even now).

# ? May 10, 2023 18:36

Coca Koala: Nov 28, 2005; ongoing nowhere; College Slice

For sure! I also remember Eilonwy being a significant character in the later books and I�m pretty sure she goes through a lot of maturation as well, but the first half of this book is pretty tough on Taran. For some reason the ending of the first book has always stuck in my mind so I know that Taran gets more responsible, but i�m looking forward to seeing what kinds of messages his character development pushes.

# ? May 10, 2023 18:44

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 8: The Barrow

quote:

AS EILONWY HAD SAID, the passageway was more comfortable, for they could walk side by side without crouching and scuttling like rabbits in a warren. Unlike those of the upper galleries, the walls were lined with huge, flat stones; the ceiling was formed of even larger stones, whose weight was supported by upright slabs set at intervals along the square corridor. The air, too, smelled slightly better; musty, as if it had lain unstirred for ages, but without the choking closeness of the tunnels. None of this comforted Taran greatly. Eilonwy herself admitted she had never explored the passage; her blithe confidence did not convince him she had the slightest notion of where she was going. Nevertheless, the girl hurried along, her sandals tapping and echoing, the golden light of the bauble casting its rays through shadows that hung like cobwebs.

They passed a few side galleries which Eilonwy ignored. "We'll go straight to the end of this one," she announced. "There's bound to be something there."

Taran had begun wishing himself back in the chamber. "We shouldn't have come this far," he said, with a frown. "We should have stayed and found some way to climb out; now you don't even know how long it will be before this passage stops. We might go on tramping for days." Something else troubled him. After all their progress, it seemed the passageway should now follow an upward direction. "The tunnel's supposed to bring us out about ground, "Taran said. "But we haven't stopped going down. We aren't coming out at all; we're only going deeper and deeper." Eilonwy paid no attention to his remarks. But she was soon obliged to. Within another few paces, the corridor stopped abruptly, sealed by a wall of boulders.

"That is what I feared," cried Taran, dismayed. "We have gone to the end of your tunnel, that you knew so much about, and this is what we find. Now we can only go back; we're lost all our time and we're no better off than when we started." He turned away while the girl stood looking curiously at the barrier.

"I can't understand," said Eilonwy, "why anyone would go to the trouble of building a tunnel and not have it go any place. It must have been a terrible amount of work for whoever it was to dig it all and set in the rocks. Why do you suppose...?"

"I don't know! And I wish you'd stop wondering about things that can't make any difference to us. I'm going back," Taran said. "I don't know how I'm going to climb onto that shelf, but I can certainly do it a lot more easily than digging through a wall."

"Well," said Eilonwy, "it is very strange and all. I'm sure I don't know where we are."

"I knew we'd end up being lost. I could have told you that."

"I didn't say I was lost," the girl protested. "I only said I didn't know where I was. There's a big difference. When you're lost, you really don't know where you are. When you just don't happen to know where you are at the moment, that's something else. I know I'm underneath Spiral Castle, and that's quite good for a start."

"You're splitting hairs," Taran said. "Lost is lost. You're worse than Dallben."

"Who is Dallben?"

"Dallben is my--- oh, never mind!" His face grim, Taran began retracing his steps. Eilonwy hurried to join him. "We could have a look into one of the side passageways," she called. Taran disregarded the suggestion. Nevertheless, approaching the next branching gallery, he slowed his steps and peered briefly into the gloom.

"Go ahead," Eilonwy urged. "Let's try this one.It seems as good as any."

"Hush!" Taran bent his head and listened intently. From a distance came a faint whispering and rustling. "There's something..."

"Well, by all means let's find out what," said Eilonwy, prodding Taran in the back. "Go ahead, will you?"

Taran took a few cautious steps. The passage here was lower and seemed to slope still further down. With Eilonwy beside him, he continued gingerly, setting each foot carefully, remembering the sudden, sickening fall that had brought him there in the first place. The whispering became a high keening, a wail of torment. It was as though voices had been spun out like threads, twisted taut, ready to snap. An icy current wove through the air, carrying along with it hollow sighs and a swell of dull mutterings. There were other sounds, too; raspings and shriekings, like sword points dragged over stones. Taran felt his hands tremble; he hesitated a moment and gestured for Eilonwy to stay behind him.

"Give me the light," he whispered, "and wait for me here."

"Do you think it's ghosts?" Eilonwy asked. "I don't have any beans to spit at them, and that's about the only thing that will really do for a ghost. But you know I don't think it's ghosts at all. I've never heard one, though I suppose they could sound like that if they wanted to, but I don't see why they should bother. No, I think it's wind making all those noises."

"Wind? How could there be... Wait," Taran said. "You may be right, at that. There might be an opening." Closing his ears to the horrifying sounds and preferring to think of them as draughts of air rather than spectral voices, Taran quickened his pace. Eilonwy, paying no attention to his order to wait, strode along with him.

They soon arrived at the end of the passage. Once more, fallen stones blocked their way, but this time there was a narrow, jagged gap. From it, the wailing grew louder, and Taran felt a cold ribbon of air on his face. He thrust the light into the opening, but even the golden rays could not pierce the curtain of shadows. Taran slid cautiously past the barrier; Eilonwy followed. They entered a low-ceilinged chamber, and as they did, the light flickered under the weight of the darkness. At first, Taran could make out only indistinct shapes, touched with a feeble green glow. The voices screamed in trembling rage. Despite the chill wind, Taran's forehead was clammy. He raised the light and took another step forward. The shapes grew clearer. Now he distinguished outlines of shields hanging from the walls and piles of swords and spears. His foot struck something. He bent to look and sprang backagain, stifling a cry. It was the withered corpse of a man--- a warrior fully armed. Another lay beside him, and another, in a circle of ancient dead guarding a high stone slab on which a shadowy figure lay at full length.

Eilonwy paid scant attention to the warriors, having found something more interesting to her. "I'm sure Achren hasn't any idea all this is here," she whispered, pointing to heaps of otter-skin robes and great earthen jars overflowing with jewels. Weapons glistened amid stacks of helmets; woven baskets held brooches, collarpieces, and chains. "She'd have hauled it out long ago; she loves jewelry, you know, though it doesn't become her one bit."

"Surely it is the barrow of the king who built this castle," Taran said in a hushed voice. He stepped past the warriors and drew near the figure on the slab. Rich raiment clothed the body; polished stones glowed in his broad belt. The clawed hands still grasped the jeweled hilt of a sword, as if ready to unsheath it. Taran recoiled in fear and horror. The skull seemed to grimace in defiance, daring a stranger to despoil the royal treasures.

As Taran turned, a gust of wind caught at his face. "I think there is a passage," he called, "there, in the far wall." He ran in the direction of the ghostly cries. Close to the ground, a tunnel opened; he could smell fresh air, and his lungs drank deeply. "Hurry," he urged. Taran snatched a sword from a warrior's bony hand and scrambled into the tunnel.

Nothing like a good bit of grave-robbing.

quote:

THE TUNNEL WAS the narrowest they had encountered. Flat on his belly, Taran squeezed and fought his way over the loose stones. Behind him, he heard Eilonwy gasping and struggling. Then a new sound began, a distant booming and throbbing. The earth shuddered as the pounding increased. Suddenly the passageway convulsed, the hidden roots of trees sprang up, the ground split beneath Taran, heaving and crumbling. In another instant, he was flung out at the bottom of a rocky slope.

A great crash resounded deep within the hill. Spiral Castle, high above him, was bathed in blue fire. A sudden gale nearly battered Taran to the ground. A tree of lightning crackled in the sky. Behind him, Eilonwy called for help. She was half in, half out of the narrow passage. As Taran wrestled with the fallen stones, the walls of Spiral Castle shook like gray rags. The towers lurched madly. Taran clawed away clumps of earth and roots.

"I'm all tangled up with the sword," Eilonwy panted. "The scabbard's caught on something."

Taran heaved at the last rock. "What sword?" he said through gritted teeth. He seized Eilonwy under the arms and pulled her free.

"Oof!" she gasped. "I feel as if I had all my bones taken apart and put together wrong. The sword? You said you needed weapons, didn't you? And you took one, so I thought I might as well, too."

In a violent explosion that seemed ripped from the very center of the earth, Spiral Castle crumbled in on itself. The mighty stones of its walls split like twigs, their jagged ends thrusting at the sky. Then a deep silence fell. The wind was still; the air oppressive.

"Thank you for saving my life," said Eilonwy. "For an Assistant Pig-Keeper, I must say you are quite courageous. It's wonderful when people surprise you that way.

"I wonder what happened to Achren," she went on. "She'll really be furious," she added with a delighted laugh, "and probably blame everything on me, for she's always punishing me for things I haven't even thought of yet."

"If Achren is under those stones, she'll never punish anyone again," Taran said. "But I don't think we'd better stay to find out." He buckled on his sword. The blade Eilonwy had taken from the barrow was too long for the girl to wear comfortably at her waist, so she had slung it from her shoulder. Taran looked at the weapon with surprise.

"Why--- that's the sword the king was holding."

"Naturally," said Eilonwy. "It should be the best one, shouldn't it?" She picked up the glowing sphere. "We're at the far side of the castle, what used to be the castle. Your friend is down there, among those trees--- assuming he waited for you. I'd be surprised if he did, with all this going on..."

They ran toward the grove. Ahead, Taran saw the shadowy forms of a cloaked figure and a white horse. "There they are!" he cried. "Gwydion!" he called. "Gwydion!"

Our heroes have escaped Spiral Castle, it's somehow magically exploded, but most importantly, it's Gwydion!

quote:

The moon swung from behind the clouds. The figure turned. Taran stopped short in the sudden brightness and his jaw dropped. He had never seen this man before.

It's...not Gwydion.

# ? May 13, 2023 16:14

Coca Koala: Nov 28, 2005; ongoing nowhere; College Slice

I�m sure it�s somebody friendly though, i can�t wait to meet a new member of the gang!

# ? May 15, 2023 00:26

Ravenfood: Nov 4, 2011

This upcoming scene and Gurgi might be all I remember from the first book. Then it's a giant gap in my memory until the last book.

# ? May 15, 2023 03:50

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 9: Fflewddur Fflam

quote:

TARAN'S SWORD LEAPED OUT. The man in the cloak hurriedly dropped Melyngar's bridle and darted behind a tree. Taran swung the blade. Pieces of bark sprayed the air. While the stranger ducked back and forth, Taran slashed and thrust, hacking wildly at bushes and branches. "You're not Gwydion!" he shouted.

"Never claimed I was," the stranger shouted back. "If you think I'm Gwydion, you're dreadfully mistaken."

"Come out of there," Taran ordered, thrusting again.

"Certainly not while you're swinging that enormous--- here now, watch that! Great Belin, I was safer in Achren's dungeon!"

"Come out now or you won't be able to," Taran shouted. He redoubled his attack, ripping furiously through the underbrush.

"Truce! Truce!" called the stranger. "You can't smite an unarmed man!"

Eilonwy, who had been a few paces behind Taran, ran up and seized his arm. "Stop it!" she
cried. "That's no way to treat your friend, after I went to all the bother of rescuing him."

Taran shook off Eilonwy. "What treachery is this!" he shouted. "You left my companion to die! You've been with Achren all along. I should haveknown it. You're no better than she is!" With a cry of anguish, he raised his sword.

Eilonwy ran sobbing into the woods. Taran dropped the blade and stood with bowed head. The stranger ventured from behind the tree.

"Truce?" he inquired again. "Believe me, if I'd known it was going to cause all this trouble I wouldn't have listened to that redheaded girl." Taran did not raise his head. The stranger took a few more cautious steps. "Humblest apologies for disappointing you," he said. "I'm awfully flattered you mistook me for Prince Gwydion. There's hardly any resemblance, except possibly a certain air of..."

"I do not know who you are," Taran said bitterly. "I do know that a brave man has bought your life for you."

"I am Fflewddur Fflam, Son of Godo," the stranger said, bowing deeply, "a bard of the harp
at your service."

"I have no need of bards," Taran said. "A harp will not bring my companion to life."

"Lord Gwydion is dead?" Fflewddur Fflam asked. "Those are sorrowful tidings. He is a kinsman and I owe allegiance to the House of Don. But why do you blame his death on me? If Gwydion has bought my life, at least tell me how, and I shall mourn with you."

"Go your way," said Taran. "It is no fault of yours. I trusted Gwydion's life to a traitor and liar. My own life should be forfeit."

"Those are hard words to apply to a winsome lass," said the bard. "Especially one who isn't here to defend herself."

"I want no explanation from her," he said. "There is nothing she can tell me. She can lose herself in the forest, for all I care."

"If she's as much of a traitor and a liar as you say," Fflewddur remarked, "then you're letting her
off easily. You may not want her explanation, but I'm quite sure Gwydion would. Allow me to suggest you go and find her before she strays too far."

Taran nodded. "Yes," he said coldly, "Gwydion shall have justice."

He turned on his heel and walked toward the trees. Eilonwy had gone no great distance; he could see the glow of the sphere a few paces ahead, where the girl sat on a boulder in a clearing. She looked small and thin; her head was pressed into her hands, and her shoulders shook.

"Now you've made me cry!" she burst out, as Taran approached. "I hate crying; it makes my nose feel like a melted icicle. You've hurt my feelings, you stupid Assistant Pig-Keeper, and all for something that's your own fault to begin with." Taran was so taken aback that he began to stammer. "Yes," cried Eilonwy, "it's every bit your fault! You were so close-mouthed about the man you wanted me to rescue, and you kept talking about your friend in the other cell. Very well, I rescued whoever it was in the other cell."

"You didn't tell me there was anyone else in the dungeon."

"There wasn't," Eilonwy insisted. "Fflewddur Fflam or whatever he calls himself was the only one."

"Then where is my companion?" Taran demanded. "Where is Gwydion?"

"I don't know," Eilonwy said. "He wasn't in Achren's dungeon, that's sure. What's more, he never was."

Taran realized the girl was speaking the truth. As his memory returned, he recalled that Gwydion had been with him only briefly; he had not seen the guards put him in a cell; Taran had only guessed at that. "What could she have done with him?"

"I haven't any idea in the world," Eilonwy said and sniffed. "She could have brought him to her chambers, or locked him in the tower--- there's a dozen places she could have hidden him. All you needed to say was, 'Go and rescue a man named Gwydion,' and I would have found him. But no, you had to be so clever about it and keep everything to yourself..."

Taran's heart sank. "I must go back to the castle and find him. Will you show me where Achren might have imprisoned him?"

"There's nothing left of the castle," said Eilonwy. "Besides, I'm not sure I'm going to help you any more at all, after the way you've behaved; and calling me those horrid names, that's like putting caterpillars in somebody's hair." She tossed her head, put her chin in the air, and refused to look at him.

"I accused you falsely," Taran said. "My shame is as deep as my sorrow."

Eilonwy, without lowering her chin, gave him a sidelong glance. "I should think it would be."

"I shall seek him alone," said Taran. "You are right in refusing to help. It is no concern of yours." He turned and started out of the clearing.

"Well, you don't have to agree with me so quickly," Eilonwy cried. She slid off the boulder and hastened after him. Fflewddur Fflam was still waiting when they returned. In the light of Eilonwy's sphere, Taran had a better view of this unexpected arrival. The bard was tall and lanky, with a long, pointed nose. His great shock of bright yellow hair burst out in all directions, like a ragged sun. His jacket and leggings were patched at knees and elbows, and sewn with large, clumsy stitches--- the work, Taran was certain, of the bard himself. A harp with a beautiful, sweeping curve was slung from his shoulders, but otherwise he looked nothing at all like the bards Taran had learned about from The
Book of Three.

"So it seems that I've been rescued by mistake," Fflewddur said, after Taran explained what had happened. "I should have known it would turn out to be something like that. I kept asking myself, crawling along those beastly tunnels, who
could possibly be interested whether I was languishing in a dungeon or not?"

"I am going back to the castle," Taran said. "There may be hope that Gwydion still lives."

"By all means," cried the bard, his eyes lighting up. "A Fflam to the rescue! Storm the castle! Carry it by assault! Batter down the gates!"

"There's not much of it left to storm," said Eilonwy.

"Oh?" said Fflewddur, with disappointment. "Very well, we shall do the best we can."

We meet Fflewddur Fflam! Despite all the double consonants, I'm like 80% sure it's just pronounced "FLEW-dur Flam." And we once again see Taran leaping to conclusions and having to apologize afterwards. Communication is important, kids!

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AT THE SUMMIT of the hill, the mighty blocks of stone lay as if crushed by a giant fist. Only the square arch of the gate remained upright, gaunt as a bone. In the moonlight, the ruins seemed already ancient. Shreds of mist hung over the shattered tower. Achren had learned of his escape, Taran guessed, for at the moment of the castle's destruction, she had sent out a company of guards.Amid the rubble, their bodies sprawled motionless as the stones. With growing despair, Taran climbed over the ruins. The foundations of the castle had collapsed. The walls had fallen inward. The bard and Eilonwy helped Taran try to shift one or two of the broken rocks, but the work was beyond their strength. At last, the exhausted Taran shook his head.

"We can do no more," he murmured. "This shall stand as Gwydion's burial mound." He stood a moment, looking silently over the desolation, then turned away. Fflewddur suggested taking weapons from the bodies of the guards. He equipped himself with a dagger, sword, and spear; in addition to the blade she had taken from the barrow, Eilonwy carried a slim dagger at her waist. Taran collected as many bows and quivers of arrows as he could carry. The
group was now lightly but effectively armed. With heavy hearts, the little band made their way down the slope. Melyngar followed docilely, her head bowed, as if she understood that she would not see her master again.

"I must leave this evil place," Taran cried. "I am impatient to be gone from here. Spiral Castle has brought me only grief; I have no wish to see it again."

"What has it brought the rest of us?" Eilonwy asked. "You make it sound as though we were justsitting around having a splendid time while you moan and take on."

Taran stopped abruptly. "I--- I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Furthermore," said Eilonwy; "you're mistaken if you think I'm going to go marching through the woods in the middle of the night."

"And I," put in Fflewddur, "I don't mind telling you I'm so tired I could sleep on Achren's doorstep."

"We all need rest," Taran said. "But I don't trust Achren, alive or dead, and we still know nothing of the Cauldron-Born. If they escaped, they may be looking for us right now. No matter how tired we are, it would be foolhardy to stay this close."

Eilonwy and Fflewddur agreed to continue on for a little distance. After a time, they found a spot well protected by trees, and flung themselves wearily to the turf. Taran unsaddled Melyngar, thankful the girl had thought to bring along
Gwydion's gear. He found a cloak in the saddlebag and handed it to Eilonwy. The bard wrapped himself in his own tattered garment and set his harp carefully on a gnarled root. Taran stood the first watch. Thoughts of the
livid warriors still haunted him, and he saw their faces in every shadow. As the night wore on, the passage of a forest creature or the restless sighingof wind in the leaves made him start. The bushes rustled. This time it was not the wind. He heard a faint scratching, and his hand flew to his sword. A figure bounded into the moonlight and rolled
up to Taran.

"Crunchings and munchings?" whimpered a voice.

"Who is your peculiar friend?" asked the bard, sitting up and looking curiously at this new arrival.

"For an Assistant Pig-Keeper," remarked Eilonwy, "you do keep strange company. Where did you find it? And what is it? I've never seen anything like that in my life."

"He is no friend of mine," cried Taran. "He is a miserable, sneaking wretch who deserted us as soon as we were attacked."

"No, no!" Gurgi protested, whimpering and bobbing his matted head. "Poor humble Gurgi is always faithful to mighty lords--- what joy to serve them, even with shakings and breakings."

"Tell the truth," said Taran. "You ran off when we needed you most."

"Slashings and gashings are for noble lords, not for poor, weak Gurgi. Oh, fearsome whistlings of blades! Gurgi ran to look for help, mighty lord."

"You didn't succeed in finding any," Taran said angrily.

"Oh, sadness!" Gurgi moaned. "There was no help for brave warriors. Gurgi went far, far, withgreat squeakings and shriekings."

"I'm sure you did," Taran said.

"What else can unhappy Gurgi do? He is sorry to see great warriors in distress, oh, tears of misery! But in battle, what would there be for poor Gurgi except hurtful guttings and cuttings of his throat?"

"It wasn't very brave," said Eilonwy, "but it wasn't altogether stupid, either. I don't see what advantage there was for him to be chopped up, especially if he wasn't any help to you in the first
place."

"Oh, wisdom of a noble lady!" Gurgi cried, throwing himself at Eilonwy's feet. "If Gurgi had not gone seeking help, he would not be here to serve you now. But he is here! Yes, yes, faithful Gurgi returns to beatings and bruisings from the
terrifying, warrior!"

"Just keep out of my sight," Taran said, "or you really will have something to complain about."

Gurgi snuffled. "Gurgi hastens to obey, mighty lord. He will say no more, not even whisperings of what he saw. No, he will not disturb the sleepings of powerful heroes. See how he leaves, with tearful farewells."

"Come back here immediately," Taran called.

Gurgi brightened. "Crunchings?"

"Listen to me," Taran said, "there's hardly enough to go round, but I'll give you a fair share of what we have. After that, you'll have to find your own munchings."

Gurgi nodded. "Many more hosts march in the valley with sharp spears--- oh, many more. Gurgi watches so quietly and cleverly, he does not ask them for help. No, they would only give harmful hurtings."

"What's this, what's this?" cried Fflewddur. "A great host? I should love to see them. I always enjoy processions and that sort of thing."

"The enemies of the House of Don are gathering,'' Taran hurriedly told the bard. "Gwydion and I saw them before we were captured. Now, if Gurgi speaks the truth, they have gathered reinforcements."

The bard sprang to his feet. "A Fflam never shrinks from danger! The mightier the foe, the greater the glory! We shall seek them out, set upon them! The bards shall sing our praises forever!"

Carried away by Fflewddur's enthusiasm, Taran seized his sword. Then he shook his head, remembering Gwydion's words in the forest near Caer Dallben. "No--- no," he said slowly, "it would be folly to think of attacking them." He smiled
quickly at Fflewddur. "The bards would sing of us," he admitted, "but we'd be in no position to appreciate it." Fflewddur sat down again, disappointed.

"You can talk about the bards singing your praises all you want," said Eilonwy. "I'm in no mood to do battle. I'm going to sleep." With that, she curled up on the ground and pulled the cloak over her head. Still unconvinced, Fflewddur settled himself against a tree root for his turn at guard. Gurgi curled up at Eilonwy's feet.

Exhausted though he was, Taran lay awake. In his mind, he saw again the Horned King and heard the screams from the flaming cages. He sat up quickly. Grieving for his companion, he had forgotten what had brought him here. His own quest had been for Hen Wen; Gwydion's, to warn the Sons of Don. Taran's head spun. With his companion surely dead, should he now try to make his way to Caer Dathyl? What, then, would become of Hen Wen? Everything had ceased to be simple. He yearned for the peacefulness of Caer Dallben, yearned even to weed the vegetable gardens and make horseshoes. He turned restlessly, finding no answer. At last, his weariness overcame him and he slept, plunged in nightmares.

And Gurgi returns. We have our traveling band assembled! But first, it's time for a good night's rest.

# ? May 17, 2023 14:05

Coca Koala: Nov 28, 2005; ongoing nowhere; College Slice

Oh my god i had actually somehow completely forgotten about Fflewddur Fflam.

Man, revisiting these books is an absolute trip! Seeing Taran spring through life leaping from one conclusion to the next like he�s a goat climbing a craggy mountain, it�s really getting laid on thick. Hopefully he�ll start to chill out in a chapter or two.

# ? May 17, 2023 14:28

Selachian: Oct 9, 2012

Wahad posted:

Chapter 9: Fflewddur Fflam

We meet Fflewddur Fflam! Despite all the double consonants, I'm like 80% sure it's just pronounced "FLEW-dur Flam." And we once again see Taran leaping to conclusions and having to apologize afterwards. Communication is important, kids!

My knowledge of Welsh pronunciation is 100% derived from Susan Cooper's "The Dark Is Rising" books, but my recollection is that ew is pronounced like the English oo and dd is pronounced like th. So, kinda like "Floothur Flam"?

# ? May 17, 2023 15:27

silvergoose: Mar 18, 2006; IT IS SAID THE TEARS OF THE BWEENIX CAN HEAL ALL WOUNDS

Selachian posted:

My knowledge of Welsh pronunciation is 100% derived from Susan Cooper's "The Dark Is Rising" books, but my recollection is that ew is pronounced like the English oo and dd is pronounced like th. So, kinda like "Floothur Flam"?

Hey my knowledge is derived exactly the same, it's mostly from the fourth book set in Wales of course, that series rules.

# ? May 17, 2023 15:45

Chamberk: Jan 11, 2004; when there is nothing left to burn you have to set yourself on fire

This series is one of my absolute favorites. I should start thinking about reading it to my kids.

# ? May 17, 2023 23:51

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

This series has a special place in my heart. Glad to see a let's read being done for it. Can't wait till you get to Taran Wanderer.

# ? May 18, 2023 00:37

Health Services: Feb 27, 2009

Taran Wanderer was my favourite. I'm really happy to revisit the books after all these years.

The structure of these chapters are more formal than I remember them being, but supported by very solid and consistent writing and the characterization is excellent and distinctive.

# ? May 18, 2023 04:27

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 10: The Sword Dyrnwyn

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IT WAS FULL DAYLIGHT when Taran opened his eyes. Gurgi was already sniffing hungrily at the saddlebag. Taran rose quickly and shared out as much of the remaining provisions as he dared, keeping a small amount in reserve, since he had no idea how difficult it would be to find food during the coming journey. In the course of the restless night, he had reached his decision, though at present he refrained from speaking of it, still unsure he had chosen wisely. For the moment he concentrated on a meager breakfast. Gurgi, sitting crosslegged, devoured his food with so many outcries of pleasure and loud smackings of his lips that he seemed to be eating twice as much as he really did. Fflewddur bolted his scant portion as though he had not enjoyed a meal for at least five days. Eilonwy was more interested in the sword she had taken from the barrow. It lay across her knees and, with a perplexed frown, the tip of her tongue between her lips, the girl was studying the weapon curiously.

As Taran drew near, Eilonwy snatched the sword away. "Well," said Taran, with a laugh, "you needn't act as if I were going to steal it from you." Although jewels studded the hilt and pommel, the scabbard was battered, discolored, nearly black with age. For all that, it had an air of ancient lineage, and Taran was eager to hold it. "Come," he said, "let me see the blade."

"I dare not," cried Eilonwy, to Taran's great surprise. He saw that her face was solemn and almost fearful. "There is a symbol of power on the scabbard," Eilonwy continued. "I've seen this mark before, on some of Achren's things. It always means something forbidden. Of course, all Achren's things are like that, but some are more forbidden than others. There's another inscription, too," said Eilonwy, frowning again. "But it's in the Old Writing." She stamped her foot. "Oh, I do wish Achren had finished teaching it to me. I can almost make it out, but not quite, and there's nothing more irritating. It's like not finishing what you started out to say."

Fflewddur came up just then and he, too, peered at the strange weapon. "Comes from a barrow, eh?" The bard shook his spiky, yellow head and whistled. "I suggest getting rid of it immediately. Never had much confidence in things you find in barrows. It's a bad business having anything to do with them. You can't be sure where else they've been and who all's had them."

"If it's an enchanted weapon," Taran began, more interested than ever in getting his hands on the sword, "shouldn't we keep it..."

"Oh, do be quiet," Eilonwy cried. "I can't hear myself think. I don't see what you're both talking about, getting rid of it or not getting rid of it. After all, it's mine, isn't it? I found it and carried it out, and almost got stuck in a dirty old tunnel because of it."

"Bards are supposed to understand these things," Taran said.

"Naturally," Fflewddur answered, smiling confidently and putting his long nose closer to the scabbard. "These inscriptions are all pretty much the same. I see this one's on the scabbard rather than the blade. It says, oh, something like 'Beware My Wrath'--- the usual sentiments."

At that moment there was a loud twang. Fflewddur blinked. One of his harp strings had snapped. "Excuse me," he said, and went to see about his instrument.

"It doesn't say anything at all like that," Eilonwy declared. "I can read some of it now. Here, it starts near the hilt and goes winding around like ivy. I was looking at it the wrong way. It says Dyrnwyn, first. I don't know whether that's the name of the sword or the name of the king. Oh, yes, that's the name of the sword; here it is again:

DRAW DYRNWYN, ONLY THOU OF ROYAL BLOOD,
TO RULE, TO STRIKE THE...

"Something or other," Eilonwy went on. "It's very faint; I can't see it. The letters are worn too smooth. No, that's odd. They aren't worn; they've been scratched out. They must have been cut deeply, because there's still a trace. But I can't read the rest. This word looks as if it might be death..." She shuddered. "That's not very cheerful."

Well, that's very ominous. Though Taran clearly hasn't read any stories with magical items that carry their own warnings, with how eager he is to get it.

quote:

"Let me unsheath it," Taran urged again. "There might be more on the blade."

"Certainly not," said Eilonwy. "I told you it had a symbol of power and I'm bound by it--- that's elementary."

"Achren cannot bind you any longer."

"It isn't Achren," Eilonwy answered. "I only said she had things with the same mark. This is a stronger enchantment than any she could make, I'm quite sure. I wouldn't dare to draw it, and I don't intend letting you, either. Besides, it says only royal blood and doesn't mention a word about Assistant Pig-Keepers."

"How can you tell I haven't royal blood?" Taran asked, bristling. "I wasn't born an Assistant Pig-Keeper. For all you know, my father might have been a king. It happens all the time in The Book of Three."

"I never heard of The Book of Three," said Eilonwy. "But in the first place, I don't think it's good enough to be a king's son or even a king himself. Royal blood is just a way of translating; in the Old Writing, it didn't mean only having royal relatives--- anybody can have those. It meant--- oh, I don't know what you'd' call it. Something very special. And it seems to me that if you have it, you don't need to wonder whether you have it."

"So, of course," said Taran, nettled by the girl's remarks, "you've made up your mind that I'm not-- whatever it is."

"I didn't mean to offend you," Eilonwy said quickly. "For an Assistant Pig-Keeper, I think you're quite remarkable. I even think you're the nicest person I've ever met in my life. It's just that I'm forbidden to let you have the sword and that's that."

"What will you do with it, then?"

"Keep it, naturally. I'm not going to drop it down a well, am I?"

Taran snorted. "You'll make a fine sight--- a little girl carrying a sword."

"I am not a little girl," said Eilonwy, tossing her hair in exasperation. "Among my people in the olden days, the Sword-Maidens did battle beside the men."

"It's not the olden days now," Taran said. "Instead of a sword, you should be carrying a doll." Eilonwy, with a squeal of vexation, raised a hand to slap at Taran, when Fflewddur Fflam returned.

"Here now," said the bard, "no squabbling; there's not a bit of use to it." With a large key he tightened the wooden peg holding the newly repaired harp string.

Eilonwy turned her irritation on Fflewddur. "That inscription was a very important one. It didn't say anything about bewaring anyone's wrath. You didn't read it right at all. You're a fine bard, if you can't make out the writing on an enchanted sword."

"Well, you see, the truth of the matter," said Fflewddur, clearing his throat and speaking with much hesitation, "is this way. I'm not officially a bard."

"I didn't know there were unofficial bards," Eilonwy remarked.

"Oh, yes indeed," said Fflewddur. "At least in my case. I'm also a king."

"A king?" Taran said. "Sire..." He dropped to one knee.

"None of that, none of that," said Fflewddur. "I don't bother with it any more."

"Where is your kingdom?" Eilonwy asked.

"Several days journey east of Caer Dathyl," said Fflewddur. "It is a vast realm..." At this, Taran heard another jangling. "Drat the thing," said the bard. "There go two more strings. As I was saying. Yes, well, it is actually a rather small kingdom in the north, very dull and dreary. So I gave it up. I'd always loved barding and wandering--- and that's what I decided to do."

"I thought bards had to study a great deal," Eilonwy said. "A person can't just go and decide..."

"Yes, that was one of the problems," said the former king. "I studied; I did quite well in the examinations..." A small string at the upper end of the harp broke with a high-pitched tinkle and curled up like an ivy tendril. "I did quite poorly," he went on, "and the Council of Bards wouldn't admit me. Really, they want you to know so much these days. Volumes and volumes of poetry, and chants and music and calculating the seasons, and history; and all kinds of alphabets you spell out on your fingers, and secret signs--- a man couldn't hope to cram it all into his skull. The Council were very nice to me," continued Fflewddur. "Taliesin, the Chief Bard himself, presented me with this harp. He said it was exactly what I needed. I sometimes wonder if he was really doing me a favor. It's a very nice harp, but I have such trouble with the strings. I'd throw it away and get another, but it has a beautiful tone; I should never find one as good. If only the beastly strings..."

"They do seem to break frequently," Eilonwy began.

"Yes, that's so," Fflewddur admitted, a little sheepishly. "I've noticed it usually happens when-- well, I'm an emotional sort of fellow, and I do get carried away. I might, ah, readjust the facts slightly; purely for dramatic effect, you understand."

"If you'd stop readjusting the facts quite as much," Eilonwy said, "perhaps you wouldn't have that trouble with the harp."

"Yes, I suppose," said the bard with a sigh. "I try, but it's hard, very hard. As a king, you get into the habit. Sometimes I think I pass more time fixing strings than playing. But, there it is. You can't have everything."

"Where were you journeying when Achren captured you?" Taran asked.

"No place in particular," said Fflewddur. "That's one advantage. You don't have to hurry to get somewhere. You keep moving, and next thing you know, there you are. Unfortunately, in this case, it was Achren's dungeon. She didn't care for my playing. That woman has no ear for music," he added, shuddering.

We learn some more about Fflewddur! Not only is he a king, but he isn't even a proper bard, and the harp he has seems to be a bit willfull about small things like honesty and truth.

quote:

"Sire," Taran said, "I ask a boon."

"Please," said the former king, "Fflewddur will do very well. A boon? Delighted! I haven't done any boon-granting since I gave up my throne." Fflewddur Fflam and Eilonwy seated themselves on the turf, while Taran recounted his search for Hen Wen and what Gwydion had told him of the Horned King and the rising of the cantrevs. Gurgi, having finished his meal, sidled over and squatted on a hillock to listen.

"There is no doubt in my mind," Taran went on, "the Sons of Don must have news of the uprising before the Horned King strikes. If he triumphs, Arawn will have Prydain by the throat. I have seen with my own eyes what that means." He felt ill at ease, speaking as if he himself were a war leader in a council hall, but soon the words began to come easier. Perhaps, he thought, because he was speaking for Gwydion.

"I see your plan," Fflewddur interrupted. "You shall keep on looking for your pig, and you want me to warn the warriors of Don. Splendid! I shall start off immediately. And if the hosts of the Horned King overtake me..." The bard slashed and thrust at the air. "They shall know the valor of a Fflam!"

Taran shook his head. "No, I shall journey to Caer Dathyl myself. I do not question your valor," he said to the bard, "but the danger is too great. I ask no one else to face it in my stead."

"When do you intend to seek your pig?" asked Fflewddur.

"My own quest," said Taran, looking at thebard, "must be given up. If it is possible, after the first task is done, I mean to return to it. Until then, I serve only Gwydion. It was I who cost him his life, and it is justice for me to do what I believe he would have done."

"As I grasp the situation," said the bard, "I think you're taking too much blame on yourself. You had no way of knowing Gwydion wasn't in the dungeon.''

"It changes nothing," Taran answered. "I have made my decision."

Fflewddur was about to protest, but the firmness of Taran's words silenced the bard. After a moment, he asked, "What is your boon, then?"

"It is twofold," said Taran. "First, tell me how I may reach Caer Dathyl as quickly as possible. Second, I beg you to conduct this girl safely to her own people."

Before Fflewddur could open his mouth, Eilonwy gave an indignant cry and leaped to her feet. "Conducted? I shall be conducted where I please! I'm not going to be sent back, just so I can be sent somewhere else; and it will be another dreary place, you can be sure. No, I shall go to Caer Dathyl, too!"

"There is risk enough," Taran declared, "without having to worry about a girl."

Eilonwy put her hands on her hips. Her eyes flashed. "I don't like being called 'a girl' and 'this girl' as if I didn't have a name at all. It's like having your head put in a sack. If you've made your decision, I've made my own. I don't see how you're going to stop me. If you," she hurried on, pointing at the bard, "try to conduct me to my mean, stupid kinsmen--- and they're hardly related to me in the first place--- that harp will be in pieces around your ears!"

Fflewddur blinked and clutched his harp protectively, while Eilonwy went on.

"And if a certain Assistant Pig-Keeper--- I won't even mention his name--- thinks otherwise, he'll be even more mistaken!"

Everyone started talking at once. "Stop it!" cried Taran at the top of his voice. "Very well," he said, after the others grew quiet. "You," he said to Eilonwy, "could be tied up and set on Melyngar. But," he added, raising his hand before the girl could interrupt, "that will not be done. Not because of all the commotion you raised, but because I realize now it is best." The bard looked surprised. Taran continued. "There is greater safety in greater numbers. Whatever happens, there will be more chance for one of us to reach Caer Dathyl. I believe we should all stay together."

"And faithful Gurgi, too!" shouted Gurgi. "He will follow! Too many wicked enemies are smirking and lurking to jab him with pointy spears!"

"If he agrees," Taran said, "Fflewddur shall act as guide. But I warn you," he added, glancing at Gurgi and Eilonwy, "nothing must hinder our task."

"Ordinarily," said Fflewddur, "I prefer to be in charge of this type of expedition myself. But," he went on, as Taran was about to protest, "since you are acting for Lord Gwydion, I accept your authority as I would accept his." He bowed low. "A Fflam is yours to command!

"Forward, then!" the bard cried. "And if we must give battle, so be it! Why, I've carved my way through walls of spearmen..." Six harp strings broke at once, and the others strained so tautly they looked on the verge of snapping. While Taran saddled Melyngar, the bard set ruefully to work repairing his harp.

The party is joined, and the quest is on! To Caer Dathyl we go.

# ? May 20, 2023 20:11

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

That's one of the many things I love about Fflewddur, dude's a prolific liar who gets outed by his magic harp over minor lies, yet the one claim that seems obviously false, that he's a king, is actually true.

# ? May 20, 2023 20:42

GodFish: Oct 10, 2012; We're your first, last, and only line of defense. We live in secret. We exist in shadow.

And we dress in black.

I remember loving these books as a kid, it'll be nice revisiting them

# ? May 22, 2023 17:40

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 11: Flight Through the Hills

quote:

AT FIRST, TARAN OFFERED to let Eilonwy ride Melyngar, but the girl refused."I can walk as well as any of you," she cried, so angrily that Taran made no more of it; he had learned to be wary of the girl's sharp tongue. It was agreed that the white mare would carry the weapons taken from Spiral Castle--- except the sword Dyrnwyn, of which Eilonwy had appointed herself guardian.

Scratching in the dirt with his dagger point, Fflewddur Fflam showed Taran the path he intended to follow. "The hosts of the Horned King will surely stay in the Valley of Ystrad. It's the easiest way for an army on the march. Spiral Castle was here," he added, with an angry jab to mark the spot, "west of the River Ystrad. Now, the shortest road would be straight north over these hills."

"That is the one we must take," said Taran trying hard to make sense of Fflewddur's crisscrossing lines.

"Wouldn't recommend it, my friend. We should be passing a little too near Annuvin. Arawn's strongholds are close to Spiral Castle; and I suggest we keep clear of them. No, what I believe we should do is this: stay on the high ground of the western bank of the Ystrad; we can go quite directly, since we needn't follow the valley itself. That way, we can avoid both Annuvin and the Horned King. The four of us can move faster than heavily armed warriors. We shall come out well ahead of them, not too far from Caer Dathyl. From there, we make a dash for it--- and our task is done." Fflewddur straightened up, beaming with satisfaction. "There you have it," he said, wiping the dirt from his dagger. "A brilliant strategy. My own war leader couldn't have arranged it better."

"Yes," said Taran, his head still muddled with the bard's talk of high ground and western banks, "that sounds very reasonable."

Very reasonable.

quote:

THEY DESCENDED to a broad, sun-swept meadow. The morning had turned bright and warm; dew still clung to bending blades of grass. At the head of the travelers strode Fflewddur, stepping out briskly on his long, spindly shanks. The harp jogged on his back; his shabby cloak was rolled over his shoulder. Eilonwy, hair disheveled by the breeze, the great black sword slung behind her, followed next, with Gurgi immediately after. So many new leaves and twigs had stuck in Gurgi's hair that he had begun to look like a walking beaver dam; he loped along, swinging his arms, shaking his head from side to side, moaning and muttering. Holding Melyngar's bridle, Taran marched last in line. Except for the weapons lashed to the horse's saddle, these travelers might have been on a spring ramble. Eilonwy chattered gaily; now and then Fflewddur burst into a snatch of song.

Taran alone was uneasy. To him, the bright morning felt deceptively gentle; the golden trees seemed to cover dark shadows. He shuddered even in the warmth. His heart was troubled, too, as he watched his companions. In Caer Dallben, he had dreamed of being a hero. But dreaming, he had come to learn, was easy; and at Caer Dallben no lives depended on his judgment. He longed for Gwydion's strength and guidance. His own strength, he feared, was not equal to his task. He turned once for a last look in the direction of Spiral Castle, Gwydion's burial mound. Over the hill crest, stark against the clouds, rose two figures on horseback. Taran shouted and gestured for his companions to take cover in the woods. Melyngar galloped forward. In another moment, they were all crouching in a thicket. The horsemen followed along the crest, too far away for Taran to see their faces clearly; but from their rigid postures he could guess at the livid features and dull eyes of the Cauldron-Born.

"How long have they been behind us?" asked Fflewddur. "Have they seen us?"

Taran looked cautiously through the screen of leaves. He pointed toward the slope. "There is your answer," he said. From the crest the pale Cauldron warriors had turned their horses toward the meadow and were steadily picking their way down the hill.

"Hurry," ordered Taran. "We must outrun them."

The group did not return to the meadow, but struck out across the woods. The appearance of the Cauldron-Born now forced them to abandon the path Fflewddur had chosen, but the bard hoped they might throw the warriors off the track and circle back again to higher ground. Staying close to one another, they moved at a dog trot, not daring to stop even for water. The forest offered a measure of protection from the sun, but after a time the pace began to tell on them. Only Gurgi did not seem fatigued or uncomfortable. He loped steadily along, and the swarms of midges and stinging insects could not penetrate his matted hair. Eilonwy, who proudly insisted she enjoyed running, clung to Melyngar's stirrup. Taran could not be sure how close the warriors were; he knew the Cauldron-Born could hardly fail to track them, by sound if nothing else, for they no longer attempted to move silently. Speed was their only hope, and long after nightfall they pressed on.

Trouble follows close behind - it's only two Cauldron-Born, but Gwydion was outmatched by four of them, and none of the party is anywhere near Gwydion's skill. So fleeing is the only choice.

quote:

IT HAD BECOME a blind race into darkness, under a moon drowned in heavy clouds. Invisible branches grasped at them or slashed their faces. Eilonwy stumbled once, and Taran pulled her to her feet. The girl faltered again; her head drooped. Taran unstrapped the weapons on Melyngar's saddle, shared out the burden with Fflewddur and Gurgi, and hoisted the protesting Eilonwy to Melyngar's back. She slumped forward, her cheek pressed against the horse's golden mane.

All night they struggled through the forest, which grew denser the closer they approached the Ystrad valley. By the time the first hesitating light of day appeared, even Gurgi had begun to stumble with fatigue and could barely put one hairy foot in front of the other. Eilonwy had fallen into a slumber so deep that Taran feared she was ill. Her hair lay bedraggled and damp upon her forehead; her face was pallid. With the bard's help, Taran lifted her from the saddle and propped her against a mossy bank. When he ventured to unbuckle the cumbersome sword, Eilonwy opened one eye, made an irritated face, and pulled the blade away from him--- with more determination than he had expected.

"You never understand things the first time," Eilonwy murmured, her grip firm on the weapon. "But I imagine Assistant Pig-Keepers are all alike. I told you before you're not to have it, and now I'll tell you for the second time--- or is it the third, or fourth? I must have lost count." So saying, she wrapped her arms around the scabbard and dropped back to sleep.

"We must rest here," Taran said to the bard, "if only a little while."

"At the moment," groaned Fflewddur, who had stretched out full length with his toes and nose pointing straight into the air, "I don't care who catches me. I'd welcome Arawn himself, and ask whether he had any breakfast with him."

"The Cauldron-Born might have lost track of us during the night," Taran said hopefully, but without great conviction. "I wish I knew how far we've left them behind--- if we've left them behind at all."

Gurgi brightened a little. "Clever Gurgi will know," he cried, "with seekings and peekings!"

In another moment, Gurgi was halfway up a tall pine. He clambered easily to the top and perched there like an enormous crow, scanning the land in the direction they had traveled. Taran, meanwhile, opened the saddlebags. So little food remained that it was hardly worth dividing. He and Fflewddur agreed to give Eilonwy the last of the provisions. Gurgi had scented food even at the top of the pine tree, and he came scuttling down, snuffling eagerly at the prospect of his crunchings and munchings.

"Stop thinking about eating for a moment," Taran cried. "What did you see?"

"Two warriors are far, but Gurgi sees them---yes, yes, they are riding full of wickedness and fierceness. But there is time for a small crunching," Gurgi pleaded. "Oh, very small for clever, valiant Gurgi."

"There are no more crunchings," said Taran. "If the Cauldron-Born are still on our heels, you had better worry less about food and more about your own skin."

"But Gurgi will find munchings! Very quickly --- oh, yes--- he is so wise to get them, to comfort the bellies of great noble lords. But they will forget poor Gurgi, and not even give him snips and snaps for his eatings."

After a hurried discussion with Fflewddur, who looked as ravenous as Gurgi, Taran agreed they might take a little time to search for berries and edible roots.

"Quite right," said the bard. "Better eat what we can get now, while the Cauldron-Born give us a chance to do it. I shall help you. I know all about foraging in the woods, do it constantly..." The harp tensed and one string showed signs of giving way. "No," he added quickly, "I had better stay with Eilonwy. The truth is, I can't tell a mushroom from a toadstool. I wish I could; it would make the life of a wandering bard considerably more filling."

With cloaks in which to carry back whatever they might find, Taran and Gurgi set off. At a small stream Taran halted to fill Gwydion's leather waterflask. Gurgi, sniffing hungrily, ran ahead and disappeared into a stand of rowans. Near the ban of the stream Taran discovered mushrooms, and gathered them hurriedly. Bent on his own search, he paid little heed to Gurgi, until he suddenly heard anguished yelps from behind the trees. Clutching his precious mushrooms, Taran hastened to see what had happened, and came upon Gurgi lying in the middle of the grove, writhing and whimpering, a honeycomb beside him. At first, Taran thought Gurgi had got himself stung by bees. Then, he saw the creature was in more serious trouble. While Gurgi had climbed for the honey, a dead branch had snapped under his weight. His twisted leg was pinned to the ground with the heavy wood on top of it. Taran heaved the branch away. The panting Gurgi shook his head.

"Poor Gurgi's leg is broken," he moaned. "There will be no more amblings and ramblings for him now!" Taran bent and examined the injury. The leg was not broken, though badly torn, and swelling rapidly. "Now Gurgi's head must be chopped off," the creature moaned. "Do it, great lord, do it quickly. Gurgi will squeeze up his eyes so as not to see hurtful slashings." Taran looked closely at Gurgi. The creature was in earnest. His eyes pleaded with Taran. "Yes, yes," cried Gurgi. "Now, before silent warriors arrive. Gurgi is better dead at your sword than in their hands. Gurgi cannot walk! All will be killed with fearful smitings and bitings. It is better..."

"No," said Taran. "You won't be left in the woods, and you won't have your head chopped off--- by me or anyone else." For a moment Taran almost regretted his words. The poor creature was right, he knew. The injury would slow their pace. And Gurgi, like all of them, would be better off dead than in Arawn's grasp. Still, Taran could not bring himself to draw his sword.

"You and Eilonwy can ride Melyngar," Taran said, lifting Gurgi to his feet and putting one of the creature's hairy arms about his shoulder. "Come on now. One step at a time..."

Taran was exhausted when they reached Eilonwy and the bard. The girl had recovered noticeably and was chattering even faster than before. While Gurgi lay silently on the grass, Taran divided the honeycomb. The portions were pitifully small. Fflewddur called Taran aside. "Your hairy friend is going to make things difficult," he said quietly. "If Melyngar carries two riders, I don't know how much longer she can keep up."

"That is true," said Taran. "Yet I see nothing else we can do. Would you abandon him? Would you have cut off his head?"

"Absolutely," cried the bard, "in a flash! A Fflam never hesitates. Fortunes of war and all that Oh, drat and blast! There goes another string. A thick one, too."

When Taran went back to rearrange the weapons they would now be obliged to bear, he was surprised to find a large oak leaf on the ground before his cloak. On the leaf lay Gurgi's tiny portion of honeycomb.

"For great lord," murmured Gurgi. "Gurgi is not hungry for crunchings and munchings today." Taran looked at the eager face of Gurgi. For the first time they smiled at one another.

"Your gift is generous," Taran said softly, "but you travel as one of us and you will need all your strength. Keep your share; it is yours by right; and you have more than earned it." He put his hand gently on Gurgi's shoulder. The wet wolfhound odor did not seem as objectionable as before.

Well, they've escaped the Cauldron-Born, but Gurgi's sprained his leg. Things aren't looking good for our heroes.

# ? May 24, 2023 20:05

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

We get a taste of it here, but one of the things I really like about this book and especially The Black Cauldron is how well it establishes the Cauldron-Born as absolutely terrifying unstoppable motherfuckers. It's also one of the things the Disney movie gets right about them too.

# ? May 26, 2023 19:15

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# ? Apr 27, 2024 11:35

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 12: The Wolves

quote:

FOR A TIME, DURING THE DAY, Taran believed they had at last outdistanced the Cauldron-Born. But, late that afternoon, the warriors reappeared from behind a distant fringe of trees. Against the westering sun, the long shadows of the horsemen reached across the hill slope toward the flatlands where the small troop struggled onward.

"We must stand against them sooner or later," Taran said, wiping his forehead. "Let it be now. There can be no victory over the Cauldron-Born, but with luck, we can hold them off a little while. If Eilonwy and Gurgi can escape, there is still a chance."

Gurgi, draped over Melyngar's saddle, immediately set up a great outcry. "No, no! Faithful Gurgi stays with mighty lord who spared his poor tender head! Happy, grateful Gurgi will fight, too, with slashings and gashings..."

"We appreciate your sentiments," said Fflewddur, "but with that leg of yours, you're hardly up to slashing or gashing or anything at all."

"I'm not going to run, either," Eilonwy put in. "I'm tired of running and having my face scratched and my robe torn, all on account of those stupid warriors." She jumped lightly from the saddle and snatched a bow and a handful of arrows from Taran's pack.

"Eilonwy! Stop!" Taran cried. "These are deathless men! They cannot be killed!"

Although encumbered by the long sword hanging from her shoulder, Eilonwy ran faster than Taran. By the time he caught up with her, she had climbed a hillock and was stringing the bow. The Cauldron-Born galloped across the plain. The sun glinted on their drawn swords. Taran seized the girl by the waist and tried to pull her away. He received a sharp kick in the shins.

"Must you always interfere with everything?" Eilonwy asked indignantly.

Before Taran could reach for her again, she held an arrow toward the sun and murmured a strange phrase. She nocked the arrow and loosed it in the direction of the Cauldron-Born. The shaft arched upward and almost disappeared against the bright rays. Open-mouthed, Taran watched while the shaft began its descent: as the arrow plummeted to earth, long, silvery streamers sprang from its feathers. In an instant, a huge spiderweb glittered in the air and drifted slowly toward the horsemen.

Fflewddur, who had run up just then, stopped in amazement. "Great Belin!" he exclaimed. "What's that? It looks like decorations for a feast!"

The web slowly settled over the Cauldron-Born, but the pallid warriors paid it no heed. They spurred their mounts onward; the strands of the web broke and melted away.

Eilonwy clapped a hand to her mouth. "It didn't work!" she cried, almost in tears. "The way Achren does it, she makes it into a big sticky rope. Oh, it's all gone wrong. I tried to listen behind the door when she was practicing, but I've missed something important." She stamped her foot and turned away.

"Take her from here!" Taran called to the bard. He unsheathed his sword and faced the Cauldron-Born. Within moments they would be upon him. But, even as he braced himself for their onslaught, he saw the horsemen falter. The Cauldron-Born reined up suddenly; then, without a gesture, turned their horses and rode silently back toward the hills.

"It worked! It worked after all!" cried the astonished Fflewddur.

Eilonwy shook her head. "No," she said with discouragement, "something turned them away, but I'm afraid it wasn't my spell." She unstrung the bow and picked up the arrows she had dropped.

"I think I know what it was," Taran said. "They are returning to Arawn. Gwydion told me they could not stay long from Annuvin. Their power must have been waning ever since we left Spiral Castle, and they reached the limit of their strength right here."

"I hope they don't have enough left to get back to Annuvin," Eilonwy said. "I hope they fall into pieces or shrivel up like bats."

"I doubt that they will," Taran said, watching the horsemen slowly disappear over the ridge. "They must know how long they can stay and how far they can go, and still return to their master." He gave Eilonwy an admiring glance. "It doesn't matter. They're gone. And that was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen. Gwydion had a mesh of grass that burst into flame; but I've never met anyone else who could make a web like that."

Eilonwy looked at him in surprise. Her cheeks blushed brighter than the sunset. "Why, Taran of Caer Dallben," she said, "I think that's the first polite thing you've said to me." Then, suddenly, Eilonwy tossed her head and sniffed. "Of course, I should have known; it was the spiderweb. You were more interested in that; you didn't care whether I was in danger." She strode haughtily back to Gurgi and Melyngar.

"But that's not true," Taran called. "I--- I was..." By then, Eilonwy was out of earshot. Crestfallen, Taran followed her. "I can't make sense out of that girl," he said to the bard. "Can you?"

"Never mind," Fflewddur said. "We aren't really expected to."

Women, amirite? But Eilonwy finally reveals she's learned something from Achren after all, even if it doesn't quite work like how she intended it to. And we find one weakness in the Cauldron-Born; like electric cars, they have an action radius.

quote:

That night, they continued to take turns at standing guard, though much of their fear had lifted since the Cauldron-Born had vanished. Taran's was the last watch before dawn, and he was awake well before Eilonwy's had ended.

"You had better sleep," Taran told her. "I'll finish the watch for you."

"I'm perfectly able to do my own share," said Eilonwy, who had not stopped being irritated at him since the afternoon. Taran knew better than to insist. He picked up his bow and quiver of arrows, stood near the dark trunk of an oak, and looked out across the moonsilvered meadow. Nearby, Fflewddur snored heartily. Gurgi, whose leg had shown no improvement, stirred restlessly and whimpered in his sleep.

"You know," Taran began, with embarrassed hesitation, "that spiderweb..."

"I don't want to hear any more about it," retorted Eilonwy.

"No--- what I meant was: I really was worried about you. But the web surprised me so much I forgot to mention it. It was courageous of you to stand up against the Cauldron warriors. I just wanted to tell you that."

"You took long enough getting around to it," said Eilonwy, a tone of satisfaction in her voice. "But I imagine Assistant Pig-Keepers tend to be slower than what you might expect. It probably comes from the kind of work they do. Don't misunderstand, I think it's awfully important. Only it's the sort of thing you don't often need to be quick about."

"At first," Taran went on, "I thought I would be able to reach Caer Dathyl by myself. I see now that I wouldn't have got even this far without help. It is a good destiny that brings me such brave companions.''

"There you've done it again," Eilonwy cried, so heatedly that Fflewddur choked on one of his snores. "That's all you care about! Someone to help you carry spears and swords and what-all. It could be anybody and you'd be just as pleased. Taran of Caer Dallben, I'm not speaking to you any more,"

"At home," Taran said--- to himself, for Eilonwy had already pulled a cloak over her head and was feigning sleep--- "nothing ever happened. Now, everything happens. But somehow I can never seem to make it come out right." With a sigh, he held his bow ready and began his turn at guard.

Daylight was long in coming. In the morning, Taran saw Gurgi's leg was much worse, and he left the camp site to search the woods for healing plants, glad that Coll had taught him the properties of herbs. He made a poultice and set it on Gurgi's wound. Fflewddur, meanwhile, had begun drawing new maps with his dagger. The Cauldron warriors, explained the bard, had forced the companions too deeply into the Ystrad valley. Returning to their original path would cost them at least two days of hard travel.

"Since we're this far," Fflewddur went on, "we might just as well cross Ystrad and follow along the hills, staying out of sight of the Horned King. We'll be only a few days from Caer Dathyl, and if we keep a good pace, we should reach it just in time."

Taran agreed to the new plan. It would, he realized, be more difficult; but he judged Melyngar could still carry the unfortunate Gurgi, as long as the companions shared the burden of the weapons. Eilonwy, having forgotten she was not speaking to Taran, again insisted on walking. A day's march brought them to the banks of the Ystrad. Taran stole cautiously ahead. Looking down the broad valley, he saw a moving dust cloud. When he hurried back and reported this to Fflewddur, the bard clapped him on the shoulder.

"We're ahead of them," he said. "That is excellent news. I was afraid they'd be much closer to us and we'd have to wait for nightfall to cross Ystrad. We've saved half a day! Hurry now and we'll be into the foothills of Eagle Mountains before sundown!"

With his precious harp held above his head, Fflewddur plunged into the river, and the others followed. Here, Ystrad ran shallow, scarcely above Eilonwy's waist, and the companions forded it with little difficulty. Nevertheless, they emerged cold and dripping, and the setting sun neither dried nor warmed them. Leaving the Ystrad behind, the companions climbed slopes steeper and rockier than any they had traveled before. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but the air of the land around Spiral Castle had seemed, to Taran, heavy and oppressive. Approaching the Eagle Mountains, Taran felt his burden lighten, as he inhaled the dry, spicy scent of pine.

He had planned to continue the march throughout most of the night; but Gurgi's condition had worsened, obliging Taran to call a halt. Despite the herbs, Gurgi's leg was badly inflamed, and he shivered with fever. He looked thin and sad; the suggestion of crunchings and munchings could not rouse him. Even Melyngar showed concern. As Gurgi lay with his eyes half closed, his parched lips tight against his teeth, the white mare nuzzled him delicately, whinnying and blowing out her breath anxiously, as if attempting to comfort him as best she could. Taran risked lighting a small fire. He and Fflewddur stretched Gurgi out beside it. While Eilonwy held up the suffering creature's head and gave him a drink from the leather flask, Taran and the bard moved a little away and spoke quietly between themselves.

"I have done all I know," Taran said. "If there is anything else, it lies beyond my skill." He shook his head sorrowfully. "He has failed badly today and there is so little of him left I believe I could pick him up with one hand."

"Caer Dathyl is not far away," said Fflewddur, "but our friend, I fear, may not live to see it."

That night, wolves howled in the darkness beyond the fire.

Despite the good fortune of being closer to Caer Dathyl than intended, Gurgi's in big trouble. No more crunchings and munchings.

quote:

ALL NEXT DAY, the wolves followed them; sometimes silently, sometimes barking as if in signal to one another. They remained always out of bow shot, but Taran caught sight of the lean, gray shapes flickering in and out of the scrubby trees.

"As long as they don't come any closer," he said to the bard, "we needn't worry about them."

"Oh, they won't attack us," Fflewddur answered. "Not now, at any rate. They can be infuriatingly patient if they know someone's wounded." He turned an anxious glance toward Gurgi. "For them, it's just a matter of waiting."

"Well, I must say you're a cheerful one,"remarked Eilonwy. "You sound as if all we had to look forward to was being gobbled up."

"If they attack, we shall stand them off," Taran said quietly. "Gurgi was willing to give up his life for us; I can do no less for him. Above all, we must not lose heart so close to the end of our journey."

"A Fflam never loses heart!" cried the bard. "Come wolves or what have you!"

Nevertheless, uneasiness settled over the companions as the gray shapes continued trailing them; and Melyngar, docile and obedient until now, turned skittish. The golden-maned horse tossed her head and rolled her eyes at every attempt to lead her. To make matters worse, Fflewddur declared their progress through the hills was too slow.

"If we go any farther east," said the bard, "we'll run into some really high mountains. The condition we're in, we couldn't possibly climb them. But here, we're practically walled in. Every path has led us roundabout. The cliffs there," he went on, pointing toward the towering mass of rock to his left, "are too rugged to get over. I had thought we'd find a pass before now. Well, that's the way of it. We can only keep on bearing north as much as possible."

"The wolves don't seem to have any trouble finding their way," said Eilonwy.

"My dear girl," answered the bard, with some indignation, "if I were able to run on four legs and sniff my dinner a mile away, I doubt I'd have any difficulties either."

Eilonwy giggled. "I'd love to see you try," she said.

"We do have someone who can run on four legs," Taran said suddenly. "Melyngar! If anyone can find their way to Caer Dathyl, she can."

The bard snapped his fingers. "That's it!" he cried. "Every horse knows its way home! It's worth trying--- and we can't be worse off than we are now."

"For an Assistant Pig-Keeper," said Eilonwy to Taran, "you do come up with some interesting ideas now and then."

When the companions started off again, Taran dropped the bridle and gave Melyngar her head. With the half-conscious Gurgi bound to her saddle, the white horse trotted swiftly ahead at a determined gait. By mid-afternoon, Melyngar discovered one pass which, Fflewddur admitted, he himself would have overlooked. As the day wore on, Melyngar led them swiftly through rocky defiles to high ridges. It was all the companions could do to keep up with her. When she cantered into a long ravine, Taran lost sight of her for a moment and hurried forward in time to glimpse the mare as she turned sharply around an outcropping of white stone. Calling the bard and Eilonwy to follow quickly, Taran ran on ahead. He stopped suddenly. To his left, on a high shelf of rock, crouched an enormous wolf with golden eyes and lolling red tongue.

Before Taran could draw his sword, the lean animal sprang.

If it's not Cauldron-Born, it's an altogether more natural - and just as dangerous - enemy. Our heroes can't quite catch a break.

# ? May 27, 2023 13:59

The Something Awful Forums > The Finer Arts > The Book Barn > Let's Read the Chronicles of Prydain - What is a Gurgi?

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