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

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

Chapter 3: Adaon

quote:

AT FIRST LIGHT the warriors made ready to depart. Taran hurriedly saddled the gray, silver-maned Melynlas, colt of Gwydion's own steed Melyngar. Gurgi, miserable as a wet owl at being left behind, helped load the saddlebags. Dallben had changed his mind about not seeing anyone and stood silent and thoughtful in the cottage doorway, with Eilonwy beside him.

"I'm not speaking to you!" she cried to Taran. "The way you acted. That's like asking someone to a feast, then making them wash the dishes! But--- farewell, anyway. That," she added, "doesn't count as speaking."

Gwydion leading, the horsemen moved through the swirling mist. Taran rose in his saddle, turned, and waved proudly. The white cottage and the three figures grew smaller. Field and orchard fell away, as Melynlas cantered into the trees. The forest closed behind Taran and he could see Caer Dallben no more. With a whinny of alarm, Melynlas suddenly reared. As Ellidyr had ridden up behind Taran, his steed had reached out her long neck and given the stallion a spiteful nip. Taran clutched at the reins and nearly fell.

"Keep your distance from Islimach," said Ellidyr with a raw laugh. "She bites. We are much alike, Islimach and I." Taran was about to reply angrily when Adaon, who had seen what happened, drew his bay mare to Ellidyr's side.

"You are right, Son of Pen-Llarcau," Adaon said. "Your horse carries a difficult burden. And so do you."

"What burden do I carry?" cried Ellidyr, bristling.

"Last night I dreamed of us all," Adaon said, thoughtfully fingering the iron clasp at his throat. "You I saw with a black beast on your shoulders. Beware, Ellidyr, lest it swallow you up," he added, the gentleness of his tone softening the harshness of his council.

Pay attention, readers; this one's important.

quote:

"Spare me from pig-boys and dreamers!" Ellidyr retorted, and with a shout urged Islimach farther up the column.

"And I?" Taran asked. "What did your dream tell of me?"

"You," answered Adaon, after a moment's hesitation, "you were filled with grief."

"What cause have I to grieve?" asked Taran, surprised. "I am proud to serve Lord Gwydion, and there is a chance to win much honor, more than by washing pigs and weeding gardens!"

"I have marched in many a battle host," Adaon answered quietly, "but I have also planted seeds and reaped the harvest with my own hands. And I have learned there is greater honor in a field well plowed than in a field steeped in blood."

The column had begun to move more rapidly and they quickened their steeds' gaits. Adaon rode easily and skillfully; head high, an open smile on his face, he seemed to be drinking in the sights and sounds of the morning. While Fflewddur, Doli, and Coll kept pace with Gwydion, and Ellidyr followed sullenly behind King Morgant's troop, Taran kept to Adaon's side along the leaf-strewn path. As they spoke together to ease the rigors of their journey, Taran soon realized there was little Adaon had not seen or done. He had sailed far beyond the Isle of Mona, even to the northern sea; he had worked at the potter's wheel, cast nets with the fisherfolk, woven cloth at the looms of the cottagers; and, like Taran, labored over the glowing forge. Of forest lore he had studied deeply, and Taran listened in wonder as Adaon told the ways and natures of woodland creatures, of bold badgers and cautious dormice and geese winging under the moon.

"There is much to be known," said Adaon, "and above all much to be loved, be it the turn of the seasons or the shape of a river pebble. Indeed, the more we find to love, the more we add to the measure of our hearts." Adaon's face was bright in the early rays of the sun, but a trace of longing had come into his voice. When Taran asked him what was amiss, he did not answer immediately, as though he wished to hold his own thoughts. "My heart will be lighter when our task is done," Adaon said at last. "Arianllyn, my betrothed, waits for me in the northern domains, and the sooner Arawn's cauldron is destroyed, the sooner may I return to her."

By day's end, they had become fast friends. At nightfall, when Taran rejoined Gwydion and his companions, Adaon camped with them. They had already crossed Great Avren and were well on their way to the borders of King Smoit's realm. Gwydion was satisfied with their progress, though he warned them the most difficult and dangerous portion of their journey was to come. All were in good spirits save Doli, who hated riding horseback and gruffly declared he could go faster afoot. As the companions rested in a protected grove, Fflewddur offered his harp to Adaon and urged him to play. Adaon, sitting comfortably with his back against a tree, put the instrument to his shoulder. For a moment he was thoughtful, his head bowed, then his hands gently touched the strings. The voice of the harp and Adaon's voice twined one with the other in harmonies Taran never before had heard. The tall man's face was raised toward the stars and his gray eyes seemed to see far beyond them. The forest had fallen silent; the night sounds were stilled.

The song of Adaon was not a warrior's lay but one of peacefulness and deep joy, and as Taran listened, its echoes rang again and again in his heart. He longed for the music to continue, but Adaon stopped, almost abruptly, and with a grave smile handed the harp back to Fflewddur. The companions wrapped themselves in their cloaks and slept. Ellidyr remained aloof from them, stretched on the ground at the hooves of his roan. Taran, his head pillowed on his saddle, his hand on his new sword, was impatient for dawn and eager to resume the journey. Yet, as he dropped into slumber, he recalled Adaon's dream and felt a shadow like the flutter of a dark wing.

Adaon may not be a true bard, but he sure seems to have the skills. And he's going to be married! Lucky guy.

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NEXT DAY THE COMPANIONS crossed the River Ystrad and began bearing northward. With much loud grumbling at being kept from the quest, King Smoit obeyed Gwydion and turned away from the column, riding toward Caer Cadarn to ready his warriors. Later, the pace of the column slowed as the pleasant meadows wrinkled into hills. Shortly after midday the horsemen entered the Forest of Idris. Here, the brown, withered grasses were sharp as thorns. Once familiar oaks and alders appeared strange to Taran; their dead leaves clung to the tangled branches and the black trunks jutted like charred bones.At length the forest broke away to reveal sheer faces of jagged cliffs. Gwydion signaled the company forward. Taran's throat tightened. For a cold instant he shrank from urging Melynlas up the stony slope. He knew, without a word from Gwydion, that the Dark Gate of Annuvin was not far distant. Narrow trails rising above deep gorges now forced the company to go in single file. Taran, Adaon, and Ellidyr had been jogging at the end of the column, but Ellidyr kicked his heels against Islimach's flanks and thrust his way past Taran.

"Your place is at the rear, pig-boy!" he called.

"And your place is where you earn it," cried Taran, giving Melynlas rein to strive ahead.

The horses jostled; the riders struggled knee against knee. Islimach reared and neighed wildly. With his free hand Ellidyr seized the bridle of Melynlas to force the stallion back. Taran tried to turn his mount's head but Melynlas, in a shower of pebbles, slipped from the trail to the steep slope. Taran, flung out of the saddle, clutched at the rocks to break his fall. Melynlas, more surefooted than his master, regained his balance on a ledge below the trail. Taran, sprawled flat against the stones, tried vainly to clamber back to the path. Adaon dismounted instantly, ran to the edge of the slope, and attempted to grasp Taran's hands. Ellidyr, too, dismounted. He brushed Adaon aside, leaped down, and seized Taran under the arms. With a powerful heave, he lofted Taran like a sack of meal to the safety of the trail. Picking his way toward Melynlas, Ellidyr put his shoulder beneath the saddle girth and strained mightily. With all his strength, little by little, he raised Melynlas until the stallion was able to clamber from the ledge.

"You fool!" Taran threw back at Ellidyr, racing to Melynlas and anxiously examining the steed. "Has your pride crowded all the wits out of your head?" Melynlas, he saw with relief, was unharmed. Despite himself, he glanced at Ellidyr in amazement and not without a certain admiration. "I have never seen such a feat of strength," Taran admitted.

Ellidyr, for the first time, seemed confused and frightened. "I did not mean for you to fall," he began. Then he threw back his head and, with a mocking smile, added, "My concern is for your steed, not your skin."

"I, too, admire your strength, Ellidyr," Adaon said sharply. "But it is to your shame you proved it thus. The black beast rides in the saddle with you. I see it even now." One of Morgant's warriors, hearing the clamor, had given the alarm. A moment later Gwydion, followed by King Morgant, strode back along the trail. Behind them hurried the agitated Fflewddur and the dwarf.

"Your pig-boy had no better sense than to force his way ahead of me," Ellidyr said to Gwydion. "Had I not pulled him and his steed back ..."

"Is this true?" Gwydion asked, glancing at Taran and his torn clothing. Taran, about to answer, shut his lips tightly and nodded his head. He saw the look of surprise on Ellidyr's angry face.

"We have no lives to waste," Gwydion said, "yet you have risked two. I cannot spare a man or I would send you back to Caer Dallben this instant. But I shall, if this happens again. And you, too, Ellidyr, or any of this company."

King Morgant stepped forward. "This proves what I had feared, Lord Gwydion. Our way is difficult, even unburdened with the cauldron. Once we gain it, I urge you again not to return to Caer Dallben. It would be wiser to take the cauldron north, into my realm. I think, too," Morgant continued, "that a number of my own warriors should be dispatched to guard our retreat. In exchange I offer these three," he said, gesturing toward Taran, Adaon, and Ellidyr, "a plac eamong my horsemen when I attack. If I read their faces well, they would prefer it to waiting in reserve."

"Yes!" cried Taran, gripping his sword. "Let us join the attack!"

Gwydion shook his head. "The plan shall be as I set it. Mount quickly, we have already lost much time."

King Morgant's eyes flickered. "It shall be as you command, Lord Gwydion."

"What happened?" whispered Fflewddur to Taran. "Don't tell me Ellidyr wasn't to blame somehow. He's a trouble-maker, I can see it. I can't imagine what Gwydion was thinking of when he brought him along."

"The blame is as much mine," said Taran. "I behaved no better than he did. I should have held my tongue. With Ellidyr," he added, "that's not easy to do."

"Yes," the bard sighed, glancing at his harp. "I have a rather similar difficulty."

Ellidyr continues to be a prick; Taran continues to lust for battle to prove himself. Water is wet. More news at 11.

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THROUHGOUT THE DAY the company went with greatest caution, for flights of gwythaints, Arawn's fearsome messenger birds, were now seen against the clouds. Shortly before dusk, the trail led downward toward a shallow basin set with scrub and pines. There, Gwydion halted. Ahead rose the baleful crags of Dark Gate, its twin slopesblazing crimson in the dying sun. Thus far the company had encountered no Cauldron-Born. Taran deemed this lucky, but Gwydion frowned uneasily.

"I fear the Cauldron-Born more when they cannot be seen," Gwydion said, after calling the warriors around him. "I would almost believe they had deserted Annuvin. But Doli brings news I wish I might spare you."

"Had me turn invisible and run ahead, that's what he did," Doli furiously muttered to Taran. "When we go into Annuvin, I'll have to do it again. Humph! My ears already feel like a swarm of bees!"

"Take heed, all of you," Gwydion went on. "The Huntsmen of Annuvin are abroad."

"I have faced the Cauldron-Born," Taran boldly cried. "These warriors can be no more terrible."

"Do you believe so?" Gwydion replied with a grim smile. "I dread them as much. They are ruthless as the Cauldron-Born, their strength even greater. They go afoot, yet they are swift, with much endurance. Fatigue, hunger, and thirst mean little to them."

"The Cauldron-Born are deathless," Taran said. "If these are mortal men, they can be slain."

"They are mortal," Gwydion answered, "though I scorn to call them men. They are the basest of warriors who have betrayed their comrades; murderers who have killed for the joy of it. To indulge their own cruelty they have willingly chosen Arawn's realm and have sworn allegiance to him with a blood oath even they cannot break."

"Yes," Gwydion added, "they can be slain. But Arawn has forged them into a brotherhood of killers and given them a terrible power. They rove in small bands, and within those companies the death of one man only adds to the strength of all the rest. Shun them," Gwydion warned. "Do not give battle if it is possible to avoid it. For the more you strike down, the more the others gain in strength. Even as their number dwindles, their power grows. Conceal yourselves now," he ordered, "and sleep. Our attack must be tonight."

We are introduced - if only by word - to the Huntsmen, the other magical warriors of Annuvin. Not quite as unstoppable as the Cauldron-Born, perhaps; but without their action range, too.

quote:

Restless, Taran could barely force himself to close his eyes. When he did, it was in light, uneasy slumber. He woke with a start, groping for his sword. Adaon, already awake, cautioned him to silence. The moon rode high, cold and glittering. The warriors of King Morgant's train moved like shadows. There was a faint jingle of harness, the whisper of a blade drawn from its sheath. Doli, having turned himself invisible, had departed toward Dark Gate. Taran found the bard strapping his beloved harp more securely to his shoulders.

"I doubt I'll really need it," Fflewddur admitted. "On the other hand, you never know what you'll be called on to do. A Fflam is always prepared!" Beside him, Coll had just donned a closefitting, conical helmet. The sight of the stouthearted old warrior, and the cap hardly seeming enough to protect his bald head, filled Taran suddenly with sadness. He threw his arms around Coll and wished him good fortune.

"Well, my boy," said Coll, winking, "never fear. We'll be back before you know it. Then, off to Caer Dallben and the task is done."

King Morgant, cloaked heavily in black, halted at Taran's side. "It would have done me honor to count you among my men," he said. "Gwydion has told me a little of you, and I have seen you for myself. I am a warrior and recognize good mettle." This was the first time Morgant had ever spoken directly to him, and Taran was so taken aback with surprise and pleasure that he could not even stammer out an answer before the war leader strode away to his horse.

Taran caught sight of Gwydion astride Melyngar and ran to him. "Let me go with you," he pleaded again. "If I was man enough to sit with you in council and to come this far, I am man enough to ride with your warriors."

"Do you love danger so much?" asked Gwydion. "Before you are a man," he added gently, "you will learn to hate it. Yes, and fear it, too, even as I do." He reached down and clasped Taran's hand. "Keep a bold heart. Your courage will be tested enough." Disappointed, Taran turned away. The riders vanished beyond the trees and the grove seemed empty and desolate. Melynlas, tethered among the other steeds, whinnied plaintively.

"This night will be long," Adaon said, looking intently past the shadows at the brooding heights of Dark Gate. "You, Taran, shall stand first watch; Ellidyr second, until the moon is down."

"So you shall have more time for dreaming," Ellidyr said with a scornful laugh.

"You will find no quarrel with my dreams tonight," replied Adaon good-naturedly, "for I will share the watch with both of you. Sleep, Ellidyr," he added, "or if you will not sleep, at least keep silent." Ellidyr angrily wrapped himself in his cloak and threw himself on the ground near Islimach. The roan whickered and bent her neck, nuzzling her master.

The night was chill. Frost had begun to sparkle on the dry sedge and a cloud trailed across the moon. Adaon drew his sword and stepped to the edge of the trees. The white light caught his eyes, turning them brilliant as starshine. He was silent, head raised, alert as a wild creature of the forest.

"Do you think they've gone into Annuvin yet?" Taran whispered.

"They should soon be there," Adaon answered.

"I wish Gwydion had let me go with him," Taran said with a certain bitterness. "Or with Morgant."

"Do not wish that," Adaon said quickly. His face held a look of concern.

"Why not?" asked Taran, puzzled. "I would have been proud to follow Morgant. Next to Gwydion, he is the greatest war lord in Prydain."

"He is a brave and powerful man," Adaon agreed, "but I am uneasy for him. In my dream, the night before we left, warriors rode a slow circle around him and Morgant's sword was broken and weeping blood."

"Perhaps there is no meaning in it," Taran suggested, as much to reassure himself as Adaon. "Does it always happen--- that your dreams are always true?"

Adaon smiled. "There is truth in all things, if you understand them well."

"You never told me what you dreamed of the others," Taran said. "Of Coll or good old Doli--- or yourself, for the matter of that." Adaon did not reply, but turned again and looked toward Dark Gate. Unsheathing his sword, Taran moved worriedly to the edge of the grove.

Dreams are powerful things, but often easily misinterpreted. Guess we'll see if Adaon's thoughts will turn out to be true.

# ? Jun 28, 2023 17:27

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# ? Apr 27, 2024 12:42

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

I appreciate that Alexander made the Huntsman an equally awful threat as the Cauldron Born. The idea that they're all bonded by dark magic into small hunting packs and that killing one of them just diffuses their strength across the survivors so that if you somehow whittle them down enough you end up with like one guy with the combined strength of ten men is very daunting.

The Cauldron Born are an enemy you cannot kill. The Huntsmen are an enemy you don't want to kill.

# ? Jun 28, 2023 17:41

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

nine-gear crow posted:

I appreciate that Alexander made the Huntsman an equally awful threat as the Cauldron Born. The idea that they're all bonded by dark magic into small hunting packs and that killing one of them just diffuses their strength across the survivors so that if you somehow whittle them down enough you end up with like one guy with the combined strength of ten men is very daunting.

The Cauldron Born are an enemy you cannot kill. The Huntsmen are an enemy you don't want to kill.

I can't help but wonder though -- if they really are the worst of the worst, why wouldn't some of them go all Jet Li in The One. Kill the rest of your crew and become almighty.

# ? Jun 28, 2023 18:49

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

regulargonzalez posted:

I can't help but wonder though -- if they really are the worst of the worst, why wouldn't some of them go all Jet Li in The One. Kill the rest of your crew and become almighty.

I'd imagine it was part of whatever unbreakable blood oath they took to Arawn that they couldn't just kill themselves or each other to become demigods, probably as a check on their power against him, but yeah it does raise some... interesting possibilities.

# ? Jun 28, 2023 19:49

Hieronymous Alloy: Jan 30, 2009; Why! Why!! Why must you refuse to accept that Dr. Hieronymous Alloy's Genetically Enhanced Cream Corn Is Superior to the Leading Brand on the Market!?!; Morbid Hound

Bit of a gamble innit to kick off the tontine against nine other people who are precisely as powerful as you are

# ? Jun 28, 2023 19:52

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

Adaon seems like he's got a good head on his shoulders and I'm confident everything is going to work out swell for him!

# ? Jun 29, 2023 01:41

Darthemed: Oct 28, 2007; "A data unit?
For me?"; College Slice

Poor guy just needs to shake those stress dreams.

Original post hidden for flying too close to spoilers, if my vague memories are correct.
I heard he�s only two battle campaigns away from retirement, the lucky duck.

Darthemed fucked around with this message at 03:48 on Jun 29, 2023

# ? Jun 29, 2023 03:46

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Coca Koala posted:

Adaon seems like he's got a good head on his shoulders and I'm confident everything is going to work out swell for him!

I hope he gets back to his fiancee that he can't shut up about safely after this wonderful adventure with his new friends.

# ? Jun 29, 2023 03:57

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

Chapter 4: In the Shadow of Dark Gate

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THE NIGHT PASSED HEAVILY, and it was nearly time for Ellidyr's turn at guard, when Taran heard a rustling in the shrub. He raised his head abruptly. The sound stopped. He was unsure now that he had really heard it. He held his breath and waited, poised and tense. Adaon, whose ears were as keen as his eyes, had also noticed it and was at Taran's side in an instant. There was, it seemed to Taran, a flicker of light. A branch cracked nearby. With a shout, Taran swung up his blade and leaped toward it. A golden beam flashed in his eyes and a squeal of indignation struck his ears.

"Put down that sword!" Eilonwy cried. "Every time I see you, you're waving it around or pointing it at somebody." Taran fell back dumbfounded. As he did, a dark figure bounded past Ellidyr, who sprang to his feet, his blade unsheathed and whistling through the air.

"Help! Help!" howled Gurgi. "Angry lord will harm Gurgi's poor tender head with slashings and gashings!" He scuttled halfway up a pine tree, and from the safety of his perch shook a fist at the astonished Ellidyr.

Taran pulled Eilonwy into the protection of the grove. Her hair was disheveled, her robe torn and mud-stained. "What have you done?" he cried. "Do you want us all killed? Put out that light!" He seized the glowing sphere and fumbled vainly with it.

"Oh, you'll never learn how to use my bauble," Eilonwy said with impatience. She took back the golden ball, cupped it in her hand, and the light vanished.

Adaon, recognizing the girl, put his hand anxiously on her shoulder. "Princess, Princess, you should not have followed us."

"Of course she shouldn't," Taran put in angrily. "She must return immediately. She's a foolish, scatterbrained..."

"She is uncalled and unwanted here," said Ellidyr, striding up. He turned to Adaon."For once the pig-boy shows sense. Send the little fool back to her pots."

Taran spun around. "Hold your tongue! I have swallowed your insults to me for the sake of our quest, but you will not speak ill of another."

Ellidyr's sword leaped up. Taran raised his own. Adaon stepped between them and held out his hands. "Enough, enough," he ordered. "Are you so eager to shed blood?"

"Must I hear reproof from a pig-boy?" retorted Ellidyr. "Must I let a scullery maid cost me my head?"

"Scullery maid!" shrieked Eilonwy. "Well, I can tell you..." Gurgi, meantime, had clambered cautiously from the tree and had loped over to stand behind Taran.

"And this!" Ellidyr laughed bitterly, gesturing at Gurgi. "This--- thing! Is this the black beast that so alarmed you, dreamer?"

"No, Ellidyr, it is not," murmured Adaon, almost sadly.

"This is Gurgi the warrior!" Gurgi boldly cried over Taran's shoulder. "Yes, yes! Clever, valiant Gurgi, who joins master to keep him from harmful hurtings!"

"Be silent," Taran ordered. "You've caused trouble enough."

"How did you reach us?" Adaon asked. "You are on foot."

"Well, not really," Eilonwy said, "at least, not all the way. The horses didn't run off until a little while ago."

"What?" cried Taran. "You took horses from Caer Dallben and lost them?"

"You know perfectly well they're our own horses," declared Eilonwy, "the ones Gwydion gave us last year. And we didn't lose them. It was more as if they lost us. We only stopped to let them drink and the silly things galloped away. Frightened, I suppose. I think they didn't like being so close to Annuvin, though I'll tell you truthfully it doesn't bother me in the least. In any case," she concluded, "you needn't worry about them. The last we saw, they were heading straight for Caer Dallben."

"And so shall you be," Taran said.

"And so shall I not!" cried Eilonwy. "I thought about it a long time after you left, every bit as long as it took you to cross the fields. And I decided. It doesn't matter what anybody says, fair is fair. If you can be allowed on a quest, so can I. And there it is, as simple as that."

"And it was clever Gurgi who found the way!" Gurgi put in proudly. "Yes, yes, with whiffings and sniffings! Gurgi does not let gentle Princess go alone, oh, no! And loyal Gurgi does not leave friends behind," he added reproachfully to Taran.

"Since you have come this far," Adaon said, "you may await Gwydion. Although how he will deal with you two runaways may not be to your liking. Your journey," he added, smiling at the bedraggled Princess, "seems to have been more difficult than ours. Rest now and take refreshment."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried. "Crunchings and munchings for brave, hungry Gurgi!"

"That's very kind and thoughtful of you," said Eilonwy with an admiring glance at Adaon. "Much more than you can expect from certain Assistant Pig-Keepers." Adaon went to the stock of provisions, while Ellidyr strode off to his guard post. Taran sat down wearily on a boulder, his sword across his knees. "It's not that we're starving," Eilonwy said. "Gurgi did remember to bring along the wallet of food. Yes, and that was a gift from Gwydion, too, so he had every right to take it. It's certainly a magical wallet," she went on; "it never seems to get empty. The food is really quite nourishing, I'm sure, and wonderful to have when you need it. But the truth of the matter is, it's rather tasteless. That's often the trouble with magical things. They're never quite what you'd expect. You're angry, aren't you," Eilonwy went on. "I can always tell. You look as if you've swallowed a wasp."

"If you'd stopped to think of the danger," Taran replied, "instead of rushing off without knowing what you're doing."

"You're a fine one to talk, Taran of Caer Dallben," said Eilonwy. "Besides, I don't think you're as angry as all that, not after what you said to Ellidyr. It was wonderful the way you were ready to smite him because of me. Not that you needed to. I could have taken good care of him myself. And I didn't mean you weren't kind and thoughtful. You really are. It just doesn't always occur to you. For an Assistant Pig-Keeper you do amazingly well..."

It's Eilonwy and Gurgi! Guess they got tired of being left behind.

quote:

Before Eilonwy could finish, Ellidyr gave a shout of warning. A horse and rider plunged into the grove. It was Fflewddur. Behind him galloped Doli's shaggy pony. Breathless, and with his yellow hair pointing in all directions, the bard flung himself from the steed and ran to Adaon.

"Make ready to leave!" he cried. "Take the weapons. Get the pack horses moving. We're going to Caer Cadarn..." He caught sight of Eilonwy. "Great Belin! What are you doing here?"

"I'm tired of being asked that," Eilonwy said.

"The cauldron!" cried Taran. "Did you seize it? Where are the others? Where is Doli?"

"Here, where else?" snapped a voice. In another instant Doli flickered into sight astride what had seemed to be an empty saddle. He jumped heavily to the ground. "Didn't even take time to make myself visible again." He clapped his hands to his head. "Oh, my ears!"

"Gwydion orders us to fall back immediately," the bard went on in great excitement. "He and Coll are with Morgant. They'll catch us up if they can. If not, we all rally at Caer Cadarn." While Ellidyr and Adaon hurriedly untethered the animals, Taran and the bard packed the store of weapons. "Keep these," Fflewddur ordered, pressing a bow and quiver of arrows into Eilonwy's hands. "And the rest of you, arm yourselves well."

"What happened?" Taran asked fearfully. "Did the plan fail?"

"The plan?" Fflewddur asked. "That was perfect. Couldn't have been better. Morgant and his men rode with us to Dark Gate--- ah, that Morgant! What a warrior! Not a nerve in him. Cool as you please. You might have thought he was going to a feast." The bard shook his spiky head. "And there we were, on the very threshold of Annuvin! Oh, you'll hear songs about that, mark my words."

"Stop yammering," ordered Doli, hastening up with the agitated pack horses. "Yes, the plan was fine," he cried angrily. "It would have gone slick as butter. There was only one thing wrong. We wasted our time and risked our necks for nothing!"

"Will one or the other of you make sense?" Eilonwy burst out. "I don't care about songs or butter! Tell us straight out! Where is the cauldron?"

"I don't know," said the bard. "Nobody knows."

"You didn't lose it!" Eilonwy gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. "No! Oh, you pack of ninnies! Great heroes! I knew I should have gone with you from the beginning."

Doli looked as if he were about to explode. His ears trembled; he raised himself on tiptoe, his fists clenched. "Don't you understand? The cauldron is gone! Away! Not there!"

"That's not possible!" Taran cried.

"Don't tell me it isn't possible," Doli snapped. "I was there. I know what I saw. I know what I heard. I went in first, just as Gwydion ordered. I found the Hall of Warriors. No trouble at all. No guards, in fact. Aha, think I, this will be easier than whistling. I slipped in--- I could have done it in full view in broad daylight. And why? Because there's nothing to guard! The platform was empty!"

"Arawn has moved the cauldron," Taran interrupted. "There is a new hiding place; he's locked it up somewhere else."

"Don't you think I have the wits I was born with?" Doli retorted. "That was the first thing that came into my head. So I set off again--- I'd have searched Arawn's own chamber if I'd had to. But I hadn't gone six paces before I ran into a pair of Arawn's guards. Or they ran into me, the clumsy oafs," Doli muttered, rubbing a bruised eye. "I went along with them a little way. By then, I'd heard enough. It must have happened a few days ago. How or who, I don't know. Neither does Arawn. You can imagine his rage! But whoever they were, they got there ahead of us. They did their work well. The cauldron is gone from Annuvin!"

"But that's wonderful!" said Eilonwy. "Our task is done and it cost us nothing more than a journey."

"Our task is far from done," said the grave voice of Adaon. He had finished loading one of the pack horses and had come to stand beside Taran. Ellidyr, too, had been listening closely.

"We've lost the glory of fighting for it," Taran said. "But the important thing is that Arawn has it no longer."

"It is not so easy," Adaon warned. "This is a stinging defeat for Arawn; he will do all in his power to regain the cauldron. But there is more. The cauldron is dangerous in itself, even out of Arawn's grasp. What if it has fallen into other evil hands?"

"Exactly what Gwydion himself said," Fflewddur put in. "The thing has somehow got to be found and destroyed without delay. Gwydion will plan a new search from Caer Cadarn. It would seem our work has just begun."

"Mount your steeds," Adaon ordered. "We cannot overburden our pack animals; the Princess Eilonwy and Gurgi will share our own horses."

"Islimach will bear only me," Ellidyr said. "She has been trained so, from a foal."

"I would expect that, being a steed of yours," Taran said. "Eilonwy will ride with me."

"And I shall take Gurgi with me on Lluagor," Adaon said. "Come now, quickly." Taran ran to Melynlas, leaped astride, and pulled Eilonwy up after him. Doli and the others hastened to mount. But as they did, savage cries burst from either side of them and there was a sudden hiss of arrows.

Well, the plan has gone awry, despite the sneaking contingent's best efforts. But it seems they haven't left Annuvin entirely unnoticed.

# ? Jul 1, 2023 15:55

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

Chapter 5: The Huntsmen of Annuvin

quote:

THE PACK HORSES SHRIEKED in terror. Melynlas reared, as arrows rattled among the branches. Fflewddur, sword in hand, spun his mount and plunged against the attackers.

Adaon's voice rang above the din. "These are Huntsmen! Fight free of them!"

At first it seemed to Taran the shadows had sprung to life. Formless, they drove against him, seeking to tear him from his saddle. He swung his sword blindly. Melynlas pitched furiously, trying to break away from the press of warriors. The sky had begun to unravel in scarlet threads. The sun, rising against black pines and leafless trees, filled the grove with a baleful light. Taran now saw the attackers numbered about a dozen. They wore jackets and leggings of animal skins. Long knives were thrust into their belts, and from the neck of one warrior hung a curved hunting horn. As the men swirled around him, Taran caught his breath in horror. Each Huntsman bore a crimson brand on his forehead. The sight of it filled Taran with dread, for he knew the strange symbol must be a mark of Arawn's power.

He fought against the fear that chilled his heart and drained his strength. Behind him, he heard Eilonwy cry out. Then he was seized by the belt and dragged from Melynlas. A Huntsman tumbled with him to the ground. Closely grappled, Taran could not bring his sword into play. The Huntsman raised himself abruptly and thrust a knee against Taran's chest. The warrior's eyes glinted; he bared his teeth in a horrible grin as he raised a dagger. The Huntsman's voice froze in the midst of a shout of triumph and he suddenly fell backward. Ellidyr, seeing Taran's plight, had brought down his sword in one powerful blow. Thrusting the lifeless body aside, he heaved Taran to his feet.

For an instant their eyes met. Ellidyr's face, below a bloodstained mat of tawny hair, held a look of scorn and pride. He seemed about to speak, but turned quickly without a word and ran toward the fray. In the grove there was a sudden moment of silence. Then a long sigh rippled among the attackers as though each man had drawn breath. Taran's heart sank as he remembered Gwydion's warning. With a roar, the Huntsmen renewed their attack with even greater ferocity, dashing themselves against the struggling companions in a surge of fury. From astride Melynlas, Eilonwy fitted an arrow to her bow. Taran hurried to her side.

"Do not slay them!" he cried. "Defend yourself but do not slay them!" Just then a hairy, twiggy figure burst from the scrub. Gurgi had snatched up a sword nearly as tall as himself. His eyes shut tightly, he stamped his feet, shouted, and swung the weapon about him like a scythe. Furious as a hornet, he raced back and forth among the Huntsmen, bobbing up and down, his blade never still.

As the warriors sprang aside, Taran saw one of them clutch the air and spin head over heels. Another Huntsman doubled up and fell, pounded by invisible fists. He rolled across the ground in an attempt to escape the buffeting, but no sooner did he climb to his feet than a shouting, thrashing warrior was flung against him. The Huntsmen lashed out with their weapons, only to have them ripped from their hands and tossed into the scrub. Against this charge they fell back in alarm.

"Doli!" Taran cried. "It's Doli!"

Who's stronger, one invisible dwarf or ten magic-bonded jerks?

quote:

Adaon took this moment to plunge forward. He seized Gurgi and hoisted him to Lluagor's back. "Follow me!" Adaon shouted.

He turned his mount and shot past the struggling warriors. Taran leaped to the back of Melynlas. With Eilonwy clinging to his belt, he bent low over the horse's silver mane. Arrows flew past him as Melynlas streaked ahead. Then the stallion was clear of the grove and pounding across open ground. Ears back, Melynlas galloped past a line of trees. Dry leaves flew in a whirlwind beneath churning hooves, as the stallion sped to the brown crest of a hill. For a moment Taran dared to glance behind him.

Below, a number of Huntsmen had separated from the band, and with great strides held to the track of the fleeing companions. They were swift, even as Gwydion had warned. In their jackets of bristling skins they seemed wild beasts rather than men, as they spread in a wide arc across the slope. As they ran, they called out to one another in a weird, wordless cry that echoed almost from the brooding crags of Dark Gate itself. Cold with dread, Taran urged Melynlas on. Clumps of grass rose high among fallen tree trunks and withered branches. Ahead, Lluagor galloped down an embankment. Adaon had brought them to a river bed. Dark water lay in a few shallow pools, but for the most part it was dry and the clay banks rose high enough to offer concealment. Adaon reined in Lluagor and cast a quick glance behind him to make sure all had followed, then beckoned the companions to move forward. They set off at a rapid gait. The river bed wound its way through highstanding firs and tattered alders, but after a little time the embankment fell away and a sparse forest became their only cover.

Although Melynlas did not slacken speed, Taran saw the pace had begun to tell on the other horses. Taran himself longed to rest. Doli's shaggy pony labored through the trees; the bard had ridden his own mount into a lather. Ellidyr's face was deathly pale, and he was bleeding heavily from his forehead. They had not, as far as Taran could tell, stopped hastening westward, and Dark Gate lay some distance behind them, though its peaks no longer could be seen. Taran had hoped Adaon could have fallen back toward the path they had used earlier with Gwydion, but he knew now they were far from it and traveling still farther.

Adaon led them to a dense thicket and signaled them to dismount. "We dare not stay here long," he warned. "There are few hiding places Arawn's hunters will not discover."

"Then stand and face them!" cried the bard. "A Fflam never shrinks!"

"Yes, yes! Gurgi will face them too!" put in Gurgi, although he seemed barely able to lift his head.

"We shall stand against them only if we must," Adaon said. "They are stronger now than before and will not tire as quickly as we will."

"We should make our stand now," Ellidyr cried. "Is this the honor we gain from following Gwydion? To let ourselves be tracked down like animals? Or do you fear them too much?"

"I do not fear them," Taran retorted, "but it is no dishonor to shun them. This is what Gwydion himself would order."

Eilonwy, though exhausted and disheveled, had not lost the use of her tongue. "Oh be quiet, both of you!" she commanded. "You worry so much about honor when you'd be better off thinking of away to get back to Caer Cadarn."

Taran, who had been crouched against a tree, raised his head from his hands. From a distance came a long, wavering cry. Another voice answered it, then another. "Are they giving up the hunt?" he asked. "Have we outrun them?"

Adaon shook his head. "I doubt it. They would not pursue us this far only to let us escape." He swung stiffly to Lluagor's back. "We must ride until we find a safer place to rest. We would have little hope if we let them come upon us now."

As Ellidyr strode to the weary Islimach, Taran took him by the arm. "You fought well, Son of Pen-Llarcau," he said quietly. "I think that I owe you my life."

Ellidyr turned to him with the same glance of contempt Taran had seen in the grove. "It is a small debt," he replied. "You value it more than I do."

Our party has managed to escape for now - but while Ellidyr remains a jerk, at least he's still firmly on the side of the good guys.

quote:

They set out once again, moving deeper into the forest, as rapidly as their strength allowed. The day had turned heavy with dampness and chill. The sun was feeble, wrapped in ragged gray clouds. Their progress slowed in the tangle of underbrush and the wet leaves mired the struggling animals. Doli, who had been bent over his saddle, straightened abruptly. He looked sharply around him. Whatever he saw caused him to be strangely elated.

"There are Fair Folk here," he declared, as Taran rode up beside him.

"Are you sure?" Taran asked. "How do you know?" Though he looked closely, he could see no difference between this stretch of forest and the one they had just passed through.

"How do I know? How do I know?" snapped Doli. "How do you know how to swallow your dinner?" He kicked his heels against the pony's flanks and hurried past Adaon, who halted in surprise. Doli jumped down, and after examining several trees ran quickly to the ruins of an enormous hollow oak. He thrust his head inside and began shouting at the top of his voice. Taran, too, dismounted. With Eilonwy at his heels, he ran to the tree, fearful the fatigue and strain of the day had at last driven the dwarf out of his wits.

"Ridiculous!" muttered Doli, pulling his head out of the tree. "I can't be that far wrong!" He bent, sighted along the ground, and made incomprehensible calculations on his fingers. "It must be!" he cried. "King Eiddileg wouldn't let things run down this badly." With that, he gave a number of furious kicks against the tree roots. Taran was sure the angry dwarf would have climbed into the tree itself had the opening in the trunk been larger. "I'll report it," Doli cried, "yes, to Eiddileg himself! Unheard of! Impossible!"

"I don't know what you're doing," Eilonwy said, brushing past the dwarf and stepping up to the oak, "but if you'd tell us, we might be able to help you."

As the dwarf had done, she peered into the hollow trunk. "I don't know who's down there," she called, "but we're up here and Doli wants to talk to you. At least you can answer! Do you hear me?" Eilonwy turned away and shook her head. "They're impolite, whoever they are. That's worse than somebody shutting their eyes so you can't see them!"

A faint but distinct voice rose from the tree. "Go away," it said.

Another Fair Folk encounter! Though, if we can believe Doli, whoever's here is not doing a very good job of 'it', whatever 'it' is.

# ? Jul 5, 2023 16:24

Strategic Tea: Sep 1, 2012

Ellidyr posted:

It is a small debt. You value it more than I do.

Holy poo poo :iceburn:

# ? Jul 5, 2023 19:46

Darthemed: Oct 28, 2007; "A data unit?
For me?"; College Slice

As stupid as it is, I can�t shake the image of the heroes solving the puzzle of the Huntsmen by treating them like Monty Python�s Black Knight.

# ? Jul 6, 2023 07:52

Comstar: Apr 20, 2007; Are you happy now?

Should have shot arrows into their knees.

# ? Jul 6, 2023 11:24

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

Chapter 6 - Gwystyl

quote:

DOLI HURRIEDLY PUSHED Eilonwy aside and ducked his head back into the tree trunk. He began shouting again, but the dead wood so muffled the sound that Taran could distinguish nothing of the conversation, which consisted mainly of long outbursts from the dwarf followed by brief and reluctant answers. At length Doli straightened up and beckoned the others to follow. He set off at a great rate directly across the woodland, and after little more than a hundred paces, he jumped down a jutting bank. Taran, leading the dwarfs pony as well as Melynlas, hastened to join him. Adaon, Ellidyr, and the bard turned their mounts rapidly and were soon behind them. The bank was so steeply inclined and overgrown that the horses could barely keep their footing. They stepped delicately among the brambles and exposed rocks. Islimach tossed her mane and whinnied nervously. The bard's mount came near to falling onto her haunches, and even Melynlas snorted a protest against the difficult slope. By the time Taran reached a shelf of level ground, Doli had run to the protected face of the embankment and was fuming impatiently before a huge tangle of thorn bushes. To Taran's amazement the brambles began to shudder as though being pushed from inside; then, with much scraping and snapping of twigs, the whole mass opened a crack.

"It's a way post of the Fair Folk," Eilonwy cried. "I knew they had them every which where, but leave it to good old Doli to find one!" As Taran reached the dwarfs side, the portal opened wide enough for him to glimpse a figure behind it. Doli peered inside.

"So it's you, Gwystyl," he said. "I might have known."

"So it's you, Doli," a sad voice replied. "I wish you'd given me a little warning."

"Warning!" cried the dwarf. "I'll give you more than a warning if you don't open up! Eiddileg will hear of this. What good's a way post if you can't get into it when you have to? You know the rules: if any of the Fair Folk are in danger... Well, that's what we're in right now! On top of everything else, I could have shouted myself hoarse!" He gave a furious kick at the brambles. The figure heaved a long and melancholy sigh, and the portal opened wider. Taran saw a creature which, at first glance, looked like a bundle of sticks with cobwebs floating at the top. He realized quickly the strange doorkeeper resembled certain of the Fair Folk he had once seen in Eiddileg's kingdom; only this individual seemed in a woeful state of disrepair.

Unlike Doli, Gwystyl was not of the dwarf kindred. Though taller, he was extremely thin. His sparse hair was long and stringy; his nose drooped wearily above his upper lip, which in turn drooped toward his chin in a most mournful expression. Wrinkles puckered his forehead; his eyes blinked anxiously; and he seemed on the verge of bursting into tears. Around his bent shoulders was draped a shabby, grimy robe, which he fingered nervously. He sniffed several times, sighed again, and grudgingly beckoned Doli to enter. Gurgi and Fflewddur had come up behind Taran. Gwystyl, noticing them for the first time, gave a stifled moan.

"Oh, no," he said, "not humans. Another day, perhaps. I'm sorry, Doli, believe me. But not the humans."

"They're with me," snapped the dwarf. "They claim Fair Folk protection, and I'll see they get it." Fflewddur's horse, slipping among the branches, whinnied loudly, and at this Gwystyl clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Horses!" he sobbed. "That's out of the question! Bring in your humans if you must. But not horses. Not horses today, Doli, I'm simply not up to horses today. Please, Doli," he moaned, "don't do this to me. I'm not well, not at all well, really. I couldn't think of it. All the snorting and stamping and big bony heads. Besides, there's no room. No room at all."

"What place is this?" Ellidyr questioned angrily. "Where have you led us, dwarf? My horse does not leave my side. Climb into this rathole, the rest of you. I shall guard Islimach myself."

"We can't leave the horses above ground," Doli told Gwystyl, who had already begun to retreat into the passageway. "Find room or make room," he ordered. "That's flat!" Sniffing, groaning, shaking his head, Gwystyl with great reluctance heaved the doorway open to its full width.

"Very well," he sighed, "bring them in. Bring them all in. And if you know any others, invite them, too. It doesn't matter. I only suggested--- an appeal to your generous heart, Doli. But I don't care now. It makes no difference." Taran had begun to think Gwystyl had good reason for concern. The portal was barely high enough for the animals to pass through. Only with difficulty did Adaon's tall steed enter; and Islimach rolled her eyes frantically as the thorns tore at her flanks. Once past this barrier, however, Taran saw they had entered a kind of gallery, long and low-ceilinged. One side of it was solid earth, the other a dense screen of thorns and branches impossible to see through but with enough cracks and crevices to admit a little air.

"You can put the horses in there, I suppose," sighed Gwystyl, fluttering his hands in the direction of the gallery. "I cleaned it not long ago. I wasn't expecting to have it turned into a stable. But go ahead, it doesn't make any difference."

We meet Gwystyl! Like his fellow Fair Folk, he's a complainer; but rather than the angry complaining of the dwarves, he seems to be more of the woe-is-me sort. Maybe it's species related?

quote:

Choking and sighing to himself, Gwystyl then led the companions through a damp smelling passageway. On one side, Taran noticed, an alcove had been hollowed out; it was filled with roots, lichens, and mushrooms--- the food stock, he guessed, of the melancholy inhabitant. Water dripped from the dirt roof or ran in rivulets down the wall. An odor of loam and dead leaves hung in the corridor. Farther on, the passage opened into a round chamber. Here, a small fire of sod flickered on a tiny, ash-laden hearth, and gave out frequent puffs of sharp, nose-tingling smoke. A disorderly pallet of straw lay nearby. There was a broken table, two stools; and a vast number of bunches of herbs hung against the wall drying. Some attempt had been made to smooth the sides of the wall itself, but here and there the twisting fingers of roots poked through. Though the chamber was intensely hot and stuffy, Gwystyl shuddered and pulled his robe closer about his shoulders.

"Very cozy," Fflewddur remarked, coughing violently. Gurgi hurried to the fireplace and, despite the smoke, flung himself down beside it. Adaon, who could barely stand to his full height, seemingly paid no attention to the disorder but went to Gwystyl and bowed courteously.

"We thank you for your hospitality," Adaon said. "We have been hard pressed."

"Hospitality!" snapped Doli. "We've seen precious little of that! Get along, Gwystyl, and fetch something to eat and drink."

"Oh, to be sure, to be sure," mumbled Gwystyl, "if you really want to take the time. When did you say you were leaving?"

Eilonwy gave a cry of delight. "Look, he has a tame crow!"

Near the fire, on a tree limb fashioned into a crude perch, crouched a heap of shadows which Taran realized was indeed a large crow. With Eilonwy, he hurried over to look at it. The crow resembled more a humpy ball with straggling tail-feathers, feathers as wispy and disordered as Gwystyl's cobwebby hair. But its eyes were sharp and bright and they peered at Taran critically. With a few dry clicks, the bird polished its beak on the perch and cocked its head.

"It's a lovely crow," Eilonwy said, "though I've never seen one with feathers quite like it. They're unusual, but very handsome once you get used to them."

Since the crow did not object, Taran gently stirred the feathers around its neck and ran a finger under the bird's sharp and gleaming beak. With sudden sadness, he remembered the fledgling gwythaint he had befriended--- long ago, it seemed--- and wondered how the bird had fared. The crow, meantime, was enjoying an attention it evidently did not usually receive. It bobbed its head, blinked happily, and attempted to run its beak through Taran's hair.

"What's its name?" Eilonwy asked.

"Name?" answered Gwystyl. "Oh, his name is Kaw. Because of the noise he makes, you see. Something like that," he added vaguely.

And a much more pleasurable companion, Kaw!

quote:

"Kaw!" exclaimed Fflewddur, who had been watching with interest. "Excellent! How clever! I should never have thought of giving it a name like that." He nodded in pleasure and approval. While Taran smoothed the feathers of the delighted crow, Adaon set about examining Ellidyr's wound. From a small wallet at his belt, he drew out a handful of dried herbs, which he ground into a powder.

"What," said Ellidyr, "are you a healer as well as a dreamer? If it does not trouble me, why should it trouble you?"

"If you do not choose to take it as a kindness," Adaon answered, unperturbed and continuing to treat the cut, "take it as a precaution. There is hard and dangerous travel before us. I would not have you fall ill and delay us."

"I shall not be the one to delay you," Ellidyr replied. "I would have stood my ground when the chance was offered. Now we have let ourselves be run to earth like foxes."

Gwystyl had been peering anxiously over Adaon's shoulder. "Do you have anything that might be useful for my condition?" he asked tremulously. "No, I don't suppose you do. Well, no matter. There's nothing to be done about the dampness and the drafts; no, they'll last longer than I, you can be sure," he added in a dismal voice.

"Stop muttering about the drafts," Doli ordered brusquely, "and think of some way to get us out of here safely. If you're in charge of a way post, you're supposed to be ready in emergencies." He turned away, furious. "I don't know what Eiddileg was thinking of when he put you here."

"I've often wondered that," Gwystyl agreed, with a melancholy sigh. "It's much too close to Annuvin for any decent kind of person to knock at your door--- I don't mean any of you," he added hurriedly. "But it's bleak. Nothing of interest, really. No, Doli, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for you. Except set you on your way as quickly as possible."

"What about the Huntsmen?" Taran put in. "If they're still tracking us..."

"Huntsmen?" Gwystyl turned a sickly greenish-white and his hands trembled. "How on earth did you come across them? I'm sorry to hear that. If I had known before, it might have been possible--- oh, it's too late for that. They'll be all over the place now. No, really, you could have shown a little more consideration."

"You might think we wanted to have them after us!" cried Eilonwy, unable to curb her impatience. "That's like inviting a bee to come and sting you."

At the girl's outburst, Gwystyl shriveled up in his robe and looked more dismal than ever. He choked, wiped his forehead with a trembling hand, and let a large tear roll down his nose. "I didn't mean it that way, my dear child, believe me." Gwystyl sniffed. "I just don't see what's to be done about it--- if anything at all. You've got yourself into a dreadful predicament. How or why, I'm sure I can't imagine."

"Gwydion had led us to attack Arawn," Taran began.

Gwystyl hurriedly raised a hand. "Don't tell me," he interrupted with an anxious frown. "Whatever it is, I don't want to hear about it. I'd rather not know. I don't want to be caught up in any of your mad schemes. Gwydion? I'm surprised he, at least, didn't know better. But it's to be expected, I suppose. There's no use complaining."

"Our quest is urgent," said Adaon, who had finished binding Ellidyr's wound and had come to stand near Gwystyl. "We ask you to do nothing to endanger yourself. I would not tell you the circumstances that brought us here, but without knowing them you cannot realize how desperately we need your help."

"We had come to seize the cauldron from Annuvin," Taran said.

"Cauldron?" murmured Gwystyl.

"Yes, the cauldron!" shouted the furious dwarf. "You pale grub! You lightless lightning bug! The cauldron of Arawn's Cauldron-Born!"

"Oh, that cauldron," Gwystyl answered feebly. "Forgive me, Doli, I was thinking of something else. When did you say you were going?" The dwarf seemed on the verge of seizing Gwystyl by his robe and shaking him, but Adaon stepped forward and quickly explained what had occurred at Dark Gate. "It's a shame," Gwystyl murmured, with a sorrowful sigh. "You should never have got mixed up with the thing. It's too late to think about that, I'm afraid. You'll just have to make the best of it. I don't envy you. Believe me, I don't. It's one of those unfortunate events."

"But you don't understand," Taran said. "We aren't mixed up with the cauldron. It isn't in Annuvin any more. Someone has already stolen it."

"Yes," said Gwystyl, with a gloomy look at Taran, "yes, I know."

He...knows?

# ? Jul 8, 2023 13:03

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Gwystyl along with Smoit is another series-long MVP character that this book introduces. I can't remember where exactly I read it, but according to legend, Lloyd Alexander asked his wife once who out of all the characters in the whole series did she think he was like the most and without hesitation she said Gwystyl, and after being taken aback initially he conceded that she was in fact right, unfortunately.

# ? Jul 9, 2023 05:59

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

Chapter 7: Kaw

quote:

TARAN STOPPED SHORT. "You know that?" he asked in surprise. "Then why didn't you..."

Gwystyl gulped and darted nervous glances about him. "Oh, I know. But only in a very general way, you understand. I mean, I don't really know anything at all. Just the usual unfounded rumor you might expect to hear in a beastly place like this. Of no importance. Pay no attention to it."

"Gwystyl," said Doli sharply, "you know more about this than you let on. Now, out with it."

The gloomy creature flung his hands to his head and began moaning and rocking back and forth. "Do go away and let me alone," he sobbed. "I'm not well; I have so many tasks to finish, I shall never be caught up."

"You must tell us!" cried Taran. "Please," he added, lowering his voice, for the wretched Gwystyl had begun to shake violently, his eyes turning up as though he were about to have a fit. "Do not keep your knowledge from us. If you stay silent, our lives are risked for no purpose."

"Leave it alone," Gwystyl choked, fanning himself with an edge of his robe. "Don't bother with it. Forget it. That's the best thing you can do. Go back wherever you came from. Don't even think about it."

"How can we do that?" Taran cried. "Arawn won't rest until he has the cauldron again."

"Of course he won't rest," Gwystyl said. "He isn't resting now. That's exactly why you should drop the search and go quietly. You'll only stir up more trouble. And there's enough of that already."

"Then we'd better get back to Caer Cadarn and join Gwydion as quickly as we can," Eilonwy said.

"Yes, yes, by all means," broke in Gwystyl, with the first trace of eagerness Taran had glimpsed in this strange individual. "I only give you this advice for your own good. I'm glad, very glad, you've seen fit to follow it. Now, of course," he added, almost brightly, "you'll want to be on your way. Very wise of you. I, unhappily, have to stay here. I envy you, I really do. But--- that's the way of it, and there's little anyone can do. A pleasure meeting you all. Goodbye."

"Goodbye?" cried Eilonwy. "If we put our noses above ground and the Huntsmen are waiting for us--- yes, it will be goodbye indeed! Doli says it's your duty to help us. And with that, you haven't done a thing. Except sigh and moan! If this is the best the Fair Folk can manage, why, I'd rather be up a tree with my toes tied together!"

Gwystyl clutched his head again. "Please, please, don't shout. I'm not up to shouting today. Not after the horses. One of you can go and see if the Huntsmen are still there. Not that it will really do any good, for they might have just stepped away for a moment."

"I wonder who'll do that?" muttered the dwarf. "Good old Doli, of course. I thought I'd done with making myself invisible."

"I could give all of you a little something," Gwystyl went on, "not that it will do much good. It's a kind of powder I've put by in case of need. I was saving it for emergencies."

"What do you call this, you clot!" Doli growled.

"Yes, well, I meant, ah, more for personal emergencies," Gwystyl explained, paling. "But it doesn't matter about me. You can have it. Take all of it, go ahead. You put it on your feet, or whatever you walk on--- I mean hooves and so forth," Gwystyl added. "It doesn't work too well, hardly much sense in bothering. Because it wears off. Naturally, if you're walking on it, it would do that. However, it will hide your tracks for a while."

"That's what we need," said Taran. "Once we throw the Huntsmen off our trail, I think we can outrun them."

"I'll get some," Gwystyl said with eagerness. "It won't take a moment." As he made to leave the chamber, however, Doli took him by the arm.

"Gwystyl," said the dwarf severely, "you have a skulking, sneaking look in your eyes. You might hoodwink my friends. But don't forget you're also dealing with one of the Fair Folk. I have a feeling," Doli added, tightening his grip, "you're far too anxious to see us gone. I'm beginning to wonder, if I squeezed you a little, what more might come out." At this, Gwystyl rolled up his eyes and fainted away. The dwarf had to haul him upright, while Taran and the others fanned him.

At length Gwystyl opened one eye. "Sorry," he gasped. "Not myself today. Too bad about the cauldron. One of those unfortunate things."

Too bad.

quote:

The crow, who had been watching all this activity, turned a beady glance on his owner and flapped his wings with such vigor that Gurgi roused himself in alarm.

"Orddu!" Kaw croaked.

Fflewddur turned in surprise. "Well, can you imagine that! He didn't say 'kaw' at all. At least it didn't seem that way to me. I could have sworn he said something like 'ordo.' "

"Orwen!" croaked Kaw. "Orgoch!"

"There," said Fflewddur, looking at the bird with fascination. "He did it again."

"It's strange," agreed Taran. "It sounded like ordorwenorgoch! And look at him, running back and forth on his perch. Do you think we've upset him?"

"He acts as if he wants to tell us something," began Eilonwy. Gwystyl's face, meanwhile, had turned the color of ancient cheese.

"You may not want us to know," said Doli, roughly seizing the terrified Gwystyl, "but he does. This time, Gwystyl, I really mean to squeeze you."

"No, no, Doli, please don't do that," wailed Gwystyl. "Don't give him another thought. He does odd things; I've tried to teach him better habits, but it doesn't do any good." A flood of Gwystyl's pleading and moaning followed, but the dwarf paid it no heed, and began to carry out his threat. "No," squealed Gwystyl. "No squeezing. Not today. Listen to me, Doli," he added, his eyes crossing and uncrossing frantically, "if I tell you, will you promise to go away?" Doli nodded and relaxed his grip. "All Kaw meant to say," Gwystyl went on hurriedly, "is that the cauldron is in the hands of Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch. That's all. It's a shame, but there's certainly nothing to be done about it. It hardly seemed worth mentioning."

"Who are Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch?" Taran asked. His excitement and impatience were getting the better of him, too, and he was sorely tempted to aid Doli in squeezing Gwystyl.

"Who are they?" murmured Gwystyl. "You had better ask what are they?"

"Very well," cried Taran, "what are they?"

"I don't know," replied Gwystyl. "It's hard to say. It doesn't matter; they've got the cauldron and you might as well let it rest there." He shuddered violently. "Don't meddle with them; there's no earthly use in it."

"Whoever they are, or whatever they are," cried Taran, turning to the rest of the company, "I say find them and take the cauldron. That's what we set out to do, and we should not turn back now. Where do they live?" he asked Gwystyl.

"Live?" asked Gwystyl with a frown. "They don't live. Not exactly. It's all very vague. I really don't know."

Kaw flapped his wings again. "Morva!" he croaked.

"I mean," Gwystyl moaned, as the angry Doli reached for him again, "they stay in the Marshes of Morva. Exactly where, I have no idea, no idea at all. That's the trouble. You'll never find them. And if you do, which you won't, you'll wish you never had." Gwystyl wrung his bony hands, and his trembling features indeed held a look of deepest dread.

"I have heard of the Marshes of Morva, " Adaon said. "They lie to the west of here. How far, I do not know."

"I do!" interrupted Fflewddur. "A good day's journey, I should say. I once came upon them during my wanderings. I recall them quite clearly. Unpleasant stretch of country and quite terrifying. Not that it bothered me, of course. Undaunted, I strode through ..." A harp string snapped abruptly with a resounding twang. "I went around them," the bard corrected himself hurriedly. "Dreadful, smelly, ugly looking fens they were. But," he added, "if that's where the cauldron is, then I say with Taran: go there! A Fflam never hesitates!"

"A Fflam never hesitates to open his mouth," put in Doli. "Gwystyl is telling the truth for once, I'm sure of it. I've heard tales, back in Eiddileg's realm, of those--- whatever you call thems. And they weren't pleasant. Nobody knows much about them. Or, if they do, they aren't telling."

A spooky marsh, you say? Well, wouldn't be an adventure series without one.

quote:

"You should pay attention to Doli," interrupted Eilonwy, turning impatiently to Taran. "I don't see how you can even think about getting the cauldron away from whoever has it--- and not even knowing whatever has it. Besides," Eilonwy went on, "Gwydion ordered us to meet him at Caer Cadarn, and if my memory hasn't got holes in it from all the nonsense I've been hearing, he didn't say a word about going off in the opposite direction."

"You don't understand," Taran retorted. "When he told us to meet him, he was going to plan a new search. He didn't know we would find the cauldron."

"In the first place," Eilonwy said, "you haven't found the cauldron."

"But we know where it is!" cried Fflewddur. "That's just as good!"

"And in the second place," Eilonwy continued, ignoring the bard, "if you've got any news about it, the only wise thing is to find Gwydion and tell him what you know."

"That's sense," put in Doli. "We'll have enough trouble getting to Caer Cadarn without splashing around in swamps on a wild goose chase. You listen to her. She's the only one, outside of myself, who has any notion of what ought to be done."

Taran hesitated. "It may be," he said, after a pause, "that we would be wiser returning to Gwydion. King Morgant and his warriors can lend us their strength." He spoke these words with some effort; in the back of his mind he yearned to find the cauldron, to bring it in triumph to Gwydion. Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Eilonwy and Doli had proposed the surer plan.

"It seems to me, then," he began. But he had no sooner started to agree with Doli than Ellidyr thrust his way to the fireside.

"Pig-boy," Ellidyr said, "you have chosen well. Return with your friends and let us make our parting here."

"Parting?" asked Taran, puzzled.

"Do you think I would turn my back now, when the prize is nearly won?" Ellidyr said coldly. "Go your way, pig-boy, and I shall go mine--- to the Marshes of Morva themselves. Wait for me at Caer Cadarn," Ellidyr added with a scornful smile. "Warm your courage beside the fire. I shall bring the cauldron there." Taran's eyes flashed with anger at Ellidyr's words. The thought that Ellidyr should find the cauldron was more than he could bear.

"I shall warm my courage, Son of Pen-Llarcau," he cried, "in whatever fire you choose! Go back, the rest of you, if that's what you want. I was a fool to listen to the thoughts of a girl!" Eilonwy gave a furious shriek. Doli raised a hand in protest, but Taran cut him short. He was calmer now that his first anger had passed. "This is not a game of courage," he said. "I would be twice a fool, and so should we all, to be goaded by an idle taunt. This much, at least, I have learned from Gwydion. But there is also this: Arawn seeks the cauldron even now. We do not dare lose the time it would take to bring help. If he finds the cauldron before we do..."

"And if he doesn't?" put in Doli. "How do you know he knows where it is? And if he doesn't know, how long will it take him to find out? A merry while, I'll be bound, even with all his Cauldron-Born and Huntsmen and gwythaints, and what have you! There's a risk either way, any clodpole can see that. But if you ask me, there's more risk than otherwise if you go popping off into the Marshes of Morva."

"And you, Taran of Caer Dallben," said Eilonwy, "you're only making excuses for some harebrained idea of your own. You've been talking and talking and you've forgotten one thing. You're not the one to decide anything; and neither are you, Ellidyr. Adaon commands you both, if I'm not mistaken." Taran flushed at Eilonwy's reminder.

"Forgive me, Adaon," he said, bowing his head. "I did not intend to disobey your orders. The choice is yours."

Adaon, who had been listening silently near the fire, shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "this choice cannot be mine. I have said nothing for or against your plan; the decision is greater than I dare make."

"But why?" cried Taran. "I don't understand," he said quickly and with concern. "Of all of us, you know best what to do."

Adaon turned his gray eyes toward the fire. "Perhaps you will understand one day. For now, choose your path, Taran of Caer Dallben," he said. "Wherever it may lead, I promise you my help."

Taran drew back and stood silent a moment, filled with distress and uneasiness.It was not fear touching his heart, but the wordless sorrow of dry leaves rushing desolate before the wind. Adaon continued to watch the dance of the flames.

"I shall go to the Marshes of Morva," Taran said.

Adaon nodded. "So it shall be." No one spoke then. Even Ellidyr made no reply; he bit his lips and fingered the hilt of his sword.

"Well," said Doli at last, "I suppose I might as well go along, too. Do what I can. But it's a mistake, I warn you."

"Mistake?" cried the jubilant bard. "By no means! I wouldn't be kept away from it!"

"And I certainly won't," declared Eilonwy. "Someone has to make sure there are at least a few of us with good sense along. Marshes! Ugh! If you insist on making fools of yourselves, I wish you'd picked a drier way."

"And Gurgi will help!" shouted Gurgi, springing to his feet. "Yes, yes, with seekings and peekings!"

"Gwystyl," said Doli, with a look of resignation, "you might as well go and fetch that powder you were talking about." While Gwystyl eagerly rummaged through the alcove, the dwarf drew a deep breath and flickered out of sight. He was back after some length of time, fully visible and looking furious, his ears trembling and rimmed with blue.

"There's five Huntsmen camped over the rise," he said. "They've settled down for the--- oh, my ears--- night. If that powder is any good, we can be well away before they even know we've been here." The companions dusted their feet and the hooves of their steeds with a black substance Gwystyl distributed from a moldering sack. He seemed almost gleeful, as Taran untethered Melynlas and led the horse from behind the screen of brambles.

"Goodbye, goodbye," muttered Gwystyl. "I hate to see you waste your time, not to mention your lives. But that's the way of it, I suppose. Here today, gone tomorrow, and what's anyone to do about it? Goodbye. I hope we meet again. But not soon. Goodbye." With that, the portal shut. Taran took a firmer grip on the bridle of Melynlas and the companions moved silently into the forest.

Off to the Marshes of Morva we go! Adaon seems to know more than he's letting on, too - though whether that is in Taran's favor remains to be seen.

# ? Jul 12, 2023 17:19

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Wahad posted:

Chapter 7: Kaw

Too bad.

A spooky marsh, you say? Well, wouldn't be an adventure series without one.

Off to the Marshes of Morva we go! Adaon seems to know more than he's letting on, too - though whether that is in Taran's favor remains to be seen.

Wow, Ellidyr is such a dick. "Go and warm your courage by the fire". It's not even that he needs to go and be a hero, Taran has the same problem there, it's that he needs to put down his erstwhile comrades while he does it.

# ? Jul 12, 2023 21:24

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Genghis Cohen posted:

Wow, Ellidyr is such a dick. "Go and warm your courage by the fire". It's not even that he needs to go and be a hero, Taran has the same problem there, it's that he needs to put down his erstwhile comrades while he does it.

Taran is terminally heroic, but he wants to make sure that everyone in the party succeeds along with him. Ellidyr is also terminally heroic, but only if he gets to be the hero alone, gently caress everyone else.

# ? Jul 12, 2023 21:33

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

The two kinds of Cosmic Encounter players.

# ? Jul 12, 2023 23:45

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

Chapter 8: A Stone in the Shoe

quote:

OUTSIDE THE WAY POST, night had already fallen; the sky was clear once more, but the chill had deepened. Adaon and Fflewddur held a hurried council on which path to follow, and agreed the company should ride westward until dawn, conceal themselves and sleep, then turn due south. As before, Eilonwy shared Melynlas with Taran, and Gurgi clung to the back of Lluagor. Fflewddur had offered to lead the way, claiming he had never been lost and could find the Marshes with his eyes shut; after two harp strings had snapped, he reconsidered and gave up his position to Adaon. Doli, still muttering angrily about his buzzing ears, rode last, as rear guard, although he flatly refused to make himself invisible no matter what the circumstances. Ellidyr had spoken to no one since leaving the melancholy Gwystyl, and Taran had seen the cold rage in his eyes after the companions' decision to press on to the Marshes of Morva.

"I think he really would have tried to bring back the cauldron by himself," Taran said to Eilonwy. "And you know how much chance he would have had alone. That's the kind of childish thing I'd have done when I was an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

"You're still an Assistant Pig-Keeper," answered Eilonwy. "You're going to these silly swamps because of Ellidyr, and anything else you say is pure nonsense. Don't tell me it wouldn't have been wiser to find Gwydion. But no, you have to decide the other way and drag the rest of us along." Taran did not reply. Eilonwy's words stung him--- all the more because he had begun to regret his own decision. Now the companions had set off, doubts tormented him and his heart was heavy. Taran could not forget the strange tone in Adaon's voice and sought again and again to understand why he had turned from a choice rightfully his. He jogged Melynlas closer to Adaon and leaned from the saddle.

"I am troubled," he said in a low voice, "and I wonder now if we should not turn back. I fear you have kept something from me, and had I known what it was, I would have chosen otherwise." If Adaon shared Taran's doubts, he showed no sign. In the saddle, he rode unbowed, as though he had gained new strength and the weariness of the journey could no longer touch him. On his face was a look Taran had never seen before and could not fathom. In it was pride, yet more than that; for it held, as well, a light that seemed almost joyous.

After a long pause Adaon said, "There is a destiny laid on us to do what we must do, though it is not always given to us to see it."

"I think you see many things," Taran replied quietly, "many things which you tell no one. It has long been in my mind," he went on, with much hesitation, "and now more than ever--- the dream you had, the last night in Caer Dallben. You saw Ellidyr and King Morgant; to me, you foretold I would grieve. But what did you dream of yourself?"

Adaon smiled. "Is that what troubles you? Very well, I shall tell you. I saw myself in a glade; and though winter lay all around, it was warm and sunlit. Birds called and flowers sprang up from bare stones."

"Your dream was beautiful," said Eilonwy, "but I can't guess its meaning."

Taran nodded. "Yes, it is beautiful. I feared it had been unhappy and for that reason you chose not to speak of it." Adaon said nothing more and Taran fell back into his own thoughts, still finding no reassurance. Melynlas moved ahead, surefooted despite the darkness. The stallion was able to avoid the loose stones and fallen branches that lay across the winding path, even without Taran's hands on the reins. His eyes heavy with fatigue, Taran leaned forward and patted the stallion's powerful neck.

"Follow the way, my friend," Taran murmured. "Surely you know it better than I do." At daybreak Adaon raised his hand and signaled a halt. Throughout the night they had ridden, as it seemed to Taran, down a long series of descending slopes. They were still in the Forest of Idris, but here the ground had leveled a little. Many of the trees were yet covered with leaves; the undergrowth was thicker; the land less stark than the hills around Dark Gate. Doli, his pony snorting white mist, galloped up to report no sign of the Huntsmen on their trail.

"How long that sallow mealworm's powder lasts I couldn't guess," said the dwarf. "And I don't think it'll do us that much good anyway. If Arawn's looking for the cauldron, he's going to look hard and close. The Huntsmen must know we've come in this general direction. If enough of them keep after us, sooner or later they're bound to find us. That Gwystyl--- for all the help he's been! Humph! And his crow, too. Humph! I wish we hadn't run into either of them." Ellidyr had dismounted and was anxiously studying Islimach's left foreleg. Taran, too, swung down and went to Ellidyr's side. The horse whinnied and rolled her eyes as he approached.

"She has gone lame," Taran said. "Unless we can help her, I fear she will not be able to hold the pace."

"I need no pig-boy to tell me that," answered Ellidyr. He bent and examined the mare's hoof with a gentleness of touch which surprised Taran.

"If you lightened her burden," Taran suggested, "it might ease her for a while. Fflewddur can take you up behind him."

Ellidyr straightened, his eyes black and bitter. "Do not give me council on my own steed. Islimach can go on. And so she will." Nevertheless, as Ellidyr turned away, Taran saw his face fill with lines of worry.

"Let me look at her," Taran said. "Perhaps I can find the trouble." He knelt and reached toward Islimach's foreleg.

"Do not touch her," cried Ellidyr. "She will not abide a stranger's hands." Islimach reared and bared her teeth. Ellidyr laughed scornfully. "Learn for yourself, pig-boy," he said. "Her hooves are sharp as knives, as you shall see." Taran rose and grasped Islimach's bridle. For a moment, as the horse lunged, he feared she would indeed trample him. Islimach's eyes were round with terror; she whickered and struck out at him. A hoof glanced against his shoulder, but Taran did not loosen his hold. He reached up and put a hand to Islimach's long, bony head. The mare shuddered, but Taran spoke quietly and soothingly to her. She tossed her mane, the straining muscles relaxed; the reins went loose and she made no attempt to draw away. Without stopping the flow of reassuring words, Taran raised her hoof. As he had suspected, there was a small, jagged stone wedged far back behind the shoe. He drew his knife. Islimach trembled, but Taran worked quickly and deftly. The stone came free and fell to the ground.

"This has happened even to Melynlas," Taran explained, patting the roan's flank. "There's a place deep in the hoof anyone can miss it if they don't know. It was Coll who showed me how to find it."

Ellidyr's face was livid. "You have tried to steal honor from me, pig-boy," he said through clenched teeth. "Will you now rob me of my horse?" Taran had expected no thanks, but the angry thrust of Ellidyr's words took him aback. Ellidyr's hand was on his sword. Taran felt a surge of answering anger, a flush rising to his cheeks, but he turned away.

"Your honor is your own," Taran answered coldly, "and so is your steed. Whatstone is in your shoe, Prince of Pen Llarcau?"

He strode to his companions, who had taken cover in the tangle of brush. Gurgi had already opened the wallet and was proudly distributing its contents. "Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried gleefully, "crunchings and munchings for all! Thanks to generous, kindhearted Gurgi! He will not let brave warriors suffer bellies filled only with howlings and growlings!" Ellidyr remained behind, patting Islimach's neck and murmuring in the roan's ear. Since he made no move to join the companions at their meal, Taran called out to him. But the Prince of Pen-Llarcau only gave him a bitter glance and remained with Islimach.

"That foul-tempered nag is the only thing he cares about," muttered the bard, "and as far as I can see, the only thing that cares about him. They're two of a kind, if you ask me."

Adaon, sitting a little apart from the others, called Taran to him. "I commend your patience," he said. "The black beast spurs Ellidyr cruelly."

"I think he'll feel better once we find the cauldron," Taran said. "There will be glory enough for all to share."

Adaon smiled gravely. "Is there not glory enough in living the days given to us? You should know there is adventure in simply being among those we love and the things we love, and beauty, too. But I would speak to you of another matter," Adaon went on. His handsome face, usually tranquil, was clouded. "I have few possessions, for I count them of little importance. But these few I treasure: Lluagor, my packets of healing herbs, and this," he said, touching the clasp at his throat, "the brooch I wear, a precious gift from Arianllyn, my betrothed. Should any ill befall me, they are yours. I have watched you closely, Taran of Caer Dallben. In all my journeys I have met no one else to whom I would rather entrust them."

"Do not speak of ill befalling you," Taran cried. "We are companions and protect one another against dangers. Besides, Adaon, your friendship is gift enough for me."

"Nevertheless," Adaon replied, "we cannot know all the future holds. Will you accept them?" Taran nodded. "It is well," Adaon said. "Now my heart is lighter."

After the meal it was decided they would rest until midday. Ellidyr made no comment when Adaon ordered him to stand the first watch. Taran rolled up in his cloak under the protection of a bush. Exhausted by the journey, and by his own doubts and fears, he slept heavily.

Ellidyr remains a jerk, despite Taran's best efforts to extend an olive branch. Adaon remains a cryptic dreamer. But at least they have a rest, now.

quote:

The sun was high when he opened his eyes. He sat up with a start, realizing his turn at guard had almost passed. Around him, the companions still slept.

"Ellidyr," he called, "why didn't you wake me?" He rose hurriedly to his feet. There was no sign of Ellidyr or Islimach. Taran hastily roused the others. He ran a little distance into the trees, then circled back. "He's gone!" Taran cried. "He's gone after the cauldron alone. He said he would and now he's done it!"

"Stolen a march on us, has he?" grumbled Doli. "Well, we'll catch up to him, and if we don't--- that's his concern. He doesn't know where he's going and, for the matter of that, neither do we."

"Good riddance to him," said Fflewddur. "If we have any kind of luck at all, we may not see him again."

For the first time Taran saw deep alarm in Adaon's face. "We must overtake him quickly," Adaon said. "Ellidyr's pride and ambition swallow him up. I fear to think what might happen should the cauldron come into his hands." They set off with all possible haste. Adaon soon found Ellidyr's trail leading southward.

"I was hoping he might have got disgusted with the whole business and gone home," said Fflewddur, "but there's no doubt of it, he's heading for Morva." Despite their speed, the companions saw no sign of Ellidyr himself. They pressed on, urging the last strength from the laboring horses, until they were obliged to halt for breath. A cold wind had risen, swirling the leaves in great circles above their heads.

"I do not know if we can overtake him," Adaon said. "He rides as swiftly as we, and he is nearly a quarter day's journey ahead of us." His heart pounding, Taran flung himself from Melynlas and slumped to the ground. He cradled his head in his hands. From a distance came the shrill call of a bird, the first birdsong he had heard since leaving Caer Dallben.

"That is not the true speech of a bird," Adaon cried, springing to his feet. "The Huntsmen have found us." Without awaiting Adaon's order, the dwarf raced in the direction of the Huntsmen's signal. As Taran watched, Doli vanished before his eyes. Adaon drew his sword. "This time we must stand against them," he said. "We can run from them no longer." Quickly he commanded Taran, Eilonwy, and Gurgi to ready their bows, while he and the bard mounted their horses. Within moments the dwarf was back again.

"Five Huntsmen!" he cried. "Go on, the rest of you. I'll play them the same trick."

"No," said Adaon. "I do not trust it to work again. Hurry, follow me." He led them through a clearing and halted at the far side. "Here we make our stand," Adaon said to Taran. "As soon as they come in sight, Fflewddur, Doli, and I will charge them from the flank. When they turn to give battle, loose your arrows."

Adaon swung around to face the clearing. In another instant the Huntsmen burst from cover. They had no sooner taken a stride forward than Adaon, with a great cry, urged his horse across the ground. Doli and the bard galloped beside him. Even as Taran drew his bow, Adaon was in the midst of the Huntsmen, striking left and right with his blade. The dwarf had pulled the stubby axe from his belt and chopped furiously at his enemies. Surprised by the fierce attack, theHuntsmen spun about to engage the riders. Taran loosed his arrow, and heard the shafts of Eilonwy and Gurgi whistle past him. The flight of all three went wild, snatched by the wind and skittering among the dry bushes. Shouting madly, Gurgi fitted another arrow to his bow. Three Huntsmen pressed toward Fflewddur and the dwarf, forcing them into a thicket. Adaon's sword flashed and rang against the weapons of his assailants. Now Taran dared not loose another shaft for fear of hitting one of the companions.

"We are fighting uselessly," he cried, and flung his bow to the ground. He unsheathed his sword and ran to Adaon's aid. One of the Huntsmen shifted his attack to Taran, who struck out at him with all his strength. His blow glanced from the jacket of animal skins, but the Huntsman lost his footing and dropped to earth. Taran stepped forward. He had forgotten the vicious daggers of the Huntsmen until he saw the man raise himself and snatch at his belt. Taran froze with horror. In front of him, he saw the snarling face with its crimson brand, the arm uplifted to throw the blade. Suddenly Lluagor was between him and the Huntsman. Adaon rose in the saddle and swept down with his sword. As the Huntsman toppled, the knife flew glittering through the air.

Adaon gasped and dropped his weapon. He slumped over Lluagor's mane, clutching the dagger in his breast. With a cry of anguish, Taran caught him as he was about to fall.

"Fflewddur! Doli!" Taran shouted. "To us! Adaon is wounded!"

Uh oh.

# ? Jul 15, 2023 14:46

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

Chapter 9: The Brooch

quote:

FFLEWDDUR'S HORSE REARED as the Huntsmen turned their attack against him. The death of one of their band had roused the enemy to even greater violence and frenzy.

"Take him to safety!" cried the bard. With a mighty leap his steed cleared the bushes and streaked into the forest. The dwarf on his pony followed. With a shout of rage, the remaining Huntsmen pursued them.

Taran seized Lluagor's bridle and, while Adaon clung to the horse's mane, raced toward the edge of the clearing. Eilonwy ran to meet them. Between them, they kept Adaon from falling and tore their way into the undergrowth. Gurgi, leading Melynlas, hurried after them. They ran blindly, stumbling through brambles and harsh nets of dead vines. The wind had risen, cold and biting as a winter gale, but the forest opened a little, and as the ground dipped, they found themselves in a protected hollow in a glade of alders. From the back of Lluagor, Adaon raised his head and gestured for them to stop. His face was gray and drawn, his black hair damp on his brow.

"Put me down," he murmured. "Leave me. I can go no farther. How do the bard and Doli fare?"

"They have led the Huntsmen away from us," Taran answered quickly. "We are safe here for a while. I know Doli can throw them off our trail, and Fflewddur will help him. They'll join us again somehow, I'm sure. Rest now. I'll fetch your medicines from the saddlebags."

Carefully, they lifted Adaon from his steed and carried him to a hillock. While Eilonwy brought the leather water flask, Taran and Gurgi unharnessed Lluagor and set the saddle under Adaon's head. The wind howled above the trees, but this sheltered spot, by contrast, seemed warm. The driven clouds broke away; the sun turned the branches to gold. Adaon raised himself. His gray eyes scanned the glade and he nodded briefly.

"Yes, this is a fair place. I shall rest here."

"We shall heal your wound," Taran replied, hastily opening a packet of herbs. "You'll soon be comfortable, and if we must move, we can make a litter from branches and sling it between our horses."

"I am comfortable enough," Adaon said. "The pain has gone and it is pleasant here, as warm as spring." At Adaon's words, Taran's heart filled with terror. The quiet glade, the sun on the alders seemed suddenly menacing.

"Adaon!" he cried in alarm. "This is what you dreamed!"

"It is much like it," Adaon answered quietly.

"You knew, then!" cried Taran. "You knew there would be peril for you. Why did you not speak of it before? I would never have sought the Marshes. We could have turned back."

Adaon smiled. "It is true. Indeed, that is why I dared not speak. I have yearned to be again at the side of my beloved Arianllyn, and my thoughts are with her now. But had I chosen to return, I would ever wonder whether my choice was made through wisdom or following the wishes of my own heart. I see this is as it must be, and the destiny laid upon me. I am content to die here."

"You saved my life," Taran cried. "You will not lose your own life for me. We shall find our way to Caer Cadarn and Gwydion."

Adaon shook his head. He put his hand to his throat and undid the iron clasp at the collar of his jacket. "Take this," he said. "Guard it well. It is a small thing, but more valuable than you know."

"I must refuse," answered Taran with a smile that ill concealed his anxiety. "Such would be the gift of a dying man. But you shall live, Adaon."

"Take it," Adaon repeated. "This is not my command to you, but the wish of one friend to another." He pressed the brooch into Taran's unwilling hand. Eilonwy had come with water to steep the herbs. Taran took it from her and knelt again beside Adaon. Adaon's eyes had closed. His face was calm; his hand lay outstretched and open on the ground.

And thus he died.

Farewell.

quote:

WHEN THEIR GRIEF ABATED a little, the companions hollowed out a grave, lining it with flat stones. Wrapping him in his cloak, they lowered Adaon into the earth and laid the turf gently over him, while Lluagor whinnied plaintively and pawed the dry ground. Then they raised a mound of boulders. In a sheltered corner of the glade, Eilonwy found handfuls of small flowers still untouched by the frost. These she scattered on the grave, where they fell among the crevices and seemed to spring from the rocks themselves. They remained there silently until nightfall, without a sign of Fflewddur or Doli.

"We shall wait for them until dawn," Taran said. "Beyond that, we dare not stay. I fear we have lost more than one gallant friend."

"Adaon warned that I would grieve," he murmured to himself. "And so I do, thrice over."

Too burdened with sorrow, too weary even to set a guard, they huddled in their cloaks and slept. Like his spirit, Taran's dreams were confused, filled with dismay and fear. In them, he saw the mournful faces of the companions, the calm face of Adaon. He saw Ellidyr seized by a black beast that sank its claws into him and gripped him until Ellidyr cried out in torment. The restless images gave way to a vast sweep of meadow, where Taran ran through grasses shoulder high, desperately seeking a path he could not find. Overhead, a gray bird fluttered and spread its wings. He followed it and a path opened at his feet. He saw, too, a turbulent stream with a great boulder in the midst of it. On the boulder lay Fflewddur's harp, which played of itself as the wind stirred the strings.Taran was running, then, through a trackless marsh. A bear and two wolves set upon him and made to rend him with their fangs. Terrified, he sprang into a dark pool, but the water suddenly turned to dry land. The enraged beasts snarled and leaped after him.

He woke with a start, his heart pounding. The night had barely ended; the first streaks of dawn rose above the glade. Eilonwy stirred; Gurgi whimpered in his sleep. Taran bowed his head and put his face in his hands. The dream lay heavily upon him; he could still see the gaping jaws of a wolf and the sharp, white teeth. He shuddered. He knew he must decide now whether to return to Caer Cadarn or seek the Marshes of Morva. Taran looked beside him at the sleeping figures of Gurgi and Eilonwy. In little more than a day, the companions had been scattered like leaves, and there remained only this pitifully small band, itself lost and driven. How could they hope to find the cauldron? Taran doubted they would even be able to save their own lives; yet the journey to Caer Cadarn would be as perilous as this quest, perhaps more so. Nevertheless, a choice had to be made. He rose after a time and saddled the horses. Eilonwy was now awake and Gurgi was poking a tousled, twig-covered head from the folds of his cloak.

"Hurry," Taran ordered. "We'd better get an early start before the Huntsmen overtake us."

"They'll find us soon enough," Eilonwy said. "They're probably as thick as burdock between here and Caer Cadarn."

"We are going to the Marshes," Taran said, "not Caer Cadarn."

"What?" Eilonwy cried. "Are you still thinking about those wretched swamps? Do you seriously think we can find that cauldron, let alone haul it back from wherever it is? On the other hand," Eilonwy went on, before Taran could answer her, "I suppose it's the only thing we can do, now that you've got us in the stew. And there's no telling what Ellidyr has in mind. If you hadn't made him jealous over a silly horse..."

"I feel pity for Ellidyr," Taran answered. "Adaon once told me he saw a black beast on Ellidyr's shoulders. Now I understand a little what he meant."

"Well," remarked Eilonwy, "I'm surprised to hear you say that. But it was kindhearted of you to help Islimach; I'm really glad you did. I'm sure you meant well, and that's encouraging in itself. It does make a person think there might be some hope for you after all."

Taran did not reply, for he was still anxious and oppressed, although the disturbing dreams had already begun to fade. He swung astride Melynlas; Gurgi and Eilonwy shared Lluagor; and the companions swiftly rode from the glade. It was Taran's intention to head southward, hoping somehow to come upon the Marshes of Morva within another day; although he admitted to himself that he had no more than a vague idea of their distance or exact location. The day was bright and crisp. As Melynlas cantered over the frosty ground, Taran caught sight of a glittering, dew covered web on a hawthorn branch and of the spider busily repairing it. Taran was aware, strangely, of vast activities along the forest trail. Squirrels prepared their winter hoard; ants labored in their earthen castles. He could see them clearly, not so much with his eyes but in a way he had never known before. The air itself bore special scents. There was a ripple, sharp and clear, like cold wine. Taran knew, without stopping to think, that a north wind had just begun to rise. Yet in the middle of this he noticed another scent mingled through. He turned Melynlas toward it.

"Since you're leading us," Eilonwy remarked, "I wonder if it would be too much to expect you to know where you're going."

"There is water nearby," Taran said. "We shall need to fill our flasks..." He hesitated, puzzled. "Yes, there is a stream," he murmured, "I'm sure of it. We must go there." Nevertheless, he could not quite overcome his surprise when, after a short while, they indeed came upon a swift running brook winding its way through a stand of rowans. They rode to its bank. With a cry, Taran sharply reined in Melynlas. On a rock in the middle of the stream sat Fflewddur, cooling his bare feet in the water. The bard leaped up and splashed across to greet the companions. Though haggard and worn, he appeared unwounded.

"Now there's a stroke of luck, my finding you--- your finding me, rather. I hate to admit it, but I'm lost. Completely. Got turned around somehow after Doli and I began leading the Huntsmen a chase. Tried to make my way back to you and got lost even more. How is Adaon? I'm glad you managed to..." The bard stopped. Taran's expression told him what had happened. Fflewddur shook his head sadly. "There are few like Adaon," he said. "We can ill afford the loss. Nor the loss of our good old Doli. I'm not sure what happened," Fflewddur went on. "All I know is that we were galloping at top speed. You should have seen him! He rode like a madman, popping invisible and back again, the Huntsmen racing after him. If it hadn't been for him, they'd have dragged me down for certain. They're stronger than ever, now. Then my horse fell. That is to say," the bard hastily added, as his harp strings tensed and jangled, "I fell off. Fortunately, by that time Doli had led them well away. At the rate he was going..." Fflewddur sighed heavily. "What has befallen him since then, I do not know." The bard bound up his leggings. He had walked all the distance and was quite pleased to be riding once again. Gurgi mounted behind him on Lluagor. Taran and Eilonwy rode Melynlas. The bard's news lowered Taran's spirits further, for he realized now there was little chance of Doli rejoining them. Nevertheless, he continued to lead the companions southward. Until he should recognize a landmark, Fflewddur agreed this was the only course.

"The trouble is," he explained, "if we veer too far south, we'll simply end up in the sea and miss the Marshes altogether." Taran himself could offer no suggestions. Downcast, he gave Melynlas rein and made little effort to guide the stallion. The trees thinned out behind him and the companions entered a wide, rolling meadow. Taran, halfdozing in the saddle, his cloak wrapped round his shoulders, roused himself uneasily. The meadow, with its high grass stretching all around them, was familiar. He had seen it before; where, he could not quite remember. He fingered Adaon's clasp at his throat. Suddenly, with fear and excitement, he understood. His hands trembled at the discovery. Taran glanced overhead. A gray bird circled, glided downward on outspread wings, then flew rapidly across the fields and disappeared from sight.

"That was a marsh bird," Taran said, quickly turning Melynlas. "If we follow this way," he added, pointing in the direction of the bird's flight, "I'm sure we'll come directly to Morva."

"Well done!" cried the bard. "I must say I never would have noticed it."

"That's at least one clever thing you've done today," Eilonwy admitted.

"This is not my doing," Taran said with a puzzled frown. "Adaon spoke the truth. His gift is a precious one." He told Eilonwy hurriedly about the clasp and the dreams of the night before.

"Don't you see?" he cried. "I dreamed about Fflewddur's harp--- and we found Fflewddur himself. It wasn't all my own idea to go looking for a stream; it just came to me and I knew we would find it. Just now, when I saw the bird--- that was in my dream. And there was another dream, a terrible one, of wolves... That's going to happen, too. I'm sure of it. Adaon's dreams were always true. He told me of them."

At first Eilonwy was loath to believe him. "Adaon was a wonderful man," she said. "You can't tell me it was all because of a piece of iron. I don't care how magical it is."

"I don't mean that," Taran said. "What I believe," he added thoughtfully, "is that Adaon understood these things anyway. Even with his clasp, there is much I do not understand. All I know is that I feel differently somehow. I can see things I never saw before--- or smell or taste them. I can't say exactly what it is. It's strange, and awesome in a way. And very beautiful sometimes. There are things that I know..." Taran shook his head. "And I don't even know how I know them."

Eilonwy was silent for a moment. "Yes," she said slowly, "I believe it now. You don't even sound quite like yourself. Adaon's clasp is a priceless gift. It gives you a kind of wisdom," she added, "which, I suppose, is what Assistant Pig Keepers need more than anything else."

So we've lost a dreamer, but it turns out his clasp is still a guiding sign - if you learn how to interpret dreams and sudden knowledge you didn't knew you had, of course.

# ? Jul 19, 2023 17:53

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

All consistently high quality stuff, as Taran continues to very slowly and painfully learn wisdom. I do think the danger and adventure as mere set dressing are pretty evident in that passage though. These fantastically bad, dangerous Huntsmen ambush our heroes, attack them, wound the most dangerous one, and then simply exit stage left, vainly pursuing some of them. The remaining heroes bimble off for some more dialogue and wild camping.

# ? Jul 19, 2023 21:16

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Genghis Cohen posted:

All consistently high quality stuff, as Taran continues to very slowly and painfully learn wisdom. I do think the danger and adventure as mere set dressing are pretty evident in that passage though. These fantastically bad, dangerous Huntsmen ambush our heroes, attack them, wound the most dangerous one, and then simply exit stage left, vainly pursuing some of them. The remaining heroes bimble off for some more dialogue and wild camping.

That is perhaps one of the valid criticisms you can lobby against most of the books is that, due to the age range of their prospective readers, a lot of the dangers the characters face in them lack teeth. At least until a certain point in Book 4, Book 5 definitely.

Still Adaon's dead now, so they're not loving around THAT much...

# ? Jul 19, 2023 21:25

MadDogMike: Apr 9, 2008; Cute but fanged

nine-gear crow posted:

That is perhaps one of the valid criticisms you can lobby against most of the books is that, due to the age range of their prospective readers, a lot of the dangers the characters face in them lack teeth. At least until a certain point in Book 4, Book 5 definitely.

Still Adaon's dead now, so they're not loving around THAT much...

Yeah, for a guy who was only introduced and existed for 8 or so chapters, his death was remarkably moving. Granted, in retrospective adulthood I have to admit he was sending up death signals pretty hard; if nothing else I can't see Taran doing any growing up when he's got a wise adult to consult.

# ? Jul 21, 2023 00:36

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

MadDogMike posted:

Yeah, for a guy who was only introduced and existed for 8 or so chapters, his death was remarkably moving. Granted, in retrospective adulthood I have to admit he was sending up death signals pretty hard; if nothing else I can't see Taran doing any growing up when he's got a wise adult to consult.

I always got the impression that Adaon was around the same age as Taran and the rest, maybe a little older like 17 or 18 to Taran and Eilonwy's 15, just a really well put together 17 year old thanks to his magic brooch powers. Flwedder's kind of the odd one out being this weirdo 20 or 30 something dude hanging around with a bunch of teenagers all the time, but he's basically as close as the group gets to adult supervision whenever Gwydion's not around.

# ? Jul 21, 2023 00:51

Comstar: Apr 20, 2007; Are you happy now?

MadDogMike posted:

Yeah, for a guy who was only introduced and existed for 8 or so chapters, his death was remarkably moving.

What I found weird is that he didn�t tell anyone a last message to his fianc�e.

With him knowing what was coming, seems a bit rude of him.

# ? Jul 21, 2023 05:50

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

Comstar posted:

What I found weird is that he didn’t tell anyone a last message to his fiancée.

With him knowing what was coming, seems a bit rude of him.

Probably left a letter with his manservant or chief of staff or something. "If I don't make it back" type of thing. Better than trusting a rando to deliver one gasped-out sentence.

# ? Jul 21, 2023 12:37

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

Chapter 10: The Marshes of Morva.

quote:

FROM THE MOMENT the marsh bird appeared, Taran led the companions swiftly, following without hesitation a path which now seemed clear. He felt the powerful muscles of Melynlas moving beneath him, and guided the steed with unaccustomed skill. The stallion responded to this new touch on the reins with mighty bursts of speed, so much so that Lluagor could barely keep pace. Fflewddur shouted for Taran to halt a bit and let them all catch their breath. Gurgi, looking like a windblown haystack, gratefully clambered down, and even Eilonwy gave a sigh of relief.

"Since we've stopped," Taran said, "Gurgi might as well share out some food. But we'd better find shelter first, if we don't want to get soaked."

"Soaked?" cried Fflewddur. "Great Belin, there isn't a cloud in the sky! It's a gorgeous day--- taking everything into consideration."

"If I were you," Eilonwy advised the puzzled bard, "I should listen to him. Usually, that's not a wise thing to do. But the circumstances are a little different now." The bard shrugged and shook his head, but followed Taran across the rolling fields into a shallow ravine. There, they found a wide and fairly deep recess in the shoulder of a hill.

"I hope you aren't wounded," remarked Fflewddur. "My war leader at home has an old wound that gives him a twinge when the weather changes. Very handy, I admit; though it does seem a painful way of foretelling rain. I always think it's easier just to wait, and every kind of weather's bound to come along sooner or later."

"The wind has shifted," Taran said. "It comes from the sea now. It's restless, with a briny taste. There's a smell of grass and weeds, too, which makes me think we aren't far from Morva. If all goes well, we may reach the Marshes by tomorrow."

Soon afterward, the sky indeed clouded over and a chill rain began pelting against the hill. In moments it grew to a heavy downpour. Water coursed in rivulets on either side of their shelter, but the companions remained dry.

"Wise master," shouted Gurgi, "protects us from slippings and drippings!"

"I must say," the bard remarked, "you foretold it exactly."

"Not I," said Taran. "Without Adaon's clasp, I'm afraid we'd all have been drenched."

"How's that?" asked the perplexed Fflewddur. "I shouldn't think a clasp would have anything to do with it." As he had explained to Eilonwy, Taran now told the bard what he had learned of the brooch. Fflewddur cautiously examined the ornament at Taran's throat.

"Very interesting," he said. "Whatever else it may have, it bears the bardic symbol--- those three lines there, like a sort of arrowhead."

"I saw them," Taran said, "but I didn't know what they were."

"Naturally," said Fflewddur. "It's part of the secret lore of the bards. I learned that much when I was trying to study for my examinations."

"But what do they mean?" Taran asked.

"As I recall," put in Eilonwy, "the last time I asked him to read an inscription..."

"Yes," said Fflewddur with embarrassment, "that was something else again. But I know the bardic symbol well. It is secret, though since you have the clasp I don't suppose it can do any harm for me to tell you. The lines mean knowledge, truth, and love."

"That's very nice," said Eilonwy, "but I can't imagine why knowledge, truth, and love should be so much of a secret."

"Perhaps I should say unusual as much as secret," answered the bard. "I sometimes think it's hard enough to find any one of them, even separately. Put them all together and you have something very powerful indeed."

The secret of the clasp revealed! Well, sort of.

quote:

Taran, who had been thoughtfully fingering the clasp, stopped and looked about him uneasily. "Hurry," he said, "we must leave here at once."

"Taran of Caer Dallben," Eilonwy cried, "you're going too far! I can understand coming out of the rain, but I don't see deliberately going into it." Nevertheless, she followed; and the companions, at Taran's urgent command, untethered the horses and ran from the hillside. They had not gone ten paces before the entire slope, weakened by the downpour, collapsed with a loud roar.

Gurgi yelped in terror and threw himself at Taran's feet. "Oh, great, brave, and wise master! Gurgi is thankful! His poor tender head is spared from terrible dashings and crashings!"

Fflewddur put his hands on his hips and gave a low whistle. "Well, well, fancy that. Another moment and we'd have been buried for good and all. Never part with that clasp, my friend. It's a true treasure."

Taran was silent. His hand went to Adaon's brooch, and he stared at the shattered hill slope with a look of wonder. The rain slackened a little before nightfall. Although drenched and chilled to the bone, the companions had made good progress by the time Taran allowed them to rest again. Here, gray and cheerless moors spread before them. Wind and water had worn crevices in the earth, like the gougings of a giant's fingers. The companions made their camp in a narrow gorge, glad for the chance to sleep even on the muddy ground. Taran drowsed with one hand on the iron brooch, the other grasping his sword. He was less weary than he had expected, despite the grueling ride. A strange sense of excitement thrilled him, different from what he had felt when Dallben had presented him with the sword. However, his dreams that night were troubled and unhappy. At first light, as the companions began their journey again, Taran spoke of his dreams to Eilonwy.

"I can make no sense of them," he said with hesitation. "I saw Ellidyr in mortal danger. At the same time it was as though my hands were bound and I could not help him."

"I'm afraid the only place you're going to see Ellidyr is in your dreams," replied Eilonwy. "There certainly hasn't been a trace of him anywhere. For all we know, he could have been to Morva and gone, or not even reached the Marshes in the first place. It's too bad you didn't dream of an easier way to find that cauldron and put an end to all this. I'm cold and wet and at this point I'm beginning not to care who has it."

"I dreamed of the cauldron, too," Taran said anxiously. "But everything was confused and clouded. It seems to me we came upon the cauldron. And yet," he added, "when we found it, I wept." Eilonwy, for once, was silent, and Taran had no heart to speak of the dream again.

And the dreams go on. If we're to believe them to be portents of things to come - as we did with Adaon - this book won't have a happy ending, friends.

quote:

Shortly after midday they reached the Marshes of Morva. Taran had sensed them long before, as the ground had begun to turn spongy and treacherous under the hooves of Melynlas. He had seen more marsh birds and had heard, far in the distance, the weird and lonely voice of a loon. Ropes of fog, twisting and creeping like white serpents, had begun to rise from the reeking ground. Now the companions halted, and stood in silence at a narrow neck of the swamp. From there, the Marshes of Morva stretched westward to the horizon. Here, huge growths of thorny furze rose up. At the far side, Taran distinguished meager clumps of wasted trees. Under the gray sky, pools of stagnant water flickered among dead grasses and broken reeds. A scent of ancient decay choked his nostrils. A ceaseless thrumming and groaning trembled in the air. Gurgi's eyes were round with terror, and the bard shifted uneasily on Lluagor.

"You've led us here well enough," said Eilonwy. "But how do you ever expect to go about finding a cauldron in a place like this?" Taran motioned her to be silent. As he looked across the dreaded Marshes, something stirred in his mind.

"Do not move," he cautioned in a low voice. He glanced quickly behind him. Gray shapes appeared from the line of bushes straggling over a hillock. They were not two wolves, as he had thought at first, but two Huntsmen in jackets of wolf pelts. Another Huntsman, in a heavy cloak of bearskin, crouched beside them.

"The Huntsmen have found us," Taran went on quickly. "Follow every step I take. But not a motion until I give the signal." Now he understood the dream of the wolves clearly, and knew exactly what he must do. The Huntsmen, believing they could take their prey unawares, drew closer.

"Now!" shouted Taran. He urged Melynlas forward and galloped head long intothe Marshes. Heaving and plunging, the stallion labored through the mire. With a great shout, the Huntsmen raced after him. Once, Melynlas nearly foundered in a deep pool. The great strides of the pursuers brought them closer, so close that in a fearful backward glance Taran saw one of them, teeth bared in a snarl, reach out to clutch the stirrups of Lluagor. Taran spun Melynlas to the right. Lluagor followed. A shout of terror rose behind them. One of the men clad in wolfskin had stumbled and pitched forward, screaming as the black bog seized and sucked him down. His two comrades grappled each other, striving desperately to flee the ground that fell away under their feet. The Huntsman in bearskin flung out his arms and scrabbled at the weeds, growling in rage; the last warrior trampled the sinking man, vainly seeking a foothold to escape the deadly bog.

Melynlas galloped onward. Brackish water spurted at his hooves, but Taran guided the powerful stallion along what seemed a chain of submerged islands, never stopping even when he reached the far side of the swamp. There, on more solid ground, he raced through the furze and beyond the clump of trees. While Lluagor pounded after him, Taran followed a long gully toward the protection of a high mound. Suddenly he reined in the stallion. At the side of the mound, almost a part of the turf itself, rose a low cottage. It was so cleverly concealed with sod and branches that Taran had to look again to see there was a doorway. Circling the hill were tumbledown stables and something resembling a demolished chicken roost. Taran began to back Melynlas away from this strange cluster of buildings and cautioned the others to keep silent.

"I shouldn't worry about that," Eilonwy said. "Whoever lives in there surely heard us coming. If they aren't out to welcome us or fight with us by now, then I don't think anyone's there at all." She leaped from Melynlas and made her way toward the cottage.

"Come back!" Taran called. He unsheathed his sword and followed her. The bard and Gurgi dismounted and drew their own weapons. Alert and cautious, Taran approached the low doorway. Eilonwy had discovered a window, half-hidden by turf and grass, and was peering through it.

"I don't see anybody," she said, as the others came up beside her. "Look for yourself."

"For the matter of that," said the bard, ducking his head and squinting past Eilonwy, "I don't think anyone's been here for quite some time. So much the better! In any case, we'll have a dry place to rest."

The chamber, Taran saw, indeed seemed deserted, of inhabitants, at least, for the room was even more heaped up and disorderly than Dallben's. In one corner stood a wide loom with a good many of the threads straggling down. The work on the frame was less than half-finished and so tangled and knotted he could imagine no one ever continuing it. Broken crockery covered a small table. Rusted and broken weapons were piled about.

"How would you like it," asked a cheerful voice behind Taran, "if you were turned into a toad? And stepped on?"

I don't think I'd like that very much at all!

# ? Jul 22, 2023 18:25

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

nine-gear crow posted:

I always got the impression that Adaon was around the same age as Taran and the rest, maybe a little older like 17 or 18 to Taran and Eilonwy's 15, just a really well put together 17 year old thanks to his magic brooch powers. Flwedder's kind of the odd one out being this weirdo 20 or 30 something dude hanging around with a bunch of teenagers all the time, but he's basically as close as the group gets to adult supervision whenever Gwydion's not around.

This is one of the other things that I can no longer suspend my disbelief around as an adult, looking back at books for kids. There's always some reason the adolescent protagonist(s) have a critical role to play and can make big decisions. Whereas in real life almost any adult present would seize control of the situation - it's completely unreasonable the Fllewddur, who seems to be an eccentric but relatively competent chap, would just let the goodhearted but inexperienced pigkeeper make the decisions. Age and experience do matter, although I fully see the point of teaching young readers to believe in themselves and imagine they could be the hero given the chance.

nine-gear crow posted:

That is perhaps one of the valid criticisms you can lobby against most of the books is that, due to the age range of their prospective readers, a lot of the dangers the characters face in them lack teeth. At least until a certain point in Book 4, Book 5 definitely.

Still Adaon's dead now, so they're not loving around THAT much...

Yeah there's a couple more personal confrontations Taran has in Book 4 that I remember being much more personal, and of course Book 5 has a darker tone.

# ? Jul 23, 2023 16:51

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

Chapter 11: The Cottage

quote:

TARAN SPUN AROUND and raised his sword. Suddenly in his hand writhed a cold serpent, hissing and twisting to strike. With a cry of horror he flung it away. The serpent fell to the ground, and there, in its place, lay Taran's blade. Eilonwy stifled a scream. Taran drew back fearfully. Facing him was a short and rather plump little woman with a round, lumpy face and a pair of very sharp black eyes. Her hair hung like a clump of discolored marsh weeds, bound with vines and ornamented with bejeweled pins that seemed about to lose themselves in the hopeless tangle. She wore a dark, shapeless, ungirt robe covered with patches and stains. Her feet were bare and exceptionally large. The companions drew closer together. Gurgi, trembling violently, crouched behind Taran. The bard, looking pale and uneasy, nevertheless prepared to stand his ground.

"Come along, my ducklings," the enchantress said cheerily. "I promise it won't hurt a bit. You can bring your sword if you want," she added with an indulgent smile at Taran, "though you won't need it. I've never seen a toad with a sword. On the other hand, I've never seen a sword with a toad, so you're welcome to do as you please."

"We please to stay as we are," cried Eilonwy. "Don't think we're going to let anybody..."

"Who are you?" Taran cried. "We have done you no harm. You have no cause to threaten us."

"How many twigs in a bird's nest?" asked the enchantress suddenly. "Answer quickly. There, you see," she added. "Poor chicks, you don't even know that. How could you be expected to know what you really want out of life?"

"One thing I want," retorted Eilonwy, "is not to be a toad."

"You're a pretty little duck," said the enchantress in a kind, cajoling voice. "Would you give me your hair once you've done with it? I have such trouble with mine these days. Do you ever have the feeling things are disappearing into it and you might never see them again? No matter," she went on. "You'll enjoy being toads, skipping about here and there, sitting on toadstools--- well, perhaps not that. Toads don't really sit on toadstools. But you might dance in dew circles. Now there's a charming thought."

"Don't be frightened," she added, leaning over and whispering in Taran's ear. "You can't for a moment imagine I'd do all I said. Goodness no, I wouldn't dream of stepping on you. I couldn't stand the squashiness." With mounting terror, Taran cast desperately about in his mind for some means of saving his companions. He would have considered this disheveled creature's intention as mad and impossible had he not remembered the serpent in his hand, its menacing fangs and cold eyes. "You mightn't like being toads at first," the enchantress said reasonably. "It takes getting used to. But," she added in a reassuring tone, "once it's happened, I'm certain you wouldn't want it any other way."

"Why are you doing this?" Taran cried with all the more anger at feeling himself powerless. He turned his head in fear and revulsion as the enchantress gave him a kindly pat on the cheek.

"Can't have people poking and prying," she said. "You understand that much, don't you? Make an exception for one, then it's two, three, and next thing you know, hundreds and hundreds trampling things and getting underfoot. Believe me, this is best for everybody." From around the side of the hill, at that moment, two more figures appeared. Both closely resembled the stout little woman, except that one wore a black cloak with the hood pulled up, nearly concealing her face; and at the throat of the other hung a necklace of milky white stones. The enchantress ran to them and called out happily, "Orwen! Orgoch! Hurry! We're going to make toads!"

Taran gasped. He shot a quick glance at the bard and Eilonwy. "Did you hear those names?" he whispered hurriedly. "We've found them!"

Our troop has found some of my favorite characters in this entire series. Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch are amazing, even if they have a terrible inclination to turn people into toads.

quote:

The bard's face was filled with alarm. "Much good it may do us," he said. "By the time they're through, I don't think we're going to care about the cauldron or anything else. I've never danced in a dew circle," he continued under his breath. "In different circumstances I might enjoy it. But not now," he added with a shudder.

"I've never met a person," whispered Eilonwy, while Gurgi snuffled in fright, "who could talk about such dreadful things and smile at the same time. It's like ants walking up and down your back."

"We must try to take them unawares," Taran said. "I don't know what they can do to all of us all at once. I don't even know if there's anything we can do to them. But we must take the chance. One or two of us may survive."

"I suppose that's all we can do," agreed the bard. He swallowed with difficulty and gave Taran a worried look. "If it should turn out that I--- I mean, if I should be--- yes, well, what I mean is should anything happen to me, I beg you, do pay attention to where you tread." Meantime, the three enchantresses had returned to the cottage.

"Oh, Orddu," the one with the necklace was saying, "why must it always be toads? Can't you think of anything else?"

"But they're so neat," replied Orddu, "compact and convenient."

"What's wrong with toads?" asked the hooded one. "That's the trouble with you, Orwen, always trying to make things complicated."

"I only suggested something else, Orgoch," answered the enchantress called Orwen, "for the sake of variety."

"I love toads," murmured Orgoch, smacking her lips. Even in the shadow of the hood Taran could see the features of the enchantress moving and twitching in what he feared was impatience.

"Look at them standing there," Orddu said, "poor little goslings, all wet and muddy. I've been talking to them, and I think they finally realize what's best for them."

"Why, those are the ones we saw galloping across the Marsh," said Orwen, toying with her beads. "It was so clever of you," she added, smiling at Taran, "to have the Huntsmen swallowed up in the bog, really quite well done."

"Disgusting creatures, Huntsmen," muttered Orgoch. "Nasty, hairy, vicious things. They turn my stomach."

"They stick to their work," ventured the bard. "I'll say that much for them."

"We had a whole flock of Huntsmen here the other day," said Orddu. "They were poking and prying around, just as you were. Now you understand why I said we couldn't make exceptions."

"We didn't make exceptions of them, did we, Orddu?" said Orwen. "Though it wasn't toads, if you remember."

"I remember very distinctly, my dear," replied the first enchantress, "but you were Orddu then. And when you're being Orddu, you can do as you please. But I'm Orddu today, and what I say is..."

"That's not fair," interrupted Orgoch. "You always want to be Orddu. I've had to be Orgoch three times in a row, while you've only been Orgoch once."

"It's not our fault, my sweet," said Orddu, "if we don't like being Orgoch. It isn't comfortable, you know. You have such horrid indigestion. If you'd only pay more attention to what you take for your meals."

Taran had been trying to follow this conversation of the enchantresses, but found himself more confused than ever. Now he had no clear idea which was really Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch, or whether they were all three the same. However, their remarks about the Huntsmen gave him hope for the first time.

"If the Huntsmen of Annuvin are your enemies," Taran said, "then we have common cause. We, too, have fought against them."

"Enemies, friends, it all comes to the same in the end," muttered Orgoch. "Do make haste, Orddu, and take them off to the shed. It's been a terribly long morning."

"You are a greedy creature," said Orddu, with a tolerant smile at the hooded crone. "There's another reason why neither of us wants to be Orgoch if we can possibly help it. Perhaps if you learned to control yourself better...? Now listen to what these dear mice have to tell us. It should be interesting; they say such charming things." Orddu turned to Taran. "Now, my duckling," she said pleasantly, "how did it come about that you're on such bad terms with the Huntsmen?"

Taran hesitated, fearful of revealing Gwydion's plan. "They attacked us," he began.

"Of course they did, my poor goslings," said Orddu with sympathy. "They're always attacking everybody. That's one of the advantages of being toads; you needn't worry about such things any more. It will be all romps in the forest and lovely wet mornings. The Huntsmen won't vex you any more. True, you shall have to keep an eye out for herons, kingfishers, and serpents. But apart from that, you won't have a care in the world."

"But who is 'us'?" interrupted Orwen. She turned to Orddu. "Aren't you going to find out their names?"

"Yes, by all means," murmured Orgoch, with a lip-smacking sound. "I love names."

Once again Taran hesitated. "This... this," he said, gesturing toward Eilonwy, "is Indeg. And Prince Glessic..."

Orwen giggled and gave Orddu an affectionate nudge. "Listen to them," she said. "They're delightful when they lie."

"If they won't give their right names," said Orgoch, "then simply take them." Taran stopped short. Orddu was studying him closely. With sudden discouragement, he realized his efforts were useless.

"This is Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad," he said. "And Fflewddur Fflam."

"A bard of the harp," Fflewddur added.

"And this is Gurgi." Taran continued.

"So that's a gurgi," said Orwen with great interest. "It seems to me I've heard of them, but I never knew what they were."

"It's not a gurgi," retorted Eilonwy. "It's Gurgi. And there's only one."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi put in, venturing to step from behind Taran. "And he is bold and clever! He will not let brave companions become toads with humpings and jumpings!"

Orgoch looked curiously at him. "What do you do with the gurgi?" she asked. "Do you eat it or sit on it?"

"I should think," Orddu suggested, "whatever you did, you would have to clean it first. And you, my duck," she said to Taran, "who are you?"

Taran straightened and threw back his head. "I am Taran," he said, "Assistant Pig-Keeper of Caer Dallben."

"Dallben!" cried Orddu. "You poor lost chicken, why didn't you say so in the first place? Tell me, how is dear little Dallben?"

Little Dallben?

# ? Jul 26, 2023 17:54

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

That�s a good chapter. Are the witches references to something? I really like the idea of the rotating identities.

# ? Jul 27, 2023 20:20

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

The idea of three witches/wisewomen or even a triple goddess is nothing new. The Norns, the Three Witches of MacBeth, The Greek Fates, etc. I don't know if the rotating identities has a particular basis in folklore though, but agreed that it is really cool.

# ? Jul 27, 2023 20:35

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

Yeah it�s the rotating identities that I was curious about - I remember that Piers Anthony had the three fates who would go in sequence, so whoever was Atropos would die, Lachesis would step up and become Atropos, Clotho would similarly step up and be Lachesis, and some poor soul would become Clotho to fill the gap, but that�s not the constant rotation that we see here and also nobody should read Piers Anthony if they can avoid it.

# ? Jul 27, 2023 20:41

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

I remember adoring some of that series, back when I had even less taste than I do now, and yeah I recall that rotation thing, though there was a similar time loop one for Chronos as well.

# ? Jul 27, 2023 21:20

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

Chapter 12: Little Dallben

quote:

TARAN'S JAW DROPPED. Before he could answer, the enchantresses had crowded around the companions and were leading them to the cottage. In wonder, he turned to Fflewddur, who looked less pale now that Orddu had stopped speaking of toads.

"Little Dallben?" Taran whispered. "I've never in my life heard anyone talk about him that way. Can they mean the same Dallben?"

"I don't know," whispered the bard in return. "But if they think it is--- Great Belin, don't tell them otherwise!" Inside, with a great deal of joyous bustling that in fact accomplished little, the enchantresses hurried to straighten up the chamber. Orwen, in obvious excitement and delight, brought out a number of rickety chairs and stools; Orgoch cleared the table of crockery by brushing it onto the floor; Orddu clapped her hands and beamed at the companions.

"I should never have thought it," she began. "Oh, no, no, my duck!" she cried suddenly to Eilonwy, who had drawn closer to the loom and had just bent forward to examine the fabric. "Mustn't touch. Nasty prickles if you do. It's full of nettles. Come sit with us, there's a love."

Despite the sudden warmth of their welcome, Taran glanced at the enchantresses with uneasiness. The chamber itself filled him with odd forebodings he could not name, which eluded him like shadows. Gurgi and the bard, however, appeared delighted at the strange turn of events, and set heartily to eating the food that soon arrived at thetable. Taran looked questioningly at Eilonwy. The girl guessed his thought.

"Don't be afraid to eat," she said behind her hand. "It's perfectly all right, not the least bit poisonous or enchanted. I can tell. I learned how when I was staying with Queen Achren and learning to be a sorceress. What you do is..."

"Now, my sparrow," Orddu interrupted, "you must tell us all about dear little Dallben. What is he doing? Does he still have The Book of Three?"

"Well... why, yes he does," Taran said, with some confusion, beginning to wonder if the enchantresses did not know more about Dallben than he did.

"Poor little robin," remarked Orddu, "and such a heavy book. I'm surprised he would even be able to turn the pages."

"Well, you see," Taran said, still puzzled, "the Dallben that we know, he isn't little. I mean, he's rather elderly."

"Elderly!" burst out Fflewddur. "He's every bit of three hundred and eighty years old! Coll himself told me."

"He was such a dear, sweet little thing," said Orwen with a sigh. "All pink cheeks and chubby fingers."

"I love babies," said Orgoch, smacking her lips.

"His hair is quite gray," said Taran, who could not bring himself to believe these strange creatures were indeed speaking of his old teacher. The idea of the learned Dallben ever having pink cheeks and chubby fingers was beyond his imagination. "He has a beard too," he added.

"A beard?" cried Orddu. "What's little Dallben doing with a beard? Why in the world should he want such a thing? Such a charming little tadpole!"

"We found him in the marsh one morning," said Orwen. "All by himself in a great wicker basket. It was too sweet for words. Orgoch, of course..." At this Orgoch made an irritable noise and her eyes glared from the depths of the hood.

"Come now, dear Orgoch, don't look so disagreeable," said Orddu. "We're all friends together here; we can talk about such things now. Well, I shall put it this way and spare Orgoch's feelings. She didn't want to keep him. That is, not in the usual sense. But we did. And so we brought the poor fledgling to the cottage."

"He grew very quickly," added Orwen. "Why, it was no time before he was toddling around, and talking, and doing little errands. So kind and polite. A perfect joy. And you say he has a beard?" She shook her head. "Curious notion. Wherever did he find it?"

"Yes, a delightful little sparrow he was,"said Orddu. "But then," she continued with a sad smile, "there was that distressing accident. We were brewing some herbs one morning, a rather special potion."

"And Dallben," sighed Orwen, "sweet little Dallben was stirring the kettle for us. It was one of those kind, thoughtful things he was always doing. But when it came to a boil, some of it bubbled up and splashed out."

"It burned his poor dear fingers," Orddu added. "But he didn't cry, no indeed. He just popped his fingers into his mouth, the brave little starling. Of course, some of the potion was still there, and he swallowed it."

"As soon as he did that," explained Orwen, "he knew every bit as much as we did. It was a magical brew, you understand, a recipe for wisdom."

"After that," Orddu went on, "it was out of the question to keep him with us. It would never have been the same; no, it would never have done at all; you can't have that many people knowing that much all under the same roof. Especially since he was able to guess some of the things Orgoch had in mind. And so we had to let him go--- really let him go, that is. Orgoch, by this time, was the one who wanted to keep him. In her own fashion, which I doubt he would have liked."

"He would have been a sweet little thing," murmured Orgoch.

"I must say we did quite handsomely by him," Orddu continued. "We gave him his choice of a harp, a sword, or The Book of Three. Had he chosen the harp, he could have been the greatest bard in the world; the sword and the dear duckling could have ruled all Prydain. But," Orddu said, "he chose The Book of Three. And to tell the truth, we were just as happy that he did, for it was heavy and moldy and did nothing but gather dust. And so he left to make his way in the world. And that was the last we saw of him."

"A good thing sweet, dear Dallben isn't here," Fflewddur chuckled to Taran. "Their description hardly matches. I fear they might be rather startled." Taran had been silent throughout Orddu's account, wondering how he dared bring up the matter of the cauldron.

"Dallben has been my master as long as I can remember," he said at last, deciding frankness was the best way to go about it especially since the enchantresses seemed able to guess when he was not telling the truth. "If you are as fond of him as I..."

"We love him dearly, the sweet thing," said Orddu, "you can be sure of that."

Well, I suppose a potion of wisdom is as good a wizard origin as any. Doesn't quite have the same vibe to it as years of study, but we'll let it slide.

quote:

"Then I beg you to help us carry out his wishes and the wishes of Gwydion Prince of Don," Taran went on. He explained what had taken place at the council, what they had learned at Dark Gate and from Gwystyl. He spoke of the urgency of bringing the cauldron to Caer Dallben, and asked, too, whether the enchantresses had seen Ellidyr.

Orddu shook her head. "A Son of Pen-Llarcau? No, my duck, there's been no such person anywhere near. If he'd come across the Marshes, we'd have been bound to see him."

"We have a lovely view of the fens from the hilltop," Orwen put in with such enthusiasm that her necklace bounced and rattled. "You must come and enjoy it. Indeed, you're perfectly welcome to stay as long as you want," she added eagerly. "Now that little Dallben's gone, and found himself a beard, too, the place isn't half as cheery as it used to be. We wouldn't change you into a toad--- unless you insisted on it."

"Stay, by all means," croaked Orgoch with a leer.

"Our task is to regain the cauldron," Taran pressed, preferring to overlook Orgoch's remark. "From what Gwystyl told us..."

"You said his crow told you, my lamb," interrupted Orddu. "Don't believe everything you hear from a crow."

"Doli of the Fair Folk believed him," Taran said. "Do you tell me now that you have no cauldron? I ask you this in the name of Dallben himself."

"Cauldron?" answered Orddu. "Why, goodness, we have dozens! Cauldrons, kettles, cook pots--- we can hardly keep track of them all."

"I speak of the cauldron of Annuvin," Taran said firmly, "the cauldron of Arawn and his deathless warriors."

"Oh," said Orddu, laughing cheerfully, "you must mean the Black Crochan."

"I do not know its name," Taran said, "but that may be the one we seek."

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer one of the others?" asked Orwen. "They're much more attractive than that old thing. And much more practical. What use have you for Cauldron-Born? They would only be a nuisance. We can give you a kettle to brew the most marvelous sleeping potions, or one you can sprinkle on daffodils to take away that bilious yellow."

"Our concern is with the Black Crochan," Taran insisted, deciding this was indeed the name of Arawn's cauldron. "Will you not tell me the truth? Is the cauldron here?"

"Of course it's here," replied Orddu. "Why not, since it was ours to begin with? And always has been!"

"Yours?" cried Taran. "Then Arawn stole it from you?"

"Stole?" Orddu answered. "Not exactly. No, we couldn't say it was stolen."

"But you couldn't have given it to Arawn," Eilonwy cried, "knowing what he meant to use it for!"

"Even Arawn had to be allowed to have his chance," said Orddu tolerantly. "One day you'll understand why. For there is a destiny laid on everything; on big, ugly Crochans as well as poor little ducklings, and a destiny laid even on us. Besides, Arawn paid dearly for the use of it, very dearly indeed, you can be sure. The details, my duckling, are of a private nature which does not concern you. In any case, the Crochan was not to be his forever."

"Arawn swore to return it after a time," said Orwen. "But when the time came, he broke his oath to us, as might be expected."

"Ill-advised," murmured Orgoch.

"And since he wouldn't give it back," Orddu said, "what else could we do? We went and took it."

"Great Belin!" cried the bard. "You three ladies ventured into the heart of Annuvin and carried the thing out? How did you ever manage?"

Orddu smiled. "There are a number of ways, my curious sparrow. We could have flooded Annuvin with darkness and floated the cauldron out. We could have put all the guards to sleep. Or we could have turned ourselves into--- well, no matter--- let us say we could have used a variety of methods. In any case, the cauldron is here again.

"And," the enchantress added, "here it will stay. No, no," she said, raising a hand to Taran. "I can see you'd like to have it, but that's out of the question. Much too dangerous for wandering chicks like you. My goodness, we shouldn't sleep at night. No, no, not even for the sake of little Dallben. In fact," Orddu went on, "you'd be much safer being toads than having anything to do with the Black Crochan." She shook her head. "Better yet, we could change you into birds and have you fly back to Caer Dallben immediately.

"No indeed," she continued, rising from the table and taking hold of Taran's shoulders. "Off you ducklings must go and never give a second thought to the Crochan. Tell dear little Dallben and Prince Gwydion we're terribly sorry, and if there's anything else we can possibly do... But not that. Oh, my no." Taran started to protest, but Orddu cut him short and guided him rapidly to the door, while the other enchantresses hustled the companions after him.

"You may sleep in the shed tonight, my chickens," said Orddu. "Then, first thing in the morning, away with you to little Dallben. And you shall decide whether you'd rather go on your legs. Or," she added, this time without a smile, "on a pair of your own wings."

"Or," muttered Orgoch, "hopping all the way."

Well, the gang tried. So much for recovering the black cauldron.

# ? Jul 29, 2023 20:39

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Wahad posted:

Chapter 12: Little Dallben

The short story that deals with Dallben's childhood with the witches is equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking.

# ? Jul 29, 2023 21:45

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

I'll be honest, I can't exactly remember how the story moves on from this bit. But in a sense the heroes can go back now and report success - the cauldron is beyond Arawn's grasp, with powers which I really don't think he could recover it from again.

That's not what happens, but I'm damned if I can recall why or how.

# ? Jul 29, 2023 21:45

Selachian: Oct 9, 2012

Alexander is cribbing a bit from the story of Finn McCool and the Salmon of Wisdom here. (Although in some versions of the story I've seen, Finn still has to stick his thumb in his mouth to access the wisdom he gained from the fish.)

# ? Jul 29, 2023 21:51

Darthemed: Oct 28, 2007; "A data unit?
For me?"; College Slice

Sticking a thumb scalded with drops of wisdom potion into his mouth to cool it is also part of the legendary biography of the real-world figure Taliesin in The Tale of Taliesin (pre-dated by the Book of Taliesin).

# ? Jul 29, 2023 23:03

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# ? Apr 27, 2024 12:42

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

Wahad posted:

"You said his crow told you, my lamb," interrupted Orddu. "Don't believe everything you hear from a crow."

I'm always saying this. It's not that crows aren't smart, they're just prone to exaggeration. You'd think an assistant pig-keeper would know that, but so it goes.

# ? Jul 30, 2023 02:38

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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