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

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

Chapter 20: The Spoilers

quote:

NEXT MORNING, AS TARAN had promised, he loaded Melynlas and Gurgi's pony with the potter's ware and, Gurgi beside him, set out for Commot Isav. Annlaw, he knew, could as well have sent word to the Commot folk, asking them to come and bear away their own vessels.

"This is not an errand I do for him, but a kindness he does for me," Taran told Gurgi. "I think he means to give me time to myself, to find my own thoughts. As for that," he added sorrowfully, "so far I've found none. I long to stayin Merin, yet there's little to keep me here. I prize Annlaw as my friend and as a master of his craft. But his craft will never be mine."

Still pondering and troubled at heart Taran reached Isav some while before dusk. It was the smallest Commot of all he had seen, with fewer than half-a-dozen cottages and a little grazing plot for a handful of sheep and cattle. A knot of men were gathered by the sheepfold. As Taran rode closer he saw their faces tightly drawn and grim. Perplexed at this he called out his name and told them he brought pottery from Annlaw Clay-Shaper.

"Greetings to you," said one man, naming himself as Drudwas Son of Pebyr. "And farewell in the same breath," he added. "Our thanks to Annlaw and yourself. But stay to share our hospitality and you may stay to shed your blood. Outlaws rove the hills," Drudwas went on quickly, answering Taran's questioning frown, "a band, perhaps a dozen strong. We have heard they plundered two Commots already, and not content were they with a sheep or cow for their own food, but slaughtered all the herd for the joy of it. Today, not long past, I saw horsemen over the rise, and leading them a yellow-haired ruffian on a sorrel mare."

"Dorath!" Taran cried.

"How then?" asked one of the Commot men. "Do you know this band?"

"If it's Dorath's Company, I know them well enough," Taran answered. "They are paid swords; and if none will hire them, I judge them glad to kill even without fee. Hard warriors they are, as I have seen them, and cruel as the Huntsmen of Annuvin."

Drudwas nodded gravely. "So it is said. It may be they will pass us by," he went on, "but this I doubt. Commot Isav is small prey, but where defenders are few the reasons to attack are all the more." Taran glanced at the men. From their faces and bearing he knew their courage would not lack; but once more he heard Dorath's laughter and recalled the man's cunning and ruthlessness.

"And if they attack," he asked, "what shall you do?"

"What would you have us do?" Drudwas angrily burst out. "Offer tribute and beg them to spare us? Give our animals to their swords and our homes to their torches? Commot Isav has ever been at peace; our pride is husbandry not warfare. But we mean to stand against them. Have we better choice?"

"I can ride back to Merin," Taran replied, "and bring you help."

"Too far and too long," Drudwas answered. "Nor would I do so, even then, for it would leave Merin ill-defended. No, we stand as we are. Against twelve, seven. My son Llassar," he began, indicating a tall, eager-faced boy scarcely older than Taran had been when Coll first dubbed him Assistant Pig-Keeper.

"Your count is amiss," Taran interrupted. "You are not seven, but nine. Gurgi and I stand with you."

Drudwas shook his head. "You owe us no service or duty, Wanderer. We welcome your swords, but will not ask for them."

"They are yours nonetheless," Taran replied, and Gurgi nodded agreement. "Will you heed me? Nine may stand against a dozen and win the day. But with Dorath, number counts less than skill. Were he alone I would still fear him as much as twelve. He will fight shrewdly and strive to gain the most at least cost. We must answer him in kind." The Commot men listened carefully as Taran then spoke of a ruse to make the raiders believe themselves outnumbered, and to attack where Dorath would expect no more than feeble defense. "If two men were to lie waiting in the sheepfold and two in the cattle pen, ready to spring up," Taran said, "they might take the band unawares and hold them a few moments while the rest of us attack from ambush in the rear. At the same time, if the women of your households set up a din with rakes and hoes, it would seem other swordsmen had hastened to join us."

Drudwas thought a long moment, then nodded. "Your plan may be sound, Wanderer. But I fear for those in the pens, as they must bear the brunt for all of us. If aught should go awry, small chance of escape would they have."

"I shall be one to keep watch in the sheepfold," Taran began.

"And I the other," Llassar broke in quickly.

Drudwas frowned. "I would not spare you because you are my son. You are a good lad and gentle with the flock. I think of your years..."

"The flock is in my charge," Llassar cried. "By right my place is with the Wanderer."

Good lad, Llassar.

quote:

The men spoke hurriedly among themselves, at last agreeing that Llassar would keep watch with Taran, while Drudwas stood guard over the cattle along with Gurgi who, fearful though he was, refused to be any farther from Taran's side. By the time all plans were set and the Commot men posted among the trees just beyond the sheepfold, a full moon had risen above thin clouds. The cold light sharpened the edges of the shadows and the outlines of brush and branches. In the fold Taran and Llassar crouched amid the restless flock. For a time neither spoke. In the bright moonlight the face of Llassar seemed to Taran more boyish than before; he saw the youth was afraid and making all effort to hide it. Though uneasy himself, he grinned assuringly at Llassar. Drudwas had been right. The boy was young, untried. And yet--- Taran smiled, knowing that he himself, at Llassar's age, would have claimed the same right.

"Your plan is good, Wanderer," Llassar said at last in a hushed voice, speaking, Taran knew, more to ease his own disquiet than anything else. "Better than we should have done. It cannot fail."

"All plans can fail," Taran said, almost harshly. He fell silent then. Fears had begun stirring in him like leaves in a chill wind. Sweat drenched his body under the fleece jacket. He had come to Isav unknown, unproven, yet the men of the Commot had willingly heeded him and willingly put their fate in his hands. They had accepted his plan when another might have served better; should it fail, though all their lives could be forfeit, the blame would be his alone. He gripped the hilt of his sword and strained his eyes to peer into the darkness. There was no movement, and even the shadows seemed frozen.

"You are called Wanderer," Llassar went on quietly, with some shyness. "To my mind, one who wanders must as well be one who seeks. Is this true?"

Taran shook his head. "I sought once to be a smith and once to be a weaver. And once a potter. But that is over. Now, perhaps I must wander without seeking."

"If you seek nothing," Llassar said with a friendly laugh, "then you have little chance of finding it. Our life is not easy here," he went on. "It is not willingness that lacks, but knowledge. The Sons of Don have long held Prydain against the Lord of Annuvin, and for their protection we are grateful; yet the secrets Arawn Death-Lord stole from us--- to regain them, my father says, would give us stouter shield and sword than even the battle hosts of Prince Gwydion himself. But for all that, Isav is my home and I am well-content in it." Llassar grinned. "I do not envy you, Wanderer." Taran did not answer for a time.

Then he murmured, "No, it is I who envy you." They said no more, listening alertly to every sound as the night wore away and the moon, fading behind thickening clouds, lost shape and its light spread like pale mist. In a while Llassar blew out his breath in relief.

"They will not come," he said. "They will pass us by." Even as he spoke, the darkness shattered in fragments that turned into the figures of armed warriors. Taran sprang to his feet as the gate burst open.

Taran sounded his battle horn, then flung himself upon the warrior who cried out in surprise and stumbled backward. Llassar had leaped up at the same instant as Taran, and the shepherd plunged against the press of the attackers at the gate, thrusting with his spear. Taran struck out blindly, struggling not only against the raiders but against the sudden terror that his plan had failed, that the outlaws had come too silently, too swiftly. In another moment, above the frantic bleating of the frightened animals, a great shout burst from the Commot men as they rose from the cover of the trees, and from the huts came the clash of iron upon iron. At the sheepfold the outlaws hesitated. Llassar's opponent had fallen. Taran glimpsed the boy spring past him and strike again with his spear. The attack wavered at the gate, as the raiders turned their weapons against the men of Isav. But one warrior, growling like a wild beast, long knife upraised, raced into the pen as if to wreak all the destruction he could, and Taran grappled with the man who spun about and slashed at him. It was Gloff.

The warrior recognized him; Gloff's first astonishment changed to an ugly grin almost of pleasure and eagerness, as he shifted the knife in his hand. Gloff lunged and Taran flung up his weapon to ward against the blow. But the warrior leaped forward, his free hand clawing at Taran's eyes, and his blade flickered as its point drove swiftly in a killing stroke. A figure plunged between them. It was Llassar. Taran shouted a warning as the boy strove to catch the blow on his spear shaft.Snarling, Gloff turned his attack and struck viciously at Llassar. The shepherd fell. With a cry of rage Taran raised his sword. Suddenly, Drudwas was beside him. Gloff shrieked as the blade of the husbandman chopped downward.

Under the onslaught of the Commot folk Dorath's warriors fell back. Amid the turmoil of racing men Taran found himself borne away from the fold. Daring a backward glance he could glimpse neither Drudwas nor Llassar; in fury, he pressed onward. Torches flared, and he saw that the women and girls of Isav had joined their men, flailing with hoes, rakes, and pitchforks at the raiders. Taran cast about for Gurgi and shouted his name, but his voice was drowned in the tumult. A fierce bellowing had risen from the cattle pen as a dark shape burst through the bars. Taran gasped in astonishment to see a furious black bull heaving and plunging among the raiders. On its back clung Gurgi, yelling at the top of his voice, kicking his heels against the powerful animal's flanks, turning its charge against the terrified remainder of Dorath's band.

"They flee!" shouted one of the Commot men. Taran pressed ahead. The raiders, who had left their mounts at the fringe of trees, now hastened to gain them, caught between the Commot folk and the slashing horns of the enraged bull. Taran glimpsed Dorath astride the sorrel mare and ran to overtake him. But Dorath spurred the steed and galloped into the wood. Taran turned and raced to the stables, whistling for Melynlas.

One of the Commot men caught at his arm and cried, "The day is ours, Wanderer!" Only then did Taran realize the sounds of the fray had ceased. Dorath himself had vanished. Taran hurried to the sheepfold where the wife of Drudwas knelt, her arms about her son.

"Llassar!" Taran cried in dismay, dropping beside the shepherd. The boy's eyes opened and he strove to grin at Taran.

"His wound is not deep," said Drudwas. "He will live to tend his flock."

"And so I will," Llassar said to Taran, "and thanks to you, I'll have a flock to tend."

Taran put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "And to you," he answered, "to you I owe much more than sheep."

"Full half the band will plunder no longer," said Drudwas, "neither Commot Isav nor any Commot. The rest are scattered, and it will be long before their wounds heal. You have well served us, Wanderer, you and your companion. You came among us strangers. We count you strangers no longer, but friends."

The day is saved!

# ? Feb 21, 2024 15:41

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# ? Apr 27, 2024 14:06

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Wahad posted:

Chapter 20: The Spoilers
"Your count is amiss," Taran interrupted. "You are not seven, but nine. Gurgi and I stand with you."

gently caress yeah! It was cool in the 3 Musketeers and it's cool here. Perhaps a less applicable life lesson for kids than some of the other stuff in the book about personal development. But it's interesting to see how personal courage, and the willingness to share risk or sacrifice for others, is kind of an underpinning virtue throughout Taran's journey.

# ? Feb 21, 2024 17:21

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

Genghis Cohen posted:

gently caress yeah! It was cool in the 3 Musketeers and it's cool here. Perhaps a less applicable life lesson for kids than some of the other stuff in the book about personal development. But it's interesting to see how personal courage, and the willingness to share risk or sacrifice for others, is kind of an underpinning virtue throughout Taran's journey.

It's pretty applicable for standing up for peers who are being bullied at school. Not in direct fights, sure, but just showing that the out group is stronger than expected can be enough to deter such things.

# ? Feb 21, 2024 17:37

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

Chapter 21: The Mirror

quote:

ALTHOUGH THE FOLK OF ISAV urged him to linger, Taran took leave of them and rode slowly back to Merin. The defeat of Dorath's Company held no savor, for his thoughts still turned restlessly; his questions still found no answers; and he was more downhearted than ever. To Annlaw he said little of his deeds in Isav, and it was Gurgi, bursting with pride, who told what had befallen them.

"Yes, yes!" cried Gurgi. "Wicked robbers fled with yellings! Oh, they feared kindly master. And feared bold Gurgi, too! And great bull with stampings and trampings, sharp horns with jabbings and stabbings!"

"You should be well-content, Wanderer," Annlaw said to Taran, who had remained silent all the while. "You've saved honest folk their lives and homes."

"Drudwas told me I was no stranger, but a friend. For that I am glad," Taran answered. "I onlywish," he added, "that I weren't a stranger to myself. What use am I?" he burst out. "To myself, to anyone? None that I can see."

"The folk of Isav would gainsay you," the potter answered. "And there might be others who would welcome a stout blade and a bold heart."

"A hired sword?" Taran replied bitterly. "And follow the same way as Dorath?" He shook his head. "When I was a child I dreamed of adventure, glory, of honor in feats of arms. I think now that these things are shadows."

"If you see them as shadows then you see them for what they are," Annlaw agreed. "Many have pursued honor, and in the pursuit lost more of it than ever they could gain. But I did not mean a hired sword..." He stopped abruptly and was thoughtful a moment. "To see them for what they are," he murmured, returning to his first words. "Perhaps--- perhaps..." The potter looked closely at Taran. "The Commot lore tells how one may see himself for what he is. Whether it be true or no more than an old wives' tale I will not judge," the potter went on slowly. "But the lore says that he who would know himself need only gaze in the Mirror of Llunet." Though Annlaw had spoken quietly, Taran heard the potter's words like a thunderclap.

"The Mirror of Llunet?" Taran cried. Since leaving Craddoc's valley he had put away all
thought of the Mirror, hidden and forgotten it, and the days had covered it as dead leaves on a burial mound. "The Mirror," he repeated in a stifled voice, "the goal of my quest from the beginning. I had given up searching. Now do I find it when I seek it least of all?"

"Your quest?" Annlaw said, perplexed. He had risen and was watching Taran with concern. "Of this you have told me nothing, Wanderer."

"I would have no pride in the telling," Taran replied. But now, as Annlaw listened quietly, a look of kindness on his face, little by little Taran was able to speak of Caer Dallben, of Orddu, of where the quest had led him, of Craddoc's death and his own despair.

"Once," Taran concluded, "I would have asked nothing better than to find the Mirror. Now, even if it were in my hand, I would dread to look in it."

"I understand your fears," the potter answered quietly. "The Mirror may put your heart at ease--- or trouble you all the more. Such is the risk. The choice must be yours. But know this, Wanderer," Annlaw went on, as Taran bit his lips in silence, "it is not such a mirror as you think. It lies close by here in the Llawgadarn Mountains, no more than two days' distance, in a cave at the head of the Lake of Llunet. The Mirror of Llunet is a pool of water."

"A pool of water?" Taran cried. "What enchantment gives it power? For enchanted it must be."

"It is," answered the potter, "to those who deem it so."

"What of yourself?" Taran asked in a low voice. "Have you sought to look in it?"

"That I have not," replied Annlaw. "For I well know who I am. Annlaw Clay-Shaper. For better or worse, that knowledge must serve me my lifetime."

"And I," Taran murmured, "what knowledge will serve mine?" He said nothing for a time. At last he raised his head. "It is true. I fear to look in the Mirror, and fear to know what it might tell me. But I have already known shame," he flung out bitterly. "Must I know cowardice as well? In the morning," Taran continued, "in the morning I journey to the Mirror of Llunet."

His decision gave him little comfort. At first light, as he and Gurgi saddled their mounts, his doubts chilled him more than the cold mist of late autumn. Nevertheless, having made his choice he set a swift pace, riding northward from Merin to the Llawgadarn Mountains, taking his bearings on the high peak of Mount Meledin, for it was at the foot of Meledin, as Annlaw told him, that he would find the cave. The companions rode silently and steadily, halting only when the day had so farwaned they could no longer guide the steeds along the paths. They camped on the soft carpet of pine needles, but a deep uneasiness had settled on the two wayfarers and they slept little.

At dawn of the next day they gathered up their gear and rode at a good pace along the crest of a ridge. Soon Taran called out and pointed downward. The Lake of Llunet stretched in a long oval, gleaming in the early sun. Its waters were calm, blue, and the Lake itself seemed a perfect mirror that held the tree-lined shore in its depths. At some distance Mount Meledin rose, tall but seeming almost weightless in the mist still clinging to its long slopes. Taran's heart beat faster as the companions made their way downward to the shore. Closer to Meledin the land fell in sharp drops, and short stretches of meadow broke into shallow ravines. Near a stream tumbling from the upper reaches of the mountain the companions tethered their steeds. Taran had already sighted the cave and hastened toward it, with Gurgi scrambling after him.

"There!" Taran cried. "There! The Mirror!" At the foot of Meledin wind and weather had carved an arching cave little more than a few paces deep. Rivulets trickled from the moss-grown rocks of its overhanging brow. Taran raced toward it. His heart pounded; his pulse burnt in his wrists. Yet ashe drew closer his pace slowed, and fear weighed heavy as a chain about his legs. At the mouth of the cave he halted a long moment. Gurgi glanced anxiously at him.

"It is here," Taran murmured. He stepped forward.

Within, a shallow basin hollowed in the floor of smooth stones, lay the Mirror of Llunet like a shield of polished silver, gleaming of itself despite the shadows. Taran slowly knelt at the rim. The basin held no more than a finger's depth of water, fed drop by drop from a thread of moisture twining down the rocky wall. The passing of countless years had not filled it to the brim. Yet shallow though it was, the water seemed a depthless crystal whose facets turned one upon the other, each catching brilliant beams of white. Scarcely daring to breathe lest he trouble the shining surface, Taran bent closer. The cave was utterly silent, and it seemed that even the falling of a wisp of dry moss would shatter the reflection. His hands trembled as he saw his own face, travel-worn and sun-scorched. With all his heart he longed to turn away, but forced himself to look more deeply. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Closer he knelt. What he saw made him cry out in disbelief. At the same instant Gurgi shrieked in terror. Taran leaped to his feet and spun around as Gurgiran and cowered at his side.

Before him stood Dorath.

What, you didn't think we'd seen the last of him, did you?

quote:

The man's face was stubble-bearded, his dirty yellow hair hung into his eyes. The horsehide jacket was slashed along one side and mud crusted his boots. In one hand he held food which he scooped up with his fingers and crammed into his mouth. He grinned at Taran.

"Well met, Lord Swineherd," Dorath said between mouthfuls.

"Ill-met, Dorath," Taran cried, drawing his sword. "Will you call your Company to set upon us? Call them, then, all who fled us at Commot Isav!" He raised the weapon and strode forward. Dorath laughed harshly.

"Will you strike before my own blade is out?"

"Draw it, then," Taran flung back at him.

"So I shall, when my meal is done," Dorath said. He gave a scornful grunt. "Your blade is ill-favored, swineherd, uglier than Gloff's face." He grinned slyly. "Mine is the fairer weapon, yet gained at no cost. My Company?" he added. "Would you have me call them? They are deaf. For half of them, the dirt of their graves stops their ears. I saw you at Isav, and guessed it was you who rallied the Commot clods. Alas, I had no time to linger and pay my greetings to you." Dorath wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Of those who rode from Isav, two cowardsfled and I've seen none of them. Two were heavily wounded. Those, I myself sped on their journey to the carrion crows, and they burden me no longer. But no matter. I'll soon find others to join me. Meantime, so much the better," he went on. "I'll share your treasure with none but myself."

"Treasure?" Taran cried. "There is no treasure! Draw your blade, Dorath, or I'll kill you unarmed as you'd have done to me."

"An end to your lying, swineherd," Dorath growled. "Do you still take me for a fool? I've known of your travels, and the bent path you followed here did not deceive me. Your saddlebags hold nothing of worth; I've seen that for myself. So the prize is yet to be claimed." He strode to the Mirror. "Is this your trove? What have you found, swineherd? A mud puddle? What does it hide?" Taran cried out, though before he could fling himself upon Dorath the warrior stamped his heavy boot into the pool and, with a curse, sent the water spurting from the basin. "It holds nothing!" Dorath burst out, his face twisting in rage. Taran gasped and stumbled forward. Dorath drew his sword.

"My meal is ended, swineherd," Dorath cried. He struck heavily and the force of his onslaught sent Taran reeling from the cave. Gurgi yelled infury and clutched at the warrior, who seized him with a powerful grasp and dashed him against the rocky wall. Snarling, Dorath sprang after Taran. Scrambling to his feet, Taran brought up his blade to meet the warrior's attack. Dorath spat and lunged again, driving Taran toward the slope. As the warrior bore closer upon him, Taran lost his footing, stumbled backward, and dropped to one knee.

With a mocking laugh Dorath raised his weapon, and Taran saw the blade that once had been his own glint sharply as Dorath swung it down with all his strength. Taran saw his death upon him and flung up his sword in a last attempt to ward against the blow. The blades met with a grating, ringing clash. Taran's weapon shuddered in his hand, the shock threw him to earth. Yet his blade held. The sword of Dorath shattered on it. Cursing, Dorath flung the useless hilt at Taran's face, turned and ran to the cover of pines along the shore. Hearing her master's whistle, Dorath's sorrel mare broke from the trees. Taran sprang to pursue the fleeing warrior.

"Help, help!" Gurgi's voice cried from the cave. "Kindly master! Oh, help wounded Gurgi!"

Hearing this Taran halted even as Dorath leaped astride his mount and galloped away. Taran raced to the cave. Within, Gurgi moaned and tried to sit up. Taran knelt quickly and saw the creature's forehead was heavily gashed, but that Gurgi's pain came more from terror than from his hurts. He carried him from the cave and propped him against a boulder. Taran did not return to the Mirror of Llunet. Already he had seen it empty, its spattered water spread over the stones, holding only the muddy print of Dorath's boot. He sank down beside Gurgi and put his head in his hands. For long he. did not move or speak.

"Come," he said at last, helping Gurgi to his feet. "Come. We have far to journey." A light glowed in Annlaw's hut. The night was nearly spent, yet Taran saw the potter still bent over his wheel. Annlaw rose to his feet as Taran slowly crossed the threshold. Neither spoke for some while.

The potter anxiously studied Taran's face, and said at last, "Have you looked into the Mirror, Wanderer?"

Taran nodded. "For a few moments. But none shall look in it again. It is destroyed." He told of Dorath and the happenings at the Lake of Llunet. When Taran had done, the potter sadly shook his head.

"You saw nothing then?" said Annlaw.

"I learned what I sought to learn," Taran replied.

"I will not question you, Wanderer," said Annlaw. "But if it is in your heart to tell me, I will listen."

"I saw myself," Taran answered. "In the time I watched, I saw strength--- and frailty. Pride and vanity, courage and fear. Of wisdom, a little. Of folly, much. Of intentions, many good ones; but many more left undone. In this, alas, I saw myself a man like any other. But this, too, I saw," he went on. "Alike as men may seem, each is different as flakes of snow, no two the same. You told me you had no need to seek the Mirror, knowing you were Annlaw ClayShaper. Now I know who I am: myself and none other. I am Taran."

Annlaw did not reply immediately. Then he said, "If you have learned this you have learned the deepest secret the Mirror could tell you. Perhaps it was truly enchanted after all."

"There was no enchantment," Taran answered. He smiled. "It was a pool of water, the most beautiful I have seen. But a pool of water, no more than that. At first," he went on, "I thought Orddu had sent a fool on a fool's errand. She did not. She meant me to see what the Mirror showed me. Any stream, any river would have given me the same reflection, but I would not have understood it then as I understand it now. As for my parentage," he added, "it makes little difference. True kinship has naught to do with blood ties, however strong they be. I think we are all kin, brothers and sisters one to the other, all children of all parents. And the birthright I once sought, I seek it no longer. The folk of the Free Commots taught me well, that manhood is not given but earned. Even King Smoit in Cantrev Cadiffor told me this, but I did not heed him. Llonio said life was a net for luck; to Hevydd the Smith life was a forge; and to Dwyvach the Weaver-Woman a loom. They spoke truly, for it is all of these. But you," Taran said, his eyes meeting the potter's, "you have shown me life is one thing more. It is clay to be shaped, as raw clay on a potter's wheel."

Annlaw nodded. "And you, Wanderer, how will you shape your clay?"

"I cannot stay in Merin," Taran replied, "much as I love it. Caer Dallben waits for me, as it has always waited. My life is there, and gladly I return to it, for I have been too long away." They sat silently then: Taran, Gurgi, and Annlaw Clay-Shaper. As dawn lightened, Taran clasped the potter's hand and bade him farewell.

"Good journey to you, Wanderer," called Annlaw, as Taran swung astride Melynlas. "Do not forget us, for we shall not forget you."

"I have the sword I fashioned," Taran proudly cried, "the cloak I wove, and the bowl I shaped.And the friendship of those in the fairest land of Prydain. No man can find greater treasure." Melynlas pawed the ground, impatient, and Taran gave the stallion rein. Thus Taran rode from Merin with Gurgi at his side. And as he did, it seemed he could hear voices calling to him.

"Remember us! Remember us!" He turned once; but Merin was far behind and out of sight. From the hills a wind had risen, driving the scattered leaves before it, bearing homeward to Caer Dallben. Taran followed it.

Well, there it is, folks. Taran is Taran, with all his experiences and faults and wisdom. This is the end of Book 4 - easily the best book in the series, if you ask me. An actually good coming of age story. I won't be able to post Wednesday, but we'll continue next Saturday with Book 5: The High King.

# ? Feb 24, 2024 20:22

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

It�s weird, Morda is the one that I remembered as the notable villain of this book, when it�s Dorath who�s responsible for so much of the conflicts which push Taran forward.

I guess turning the main characters into animals counted for more to my kid mind.

# ? Feb 24, 2024 21:39

Health Services: Feb 27, 2009

That is an excellent book, still holds up to my childhood memory. It's very difficult to write a principled, thoughtful book without being cloying, preachy, or didactic but Alexander did it well.

# ? Feb 24, 2024 21:49

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

The climax of the book was just the perfect encapsulation of it's themes in two great intertwined images. Of course you have Taran looking into the mirror and seeing only himself, the person he had grown to become over the course of his journey to find the mirror in the first place, but also the contrast with Dorath, a guy incapable of self reflection, who looks in the pool sees nothing because there's nothing to him as a person and then literally kicks the metaphor away because he's a shithead. And then of course you get the moment where blades finally cross and it's a literal blowout: Taran's pretty status symbol sword, the one he was given and didn't earn splinters to pieces in Dorath's hands against the strength of the ugly and unrefined sword Taran made for himself as the capstone to his journey of discovery.

The High King has a very emotional and complete finale with its epilogue and the way it rounds out the whole series, but I don't any other book out of the five sticks the landing as perfectly as Taran Wanderer does.

# ? Feb 24, 2024 23:07

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

What really gets me is that I can read a line like

Wahad posted:

"That I have not," replied Annlaw. "For I well know who I am. Annlaw Clay-Shaper. For better or worse, that knowledge must serve me my lifetime."

and think, even in my mid-thirties, "god, that's amazing, I wish I knew that about myself". The idea of just knowing who you are is so powerful and so compelling, but of course the entire point is that you have to figure it out for yourself and you literally cannot get this kind of internal validation from an external source - the most you can do is go on a journey and once you're in the right frame of mind, look into a reflective pool and be willing to see yourself.

This book and that scene have stuck with me for years and years. I remember being absolutely gutted by The High King, so I'm so eager to see how that goes.

I'm sure I'll say this again when you finish the fifth book, but thanks for posting these, Wahad. These are such good books and I hadn't though of them for well over a decade until you started the thread.

# ? Feb 25, 2024 02:27

Health Services: Feb 27, 2009

For me it was this that stuck with me for all these years.

quote:

"What lacks?" he cried to Annlaw. "I could forge a sword well enough and weave a cloak well enough. But now, what I truly long to grasp is beyond my reach. Must the one skill I sought above all be denied me?" he burst out in an anguished voice. "Is the gift forbidden me?" He bowed his head, and his heart froze even as he spoke the words, for he knew, within himself, he had touched the truth. Annlaw did not gainsay him, but only looked at him for a long while with deep sadness.

The parts with Llonio and in the Commot are so, so good. Rereading it, I expected each part would me much longer, they've stuck in my memory so well.

Nine paths are offered to Taran, by my count:

# ? Feb 25, 2024 03:47

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

nine-gear crow posted:

The High King has a very emotional and complete finale with its epilogue and the way it rounds out the whole series, but I don't any other book out of the five sticks the landing as perfectly as Taran Wanderer does.

Looking forward to The High King, it's the first book to make me cry (when I thought Eilonwy would be forced to leave Taran).

Where the Red Fern Grows came very very close to taking that honor a few years earlier but I did the "don't blink" trick and kept those tears right in my eye sockets.

# ? Feb 25, 2024 05:18

Comrade Koba: Jul 2, 2007

Coca Koala posted:

I'm sure I'll say this again when you finish the fifth book, but thanks for posting these, Wahad. These are such good books and I hadn't though of them for well over a decade until you started the thread.

It�s not often you can go back to something you read as a child and find out that not only does it still hold up 30+ years later, it�s even better than you remembered it.

# ? Feb 25, 2024 08:33

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

I�ve seen this movie. Disney made it a few years ago.

He�s the grandson of the evil emperor!

# ? Feb 25, 2024 12:23

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

silvergoose posted:

It's pretty applicable for standing up for peers who are being bullied at school. Not in direct fights, sure, but just showing that the out group is stronger than expected can be enough to deter such things.

That's a good point!

Darthemed posted:

It�s weird, Morda is the one that I remembered as the notable villain of this book, when it�s Dorath who�s responsible for so much of the conflicts which push Taran forward.

I guess turning the main characters into animals counted for more to my kid mind.

How odd, for me I had forgotten Morda completely, whereas Dorath loomed large in my imagination. I remember how much I wanted Taran to have decisively beaten him in both their fights.

# ? Feb 25, 2024 21:33

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

Book 5: The High King

Published in 1968, The High King is the fifth and final book in the Chronicles series. It won a Newbery Medal for "excellence in American Child Literature" in 1969. As you might expect, many lingering story-threads of the earlier books come to a head here; but following up on Taran Wanderer, the story is - well, I'll just let the writer explain it himself, one final time.

Author's Note posted:

DESPITE THEIR SHORTCOMINGS, no books have given me greater joy in the writing than the Chronicles of Prydain. I come sadly to the end of this journey, aware of the impossibility of commenting objectively on a work which has absorbed me so long and so personally.

I must, however, warn readers of this fifth chronicle to expect the unexpected. Its structure is somewhat different, its range wider. If there is more external conflict, I have tried to add more inner content; if the form follows that of the traditional hero-tale, the individuals, I hope, are genuinely human. And although it deals with a battle on an epic scale, where Taran, Princess Eilonwy, Fflewddur Fflam, even the oracular pig Hen Wen, are pressed to the limits of their strength, it is a battle whose aftermath is deeper in consequences than the struggle itself.

Well then. Shall we?

Chapter 1: Homecomings.

quote:

UNDER A CHILL, GRAY SKY, two riders jogged across the turf. Taran, the taller horseman, set his face against wind and leaned forward in the saddle, his eyes on the distant hills. At his belt hung a sword, and from his shoulder a silver-bound battle horn. His companion Gurgi, shaggier than the pony he rode, pulled his weathered cloak around him, rubbed his frost-nipped ears, and began groaning so wretchedly that Taran at last reined up the stallion.

"No, no!" Gurgi cried. "Faithful Gurgi will keep on! He follows kindly master, oh yes, as he has always done. Never mind his shakings and achings! Never mind the droopings of his poor tender head!"

Taran smiled, seeing that Gurgi, despite his bold words, was eyeing a sheltering grove of ash trees. "There is time to spare," he answered. "I long to be home, but not at the cost of that poor tender head of yours. We camp here and go no farther until morning."

They tethered their mounts and built a small fire in a ring of stones. Gurgi curled up and was snoring almost before he had finished swallowing his food. Though as weary as his companion, Taran set about mending the harness leathers. Suddlenly he stopped and jumped to his feet. Overhead, a winged shape plunged swiftly toward him.

"Look!" Taran cried, as Gurgi, still heavy with sleep, sat up and blinked. "It's Kaw! Dallben must have sent him to find us." The crow beat his wings, clacked his beak, and began squawking loudly even before he landed on Taran's outstretched wrist.

"Eilonwy!" Kaw croaked at the top of his voice. "Eilonwy! Princess! Home!"

Taran's weariness fell from him like a cloak. Gurgi, wide awake and shouting joyfully, scurried to unloose the steeds. Taran leaped astride Melynlas, spun the gray stallion about, and galloped from the grove, with Kaw perched on his shoulder and Gurgi and the pony pounding at his heels. Day and night they rode, hardly halting for a mouthful of food or a moment of sleep, urging all speed and strength from their mounts and from themselves, ever southward, down from the mountain valley and across Great Avren until, on a bright morning, the fields of Caer Dallben lay before them once again.

Home at last.

quote:

FROM THE INSTANT Taran set foot across the threshold, such a commotion filled the cottage that he scarcely knew which way to turn. Kaw had immediately begun jabbering and flapping his wings; Coll, whose great bald crown and broad face shone with delight, was clapping Taran on the back; while Gurgi shouted in glee and leaped up and down in a cloud of shedding hair. Even the ancient enchanter Dallben, who seldom let anything disturb his meditations, hobbled out of his chamber to observe the welcomings. In the midst of it all, Taran could hardly glimpse Eilonwy, though he heard the voice of the Princess very clearly above the din.

"Taran of Caer Dallben," she cried, as he strove to draw near her, "I've been waiting to see you for days! After all the time I've been away learning to be a young lady--- as if I weren't one before I left-- - when I'm home at last, you're not even here!" In another moment he was at her side. The slender Princess still wore at her throat the crescent moon of silver, and on her finger the ring crafted by the Fair Folk. But now a band of gold circled her brow, and the richness of her apparel made Taran suddenly aware of his travel-stained cloak and muddy boots.

"And if you think living in a castle is pleasant," Eilonwy went on, without a pause for breath, "I can tell you it isn't. It's weary and dreary! They've made me sleep in beds with goosefeather pillows enough to stifle you; I'm sure the geese needed them more than I did--- the feathers, that is, not the pillows. And servitors to bring you exactly what you don't want to eat. And washing your hair whether it needs it or not. And sewing and weaving and curtsying and all such I don't even want to think about. I've not drawn a sword for I don't know how long..." Eilonwy stopped abruptly and looked curiously at Taran. "That's odd," she said. "There's something different about you. It's not your hair, though it does look as if you'd cropped it yourself with your eyes shut. It's--- well, I can't quite say. I mean, unless you told someone they'd never guess you were an Assistant Pig-Keeper." Taran laughed fondly at Eilonwy's puzzled frown.

"Alas, it's been long since last I tended Hen Wen. Indeed, when we journeyed among the folk of the Free Commots, Gurgi and I toiled at nearly everything but pig-keeping. This cloak I wove at the loom of Dwyvach the Weaver-Woman; this sword--- Hevydd the Smith taught me the forging of it. And this," he said with a trace of sadness; drawing an earthen bowl from his jacket, "such as it is, I made at the wheel of Annlaw Clay-Shaper." He put the bowl in her hands. "If it pleases you, it is yours."

"It's lovely," answered Eilonwy. "Yes, I shall treasure it. But that's what I mean, too. I'm not saying you aren't a good Assistant Pig-Keeper, because I'm sure you're the best in Prydain, but there's something more---"

"You speak truth, Princess," put in Coll. "He left us a pig-keeper and comes back looking as if he could do all he set his hand to, whatever."

Taran shook his head. "I learned I was neither swordsmith nor weaver. Nor, alas, a shaper of clay. Gurgi and I were already homeward bound when Kaw found us, and here shall we stay."

"I'm glad of that," replied Eilonwy. "All anyone knew about you was that you were wandering every which where. Dallben told me you were seeking your parents. Then you met someone you thought was your father but wasn't. Or was it the other way round? I didn't altogether understand it."

"There is little to understand," Taran said. "What I sought, I found. Though it was not what I had hoped."

"No, it was not," murmured Dallben, who had been watching Taran closely. "You found more than you sought, and gained perhaps more than you know."

"I still don't see why you wanted to leave Caer Dallben," Eilonwy began. Taran had no chance to reply, for now his hand was seized and shaken vigorously.

"Hullo, hullo!" cried a young man with pale blue eyes and straw-colored hair. His handsomely embroidered cloak looked as though it had been water-soaked, then wrong out to dry. His bootlacings, broken in several places, had been retied in large, straggling knots.

"Prince Rhun!" Taran had almost failed to recognize him. Rhun had grown taller and leaner, though his grin was as broad as it had ever been.

"King Rhun, actually," the young man answered, "since my father died last summer. That's one of the reasons why Princess Eilonwy is here now. My mother wanted to keep her with us on Mona to finish her education. And you know my mother! She'd never have left off with it, even though Dallben had sent word Eilonwy was to come home. And so," he proudly added, "I finally put my foot down. I ordered a ship fitted out, and off we sailed from Mona Haven. Amazing what a king can do when he sets his mind to it! We've brought someone else along, too," Rhun continued, gesturing toward the fireside where Taran for the first time noticed a pudgy little man sitting with a cook-pot between his knees. The stranger licked his fingers and wrinkled a flabby nose at Taran. He made no attempt to rise, but only nodded curtly while the scraggly fringe of hair around his bulbous head stirred like weeds under water.Taran stared, not believing what he saw. The little man drew himself up and sniffed with a mixture of haughtiness arid wounded feelings.

"One should have no trouble remembering a giant," he said testily.

"Remember you?" replied Taran. "How could I not! The cavern on Mona! Last time I saw you, though, you were--- bigger, to say the least. But it is you, nevertheless. It is, indeed! Glew!"

"When I was a giant," Glew said, "few would have forgotten me so quickly. Unfortunate that things worked out as they did. Now, in the cavern-- -"

"You've started him off again," Eilonwy whispered to Taran. "He'll go on like that until you're fairly wilted, about the glorious days when he used to be a giant. He'll only stop talking to eat, and only stop eating to talk. I can understand his eating, since he lived on nothing but mushrooms for so long. But he must have been wretched as a giant, and you'd think he'd want to forget it."

"I knew Dallben sent Kaw with a potion to shrink Glew back to size," Taran answered. "Of what happened to him since then, I've had no word."

"That's what happened to him," said Eilonwy. "As soon as he got free of the cavern, he made his way to Rhun's castle. No one had the heart to turn him away, though he bored us all to tears with those endless, pointless tales of his. We took him with us when we sailed, thinking he'd be grateful to Dallben and want to thank him properly. Not a bit of it! We almost had to twist his ears to get him aboard. Now that he's here, I wish we'd left him where he was."

It's Rhun! And Glew! Remember these guys?

quote:

"But three of our companions are missing," Taran said, glancing around the cottage. "Good old Doli, and Fflewddur Fflam. And I had hoped Prince Gwydion might have come to welcome Eilonwy."

"Doli sends his best wishes," said Coll, "but we shall have to do without his company. Our dwarf friend is harder to root out of the Fair Folk realm than a stump out of a field. He'll not budge. As for Fflewddur Fflam, nothing can keep him and his harp from any merrymaking, whatever. He should have been here long since."

"Prince Gwydion as well," Dallben added. "He and I have matters to discuss. Though you young people may doubt it, some of them are even weightier than the homecomings of a Princess and an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

"Well, I shall put this on again when Fflewddur and Prince Gwydion arrive," said Eilonwy, taking the golden circlet from her brow, "just so they can see how it looks. But I won't wear it a moment longer. It's rubbed a blister and it makes my head ache--- like someone squeezing your neck, only higher up."

"Ah, Princess," Dallben said, with a furrowed smile, "a crown is more discomfort than adornment. If you have learned that, you have already learned much."

"Learning!" Eilonwy declared. "I've been up to my ears in learning. It doesn't show, so it's hard to believe it's there. Wait, that's not quite true, either. Here, I've learned this." From her cloak she drew a large square of folded cloth and almost shyly handed it to Taran. "I embroidered it for you. It's not finished yet, but I wanted you to have it, even so. Though I admit it's not as handsome as the things you've made." Taran spread out the fabric. As broad as his outstretched arms, the somewhat stragglethreaded embroidery showed a white, blue-eyed pig against a field of green.

"It's meant to be Hen Wen,"' Eilonwy explained as Rhun and Gurgi pressed forward to study the handiwork more closely. At first, I tried to embroider you into it, too," Eilonwy said to Taran. "Because you're so fond of Hen and because--- because I was thinking of you. But you came out looking like sticks with a bird's nest on top, not yourself at all. So I had to start over with Hen alone. You'll just have to make believe you're standing beside her, a little to the left. Otherwise; I'd never have got this much done, and I did work the summer on it."

"If I was in your thoughts then," Taran said, "your work gladdens me all the more. No matter that Hen's eyes are really brown."

Eilonwy looked at him in sudden dismay. "You don't like it."

"I do, in all truth," Taran assured her. "Brown or blue makes no difference. It will be useful--- "

"Useful!" cried Eilonwy. "Useful's not the point! It's a keepsake, not a horse blanket! Taran of Caer Dallben, you don't understand anything at all."

"At least," Taran replied, with a good-natured grin, "I know the color of Hen Wen's eyes." Eilonwy tossed her red-gold hair and put her chin in the air. "Humph!" she said. "And very likely forgotten the color of mine."

"Not so, Princess," Taran answered quietly. "Nor have I forgotten when you gave me this," he added, taking up the battle horn. "Its powers were greater than either of us knew. They are gone now, but I treasure it still because it came from your hands. You asked why I sought to know my parentage," Taran went on. "Because I hoped it would prove noble, and give me the right to ask what I dared not ask before. My hope was mistaken. Yet even without it---" Taran hesitated, searching for the most fitting words.

Before he could speak again, the cottage door burst open, and Taran cried out in alarm.At the threshold stood Fflewddur Fflam. The bard's face was ashen, his ragged yellow hair dung to his forehead. On his shoulder he bore the limp body of a man. Taran, with Rhun behind him, sprang to help. Gurgi and Eilonwy followed as they lowered the still figure to the ground. Glew, his pudgy cheeks quivering, stared speechless. At the first instant, Taran had nearly staggered at the shock. Now his hands worked quickly, almost of themselves, to unclasp the cloak and loosen the torn jacket. Before him, on the hard-packed earth, lay Gwydion Prince of Don.

Well, shoot. So much for happy reunions.

quote:

Blood crusted the warrior's wolf-gray hair and stained his weathered face. His lips were drawn back, his teeth set in battle rage. Gwydion's cloak muffled one arm as though at the last he had sought to defend himself with this alone.

"Lord Gwydion is slain!" Eilonwy cried.

"He lives--- though barely," Taran said. "Fetch medicines," he ordered Gurgi. "The healing herbs from my saddlebags---" He stopped short and turned to Dallben. "Forgive me. It is not for me to command under my master's roof. But the herbs are of great power. Adaon Son of Taliesin gave them to me long ago. They are yours if you wish them."

"I know their nature and have none that will serve better," Dallben answered. "Nor should you fear to command under any roof, since you have learned to command yourself. I trust your skill as I see you trust it. Do as you see fit." Coll was already hurrying from the scullery with water in a basin. Dallben, who had knelt at Gwydion's side, rose and turned to the bard. "What evil deed is this?" The old enchanter spoke hardly above a whisper, yet his voice rang through the cottage and his eyes blazed in anger. "Whose hand dared strike him?"

"The Huntsmen of Annuvin," replied Fflewddur. "Two lives they almost claimed. How did you fare?" he urgently asked Taran. "How did you outride them so quickly? Be thankful it went no worse for you."

Taran, puzzled, glanced up at the distraught bard. "Your words have no meaning, Fflewddur."

"Meaning?" answered the bard. "They mean what they say. Gwydion would have traded his life for yours when the Huntsmen set upon you not an hour ago."

"Set upon me?" Taran's perplexity grew. "How can that be? Gurgi and I saw no Huntsmen. And we have been at Caer Dallben this hour past."

"Great Belin, a Fflam sees what he sees!" cried Fflewddur.

"A fever is working in you," Taran said. "You, too, may be wounded more grievously than you know. Rest easy. We shall give you all the help we can." He turned again to Gwydion, opened the packet of herbs which Gurgi had brought, and set them to steep in the basin.

Dallben's face was clouded. "Let the bard speak," he said. "There is much in his words that troubles me."

"Lord Gwydion and I rode together from the northern lands," Fflewddur began. "We'd crossed Avren and were well on our way here. A little distance ahead of us, in a clearing..." The bard paused and looked directly at Taran. "I saw you with my own eyes! You were hard pressed. You shouted to us for help and waved us onward. Gwydion outdistanced me," Fflewddur went on. "You'd already galloped beyond the clearing. Gwydion rode after you like the wind. Llyan carried me swiftly, but by the time I caught up there was no sign of you at all, yet Huntsmen a-plenty. They had dragged Gwydion from his saddle. They would have paid with their own lives had they stood against me," cried Fflewddur. "But they fled when I rode up. Gwydion was close to death and I dared not leave him." Fflewddur bowed his head. "His hurt was beyond my skill to treat. I could do no more than bring him here as you see him."

"You saved his life, my friend," Taran said.

"And lost what Gwydion would have given his life to keep!" cried the bard. "The Huntsmen failed to slay him, but a greater evil has befallen him. They've stripped him of his sword--- blade and scabbard!" Taran caught his breath. Concerned only for his companion's wounds, he had not seen that Dyrnwyn, the black sword, hung no longer at Gwydion's side. Terror filled him. Dyrnwyn, the enchanted blade, the flaming weapon of ancient power, was in the Huntsmen's hands. They would bear it to their master: to Arawn Death-Lord, in the dark realm of Annuvin. Fflewddur sank to the ground and put his head in his hands. "And my own wits are lost, since you tell me it was not yourself who called out to us."

"What you saw I cannot judge," Taran said. "Gwydion's life is our first care. We will talk of these things when your memory is clearer."

"The harper's memory is clear enough." A black-robed woman moved from the dark corner where she had been silently listening, and stepped slowly into the midst of the company. Her long, unbound hair glittered like pale silver; the deadly beauty of her face had not altogether vanished, though now it seemed shadowy, worn away, lingering as a dream only half-recalled.

"Ill fortune mars our meeting, Assistant Pig-Keeper," Achren said. "But welcome, nonetheless. What, then, do you still fear me?" she added, seeing Taran's uneasy glance. She smiled. Her teeth were sharp. "Neither has Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad forgotten my powers, though it was she who destroyed them at the Castle of Llyr. Yet, since I have dwelt here, have I not served Dallben as well as any of you?" Achren strode to the outstretched form of Gwydion. Taran saw a look almost of pity in her cold eyes. "Lord Gwydion will live," she said. "But he may find life a crueler fate than death." She bent and with her fingertips lightly touched the warrior's brow, then drew her hand away and faced the bard.

"Your eyes did not play you false, harper," Achren said. "You saw what was meant fo you to see. A pig-keeper? Why not, if thus he chose to appear? Only one wields such a power: Arawn himself, Lord of Annuvin, Land of the Dead."

Dallben does like taking in strays, doesn't he? A stray orphan, a stray princess, a stray gurgi - and now a stray evil (?) sorceress.

Wahad fucked around with this message at 19:15 on Mar 2, 2024

# ? Mar 2, 2024 19:03

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

I'm still disappointed to this day that we didn't get more of Achren being "part of the group". We get a bit of it in The High King, but not enough to really pay off the premise of the most feared sorceress in the land getting reduced to a level 1 black mage and having to live with and work for the heroes just in order to survive.

Like gently caress bringing Glew back, he sucks, Achren would have been much better suited to the role of "the party member who hates everyone and thinks they're all stupid assholes" and unlike Glew she has actual useful abilities and knowledge. But alas.

nine-gear crow fucked around with this message at 19:33 on Mar 2, 2024

# ? Mar 2, 2024 19:30

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

WOW you would not be so rude to Glew if he were still a giant, honestly getting made small was a very serious mistake and frankly it�s pretty hosed up that they did glew dirty like that

# ? Mar 3, 2024 03:25

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

Chapter 2: The Letter Sticks

quote:

TARAN COULD NOT STIFLE a gasp of fear.The black robed woman glanced at him coldly.

"Arawn dares not pass the borders of Annuvin in his true form," Achren said. "To do so would mean his death. But he commands all shapes, and they are both shield and mask. To the harper and Lord Gwydion, he showed himself as a pig-keeper. He could as well have appeared as a fox in the forest, an eagle, even a blind worm if he deemed that would best serve his ends. Yes, Pig-Keeper, with no less ease could he have chosen the form and features of any creature living. For Lord Gwydion, what better lure than the sight of a companion in danger--- one who had fought often at his side, known to him, and trusted. Gwydion is too shrewd a warrior to be taken in a weaker snare."

"Then all of us are lost," Taran said, dismayed. "The Lord of Annuvin can move among us as he pleases, and we are without defense against him."

"You have reason to fear, Pig-Keeper," replied Achren. "Now you glimpse one of Arawn's subtlest powers. But it is a power used only when none other will serve him. Never will he leave his stronghold, save in the press of mortal danger; or, as today, when what he sought to gain far outweighed the risk." Achren's voice lowered. "Arawn has many secrets, but this one is most deeply guarded. Once he assumes a shape, his strength and skill are no greater than that of the guise he wears. Then can he be slain, like any mortal thing."

"Oh, Fflewddur, if I'd only been with you!" Eilonwy cried in despair. "Arawn wouldn't have deceived me, no matter how much he looked like Taran. Don't tell me I couldn't have told the difference between a real Assistant Pig-Keeper and a false one!"

"Foolish pride, Daughter of Angharad," Achren answered scornfully. "No eyes can see behind the mask of Arawn Death-Lord. No eyes," she added, "but mine. Do you doubt me?" Achren went on quickly, seeing Eilonwy's surprise. The woman's ravaged features held shreds of an old pride, and her voice sharpened with haughtiness and anger. "Long before the Sons of Don came to dwell in Prydain, long before the lords of the cantrevs swore allegiance to Math, High King, and Gwydion, his war leader, it was I who commanded obedience to my rule, I who wore the Iron Crown of Annuvin. Arawn was my consort, who served me and did my bidding," Achren said. "And he betrayed me." Her voice was low and harsh, and rage glittered in her eyes. "He robbed me of my throne and cast me aside. Yet his powers are no secret to me, for it was I who taught them to him. Let him cloud your sight with whatever guise he chooses. From me, never can the face of Arawn be hidden." Gwydion stirred and groaned faintly. Taran turned again to the basin of healing herbs, while Eilonwy raised the warrior's head.

"Bear Prince Gwydion to my chamber," Dallben ordered. The enchanter's careworn face was drawn, and the lines had deepened in his withered cheeks. "Your skill has helped keep him from death," he said to Taran. "Now I must see if mine may help him to life." Coll lifted Gwydion in his burly arms.

Achren made to follow after him. "I have little need of sleep and can best keep a vigil," Achren said. "I shall watch the night over Lord Gwydion."

"I shall watch over him," Eilonwy said, stepping to the side of Coll.

"Fear me not, Daughter of Angharad," Achren said. "I bear no ill will against Lord Gwydion." She bowed deeply, half-humble and half-mocking. "The stable is my castle and the scullery my realm. I seek no other."

"Come," Dallben said, "both of you shall help me. Wait--- the others. Be patient and hopeful." Darkness had blinded the windows of the cottage. To Taran, it seemed the fire had lost its warmth and cast only cold shadows among the silent companions.

"At first I thought somehow we could overtake the Huntsmen and keep them from reaching Annuvin," Taran said at last. "But if Achren speaks truth, Arawn himself commanded them, and Gwydion's sword is already in his hands. I do not know his purpose, but I am deeply afraid."

"I can't forgive myself," Fflewddur said. "The loss is my fault. I should have seen the trap instantly."

Taran shook his head. "Arawn worked a bitter ruse on you. Gwydion himself was deceived."

"But not I!" cried the bard. "A Fflam is keeneyed! From the first moment, I saw differences. The way he sat his steed, the way..." The harp, slung at the bard's shoulder, tensed suddenly and a string snapped with such a twang that Gurgi, crouched near the hearth, started bolt upright. Fflewddur choked and swallowed. "There it goes again," he muttered. "Will it never leave off? The slightest... ah, coloring of the facts, and the beastly strings break! Believe me, I meant no exaggeration. As I thought back it did seem that I could notice... No, the truth of it is: The guise was perfect. I could be snared again--- and as easily."

"Amazing!" murmured the King of Mona, who had been watching wide-eyed. "I say, I wish I could do that sort of shape-changing myself. Unbelievable! I've always thought: How interesting to be a badger, or an ant. I should love to know how to build as well as they do. Since I've been king, I've tried to improve things here and there. I mean to put up a new seawall at Mona Haven. I've begun once already. My idea was to start from both ends at the same time and thus be done twice as quickly. I can't understand what went wrong, for I took charge of all the work myself, but somehow we didn't meet in the middle and I'll have to find a better way of going at it. Then I've planned a road to Glew's old cavern. It's an amazing place and I think the folk of Dinas Rhydnant will enjoy visiting it. Surprising how easy it is," Rhun said, beaming proudly. "The planning, at any rate. The doing, for some reason, always seems a little harder." Glew, hearing his name spoken, pricked up his ears. He had not left his place in the chimney corner; nor had his alarm at the happenings in the cottage made him loosen his hold on the cook-pot.

"When I was a giant," he began.

"I see the little weasel is with you," said Fflewddur to King Rhun, recognizing Glew immediately despite the former giant's present stature. "When he was a giant," the bard muttered, giving Glew a look of ill-concealed vexation, "he was a paltry one. He'd have done anything to be free of that cavern--- even to popping us into that foul stew he'd cooked up. A Fflam is forgiving! But I think he went a little too far."

"When I was a giant," Glew continued, either ignoring or not hearing the bard's remarks, "no one would have humiliated me by taking me by the ears and hustling me aboard a smelly boat. I had no wish to come here. After what's happened today, I have less wish to stay." Glew pursed his lips. "Dallben shall see that I'm taken back to Mona without delay."

"I'm sure he will," Taran replied. "But Dallben has graver concerns now, and so do we all."

Mumbling something about shabby treatment and lack of consideration, Glew scraped a finger along the bottom of the pot and sucked his teeth with indignant satisfaction. The companions said no more, but settled down to wait out the night. The fire burned to ashes. A night wind rose outside the cottage. Taran rested his head on his arms. At this homecoming he had longed to stand before Eilonwy, forgetting rank and birth, as any man before any woman, and ask her to wed. But now the disaster that had overtaken Gwydion made Taran's own wishes unimportant. Though he still did not know Eilonwy's heart, nor what her answer to him might be, he could not bring himself to learn it until all hearts were at peace again. He closed his eyes. The wind screamed as if it would rip to tatters the quiet meadows and orchards of Caer Dallben. A hand on his shoulder aroused him. It was Eilonwy.

"Gwydion has wakened," she said. "He would speak with us."

He's alive! Also, some Achren lore. Former supreme evil! Betrayed by her number two. Now a scullery maid. How the mighty have fallen.

quote:

IN DALLBEN'S CHAMBER the Prince of Don half-raised himself from the couch. His features were pale under their weathering, and tightly drawn, though more in anger than pain. His mouth was set, bitter, his green eyes burned with dark flashes, and his glance was that of a proud wolf scornful of his hurt, and scornful all the more of those who had given him his wounds. Achren was a silent shadow in the corner. The old enchanter stood anxiously beside the book-strewn table near the wooden bench where Taran, throughout boyhood, had sat for lessons. The Book of Three, the huge, leather-bound tome of secret lore forbidden to all but Dallben himself, lay closed atop a pile of other ancient volumes. Taran, with Eilonwy, Fflewddur, and King Rhun behind him, strode to Gwydion and clasped the warrior's hand. The Prince of Don smiled grimly.

"No merry meeting, and no long one, Assistant Pig-Keeper," Gwydion said. "Dallben has told me of the Death-Lord's ruse. Dyrnwyn must be regained at all cost, and without delay. He spoke, too, of your wanderings," Gwydion added. "I would hear more of them from yourself, but that must wait another time. I ride to Annuvin before the day is out."

Taran looked at the Prince of Don in surprise and concern. "Your wounds are still fresh. You cannot make such a journey."

"Neither can I stay here," Gwydion answered. "Since Dyrnwyn first came into my hands, I have learned more of its nature. Only a little more," he added, "but enough to know its loss is fatal. Dyrnwyn's lineage lies beyond memory of living man," Gwydion continued, "and much of its history has been forgotten or destroyed. For long, the blade was thought no more than legend, and matter for a harper's song. Taliesin Chief Bard is wisest in the lore of Prydain, but even he could tell me only that Govannion the Lame, a master craftsman, forged and tempered Dyrnwyn at the behest of King Rhydderch Hael, as a weapon of greatest power and protection for the land. To safeguard it, a spell was cast upon the blade and a warning graven on the scabbard."

"I remember the Old Writing," Eilonwy said. "Indeed, I shall never forget it, for I had an impossible time keeping Taran from meddling with things he didn't understand. 'Draw Dyrnwyn only thou of royal blood...' "

"Closer to its true meaning is 'noble worth,' "said Gwydion. "The enchantment forbade the sword to all but those who would use it wisely and well. The flame of Dyrnwyn would destroy any other who sought to draw it. But the writing on the scabbard has been marred. The full message, which might have told more of the sword's purpose, is unknown. King Rhydderch bore the blade throughout his life," Gwydion continued, "and his sons after him. Their reigns were peaceful and prosperous. But here Dyrnwyn's history ends. King Rhitta, grandson of Rhydderch, was the last to hold the blade. He was lord of Spiral Castle before it became the stronghold of Queen Achren. He met his death, in a way unknown, with Dyrnwyn clutched in his hands. From that time on the sword was seen no more, forgotten as it lay buried with him in Spiral Castle's deepest chamber." Gwydion turned to Eilonwy. "Where you, Princess, found it. You gave it to me willingly; but it was not willingly that it left my hands. The blade is worth more than my life, or the lives of any of us. In Arawn's grasp, it can bring doom upon Prydain."

"Do you believe Arawn can unsheathe the sword?" Taran asked hurriedly."Can he turn the weapon against us? Can he make it serve some evil end?"

"This I do not know," replied Gwydion. The warrior's face was troubled. "It may be that Arawn Death-Lord has found means to break the enchantment. Or, unable to use it himself, his purpose may be to keep the blade from any other use. He would have taken my life as well as the sword. Thanks to Fflewddur Fflam, I still have the one. Now I must find the other, though the path lead me to the depths of Annuvin itself."

Achren, silent until now, raised her head and spoke to Gwydion. "Let me seek Dyrnwyn in your stead. I know the ways of Annuvin; no stranger am I to its secret hoards, and where and how they are guarded. If the sword is hidden, I will find it. If Arawn himself bears it, Dyrnwyn will be taken from him. More than that. I swear by every oath to destroy him. Thus have I sworn already to myself, and swear it again to you. You forced life upon me, Gwydion, when I begged for death. Now give me what I live for. Give me my vengeance." Gwydion did not answer immediately. His green-flecked eyes searched the woman's face.

He said, "Vengeance is not a gift I may bestow, Achren." Achren stiffened. Her hands twisted into claws and Taran feared she would fling herself upon Gwydion. She did not move.

"You will not trust me," Achren said hoarsely. Her bloodless lips turned in a smile of contempt. "So be it, Prince of Don. Once you scorned to share a kingdom with me. Scorn me again to your own loss."

"I do not scorn you," Gwydion said. "I only urge you to accept Dallben's protection. Stay here in safety. Among all of us, your hope of finding the sword is the least. Arawn's hatred of you can be no less than yours of him. He or his servants would slay you at sight, even before you set foot in Annuvin. No, Achren, what you offer is not possible." He thought a moment. "There may be another way to learn how Dyrnwyn shall be found." Gwydion turned to Dallben, but the enchanter sorrowfully shook his head.

"Alas," Dallben said, "The Book of Three cannot tell us what we most need to know. I have searched carefully, every page, to understand its hidden meanings. They are dark, even to me. Fetch the letter sticks," the enchanter said to Coll. "Hen Wen alone can help us."

Piggy prophecy!

quote:

FROM HER ENCLOSURE the white pig watched the silent procession. On his bony shoulders Dallben bore the letter sticks, the ashwood rods carved with ancient symbols. Glew, interested only in the provisions of the scullery, remained behind, as did Gurgi, who well remembered the former giant and chose to keep an eye on him. Achren had spoken no further, but hooded her face and sat motionless in the cottage. Usually, at the sight of Taran, the oracular pig would squeal joyously and trot to the railing to have, her chin scratched. Now she cowered in a far corner of the pen, her little eyes wide and her cheeks trembling. As Dallben entered the enclosure and planted the letter sticks upright in the earth, Hen Wen snuffled and crouched closer against the bars. Dallben, murmuring inaudibly, moved to stand beside the ash-wood rods. Outside the enclosure, the companions waited. Hen Wen whimpered and did not stir.

"What does she fear?" Eilonwy whispered. Taran made no answer; his eyes were fixed on the aged enchanter in his wind-whipped robe, on the letter sticks, and the unmoving form of Hen Wen. Against the dull sky they seemed to him frozen together in their own moment, far beyond the silent watchers. This was the first time Taran had seen the enchanter seek a prophecy from the oracular pig. Of Dallben's powers he could only guess; but he knew Hen Wen, and knew she was too terrified to move. He waited what felt an age. Even Rhun sensed something amiss; the King of Mona's cheerful face was darkly clouded. Dallben glanced uneasily at Gwydion.

"Never before has Hen Wen refused to answer when the letter sticks were shown her." Again he murmured words Taran could not distinguish. The oracular pig shuddered violently, shut her eyes, and sank her head between her stubby trotters.

"Perhaps a few notes on my harp?" Fflewddur suggested. "I've had excellent success..." The enchanter motioned the bard to be silent. Once more he spoke, softly yet commandingly. HenWen shrank into herself and moaned as though in pain.

"Her fear blinds her powers," Dallben said gravely. "Even my spells do not reach her. I have failed." Despair filled the faces of the watching companions. Gwydion bowed his head; and his eyes were deeply troubled.

"We, too, shall fail," he said, "if we do not learn whatever she can tell us." Quickly and without a word Taran climbed the railing, walked steadily toward the frightened pig, and dropped to his knees beside her. He scratched her chin and gently stroked her neck.

"Don't be afraid, Hen. Nothing will harm you here." Dallben, surprised, started forward, then halted. Hearing Taran's voice, the pig had cautiously opened one eye.

Her snout twitched, she raised her head slightly and gave a faint "Hwoinch!"

"Hen, listen to me," Taran pleaded, "I have no power to command you. But we need your help, all of us who love you." Taran spoke on; as he did, the oracular pig ceased her trembling. Though she did not attempt to rise, Hen Wen grunted fondly, wheezed, and made affectionate muttering sounds in her throat. She blinked her eyes and her wide face seemed nearly to grin. "Tell us, Hen," Taran urged. "Please. Tell us what you can." Hen Wen moved uneasily. Slowly she climbed to her feet. The white pig snorted and glanced at the letter sticks. Step by step, on her short legs, she moved closer to them.

The enchanter nodded to Taran. "Well done," he murmured. "This day, the power of an Assistant Pig-Keeper is greater than my own." As Taran stared, not daring to speak, Hen Wen paused at the first rod. Still hesitant, she pointed with her snout at one of the carved symbols, then at another. Dallben, watching intently, quickly wrote on a scrap of parchment the signs the oracular pig had indicated. Hen Wen continued a few moments, then suddenly left off and backed anxiously from the stick.

Dallben's face was grave. "Can this be so?" he murmured, his voice filled with alarm. "No... no. We must learn more than that." He glanced at Taran.

"Please, Hen," Taran whispered, coming to the side of the pig, who had begun to shudder again. "Help us." Despite his words, Taran feared Hen Wen would turn away. She shook her head, squinted her eyes and grunted piteously. Nevertheless, at his pleading, she cautiously trotted to the second rod. There, in desperate haste, as if to make an end ofit quickly, she pointed to other symbols. The enchanter's hand trembled as he wrote.

"Now the third one," he said urgently. Hen Wen, stiff-legged, reared back and sank to her haunches. All of Taran's soothing words would not budge her for several moments. At last, however, she rose and more fearfully than ever trotted to the final ash-wood rod. Even as Hen Wen approached and before she could point to the first letter, the ash-wood rods shook and swayed like living things. They twisted as though to uproot themselves, and with a sound that ripped the air like a thunder clap, they split, shattered, and fell to earth in splinters. Hen Wen, squealing in terror, flung herself backwards and fled to a corner of the enclosure. As Taran hurried to her; Dallben bent, picked up the fragments of wood and studied them hopelessly.

"They are destroyed beyond repair, and useless now," Dallben said in a heavy voice. "The cause is dark to me, and Hen Wen's prophecy remains unfinished. Even so, I doubt its end could bode less ill than its beginning. She must have sensed this herself." The enchanter turned and walked slowly from the enclosure. Eilonwy had joined Taran, who strove to calm the terrified pig. Hen Wen still gasped and shook, and pressed her head between her forelegs.

"No wonder she didn't want to prophesy," Eilonwy cried. "And yet," she added to Taran, "Hen would have told nothing at all if it hadn't been for you."

Dallben, with the parchment in his hand, had gone to the side of Gwydion. Coll, Fflewddur, and King Rhun gathered anxiously around them. Sure that Hen Wen was unharmed and wanted only to be left in peace, Taran and Eilonwy hurried to the companions.

"Help! Oh, help!" Yelling, waving his arms frantically, Gurgi raced across the turf. He dashed into their midst and pointed toward the stables. "Gurgi could do nothing!" he cried. "He tried, oh yes, but there were only smackings and whackings for his poor tender head! Gone!" Gurgi shouted. "With fast and speedful gallopings! Wicked Queen is gone!"

Hey, who saw that one coming?

# ? Mar 6, 2024 17:15

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

Chapter 3: The Prophecy

quote:

THE COMPANIONS HASTENED to the stable. As Gurgi had told them, one of King Rhun's horses was missing. Of Achren, there was no trace.

"Let me saddle Melynlas," Taran urged Gwydion. "I shall try to overtake her."

"She's going straight to Annuvin," burst out Fflewddur. "I never trusted that woman. Great Belin, who knows what treachery she plans! She's off to feather her own nest, you can be sure of it."

"Achren goes more likely to her death," answered Gwydion, his face grim as he looked toward the hills and the leafless trees. "There is no safety for her beyond Caer Dallben. I would protect her, but dare not delay my quest to seek her now." He turned to Dallben. "I must know Hen Wen's prophecy. It is my only guide." The enchanter nodded and led the companions to the cottage. The aged man still held the parchment and the splintered letter sticks. Now he cast them on the table and gazed at them for a long moment before he spoke.

"Hen Wen has told us what she can. All, I fear, that we shall ever learn from her. I have again studied the symbols she pointed out, hoping against hope I had misread them." His expression was withdrawn, his eyes lowered, and he spoke with difficulty, as if each word wrenched his heart. "I asked how Dyrnwyn might be recovered. Hear the answer given us:

Ask, sooner, mute stone and voiceless rock to speak.

"Such is Hen Wen's message as I have read it from the first letter stick," Dallben said. "Whether it is a refusal to speak, a prophecy in itself, or a warning to ask no further, I cannot be sure. But the symbols of the second letter stick spell out the fate of Dyrnwyn itself."

Dallben continued, and the enchanter's words filled Taran with cold anguish that struck deep as a sword thrust:

Quenched will be Dyrnwyn's flame;
Vanished, its power.
Night turn to noon
And rivers burn with frozen fire
Ere Dyrnwyn be regained.

The ancient man bowed his head then and was silent for a time. "The third stick," he said at last, "was destroyed before Hen Wen could complete her message. She might have told us more; but, judging from the first two, we would have cause for no more hope than we have now."

"The prophecies mock us;" Taran said. "Hen told us truly. We could as well have asked stones for help."

"And got as much sense from them!" cried Eilonwy. "Hen could have come straight out and said we'll never get Dyrnwyn back. Night can't be noon, and that's the end of it."

"In all my travels," added Fflewddur, "I've never noticed even a small creek burning, not to mention a river. The prophecy is doubly impossible."

"And yet," said King Rhun, with innocent eagerness, "it would be an amazing thing to see. I wish it could happen!"

"I fear you shall not see it come to pass, King of Mona," Dallben said heavily. Gwydion, who had been sitting thoughtfully at the table and turning the splintered rods back and forth in his hands, rose and spoke to the companions.

"Hen Wen's prophecy is disheartening," he said, "and far from what I had hoped. But when prophecies give no help, men must find it of themselves." His hands clenched and snapped the fragment of ash wood. "As long as life and breath are mine, I will seek Dyrnwyn. The prophecy does not change my plans, but makes them only more urgent."

"Then let us go with you," Taran said, rising to face Gwydion. "Take our strength until your own returns."

"Exactly so!" Fflewddur jumped to his feet. "I'll pay no heed whether rivers burn or not. Ask stones to speak? I'll ask Arawn himself. He'll keep no secrets from a Fflam!"

Gwydion shook his head. "In this task, the more men the greater risk. It is done best alone. If any life be staked against Arawn Death-Lord, it must be mine."

Taran bowed, for Gwydion's tone forbade dispute. "If such is your will," he said. "But what if Kaw were to fly ahead to Annuvin? Send him first. He will go swiftly and bring back whatever knowledge he can gain."

Gwydion looked shrewdly at Taran and nodded approval. "You have found some wisdom in your wanderings, Assistant Pig-Keeper. Your plan is sound. Kaw may serve me better than all your swords. But I shall not await him here. To do so would cost me too much time. Let him spy out Annuvin as far as he is able, then find me at King Smoit's castle in Cantrev Cadiffor. Smoit's realm lies on my path to Annuvin, and thus my journey will be half accomplished when Kaw rejoins me."

"At least we can ride with you as far as King Smoit's castle," Taran said, "and guard you until you are well on your way. Between here and Cantrev Cadiffor, Arawn's Huntsmen may be abroad, still seeking your death."

"The foul villains!" cried the bard. "Treacherous murderers! They'll have a taste of my sword this time. Let them attack us. I hope they do!" A harp string snapped with a loud crack that set the instrument a-jangling. "Ah, yes--- well--- that's only a manner of speaking," Fflewddur said sheepishly. "I hope we don't come upon them at all. They could be troublesome and delay our journey."

"No one has considered the inconvenience to me," said Glew. The former giant had come out of the scullery and looked peevishly around him.

"Weasel!" muttered Fflewddur. "Dyrnwyn is gone, we don't know if our lives are at stake, and he frets about inconvenience. He's a little man indeed, and always was."

"Since no one has mentioned it," said Eilonwy, "it seems I'm not being asked to come along. Very well, I shan't insist."

"You, too, have gained wisdom, Princess," said Dallben. "Your days on Mona were not ill-spent."

"Of course," Eilonwy went on, "after you leave, the thought may strike me that it's a pleasant day for a short ride to go picking wildflowers which might be hard to find, especially since it's almost winter. Not that I'd be following you, you understand. But I might, by accident, lose my way, and mistakenly happen to catch up with you. By then, it would be too late for me to come home, through no fault of my own."

Gwydion's haggard face broke into a smile. "So be it, Princess. What I cannot prevent, I accept. Ride with me, all those who choose, but no farther than Smoit's stronghold at Caer Cadarn.''

"Ah, Princess," Coll sighed, shaking his head. "I will not gainsay Lord Gwydion, whatever. But it is hardly the conduct of a young lady to force her own way thus."

"Certainly not," Eilonwy agreed. "That's the first thing Queen Teleria taught me: A lady doesn't insist on having her own way. Then, next thing you know, it all works out somehow, without one's even trying. I thought I'd never learn, though it's really quite easy once you get the knack."

Without further delay, Taran lifted Kaw from his fireside perch and carried him to the dooryard. This time the crow did not clack his beak or gabble impudently. Instead of his customary scoldings, hoarse quackings, and mischievous foolery. Kaw hunched on Taran's wrist and cocked a beady, attentive eye, listening closely while Taran carefully explained the task. Taran raised his arm and Kaw flapped his glossy wings in farewell.

"Annuvin!" Kaw croaked. "Dyrnwyn!" The crow flew aloft. Within moments Kaw was high over Caer Dallben. The wind bore him like a leaf, and he hung poised above the watching companions. Then, with a roguish flirt of his wings, Kaw sped northwestward. Taran strained his eyes to follow his flight until the crow vanished into the looming clouds. In sadness and disquiet, Taran at last turned away. Kaw, he was sure, would be alert to the perils of the journey: the arrows of the Huntsmen; the cruel talons and slashing beaks of the gwythaints, Arawn's fierce winged messengers. More than once had gwythaints attacked the companions, and even the fledglings could be dangerous. Taran recalled, from his boyhood, the young gwythaint whose life he had saved, and he well remembered the bird's sharp claws. Despite Kaw's gallant heart and sharp wits, Taran feared for the safety of the crow; and feared, still more, for Gwydion's quest. And to him came the foreboding that an even heavier fate might ride on Kaw's outspread wings.

Well, things are off to a gloomy start, aren't they?

quote:

It had been agreed that when the travelers neared Great Avren, King Rhun would escort the disgruntled Glew to the ship anchored in the river, there to await his return, for Rhun was determined to ride with Gwydion to Caer Cadarn. Glew liked neither cooling his heels on the swaying vessel nor sleeping on the hard pebbles of the shore; but the protests of the former giant could not move the King of Mona to change his plan. While Gwydion held a last, hurried council with Dallben, the companions began leading the horses from the stable. The wise Melyngar, Gwydion's white, golden-maned steed, waited calmly for her master. Melynlas, Taran's stallion, snorted and impatiently pawed the ground. Eilonwy was already mounted on her favorite, the bay mare Lluagor. In a fold of her cloak the Princess carried her most treasured possession: the golden sphere that glowed brightly when she cupped it in her hands.

"I'm leaving that uncomfortable crown behind," Eilonwy declared. "There's no use for it at all, except to hold down your hair, and that's hardly worth the blisters. But I'd sooner walk on my hands than go without my bauble. Besides, if we need a light, we shall have one. That's much more practical than a hoop on top of your head." In a saddlebag, she had packed the embroidery made for Taran, intending to finish it along the way. "Perhaps," Eilonwy added, "I might fix the color of Hen Wen's eyes while I'm at it."

Fflewddur's mount was the huge, tawny cat, Llyan, herself tall as a horse. Seeing the bard, she purred loudly, and Fflewddur could barely keep the powerful animal from knocking him down with her nuzzling.

"Gently, old girl," cried the bard, as Llyan thrust her great head between his neck and, shoulder. "I know you want a tune on my harp. I shall play one later, I promise you." Glew had recognized Llyan immediately.

"That's not fair," he sniffed. "By all rights she belongs to me."

"Yes," replied Fflewddur, "if you count feeding her those vile lotions you once brewed to make her grow bigger. If you dare to ride her, you're welcome to try. Though I warn you--- Llyan has a memory longer than her tail." Llyan, indeed, had begun lashing her tail at the sight of Glew. She towered over the pudgy little man, her yellow eyes blazed, her whiskers twitched, her tufted ears went flat against her head; and from her throat came a sound quite unlike her greeting to the bard. Fflewddur quickly strummed a melody on his harp. Llyan turned her eyes from Glew and her mouth curved in an enormous smile and she blinked fondly at the bard. However, Glew's pale face had gone paler and he edged away from the cat.

"When I was a giant," Glew muttered, "things were considerably better managed."

King Rhun saddled his dapple gray steed. Since Coll, who had also decided to accompany Gwydion, would ride the sorrel mare Llamrei, foal of Melynlas and Lluagor, Glew had no choice but to climb up behind Gurgi on his shaggy pony--- a companionship unwelcome to all three. Taran, meanwhile, helped Coll rummage in the stables,forge, and tool sheds for weapons.

"Few enough of them there are," said Coll. "These spears have served me well as beanpoles," the stout warrior added. "I had hoped never to use them for another purpose. Alas, the only blade I can give Gwydion is rusted from propping up one of the apple trees. As for helmets, there are none save my leather cap; and the sparrows have a nest in it. I shall not disturb them. But my own old pate is tough as leather," Coll said, winking. "It can last me to Caer Cadarn and back. And you, my lad," Coll went on cheerfully, though he had not failed to notice Taran's troubled frown, "I remember a day when an Assistant Pig-Keeper would have been all flash and fire to ride with Lord Gwydion. Now you look as glum as a frostbitten turnip."

Taran smiled. "I myself would ride to Annuvin, if Gwydion allowed me. What you say is true, old friend. For the boy I was, this would have been a bold adventure, full of glory. This much have I learned: A man's life weighs more than glory, and a price paid in blood is a heavy reckoning. My heart is not easy," Taran added. "Long ago, you made your way to Annuvin, to rescue Hen Wen after she had been stolen from you. Tell me: What chance has Gwydion alone in Arawn's realm?"

"No man has better," said Coll, shouldering the spears. And he was gone from the shed beforeTaran realized the old warrior had not really answered him at all. Caer Dallben lay far behind them and the day was darkening when the companions made camp deep in the shadows of the forest. Eilonwy happily flung herself to the ground.

"It's been long since I've slept on comfortable roots and rocks!" she cried. "What a pleasant change from goosefeathers!" Gwydion allowed a fire to be built; and while Coll saw to the mounts, Gurgi opened his wallet of food to share out provisions. For the most part the companions were silent, chilled, and stiff after the long day's journey. King Rhun, however, had lost none of his good spirits. As the travelers huddled closer to the pale flames, Rhun picked up a twig and scratched busily in the earth, covering the ground before him with a spider web of lines.

"About that seawall," said Rhun. "I think I see how it went wrong. Yes, exactly so. Now, here's the way to do it."

From across the fire Taran saw Rhun's eyes brightly eager and on his face the familiar boyish grin. But Rhun, Taran sensed, was no longer the feckless princeling he had known on the Isle of Mona. As Rhun was absorbed in the tasks he had planned, so Taran had been caught up in his own labors at forge, loom, and potter's wheel. And if Rhun had found manhood in ruling a kingdom, Taran had found the same in toiling among the staunch folk of the Free Commots. He watched Rhun with new affection. The King of Mona spoke on and Taran's interest was drawn to the scratchings on the ground. He studied them as Rhun continued. Taran smiled. One thing had not changed, he realized; as usual, the King of Mona's intentions went somewhat beyond the King of Mona's skill.

"I fear your wall may tumble if you build it thus," Taran said with a kindly laugh. "See this part here." He pointed. "The heavier stones must be sunk deeper. And here..."

"Amazing!" exclaimed Rhun, snapping his fingers. "Quite right! You shall come to Mona and help me finish it!" He began scratching new lines so vigorously he nearly pitched himself into the fire.

"Oh, great and kindly master!" cried Gurgi, who had been listening closely without altogether understanding what the two comrades had been discussing. "Oh, clever scannings and plannings! Gurgi wishes he, too, had wisdom of wise speakings!"

Gwydion warned them to silence. "Our fire is risk enough, without adding noise to it. I can only hope Arawn's Huntsmen are not abroad. We are too few to withstand even a handful of them. They are not common warriors," Gwydion added, seeing Rhun's questioning expression, "but an evil brotherhood. Slay one of their band, and the strength of the others grows that much greater."

Taran nodded. "They are as much to be feared as the Cauldron-Born," he cautioned Rhun, "the deathless, voiceless creatures that guard Annuvin. Perhaps more to be feared. The Cauldron-Born cannot be slain, yet their power dwindles if they journey too far, or stay too long beyond Arawn's realm." Rhun blinked and Gurgi fell silent, glancing behind him uncomfortably. Memory of the ruthless Cauldron-Born turned Taran's thoughts once more to Hen Wen's prophecy. "The flame of Dyrnwyn quenched," Taran murmured. "Yet how shall Arawn achieve this? For all his power, I will not believe he can even draw the blade."

"Prophecy is more than the words that shape it," Gwydion said. "Seek the meaning that underlies it. For us, the flame of Dyrnwyn will be as good as quenched if Arawn keeps it from my hands. Its power will indeed vanish, for all it may avail us, should the blade be locked forever in his treasure hoard."

"Treasure?" said Glew, stopping his munching only long enough to speak the word.

"The Death-Lord's domain is as much a treasure-house as a stronghold of evil," Gwydion said. "Long has it been filled with all the fair and useful things Arawn has stolen from Prydain. These treasures do not serve him; his purpose is to deprive, to keep their use from men, to sap our strength by denying us what might yield a richer harvest than any of us here has known." Gwydion paused. "Is this not death in but another guise?"

"I have been told," Taran said, "the treasure troves of Annuvin hold all that men could wish for. Plows, there are said to be, that work of themselves, scythes that reap with no hand to guide them, magical tools and more," Taran went on. "For Arawn stole the craft secrets of metalsmiths and potters, the lore of herdsmen and farmers. This knowledge, too, lies locked forever in his hoard." Glew sucked his teeth. The morsel of food stayed untouched in his chubby fingers. For a long while he said nothing. At last he cleared his throat.

"I mean to forgive your slights and humiliations. It would not have happened when I was a giant, I assure you. But no matter. I pardon you all. In token of my good will, I too shall journey with you."

Gwydion looked at him sharply. "Perhaps you shall," he said quietly after a time.

"No question of it now!" Fflewddur snorted. "The little weasel hopes to sniff out something for himself. I can see his nose trembling! I never thought the day would come when I should want him at our side. But I think that's safer than having him at our backs."

Glew smiled blandly. "I forgive you, too," he said.

Looks like our Tiny Giant has a bit of courage after all. If only for treasure.

# ? Mar 9, 2024 18:28

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

It's pretty big of Glew to put himself in harm's way like this, not gonna lie.

# ? Mar 10, 2024 00:57

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Definitely some foreshadowing scattered about in these opening chapters!

# ? Mar 10, 2024 21:08

Ravenfood: Nov 4, 2011

Yesss. This was my favorite of the books as a kid. I'm excited to see how it holds up. (Probably quite well given the rest of the series, and Taran Wanderer is much much better than I used to think. )

# ? Mar 11, 2024 14:29

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

Chapter 4: King Smoit's Castle

quote:

AT DAWN, KING RHUN made ready to part from the companions and ride farther westward to Avren Harbor, where he would advise his shipmaster of the change in plans. Fflewddur was to accompany him, for the bard knew the shallow fording places across the river and the swiftest paths on the opposite bank.

Eilonwy had decided to go with them. "I've forgotten half my embroidery thread in Rhun's ship, and must have it if I'm to finish Hen Wen properly. Neither of you can find it, for I'm not sure myself where it might be. I believe I've left a warmer traveling cloak, too; and a few other things--- I don't remember what they are right now, but I'm bound to think of them once I get there."

Coll grinned and rubbed his bald crown. "The Princess," he remarked, "becomes more the lady in every way."

"Since I'm not staying on the ship," said Glew, whose decision of the night before remained unshaken, "I see no reason to be taken, out of my way. I shall follow with Lord Gwydion."

"That, my puny giant, is where you're wrong," the bard replied. "Mount up behind the King of Mona, if he can stand your company, and be quick about it. Don't think I'll let you out of my sight for a moment. Where I go, you go. And the other way around, too, for the matter of that."

"Surely, Fflewddur," Taran said, drawing the bard aside, "Glew can't trouble us. I myself shall watch over him."

The bard shook his tousled, yellow head. "No, my friend. I'll be easier in my mind if I see him with my own eyes. And at all times. No, the little weasel is in my charge. Ride on ahead, and we'll catch up with you on the other side of Avren well before midday. I'll be glad to see Smoit again," Fflewddur added. "That red-bearded old bear is dear to my heart. We shall feast well at Caer Cadarn, for Smoit eats as bravely as he fights."

Gwydion had already mounted Melyngar and signaled them to hasten. Fflewddur clapped Taran on the shoulder and ran to climb astride Llyan, who was frisking gaily in the bright, cold sun and pouncing at the tip of her own tail. King Rhun, Fflewddur, Eilonwy, and Glew soon were out of sight. Bearing westward, Taran rode between Gwydion and Coll, while Gurgi, on his pony, trotted at the rear. They halted on the far bank of Great Avren. Midday passed without a sign of the other companions. Though Taran was anxious about them, he preferred to believe they had not come to harm.

"Rhun has likely stopped to look at a badger tunnel or anthill," he said. "I hope it is no more than that."

"Never fear," said Coll. "Fflewddur will jog him along. They'll be here at any moment."

Taran sounded his horn, hoping the signal would guide the bard in case Fflewddur had mistaken the path. Still they did not come. Gwydion, having waited as long as he dared, chose to press on to Caer Cadarn. They continued at a brisk pace for the rest of the day. Taran turned often in his saddle, expecting always to glimpse Rhun and the other companions galloping up behind them, or suddenly to hear the King of Mona's cheerful "Hullo, hullo!" However, as the day waned, Taran realized that Rhun, a slow horseman at best, was by now outdistanced. Fflewddur, he was sure, would not travel after nightfall.

"They have camped somewhere behind us," Coll assured Taran. "Were aught amiss, one of them would have reached us. Fflewddur Fflam knows the way to Smoit's castle. We shall all meet there. And if they seem too long delayed, Smoit will raise a searching party." The stout warrior put a hand on Taran's shoulder. "Ease your spirit until there is clear cause for alarm. Or," he added, with a wink, "is it the company of Princess Eilonwy you long for?"

"She should not have come with us," Taran replied, half angrily.

"No doubt." Coll grinned. "Yet you were not the one to speak against her."

Taran grinned back at him. "As for doing that," he said, "I have given it up long since."

Taran's learned something after all.

quote:

AT MID-MORNING OF the following day, Caer Cadarn rose before them, and from a stone tower Smoit's crimson banner with its emblem of a black bear snapped in the wind. The stronghold had been built in a clearing, and the heavy walls jutted like the bearded King's own brows, scarred and pitted by many a battle. Coll, urging Llamrei ahead, shouted to the guards in the name of Gwydion Prince of Don. The massive gates opened and the companions galloped into the courtyard, where men-at-arms tethered the horses and a party of warriors led the way to Smoit's Great Hall. Gwydion strode quickly down the corridor. Flanked by the guards, Taran, Coll, and Gurgi followed.

"Smoit will be at his meat," Taran said. "His breakfast lasts till high noon." He laughed. "He says it whets his appetite for the rest of his meals. Gwydion will get no word out of him until we ourselves are stuffed."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried. "Gurgi longs for tasty crunchings and munchings!"

"You shall have them, old friend," Taran answered. "Be sure of it." They entered the Great Hall. At one end, stood Smoit's huge throne, cut from half an oak tree and carved in the shape of a bear with paws upraised on either side. The man seated there was not King Smoit.

"Magg!" Taran gasped.

Uh oh. Who remembers this guy, huh?

quote:

Guards fell upon them instantly. Taran's sword was ripped from his belt. With a great cry, Gwydion flung himself against the warriors, but they pressed about him and bore the Prince of Don to his knees. Coll, too, was borne down and a spear pressed against his back. Gurgi yelled in rage and terror. A guard seized him by the scruff of his shaggy neck, buffeting him until the poor creature could barely stagger to his feet. Magg grinned like a skull. With a slight movement of his skinny fingers, he gestured the warriors to stand away. His gray, pinched face twitched with pleasure.

"Our meeting, Lord Gwydion, is one I did not foresee. My warriors hold Caer Cadarn, but this is an added prize, and a richer one than I had hoped."

Gwydion's green eyes blazed. "Have you dared even to enter King Smoit's cantrev? Begone from here before he returns. He shall deal with you less gently than I."

"You will join King Smoit," Magg replied. "Though King I scorn to call this rude cantrev lord." Magg's thin lips curled. Caressingly he put a hand to his embroidered cloak. Taran saw that Magg's garments were even richer than those the lankhaired man had worn as Chief Steward to the Court of Mona.

"More powerful than Smoit or the King of Mona, more powerful than Queen Achren is my liege lord," Magg said with a yellow smile. "And mightier now than the Prince of Don." He touched the iron chain hanging from his neck and fondled the heavy badge of office. In horror Taran saw it bore the same symbol that was branded on the foreheads of the Huntsmen.

"I serve no lesser liege," Magg said haughtily, "than the King of Annuvin, Arawn Death-Lord himself."

Gwydion's glance did not falter. "You have found your true master, Magg."

"When last we parted, Lord Gwydion," said Magg, "I believed you dead. It was my joy, later, to learn that you were not." The Chief Steward licked his lips. "Seldom is one given to savor his revenge twice, and I was patient until the day we should meet again.

"Patient, yes," Magg hissed. "Long I wandered after I sailed from the Isle of Mona. There were those I served humbly, biding my time. One sought even to cast me in a dungeon--- I, Magg, who once held a kingdom in his grasp." The voice of the Chief Steward rose shrilly. His face had gone livid and his eyes started from their sockets. But in a moment he gained control of his trembling hands and sank back on Smoit's throne. Now the words came from his lips as if he were tasting each one. "At length, I made my way to Annuvin," Magg said, "to the very threshold of Dark Gate. Lord Arawn did not know me then, as he knows me now." Magg nodded in satisfaction. "There was much he learned from me. Lord Arawn knew the history of Dyrnwyn," Magg continued. "He knew it had been lost and found again, and that Gwydion Son of Don bore it. But it was I, Magg, who told him how best to gain it."

"Even your treachery is paltry," Taran said. "Late or soon, with or without you, Arawn would have struck on that evil scheme himself."

"Perhaps," Magg said slyly. "Perhaps what he learned from me was less than what I learned from him. For I soon discovered that his power was dangerously balanced. His champion, the Horned King, had long been defeated. Even the Black Crochan, the cauldron that gave him the deathless Cauldron-Born, was shattered. Lord Arawn has many secret liegemen among the cantrev kings," Magg went on. "He has promised them great riches and domains, and they are sworn to serve him. But his defeats turned them restive. It was I who showed him the means to win stronger allegiance. It was my plan, mine alone that put Dyrnwyn in his hands!"

"Word now spreads throughout the cantrevs that Arawn Death-Lord holds the mightiest weapon in Prydain. He knows its secrets, far better than you do, Lord Gwydion, and knows he cannot be defeated. His liegemen rejoice, for they will soon taste victory. Other warlords will rally to his banner and his host of warriors will grow. I, Magg, have wrought this!" the Chief Steward cried. "I, Magg, second only to the Death-Lord! I, Magg, speak in his name. I am his trusted emissary, and I ride from realm to realm, gathering armies to destroy the Sons of Don and those who give them allegiance. All Prydain will be his dominion. And those who stand against him---if Lord Arawn chooses to be merciful, he will slay them. His Huntsmen will drink their blood. The others will grovel in bondage forever!" Magg's eyes gleamed, his pale brow glistened and his cheeks quivered violently. "For this," he hissed, "for this, Lord Arawn has sworn to me by every oath: one day I, Magg, will wear the Iron Crown of Annuvin!"

"You are as much a fool as a traitor," Gwydion said, in a hard voice. "And doubly so. First, to believe Arawn. Then to believe King Smoit would heed your serpent's words. Have you slain him? Only dead would he listen to you."

"Smoit lives," answered Magg. "I care nothing for his allegiance. I seek the fealty of the liegemen in his cantrev. Smoit shall order them, in his name, to serve my cause."

"King Smoit would sooner have his tongue ripped out," Taran cried.

"And so perhaps he shall," replied Magg "Mute, he will serve me as well. He will ride with me and I will speak on his behalf better than he would speak on his own. Yet," he mused, "I would prefer the commands to come from his lips rather than mine. There are ways to loosen his tongue instead of cutting it from his head. Some have already been tried." Magg narrowed his eyes. "The best means stand before me now. You, Lord Gwydion. And you, Pig-Keeper. Speak with him. Let Smoit see that he must yield to me." Magg smiled crookedly. "Your lives hang on it."

The Chief Steward moved his head slightly. The guards stepped forward. Roughly the companions were prodded from the Great Hall. Shock and despair so filled Taran that he was hardly aware of the passages they were led down, The warriors halted. One flung open a heavy door. Others thrust the companions into a narrow chamber. The door grated shut and darkness swallowed them. As they groped blindly Taran stumbled on a prostrate form that stirred and bellowed loudly.

"My body and blood!" roared the voice of King Smoit, and Taran was grappled by a pair of bonecracking arms. "Are you come again, Magg? You'll not take me alive!" Taran was nearly smothered and crushed before Gwydion called out his own name and the names of the companions. Smoit's grip loosened and Taran felt a huge hand on his face.

"My pulse, and so it is!" cried Smoit, as the companions gathered around him. "The Pig-Keeper! Lord Gwydion! Coll! I'd know that bald pate of yours anywhere!" His hand fell on Gurgi's disheveled head. "And the little--- whatever-it-is! Well met, my friends." Smoit groaned heavily. "And ill met, too. How has that simpering sop trapped you? The lard-lipped, squirming lackey has snared us all!" Gwydion quickly told Smoit what had befallen them.

The red-bearded King growled furiously. "Magg caught me as easily as he did you. Yesterday I was at breakfast, and had barely set myself to my meat, when my steward brought tidings that a messenger from Lord Goryon sought words with me. Now then, I knew Goryon was at odds with Lord Gast. A matter of cow-stealing, as usual. Ah, will the cantrev lords of Prydain ever stop their endless bickering! However, since I'd heard Gast's side of it, I deemed I should listen to Goryon's." Smoit snorted and struck his massive thigh. "Before I could swallow another mouthful, Magg's warriors were about me. My heart and liver! Some of them will remember Smoit! Another troop had lain in ambush and stormed through the gate." Smoit put his head in his hands. "Of my own men those not slain are prisoned in the guardrooms and armories."

"And you," Taran asked anxiously, "are you in pain? Magg spoke of torture."

"Pain!" Smoit bellowed so loudly the chamber echoed. "Torture? I suffer till I sweat. But not at the hands of that long-nosed worm! My skin's thick enough. Let Magg break his teeth on my bones! He troubles me no more than a fleabite or bramblescratch. Why, I've taken worse in a friendly scuffle! Do you speak of pain?" Smoit stormed on. "By every hair of my beard, I swear it pains me more than hot iron to be mewed up in my own castle! My own stronghold, and a captive in it! Gulled in my own Great Hall! My own food and drink snatched from my lips, and my breakfast ruined. Torment? Worse than that! It's enough to sour a man out of his appetite!"

Gwydion and Coll, meantime, had made their way to the walls and, as far as the dim light allowed, were hastily examining them for any sign of weakness. Taran, now that his eyes had grown a little more used to the gloom, feared that his companions were wasting their labors. The cell was windowless; what little air reached them came only from the tiny, heavily barred grating of the door. The floor was not of hard-packed earth, but of flagstones joined with barely a crack. Smoit himself, realizing the purpose of Gwydion's efforts, shook his head and pounded his iron-shod boots on the floor.

"Solid as a mountain," he cried. "I know, for I built it myself. Spare yourself pains, my friends. It will crack no sooner than I!"

"How far below ground is this dungeon?" Taran asked, though his hope for escape was fading with each moment. "Is there no way we can dig upward?"

"Dungeon?" cried Smoit. "I've no more dungeons in Caer Cadarn. When last we met, you called my dungeons useless. Right you were, and so; I walled them up. Now there's no wrongdoing in my cantrev that I can't settle quicker and easier with a few words. Who hears my voice will mend his ways--- or mend his head. Dungeon indeed! It's a spare larder. Would that I had stocked it as solidly as I built it," groaned Smoit. "Let Magg bring his irons and lashes. I'll heed them not a bit in the midst of this other fiendish torment. The larder lies beside my scullery! I've not lined my belly for two days. Two years, it feels! The vile traitor has not left off his feasting! And for me? No more than the sniff of it! Oh, he shall pay for this," Smoit cried. "I'll beg him one thing only: a moment with my paws about his skinny neck. I'll squeeze out all the puddings and pastries he's ever gobbled!" Gwydion had come to crouch beside the furious Smoit.

"Your larder may be our tomb," he said grimly. "Not only for ourselves," he added. "Fflewddur Fflam leads our companions here. Magg's jaws will close on them as tightly as they are closed on us."

Good to see Smoit's holding up well, despite the circumstance.

# ? Mar 13, 2024 18:17

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Wahad posted:

Chapter 4: King Smoit's Castle

Taran's learned something after all.

Uh oh. Who remembers this guy, huh?

Good to see Smoit's holding up well, despite the circumstance.

Smoit abolished incarceration because Taran rightly pointed out it was stupid. What an absolute chad. Best king, based king.

# ? Mar 13, 2024 18:25

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Magg, you snivelling snake in the grass!

# ? Mar 14, 2024 00:07

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

Chapter 5: The Watcher

quote:

ALTHOUGH FFLEWDDUR FFLAM quickly led Eilonwy, King Rhun, and Glew to Avren Harbor, their return from the ship was less rapid. First, the King of Mona managed, against all likelihood, to tumble over his horse's neck when the dapple gray halted to drink at the riverbank. The ducking thoroughly soaked the unlucky King but did not dampen his spirits. However, Rhun's sword belt had come undone and the blade had sunk in the shallows. Rhun being unable to fish it out again because he had also got himself tangled in the steed's harness, Fflewddur was obliged to plunge into the river for the weapon. Glew now protested, bitterly against riding behind the sopping bard.

"Walk, then, little weasel! " cried Fflewddur, shivering and beating his arms against his sides. "By my choice, in the opposite direction!" Glew only sniffed haughtily and refused to budge.

Eilonwy stamped her foot with impatience. "Will you make haste, all of you! We came to look after Lord Gwydion, and we can hardly look after ourselves."

The former giant consented to ride behind the Princess on Lluagor, and they set out once more. Llyan, however, had suddenly taken it into her head to be playful. She lunged forward on her huge padded paws and spun joyfully about while the desperate bard clung to her tawny neck. It was all Fflewddur could do to keep Llyan from rolling onto her back with himself astride her.

"She--- seldom does this," shouted the breathless bard, while Llyan, with great leaps, circled the companions. "She's really been--- quite well--- behaved! No use--- scolding her. Makes no--- difference!" At last Fflewddur was forced, with difficulty, to unsling his harp and pluck out a melody until Llyan grew calm again. Soon after midday the bard heard the faint, distant notes of Taran's horn.

"They're worried over us," Fflewddur said. "I hope we shall soon rejoin them." The companions pressed on as quickly as they could, but the distance between the two bands increased rather than dwindled, and at nightfall they wearily halted and slept.

A fresh morning start brought them, according to Fflewddur's reckoning, less than half a day behind the others. King Rhun, more than ever eager to reach Caer Cadarn, urged all speed from the dapple gray; but the mare's pace was much slower than Llyan's and Lluagor's; Eilonwy and Fflewddur Continually had to rein in their mounts. Midway through the afternoon, King Rhun gave a glad cry. Caer Cadarn lay only a little distance off. They saw Smoit's crimson banner clearly beyond the trees. The companions were about to hasten onward, but Eilonwy frowned and looked once more at the fluttering standard.

"How odd," the Princess remarked. "I see King Smoit's jolly old bear. But Gwydion surely must be there by now, and I don't see the banner of the House of Don. Queen Teleria taught me it is courtesy for a cantrev noble to fly the Golden Sunburst of Don when one of the Royal House visits him."

"True enough in ordinary circumstances," agreed Fflewddur. "But I doubt, at this point, that Gwydion wants anyone to know where he is. He's told Smoit to put aside the formalities. A most sensible precaution."

"Yes, of course." Eilonwy replied. "I shouldn't have thought of that. How clever of you, Fflewddur."

The bard beamed happily. "Experience, Princess. Long experience. But never fear. Such wisdom will come to you, in time."

"Even so," Eilonwy said, as they rode farther. "It's curious the gates are closed. Knowing King Smoit, you might suppose they'd be flung wide open and a guard of honor waiting for us, with King Smoit himself at their head."

Fflewddur waved the girl's remark aside. "Not a bit of it. Lord Gwydion follows a path of danger, not a round of festivals. I understand how such things are done. I've been on a thousand secret missions--- ah, well, perhaps one or two," he added hastily. "I fully expected Caer Cadarn would be buckled, bolted, and shut tight as an oyster."

"Yes," Eilonwy said, "I'm sure you know more about such things than I" She hesitated, straining her eyes to take in the castle, which the companions were now rapidly approaching. "But King Smoit isn't at war with his neighbors, as far as I've heard. Two watchmen on the walls would be more than enough. Does he need a whole party of bowmen?"

"Naturally," replied Fflewddur, "to protect Lord Gwydion."

"But if no one is to know Gwydion's there---" Eilonwy persisted.

"Great Belin!" cried the bard, reining up Llyan. "Now you make my head spin. Are you trying to say Gwydion's not at Caer Cadarn? If he's not, we shall soon find out. And if he is, we shall find that out as well." Fflewddur scratched his spiky yellow head. "But if he's not, then, why not? What could have happened? And if he is, then there's nothingto worry about. Yet, if he isn't... Oh, drat and blast, you've turned me queasy. I don't understand...."

"I don't understand, either," Eilonwy answered. "All I know--- and I don't even know it--- is that, well, I can't explain. I--- I see the castle all crooked-wise--- no, not see. Taste? No... Well, no matter," she burst out, "I've come all over chills and creeps and I don't like it. You've had experience, I don't doubt. But my ancestors were enchantresses, every one. And so should I have been, if I hadn't chosen to be a young lady."

"Enchantments!" the bard muttered uncomfortably. "Stay away from them. Don't meddle. It's also been my experience they never turn out well."

"I say," put in Rhun, "if the Princess feels there's something amiss, I'll be glad to ride ahead and find out. I shall frankly rap on the gates and demand to know."

"Nonsense," replied Fflewddur. "I'm quite sure all is well." A harp string broke and twanged loudly. The bard cleared his throat. "No, I'm not sure at all. Oh, bother it! The girl has put an idea in my head and I can't shake it out. One way, everything looks all right; the other way, it looks all wrong. Just to ease your mind--- ah, my mind, that is," Fflewddur told the Princess, "I shall be the one to find out. As a wandering bard I can go and come as I please. If anything's wrong, none will suspect me. If not, there's no harm done. Stay here. I'll be back directly. We shall laugh over this at King Smoit's table," he added, but without great assurance.

The bard dismounted, considering it wiser not to draw attention by riding Llyan.

"And you try no mischief," he warned Glew. "I hate to let you out of my sight, but Llyan will keep an eye on you. Hers are sharper than mine. So are her teeth." On foot, the bard made his way to the castle. After a time, Eilonwy saw the gates swing open and Fflewddur disappear within. Then all was silent.

Never let it be said a Fflam isn't brave!

quote:

BY NIGHTFALL THE GIRL had grown seriously alarmed, for there had been no further sign from the bard. The companions had concealed themselves in a thicket, awaiting Fflewddur's return, but now Eilonwy rose and anxiously faced the castle.

"It is all wrong!" she cried, taking an impatient stride forward King Rhun drew her back.

"Perhaps not," he said. "Why, he'd have come back immediately to warn us if there was. No doubt Smoit's giving him supper, or..." Rhun loosened his sword in its sheath. "I'll go and see."

"No, you shall not!" Eilonwy cried. "I should have gone in the first place. Oh, I should haveknown better than to let myself be put off by anyone." Rhun, however, insisted. Eilonwy refused. The heated, although whispered, dispute that followed was interrupted by the sudden arrival of the bard himself. Breathless and gasping, he stumbled into the thicket.

"It's Magg! He has them all!" Fflewddur's voice was pale as his face in the moonlight. "Caught! Trapped!" Eilonwy and Rhun listened aghast at what Fflewddur had learned. "The warriors themselves don't know who the prisoners are, only that there are four with Smoit locked up for treachery. Treachery indeed! They've been made to swallow some kind of tale! The game goes deeper than that. What it is, I couldn't discover. I think the guards had orders to lay hold of everybody entering the castle. Luckily, those orders didn't seem to apply to wandering bards. It's so usual for a bard to drift in and sing for his supper that the warriors never gave it a second thought, though a they did keep an eye on me and wouldn't let me near Smoit's Great Hall or the larder where they've put the prisoners. But I caught a glimpse of Magg. Oh, the sneering, smirking spider! If only I could have run him through then and there! The warriors kept me harping until I thought my fingers would drop off," he hurriedly concluded. "Otherwise, I should have been back long ago. I didn't dare stop, or they'd have smelled a rat. And there's a rat to be smelled!" he cried furiously.

"How shall we rescue them?" Eilonwy demanded. "I don't care why they're locked up. Ask later. First get them out."

"We can't," Fflewddur answered in despair. "Impossible. Not with only four of us. And that's four counting Glew, who can't be counted at all."

Glew snorted. Usually the little man took no interest in anything not bearing directly on himself; now, his face was agitated. "When I was a giant I could have torn the walls down."

"Bother when you were a giant," snapped Fflewddur. "You're not one now. Our only hope is to go farther into the cantrev, tell one of the cantrev lords what's happened, and have him rally an attack force."

"It will take too long," cried Eilonwy. "Oh, do be quiet and let me think!"

The girl strode again to the clearing, and turned her eyes defiantly toward the castle which flung its own dark defiance against her. Her mind raced, but with no clear plan. With half a sob and half a cry of anger she was about to turn away. A movement against a nearby tree caught her glance. She halted a moment. Not daring to turn her head, from a corner of her eye she grew aware of a strange, humped shadow, motionless now. Asif to continue on her path she walked seemingly in the direction of Fflewddur and Rhun, but edged little by little toward the tree.

Suddenly, quick as Llyan, she leaped upon the humped figure. Part of it went rolling in one direction, and the rest of it set up a muffled shrieking: Eilonwy pummeled, kicked, and scratched. Fflewddur and King Rhun were at her side in an instant. The bard seized one end of the flailing shape, King Rhun the other. Eilonwy drew back and quickly took the bauble from her cloak. As she cupped it in her hand the sphere began to glow. She held it closer to the struggling form. Her jaw dropped. The golden beams shone on a pale, wrinkled face with a long, drooping nose and mournful mouth. Wild wisps of cobweb-like hair floated above a pair of eyes that blinked wretchedly and tearfully.

"Gwystyl!" Eilonwy cried. "Gwystyl of the Fair Folk!"

Hey, it's that guy!

quote:

The bard loosened his grasp. Gwystyl sat up, rubbed his skinny arms, then climbed to his feet and pulled his cloak defensively about him.

"How nice to see you again," he mumbled. "A pleasure, believe me. I've thought of you often. Goodbye. Now I really must be on my way."

"Help us!" Eilonwy pleaded. "Gwystyl, we beg you. Our companions are prisoned in Smoit's castle." Gwystyl clapped his hands to his head. His face puckered miserably.

"Please, please," he moaned, "don't shout. I'm not well, I'm not up to being shouted at this evening. And would you mind not shining that light in my eyes? No, no, it's really too much. It's more than enough to be pulled down and sat on, without people picking at you and bellowing and half-blinding you. As I was saying--- yes, it's been delightful running into you. Of course I'll be glad to help. But perhaps another time. When we're not feeling so upset."

"Gwystyl, don't you understand?" Eilonwy cried. "Have you been listening to me at all? Another time? You must help us now. Gwydion's sword is stolen. Dyrnwyn is gone! Arawn has it! Don't you see what that means? This is the most terrible thing that could ever happen. How can Gwydion get the sword back if he's locked up, with his own life in danger? And Taran--- and Coll and Gurgi..."

"Some days are like that," Gwystyl sighed. "And what's to be done about it? Nothing, alas, but hope things will brighten, which they very likely won't. But, there you are, it's all one can do. Yes, I know Dyrnwyn is stolen. A sad misfortune, a disheartening state of affairs."

"You already know?" exclaimed the bard. "Great Belin, speak up! Where is it?"

"No idea whatever," Gwystyl gasped in such desperation that Eilonwy believed the melancholy creature indeed spoke the truth. "But that's the least of my concerns. What's happening around Annuvin---" He shuddered and patted his pale forehead with a trembling hand. "The Huntsmen are gathering. The Cauldron-Born have come out, whole troops of them. I've never seen so many Cauldron-Born altogether in my life. It's enough to make a decent person take to his bed. And that's not the half of it," Gwystyl choked. "Some of the cantrev lords are rallying their battle hosts, and their war leaders hold council in Annuvin. The place is thick with warriors, inside, outside, wherever you look. I was even afraid they'd discover my tunnels and spy holes. These days, I'm the Fair Folk's only watcher close to Annuvin--- more's the pity, for the work piles up so. Believe me," Gwystyl hurried on, "your friends are better off where they are. Much safer. No matter what's being done to them, it can't be worse than stumbling into that hornet's nest. If, by chance, you do see them again, give them all my fondest greetings. I'm sorry, terribly sorry I can't stay longer. I'm on my way to the realm of the Fair Folk; King Eiddileg should learn of these matters without delay."

"If King Eiddileg learns you wouldn't help us," Eilonwy indignantly burst out, "you'll wish you'd never left your waypost."

"It's a long, hard journey." Gwystyl sighed and shook his cobwebby head, completely ignoring Eilonwy's remark. "I shall have to go above ground every step. Eiddileg will want to know all that's stirring along the way. I'm not up to journeying, not in my condition, not in this weather, least of all. Summer would have been much more agreeable. But--- there's nothing to be done about that. Good-bye, farewell. Always a pleasure." Gwystyl stooped to pick up a bundle almost as large as himself. Eilonwy clutched him by the arm.

"Oh, no you don't!" she cried. "You'll warn King Eiddileg after we free our companions. Don't try to deceive me, Gwystyl of the Fair Folk. You're cleverer than you care to let on. But if you won't give us your help, I know how to get it. I'll squeeze it out of you!" The girl made a movement to seize the creature about his neck. Gwystyl gave a heartrending sob and feebly endeavored to defend himself.

"No squeezing! No, please. I couldn't face up to it. Not now. Good-bye. Really, this is hardly the moment..." Fflewddur, meanwhile, was staring curiously at the bundle. The large, lumpy pack had rolled near a bush when Eilonwy had first set upon Gwystyl and it lay partly undone on the ground.

"Great Belin," murmured the bard, "what a tangle of oddments. Worse than a snail with his household on his back."

"It's nothing, nothing at all," Gwystyl said hurriedly. "A few little comforts to ease the journey."

"We might do better squeezing this pack instead of Gwystyl's neck," remarked Fflewddur, who had dropped to his knees and had begun to rummage through the bundle. "There may be something here more useful than Gwystyl himself."

"Take whatever you please," Gwystyl urged, as Eilonwy turned the bauble's glow upon the heap. "Have it all, if you like. It makes no difference. I shall manage without it. Painfully, but I shall manage." King Rhun knelt beside the bard, who thus far had pulled out a few mended sheepskin-lined jackets and several ragged cloaks.

"Amazing!" Rhun cried. "Here's a bird's nest!"

"Yes," Gwystyl sighed. "Take it. It's something I've been saving; you never know when the need for one might arise. But it's yours now."

"No thank you," muttered the bard. "I shouldn't want to deprive you."

Their hasty search next revealed water flasks both empty and full, a walking staff in jointed sections allowing it to be folded up, a cushion with an extra bag of feathers, two lengths of rope, some fishing lines and large hooks, two tents, a number of iron wedges and a crooked iron bar, a wide piece of soft leather which, as Gwystyl reluctantly explained, could be set about a willow frame to serve as a small boat; several large bunches of dried vegetables and herbs, and numerous bags of lichens in all colors.

"For my condition," Gwystyl mumbled, indicating the latter. "The dampness and clamminess around Annuvin is dreadful. These don't help at all, but they're better than nothing. However, you're welcome..."

The bard shook his head in despair. "Useless rubbish. We might borrow the ropes and fish hooks. But, for whatever good they may do us..."

"Gwystyl," Eilonwy cried angrily, "all your tents and boats and walking staves won't answer! Oh, I could squeeze you anyway, for I'm out of patience with you. Begone! Yes, goodbye indeed!" Gwystyl, heaving huge sighs of relief, rapidly began packing his bundle. As he hoisted it to his shoulder, from his cloak fell a small sack which he tried desperately to recover.

"I say, what's this?" asked Rhun, who had already gathered up the bag and was about to hand it to the agitated creature.

"Eggs," mumbled Gwystyl. "Lucky they weren't smashed when you took your tumble," said Rhun cheerfully. "Perhaps we'dbetter have a look," he added, untying the string around the mouth of the bag.

"Eggs!" said Fflewddur, brightening somewhat. "I shouldn't mind eating one or two of them. I've had no food since midday--- those warriors kept me harping, but they took no pains to feed me. Come, old fellow, I'm starved enough to crack one now and swallow it raw!"

"No, no!" squealed Gwystyl, snatching for the bag. "Don't do it! They're not eggs. Not eggs, at all!"

"I say, they surely look like it," remarked Rhun, peering into the sack. "If they aren't, then what are they?"

Gwystyl choked, then went into a fit of violent, coughing and sighing before he answered.

"Smoke," he gasped.

Anybody else notice it's the first chapter in the entire series without Taran in it?

# ? Mar 16, 2024 17:35

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

Wahad posted:

Chapter 5: The Watcher
The bard beamed happily. "Experience, Princess. Long experience. But never fear. Such wisdom will come to you, in time."

Is this the only time in the series that Fflewdur even comes this close to being condescending to one of his companions?

# ? Mar 16, 2024 19:45

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

Chapter 6: A Clutch of Eggs

quote:

"AMAZING!" CRIED KING RHUN. "Smoke made of egg! Or is it egg made of smoke?"

"The smoke is inside," Gwystyl muttered, drawing his shabby cloak about him. "Good-bye. Crack the shell and the smoke comes out--- in considerable quantity. Keep them. A gift. If you should ever see Lord Gwydion, warn him to shun Annuvin at all cost. For myself, I'm glad to leave the place behind me and hope never to return. Good-bye."

"Gwystyl," Eilonwy said sharply, gripping the melancholy creature's arm, "something tells me there's more to that cloak of yours than meets the eye. What else have you hidden away? The truth, now. Or I promise you such squeezing..."

"Nothing!" Gwystyl choked. Despite the chill wind, he had begun perspiring heavily. His cobwebby hair hung limp and his brow dripped as if he had been caught in a downpour. "Nothing, that is, but a few little personal things of my own. Odds and ends. If they interest you, by all means..." Gwystyl raised his arms and spread his cloak on either side, a gesture which made him resemble a long-nosed and dismal bat. He sighed and groaned miserably while the companions stared in surprise.

"Odd indeed!" said Fflewddur. "And, Great Belin, there's no end of them!" Neatly attached within the folds of the cloak hung a dozen cloth sacks, mesh bags, and carefully wrapped packets. Most of them seemed to contain clutches of eggs of the sort Fflewddur had narrowly avoided eating. Gwystyl pulled off one of the mesh bags and handed it to Eilonwy.

"I say," exclaimed Rhun. "First eggs, now mushrooms!" As far as the Princess could see, the mesh bag held nothing more than a few large, brownspeckled toadstools; but Gwystyl waved his arms desperately, and moaned.

"Beware, beware! Break them and they'll singe your hair off! They make a handsome puff of flame, if you should ever need such a thing. Take them all. I'm well pleased to be rid of them."

"It is what we need!" Eilonwy cried. "Gwystyl, forgive me for threatening to squeeze you." She turned to the bard who was examining the sacks with an air of uneasiness. "Yes! These will help us. Now, if we can find a way into the castle..."

"My dear Princess," replied Fflewddur, "a Fflam is dauntless, but I hardly think it practical, overcoming a stronghold with little more than eggs and mushrooms in our hands, even eggs and mushrooms of this particular sort. And yet..." He hesitated, then snapped his fingers. "Great Belin, we might pull it off at that! Wait! I'm beginning to see the possibilities." Gwystyl, meantime, had unfastened the remaining packets from his voluminous, cloak.

"Here," he sighed, "since you have most of them, you might as well have the rest. All of it. Go on, it makes no difference to me now." The packets which Gwystyl held out in a trembling hand were filled with a quantity of what appeared to be dark, powdery earth. "Put this on your feet, and no one can see your tracks--- that is, if someone's looking for your tracks. That's really what it's for. But if you throw it into someone's eyes, the can't see anything at all--- for a short while at least."'

"Better and better!" cried Fflewddur. "We'll have our friends out of the spider's clutches in no time. A daring deed! Clouds of smoke! Billows of fire! Blinding powder! And a Fflam to the rescue! That will give the bards something to sing about. Ah--- tell me, old fellow," he added uneasily to Gwystyl, "you're quite sure those mushrooms work?"

Well, at least Fflewddur's excited about the whole thing. Leave it to a bard to look on the bright side, I suppose. Those faerie tricks are pretty useful, though.

quote:

THE COMPANIONS HURRIEDLY returned to the cover of the thicket to set their plans. Gwystyl, after much coaxing and cajoling, as well as hints of further squeezing and suggestions of King Eiddileg's displeasure, at last agreed--- with many a racking sigh and moan--- to help in the rescue. The bard was eager to begin immediately.

"In my long experience," Fflewddur said, "I've found it best to go at this kind of business head on. First, I shall return to the castle. Since the warriors know me, they'll open the gates without a second thought. Under my cloak I'll have Gwystyl's eggs and mushrooms. Directly the gates are open--- clouds of smoke, a blast of fire! The rest of you will be lurking behind me in the shadows. At my signal, we all rush in, swords drawn, shouting at the top of our voices!"

"Amazing!" put in Rhun. "It can't fail." The King of Mona frowned. "On the other hand, it would almost seem--- not that I know anything about these matters--- we'd be rushing into our own smoke and fire. I mean to say, the warriors couldn't see us; but neither could we see them."

Fflewddur shook his head in disagreement. "Believe me, my friend, this is the best and quickest way. I've rescued more captives than I have fingers on my hands." The harp tensed and shuddered, and a number of strings would have given way had not Fflewddur added in the same breath: "Planned to rescue, that is. I've never, in strict point of fact, actually done so."

"Rhun is right," Eilonwy declared. "It would be worse than stumbling over your own feet. Besides, we'd be risking everything at one go. No, we must have a better plan than that." King Rhun beamed, surprised and delighted that his words had found agreement. He blinked his pale blue eyes, grinned shyly, and ventured to raise his voice once more.

"I suddenly think of the seawall I've been rebuilding," he began, in some hesitation. "I mean, starting it from both ends. Unfortunately, it didn't turn out quite as I had hoped. But the idea was a good one. Now, if we might try the same kind of thing. Not building a wall, of course. I mean going at Caer Cadarn from different ways." Fflewddur shrugged, not a little crestfallen that his own suggestion had been dismissed.

But Eilonwy nodded. "Yes. It's the only sensible thing."

Glew snorted. "The only sensible thing is to get an army behind you. When I was a giant, I'd have been willing to help you. But I mean to have no part in this scheme."

The little man was about to say more, but a glance from the bard silenced him. "Never fear," said Fflewddur. "You and I will be together at every moment. You'll be in good hands."

"Now then," broke in Rhun, impatient to speak again. "There are five of us. Some should climb over the rear wall, the others enter at the gate." The young King rose to his feet and his eyes flashed eagerly. "Fflewddur Fflam shall have the gates opened. Then, while the others attack from the far wall, I shall ride straight through the gates."

Rhun's hand had gone to his sword. His head was thrown back and he stood before the companions as proudly as if all the Kings of Mona were at his side. He spoke on, firmly and clearly, with such joyful enthusiasm that Eilonwy had no heart to stop him.

But at last she interrupted. "Rhun, I'm sorry," Eilonwy said. "But--- and I think Fflewddur will agree with me--- you will serve better if you stay out of the actual fighting unless it's absolutely necessary. That way, you'll be on hand when you're needed, but it won't be quite so dangerous for you."

Rhun's face clouded with disappointment and dismay. "But, I say..."

"You're not a Prince any more," Eilonwy added, before Rhun could continue his protest. "You're King of Mona. Your life isn't altogether your own, don't you see? You have a whole realm of people to think of, and we shan't let you take any more risks than you have to. You'll be in far too much danger as it is. If Queen Teleria could have guessed the way things would turn out," Eilonwy added, "you wouldn't have sailed to Caer Dallben in the first place."

"I don't see what my mother has to do with it," cried Rhun. "I'm sure my father would have wanted..."

"Your father understood what it means to be aking," Eilonwy said gently. "You must learn as well as he did."

"Taran of Caer Dallben saved my life on Mona," Rhun said urgently. "I am in his debt, and it is a debt that I alone can pay."

"You owe another kind of debt to the fisher folk of Mona," Eilonwy replied. "And theirs is the greater claim." Rhun turned away and sat dejectedly on a hummock, his sword trailing at his side. Fflewddur gave him an encouraging clap on the shoulder.

"Don't despair," said the bard. "If our friend Gwystyl's eggs and mushrooms fail, you'll have more than your share of trouble. So will we all."

Chin up Rhun, you'll get your share of glory yet.

quote:

IT WAS NEARLY DAWN and bitter cold when the little band left the concealment of the thicket and moved stealthily toward the lightless castle. Each carried a share of Gwystyl's mushrooms and eggs, and a packet of his black, loamy powder. Making a wide circle, they now approached Caer Cadarn from its darkest, most shadowed side.

"Remember the plan," Fflewddur warned under his breath. "It must go exactly as we set it. When we are all in position, Gwystyl is to pop open one of those famous mushrooms of his; the fire should draw the guards to the rear of the courtyard. That will be your signal," he said to Eilonwy and Rhun."Then--- and not before, mind you--- be ready to force the gates open as soon as possible, for I imagine we shall be rather in a hurry to get out. At the same time, I'll free Smoit's men locked up in the guardroom. They'll help you if you need them while I make my way to the larder and loose our friends. We must hope that villainous spider hasn't already taken them away somewhere. If he has, well, we shall have to make new plans on the spot. And you, old fellow," Fflewddur added to Gwystyl, as the dark walls loomed ahead, "I think it's time for you to do as you promised."

Gwystyl sighed heavily and his mouth drooped more wretchedly than ever. "I'm not up to climbing, not today. If only you could have waited. Next week, perhaps. Or when the weather turns better. Well, no matter. There's little a person can do about it."

Still shaking his head dubiously, the gloomy creature set down the coils of rope he carried over his shoulder. The large fish hooks, taken from his bundle, he now attached at various angles to the end of a slender line. Fascinated, King Rhun watched as Gwystyl with a deft movement flung the line into the air. From the parapet high above came a faint rasping sound, then a dry click as the hooks caught on a projecting stone. Gwystyl tugged at the cord and slung the remaining coils of rope about his neck.

"I say," Rhun whispered, "will that fishing line hold you?"

Gwystyl sighed and looked mournfully at him. "I doubt it."

Nevertheless, mumbling and moaning, he quickly hoisted himself into the air, hanging an instant before his feet found the stones of the wall. Pulling himself up on the line and scrabbling with his feet against the sheer side of the castle, Gwystyl was soon out of sight.

"Amazing!" cried Rhun. The bard frantically cautioned him to silence. A moment later the fishing line was hauled up and the end of one of the heavier ropes came swinging down. The bard lifted Glew, who was protesting as loudly as he dared, and boosted him onto the dangling cord.

"Up you go," Fflewddur muttered. "I'll be right behind you."

Rhun followed, as the bard and the former giant disappeared into the shadows. Eilonwy seized the rope and felt herself rapidly drawn aloft. She swung herself over the parapet and dropped to a projecting ledge. Gwystyl had already scuttled toward the rear of the castle. Fflewddur and Glew slid into the darkness below. King Rhun grinned at Eilonwy and crouched against the cold stones. The moon was down; the sky had turned black. Amid the shadows of the silent buildings, thestables, and the long dark mass which Eilonwy guessed to be Smoit's Great Hall, the low flames of a watch fire gleamed. Farther along the parapet, in the direction of the gates, the figures of the guards stood motionless, drowsing.

"I say, it's dark enough!" Rhun whispered cheerfully. "We shan't need Gwystyl's powder, at this rate. I can hardly see as it is." Eilonwy turned her eyes in the direction Gwystyl had taken, waiting from one endless moment to the next for the signal. Rhun was tensed, ready to fling himself down the rope. A shout rang from the courtyard. At the same instant, a cloud of crimson flame burst in the shadows of the Great Hall. Eilonwy jumped to her feet.

"Something's amiss!" she cried. "Fflewddur attacks too soon!" It was only then that she saw a burst of fire at the far end of the castle. More shouts of alarm rose above the clatter of racing footsteps. But the warriors, Eilonwy saw with sinking heart, ran not to Gwystyl's false attack but to the Great Hall. The courtyard seethed with shadows. Torches sprang to light.

"Quickly!" Eilonwy shouted. "The gates!" Rhun swung from the ledge. Eilonwy was about to follow him when she glimpsed a bowman at one of the guard posts on the wall. He raced toward her, then halted to take aim.Hastily, Eilonwy drew a mushroom from her cloak and flung it at the warrior. It fell short and split against the stones; fire spurted, blinding her. The flames leaped in a roaring, searing cloud. The bowman shouted in terror and staggered back. His arrow whistled past her head. The girl seized the rope and dropped into the courtyard below.

No plan survives contact with the enemy, as they say.

# ? Mar 20, 2024 15:48

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

Chapter 7: The King of Mona

quote:

IN THE LARDER WHICH had become a prison, Gurgi was first to hear the shouts of alarm. Though muffled by the heavy walls, the cries brought him to his feet before the other companions were aware of the tumult beyond their cell. All night, fearing the arrival of Magg from one moment to the next, they had vainly sought escape. Exhausted from their efforts, they dozed fitfully by turns; hoping only to sell their lives dearly when the guards at last came for them.

"Fightings and smitings!" Gurgi cried. "Is it for weary tired captives? Yes, yes, it must be! Yes, we are here!" He ran to the door and began shouting through the iron grating. Now Taran heard what seemed to be a clash of swords. Coll and King Smoit were quickly beside him. Gwydion had already reached the door in two strides and drew away the excited Gurgi.

"Beware," Gwydion sharply warned. "Fflewddur Fflam may have found a way to free us, but if the castle is aroused, Magg may take our lives before our comrades can save us." Footsteps rang outside, the lock of the heavy door began to rattle, and the companions fell back, crouched and ready to set upon their captors. The door was flung open. Into the cell burst Eilonwy.

"Follow me!" she cried. In one upraised hand she held the brightly glowing bauble; and with the other, pulled a sack from her belt. "Take these. The mushrooms are fire, the eggs are smoke. Throw them at anyone who attacks you. And this powder--- it will blind them. I couldn't find weapons," she hurried on. "I've set Smoit's warriors free, but Fflewddur's trapped in the courtyard. Everything's gone wrong. Our plan has failed!" Smoit, bellowing in rage, dashed to the door.

"Away with your toadstools and rooster eggs!" he roared. "My hands are all I need to wring a traitor's neck!"

Gwydion sprang through the doorway. With Coll and Gurgi behind him, Taran sped after Eilonwy. From the corridors of the Great Hall, Taran raced into what was neither daylight nor darkness. Huge billows of dense, white smoke rose in the courtyard, blotting out the dawn sky. Like swaying, twisting waves, they shifted as the wind caught them, lifted a moment to show a struggling knot of warriors, then flooded back in an impenetrable tide. Here and there roaring columns of fire writhed through the smoke. Losing sight of Eilonwy, Taran plunged into the swirling clouds. A warrior brought up his sword and slashed at him. Taran stumbled to escape the blow. With outflung hand he cast his small store of powder in the man's face. The warrior fell back as if stunned; his wide-open eyes stared blankly at nothing. Taran snatched the blade from the baffled guard and raced on.

"A Smoit! A Smoit!" The red-bearded King's war cry rang from the stables. Before smoke filled his eyes again, Taran caught a fleeting glimpse of the furious Smoit, armed with a huge scythe and laying about him like a bear turned harvester.

The luckless Gurgi, however, had stumbled with his eggs still clutched in his hands. Smoke poured over him. For an instant all Taran could see of him was a pair of waving, hairy arms beforethese, too, vanished in the billows. Yelling at the top of his voice, Gurgi spun about and dashed frantically wherever his feet led him. Warriors shouted and fled from this fearsome whirlwind. King Smoit, Taran realized, was trying to rally his own men around him, and Taran attempted to fight his way toward the stables. Coll, briefly, was at his side. The stout warrior had just gained a blade from a fallen opponent. Flinging aside the hoe which, until then, had served him as a weapon, Coll threw his bulk against the press of swordsmen besetting Fflewddur Fflam. Taran leaped into the fray, striking left and right with telling blows. Magg's warriors fell back. The bard joined Taran as they raced across the court.

"Where is Rhun?" Taran cried.

"I don't know!" Fflewddur gasped. "He and Eilonwy were to open the gates for us. But, Great Belin, what's happened since then I can't guess. Everything has changed. One of Magg's men trod on Glew, and we were discovered before we could go another step. From then on the fat was in the fire. Where Glew is now I have no idea--- though the little weasel gave a fair account of himself, I must say. So did Gwystyl."

"Gwystyl?" Taran stammered. "How..."

"Never mind," replied Fflewddur. "We'll tell you later. If there is a later." They had nearly reached the stables. Tarancaught sight of Gwydion. The Prince of Don's wolf-gray head towered above the milling warriors. But Taran's relief at Gwydion's safety turned to despair. He saw, through the shifting clouds, the tide of battle was turning against the companions. Only a handful of Smoit's men had been able to rally for an attack; the others were cut off, locked in combat throughout the courtyard.

"To the gates!" Gwydion commanded. "Fly, all who can!"

With sinking heart Taran realized the little band was grievously outnumbered. Dimly, Taran saw the gates had been opened. But more of Magg's warriors had joined their fellows and the way to safety was blocked. Suddenly a mounted figure galloped into the courtyard. It was Rhun, astride his dapple gray. The King of Mona's boyish face shone with a furious light. As the steed reared and plunged, Rhun swung his sword about his head and shouted at the top of his voice:

"Bowmen! Follow me! All of you, into the court!" He spun the mare about and beckoned with his sword. His words rang above the clash of arms.

"Spearmen! This way! Make haste!"

"He's brought help!" Taran cried.

"Help?" echoed the amazed bard. 'There's no one within miles!" Rhun had not ceased to gallop back and forthamid the struggling warriors, shouting orders as if a whole army streamed behind him. Magg's men turned to face the unseen foe.

"A ruse!" exclaimed Fflewddur. "He's a madman! It will never work!"

"But it does!" At a glance Taran saw their assailants had broken away, seeking, in confusion, to engage what they imagined to be fresh attackers. Taran brought his horn to his lips and sounded the charge. Magg's men faltered, believing the foe was now at their backs. At that instant Llyan burst through the gates. The men who saw her shouted in terror as the huge cat leaped forward. Llyan paid no heed to the warriors, but raced across the court while the swordsmen dropped their weapons and fled at her approach.

"She's looking for me!" Fflewddur cried. "Here I am, old girl!" King Smoit's embattled fighting men seized this moment to press forward with a mighty surge. Many of Magg's warriors had already flown; fear-driven, they slashed and stabbed among themselves in blind panic. Rhun galloped on and vanished into the smoke.

"He's duped them well!" Fflewddur shouted jubilantly. "For all the good those eggs and mushrooms did us--- it was Rhun who turned the trick!"The bard hastened to Llyan. Gwydion, Taran saw, was now on horseback. Golden-maned Melyngar streaked across the courtyard, as Gwydion urged the mare to overtake the retreating foe. Smoit and Coll had also leaped astride their steeds. Behind them galloped Gwystyl. Smoit's warriors, too, joined the pursuit. Taran ran to find Melynlas, but before he reached the stables, he heard Eilonwy call his name. He turned. The girl, her face smudged, her robe torn, beckoned urgently.

"Come!" she called. "Rhun is badly hurt!"

Taran raced to follow her. Near the far wall the dapple gray stood riderless. The King of Mona was sitting on the ground, his legs stretched in front of him, his back resting against a cart still smouldering from Gwystyl's fiery mushrooms. Gurgi and Glew, both unharmed, were at his side.

"Hullo, hullo!" Rhun murmured and waved a hand. His face was deathly white.

"The day is ours," Taran said. "Without you, it would have gone differently. Don't move," he cautioned, loosening the young King's bloodstained jacket. Taran frowned anxiously. An arrow had suck deep in Rhun's side and the shaft had broken.

"Amazing!" Rhun whispered. "I've never been in battle before, and I wasn't sure of--- of anything at all. But, I say, the oddest things kept running through my head. I was thinking of the seawall at Mona Haven. Isn't it surprising? Yes, your plan will work very well," Rhun murmured. His eyes wandered and suddenly he looked very young, very lost and a little frightened. "And I think--- I think I shall be glad to be home." He made an effort to raise himself. Taran bent quickly to him. Fflewddur had come up with Llyan loping at his heels.

"So there you are, old boy," he called to Rhun. "I told you we'd have more than our share of trouble. But you pulled us out of it! Oh, the bards will sing of you..."

Taran lifted a grief-stricken face. "The King of Mona is dead."

And here we see the stakes of this final tale in Taran's saga. Rest well, King Rhun.

quote:

SILENT AND HEAVY HEARTED, the companions raised a burial mound a little distance from Caer Cadarn. The warriors of Smoit joined them; and at dusk, horsemen bearing torches rode slowly circling the mound, to honor the King of Mona. As the last flame died, Taran came to stand before the burial place.

"Farewell, Rhun Son of Rhuddlum. Your seawall is unfinished," he said gently. "But I promise you your work shall not be left undone. Your fisher folk shall have their safe harbor if I must build it for you with my own hands."

Soon after nightfall Gwydion, Coll, and King Smoit returned. Magg had eluded them, and the fruitless pursuit had left them worn and haggard. They, too, mourned the death of Rhun, and did honor to all the fallen warriors. Gwydion then led the companions to the Great Hall.

"Arawn Death-Lord gives us little time for grief, and we shall mourn others, I fear, before our tasks are done," he said. "I must tell you now of a choice carefully to be weighed. Gwystyl of the Fair Folk has left us, and continues his journey to King Eiddileg's realm. Before we parted, he told me further of the gathering of Arawn's hosts. Magg's words were not evil boasting. Gwystyl judges, as do I, that Arawn means to defeat us in one last battle. His armies gather even now. There is grave risk, and perhaps fatal risk, in leaving Dyrnwyn in Arawn's grasp," Gwydion went on. "Yet we must face the more pressing danger. No longer will I seek the black sword. Whatever strength it may yield him, in my own strength I will stand against him to the death. I ride not to Annuvin but to Caer Dathyl to rally the Sons of Don."

No one spoke for some moments. At length Coll replied. "To my mind, you have chosen wisely, Prince of Don." Smoit and Fflewddur Fflam nodded their agreement.

"Would that I were as sure of my wisdom," Gwydion replied heavily. "So be it then."

Taran rose and faced Gwydion. "Is there no way one of us can breach the Death-Lord's stronghold? Must the search for Dyrnwyn indeed be given up?"

"I read your thoughts, Assistant Pig-Keeper," Gwydion replied. "You will serve me best if you obey my commands. Gwystyl warns that a journey to Annuvin can mean only wasted life--- and more than that: a loss of precious time. Gwystyl's nature is to conceal his nature, but among the Fair Folk none is shrewder or more trustworthy. I heed his warning, and so must all of you. Gwystyl has promised to do all in his power to gain help from the Fair Folk," Gwydion went on. "King Eiddileg has no great fondness for the race of men. Yet even he must see that Arawn's victory would blight all Prydain. The Fair Folk would suffer no less than we."

"But we dare not count too heavily on Eiddileg. Our own armies must be gathered, and our battle host raised. In this, our greatest help will come from King Pryderi of the West Domains. No lord in Prydain commands a mightier army. His allegiance to the House of Don is firm, and between us are strong bonds of friendship. I will send word to Pryderi, and pray him to join his host with ours at Caer Dathyl. There must we all meet," Gwydion continued. "Before then, I ask King Smoit to muster every loyal warrior in his cantrev and the dominions closest to his." He turned to the bard. "Fflewddur Fflam Son of Godo, you are a king in your own Northern Realms. Return there without delay. To you I entrust the rallying of the northern cantrevs.

"And you, Assistant Pig-Keeper," Gwydion said, seeing the question in Taran's eyes, "your own task is urgent. You are well known to the folk of the Free Commots. I charge you to raise whatever force you can among them. Lead all who will follow you to Caer Dathyl. Gurgi and Coll Son of Collfrewr will ride with you. So, too, will the Princess Eilonwy. Her safety is in your hands."

"I'm glad," Eilonwy murmured, "there's been no talk of sending me home."

"Gwystyl tells us many of Arawn's liegemen are already marching," Coll said to her. "The Valley Cantrevs are too dangerous, whatever. Otherwise, Princess," he added with a grin, "you would long since have been on your way to Caer Dallben."

To war!

quote:

WELL BEFORE DAWN Gwydion and Fflewddur Fflam rode from Caer Cadarn, each to follow his separate path. King Smoit, girded for battle, set out from the castle, and with him went Lord Gast and Lord Goryon, who had learned belatedly of the attack on their king and now hastened to join him. Faced with the common danger, the two rivals had put aside their quarrel. Goryon declined to take insult at Gast's every word, Gast refrained from giving offense to Goryon, and neither so much as mentioned cows. That same morning a gnarled, gray-headed farmer strode up to Taran in the castle courtyard. It was Aeddan, who had befriended him long before in Smoit's cantrev. The two clasped hands warmly, but the farmer's face was grim.

"There is no time now to speak of time past," Aeddan said. "I offer you friendship--- and this," he added, unsheathing a rusted sword. "It has served once and can serve again. Say where you ride and I will go with you."

"I value the sword, and value more the man who bears it," answered Taran. "But your place is with your king. Follow him and hope that you and I will meet on a happier day." As Gwydion had ordered, Taran and the remaining companions waited at Smoit's castle, hoping Kaw might arrive with further tidings. But when the following day brought no sign of the crow, they made ready for their own departure. Eilonwy's needlework had gone unscathed and she carefully unfolded it.

"You're a war leader now," she said proudly to Taran, "but I've never heard of a war leader without a battle flag." With leather thongs she bound the still unfinished embroidery to the end of a spear."There," said Eilonwy. "As an emblem Hen Wen may not be properly terrifying. And yet, for an Assistant Pig-Keeper, she's very likely the most fitting."

They rode through the gates. Gurgi, at Taran's side, raised the spear high and the wind caught at the banner of the White Pig. Above the smokeblackened fortress and the burial mound, whose fresh earth was already frost-covered, the clouds had grown heavy. Soon there would be snow.

Back to the Free Commots we go! Let's see who's ready for a fight.

# ? Mar 23, 2024 19:23

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

The turnaround with Rhun from bumbling plot contrivance to a character you feel legitimately sad over dying is one of those great triumphs of character work this series is known for. Guy deserved a better fate, but he at least died a hero. He will not be the last...

# ? Mar 23, 2024 19:54

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

Desperate for the next chapters!

I do feel like "A Smoit!" may not be the most ferocious or intimidating of warcries though.

# ? Mar 23, 2024 21:21

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

regulargonzalez posted:

Desperate for the next chapters!

I do feel like "A Smoit!" may not be the most ferocious or intimidating of warcries though.

There's a reason "Smoit" sounds like Yinzer saying "Smite" :haw:

# ? Mar 23, 2024 21:37

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

We spent all last book hearing about the horrors of battle and what it leaves behind, and yet it's still so unexpected when the costs show up here.

# ? Mar 24, 2024 03:51

Hemp Knight: Sep 26, 2004

I�m wondering who would have taken over Rhun�s kingdom. He was an only child IIRC, and obviously wasn�t married/have any kids. I�m guessing his mother would end up in charge until she dies, but after that..?

# ? Mar 25, 2024 19:22

Comrade Koba: Jul 2, 2007

Hemp Knight posted:

I�m wondering who would have taken over Rhun�s kingdom. He was an only child IIRC, and obviously wasn�t married/have any kids. I�m guessing his mother would end up in charge until she dies, but after that..?

All hail king Glew! :colbert:

# ? Mar 25, 2024 20:23

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Comrade Koba posted:

All hail king Glew!

I feel incredibly bad for the 20 people who lived on Mona to begin with.

# ? Mar 25, 2024 20:30

Pistol_Pete: Sep 15, 2007; Oven Wrangler

I struggle not to imagine Taran, Prince Gwydion etc as gritty dark age warriors with calloused hands and weatherbeaten faces.

Then there's Rhum stood next to them in breeches, silk stockings, silver-buckled shoes and a beautifully tailored red overcoat covered in gold embroidery.

# ? Mar 26, 2024 16:16

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Pistol_Pete posted:

I struggle not to imagine Taran, Prince Gwydion etc as gritty dark age warriors with calloused hands and weatherbeaten faces.

Then there's Rhum stood next to them in breeches, silk stockings, silver-buckled shoes and a beautifully tailored red overcoat covered in gold embroidery.

Basically just any picture of Geralt and Jaskier standing next to each other from any incarnation of The Witcher.

# ? Mar 26, 2024 17:35

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

Chapter 8: The Messengers

quote:

FROM THE MOMENT HE LEFT Caer Dallben, Kaw had flown directly toward Annuvin. Though it was the bird's pleasure, aloft, to revel in the limitless reaches of the sky, to swoop and soar above the white sheep flocks of clouds, he now put aside all temptation to sport with the wind and held steadily to his course. Far below, Avren glinted like a long trickle of molten silver; fallow fields spread in patches; the treetops rose black and leafless, broken by dark green stretches of pine forest following the curves of the hills. Kaw pressed ever northwestward, resting seldom during the hours of daylight. Only at dusk, when even the crow's keen eyes could not search beyond the gathering shadows, did he drop to earth and find haven among the branches of a tree.

Days he flew high above the clouds to profit from the wind tides that bore him swiftly as a leaf in a stream. But, as he passed over the Forest of Idris, drawing closer to the harsh peaks of Annuvin, Kaw checked his gliding flight and drove earthward, alert for any stirring among the mountain passes. Shortly he glimpsed a column of heavily armed warriors marching northward. At closer range, he saw them to be Huntsmen of Annuvin. For a time he followed them and, when they halted amid the scrub and stunted trees, flapped to a low branch and settled there. Squatting at their cook fires, the Huntsmen prepared their midday meal.

The crow cocked his head and listened intently, but their muttered speech told him little, until he heard the words "Caer Dathyl."

Kaw shifted his position and cast about for a closer branch. One of the Huntsmen, a brutish warrior garbed in bearskin, caught sight of the bird. Grinning cruelly at this chance for sport, the warrior reached for his bow and nocked an arrow to the string. Quickly he aimed, and loosed the shaft. Rapid though the Huntsman's movements were, the crow's sharp eyes followed them as quickly. Kaw flapped his wings and dodged the arrow that went rattling through the dead branches a little distance over his head. The Huntsman cursed both his lost arrow and the crow, and made to draw again. Delighted with himself, jeering raucously, Kaw sped above the trees, intending to circle back and find a safer listening post.

It was then the gwythaints appeared. For an instant, bent on returning to the Huntsmen's camp, Kaw did not see the flight of three huge birds. From a bank of clouds they plunged downward in a rush of black, beating wings. Kaw's self-satisfaction vanished. The crow veered from their attack and strove desperately to climb higher, not daring to allow the deadly creatures to command the air above him. The gwythaints, too, swiftly veered. One broke from his fellows to pursue the fleeing crow: the others, with powerful strokes of their wings, rose toward the clouds to renew their assault. Kaw forced himself ever upward and the gwythaint had gained only slightly when the crowburst through a sea of mist into a sunswept vastness that nearly blinded him.

The other two gwythaints were waiting. Shrieking in fury, they dropped toward him. Behind the crow his pursuer drove him closer to the oncoming creatures. Kaw glimpsed the flash of glistening beaks and blood-red eyes. The gwythaints' screams of triumph ripped the empty sky. The crow suddenly checked his flight, feigning confusion. When the gwythaints were nearly upon him, he summoned all his strength in a single lunge that carried him beyond the talons slashing like daggers. The crow had not gone unscathed. One of the gwythaints had struck him beneath the wing. Despite the pain that dizzied him, Kaw fluttered free of his attackers. The open sky was no refuge for him. No longer could he rely on swiftness of flight to save him. He plunged earthward. The gwythaints were not outwitted. The scent of blood had maddened them, and they would not be deprived of their kill. They streaked after the crow to overtake and prevent him from reaching the forest below.

The highest trees rose up toward Kaw. He avoided them to drop closer to the underbrush. The tangle of branches slowed his pursuers. Without slackening speed, Kaw skimmed above the ground, deeper and deeper into the maze of bushes. The huge wings of the gwythaints which had served so well aloft now kept them from their prize. They screamed in rage, but made no attempt to venture farther into the woods. The crow, like a fox, had gone to earth. The day had begun to fade. Kaw settled himself painfully for the night. At dawn, he fluttered cautiously to a treetop. The gwythaints had gone, but his senses told him he had been driven far east of Annuvin. Stiffly he launched himself from the tree and flapped his way aloft. Southward, Caer Cadarn lay beyond the reach of his ebbing strength. He must decide quickly, while life still remained to him. Kaw circled once, then flew heavily toward his new goal and his only hope.

Kaw's a smart bird, but gwythaints are pretty vicious.

quote:

[HIS FLIGHT WAS NOW a constant torment. Often his wings faltered and only the wind-tides held him aloft. He could no longer travel a full day's distance. Long before sundown, his wound forced him to alight and hide himself amid the trees. Nor could he fly closer to the sun's warmth, but made his way only a little above the ground, nearly brushing the treetops. Below him, the countryside was springing to life with warriors, both on horseback and afoot. During the times he halted to husband his strength, he learned their destination, like that of the Huntsmen, was thefortress of the Sons of Don. His alarm grew sharper than his pain and he flew onward.

At length, in the numbing cold of the mountains northeast of the River Ystrad, he dimly spied what he had been seeking. Surrounded by sheer walls of cliffs, the valley was a green nest amid the snow-capped summits. A small cottage came into sight. The blue surface of a lake flashed in the sunlight. Against the protected side of a hill slope stretched a long, boat-like shape, the vessel's ribs and timbers overgrown with moss. Beating his wings feebly, Kaw dropped like a stone into the valley. He was vaguely aware, as his eyes closed, of jaws firmly about him, lifting him from the grass; then a deep voice asking, "Now, Brynach, what have you brought us?"

The crow knew nothing more.

Farewell, Kaw?

quote:

WHEN HE OPENED his eyes again, he lay upon a soft nest of rushes in a sunny chamber. He was weak, but his pain had left him; his wound had been bound up. As he feebly fluttered his wings, a pair of strong hands deftly reached to hold and calm him.

"Gently, gently," said a voice. "I fear you will be earthbound for a time."

The man's white-bearded face was as gnarled and weathered as an ancient oak in a snowdrift. White hair hung below broad, knotted shoulders, and a blue gem sparkled from the golden band circling his brow. Kaw, without his customary squawking and jabbering, humbly bowed his head. Never before had he flown to this valley, but his heart had always known such a refuge awaited him. A secret sense, like some hidden memory he shared with all the forest creatures of Prydain, had guided him unerringly; and the crow understood he had come at last into the abode of Medwyn.

"Let me see, let me see," Medwyn continued, knitting his heavy brows in search of something long stored in a corner of his mind. "You would be--- yes--- the family likeness is unmistakable: Kaw Son of Kadwyr. Yes, of course. Forgive me for not recognizing you immediately, but there are so many crow clans I sometimes get them mixed. I knew your father when he was a spindly-legged fledgling." Medwyn smiled at his own recollections. "The rogue was no stranger to my valley--- a broken wing to be mended, a leg out of joint, one scrape after the other.

"I hope you do not follow his example;" Medwyn added. "I have already heard much of your bravery and--- a certain bent, shall we say, for boisterousness? It has reached my ears, as well, that you serve an Assistant Pig-Keeper at Caer Dallben. Melynlas is his name, I believe. No---forgive me. That is his steed. Of course, Melynlas Son of Melyngar. The Pig-Keeper's name escapes me at the moment. But no matter. Serve him faithfully, Son of Kadwyr, for his heart is good. Among all the race of men, he was of the few I allowed within my valley. As for you, I judge you and the gwythaints have been at close quarters. Have a care. Many of Arawn's messengers rove aloft these days. But you are safe now, and will soon be up and winging." Perched on the back of Medwyn's chair, an enormous eagle studied the crow. Beside the old man, the wolf Brynach sat on his haunches. Lean and gray, with yellow eyes, he wagged his tail and grinned up at the crow. A moment later, another wolf, smaller and with a white blaze on her breast, trotted in and crouched beside her mate.

"Ah, Briavael," said Medwyn. "Have you come to greet our visitor? Like his father, no doubt, he will have a bold tale to tell us." Kaw spoke then in his own tongue which Medwyn easily understood. The old man's features turned grave as he listened. When the crow had finished, Medwyn was silent for a time, deeply frowning. Brynach whined uneasily.

"It is come," Medwyn said heavily. "I should have so guessed, for I sense a strange fear among the animals. More and more find their way here, fleeing what they themselves only dimly know. They tell of Huntsmen abroad in force, and armed men. Now I understand the meaning of these tidings. The day I had ever feared has come upon us. Yet my valley cannot hold all who would seek refuge."

Medwyn's voice had begun to rise like a wrathful gale. "The race of men face the slavery of Annuvin. So, too, the creatures of Prydain. In the shadow of the Land of the Dead, the nightingale's song will choke and die. The galleries of badgers and moles will become prison houses. No beast, no bird will roam or fly with the joy of a free heart. Those who are not slain--- theirs will be the fate of the gwythaints, long ago made captive, tormented, broken, and their once-gentle spirits twisted to Arawn's vile ends."

Medwyn turned to the eagle. "You, Edyrnion, fly swiftly to the mountain eyries of your kindred. Bid them rise up in all their strength and all their numbers. "You, Brynach, and you, Briavael," he commanded, as the wolves pricked up their ears, "spread the alarm among your own brethren; among the bears, with paws to smite and arms to crush; among the sharp-antlered stags; and all forest dwellers, large and small." Medwyn had risen to his full height. His hands clenched as tree roots clench the earth. The crow watched, awestruck and silent. Medwyn's eyes flashed and his deep voice came as a wave of thunder.

"Speak to them in my name and tell them: such are the words of one who built a ship when the dark waters flooded Prydain, of one who bore their ancient sires to safety. Now, against this flood of evil, each nest, each lair must be a stronghold. Let every creature turn tooth, beak, and claw against all who serve Arawn Death-Lord."

Side by side, the wolves loped from the cottage. And the eagle took flight.

Well, looks like Medwyn's in. And...nature?

# ? Mar 27, 2024 17:14

Hemp Knight: Sep 26, 2004

Wahad posted:

Chapter 8: The Messengers

Well, looks like Medwyn's in. And...nature?

Eywa has spoken!

Or Tom Bombadil?

# ? Mar 27, 2024 21:48

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# ? Apr 27, 2024 14:06

Strategic Tea: Sep 1, 2012

Noah? Is that you?

# ? Mar 27, 2024 23:24

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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