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

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

What's this?

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

So what's Prydain?

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

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

quote:

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

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

How's this going to go?

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

Book 1 - the Book of Three

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

Chapter 1 - The Assistant Pig-Keeper

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who is he?" cried Taran.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ Apr 22, 2023 13:52

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# ¿ May 8, 2024 21:07

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

The Glossary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ Apr 22, 2023 13:52

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

Chapter 2: The Mask of the King

quote:

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And the Horned King...?"

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

Taran could only stare, speechless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?" Taran asked.

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

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

# ¿ Apr 26, 2023 14:51

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

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

Chapter 3: Gurgi

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who was it?" Taran demanded.

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

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

"The same," said Gwydion.

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gurgi hears these mighty riders," the creature went on. "Oh, yes, with careful listenings from the trees. Gurgi is so quiet and clever, and no one cares about him. But he listens! These great warriors say they have gone to a certain place, but great fire turns them away. They are not pleased, and they still seek a piggy with outcries and horses."

"Gurgi," said Gwydion firmly, "where is the pig?"

"The piggy? Oh, terrible hunger pinches! Gurgi cannot remember. Was there a piggy? Gurgi is fainting and falling into the bushes, his poor, tender head is full of air from his empty belly." Taran could no longer control his impatience.

"Where is Hen Wen, you silly, hairy thing?" he burst out. "Tell us straight off! After the way you jumped on me, you deserve to have your head smacked." With a moan, Gurgi rolled over on his back and covered his face with his arms.

Gwydion turned severely to Taran. "Had you followed my orders, you would not have been jumped on. Leave him to me. Do not make him any more frightened than he is." Gwydion looked down at Gurgi. "Very well," he asked calmly, "where is she?"

"Oh, fearful wrath!" Gurgi snuffled, "a piggy has gone across the water with swimmings and splashings.'' He sat upright and waved a woolly arm toward Great Avren.

"If you are lying to me," said Gwydion, "I shall soon find out. Then I will surely come back with wrath."

"Crunchings and munchings now, mighty prince?" asked Gurgi in a high, tiny whimper.

"As I promised you," said Gwydion.

"Gurgi wants the smaller one for munchings," said the creature, with a beady glance at Taran.

"No, you do not," Gwydion said. "He is an Assistant Pig-Keeper and he would disagree with you violently." He unbuckled a saddlebag and pulled out a few strips of dried meat, which he tossed to Gurgi. "Be off now. Remember, I want no mischief from you." Gurgi snatched the food, thrust it between his teeth, and scuttled up a tree trunk, leaping from tree to tree until he was out of sight.

"What a disgusting beast," said Taran. "What a nasty, vicious..."

"Oh, he is not bad at heart," Gwydion answered. "He would love to be wicked and terrifying, though he cannot quite manage it. He feels so sorry for himself that it is hard not to be angry with him. But there is no use in doing so."

"Was he telling the truth about Hen Wen?" asked Taran.

"I think he was," Gwydion said. "It is as I feared. The Horned King has ridden to Caer Dallben."

"He burned it!" Taran cried. Until now, he had paid little mind to his home. The thought of the white cottage in flames, his memory of Dallben's beard, and the heroic Coll's bald head touched him all at once. "Dallben and Coll are in peril!"

"Surely not," said Gwydion. "Dallben is an old fox. A beetle could not creep into Caer Dallben without his knowledge. No, I am certain the fire was something Dallben arranged for unexpected visitors."Hen Wen is the one in greatest peril. Our quest grows ever more urgent," Gwydion hastily continued. "The Horned King knows she is missing. He will pursue her."

"Then," Taran cried, "we must find her before he does!"

"Assistant Pig-Keeper," said Gwydion, "that has been, so far, your only sensible suggestion."

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

Chapter 4: The Gwythaints

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MELYNGAR BORE THEM swiftly through the fringe of trees lining Great Avren's sloping banks. They dismounted and hurried on foot in the direction Gurgi had indicated. Near a jagged rock, Gwydion halted and gave a cry of triumph. In a patch of clay, Hen Wen's tracks showed as plainly as if they had been carved.

"Good for Gurgi!" exclaimed Gwydion. "I hope he enjoys his crunchings and munchings! Had I known he would guide us so well, I would have given him an extra share. Yes, she crossed here," he went on, "and we shall do the same."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are they not men?" Taran asked.

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

"If we could find him," Taran began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are they now?" asked Gwydion.

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

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

Gurgi whimpered questioningly. "Crunchings and munchings?"

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

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

"Crunchings and munchings now?" Gurgi suggested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ Apr 30, 2023 18:58

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

Chapter 5: The Broken Sword

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You, too, are an enchanter!"

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"In exchange for what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ May 3, 2023 14:55

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

Chapter 6: Eilonwy

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What else is there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Move away!" cried a faint voice.

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

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

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

"Who are you?" Taran shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

"But--- but it lights up!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then what are you doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ May 6, 2023 15:27

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

Chapter 7: The Trap

quote:

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

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

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

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

"Did you find weapons?" Taran asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ May 10, 2023 16:32

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

Chapter 8: The Barrow

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who is Dallben?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing like a good bit of grave-robbing.

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

It's...not Gwydion.

# ¿ May 13, 2023 16:14

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

Chapter 9: Fflewddur Fflam

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Crunchings and munchings?" whimpered a voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come back here immediately," Taran called.

Gurgi brightened. "Crunchings?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ May 17, 2023 14:05

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

Chapter 10: The Sword Dyrnwyn

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

"Achren cannot bind you any longer."

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

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

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

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

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

"What will you do with it, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is your kingdom?" Eilonwy asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ May 20, 2023 20:11

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

Chapter 11: Flight Through the Hills

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

Very reasonable.

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ May 24, 2023 20:05

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

Chapter 12: The Wolves

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ May 27, 2023 13:59

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

Chapter 13: The Hidden Valley

quote:

THE IMPACT OF THE HEAVY, furry body caught Taran full in the chest, and sent him tumbling. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of Fflewddur. The bard, too, had been borne to earth under the paws of another wolf. Eilonwy still stood, though a third animal crouched in front of her. Taran's hand flew to his sword. The gray wolf seized his arm. The animal's teeth, however, did not sink into his flesh, but held him in an unshakeable grip. At the end of the ravine a huge, robed figure suddenly appeared. Melyngar stood behind him.The man raised his arm and spoke a command. Immediately, the wolf holding Taran relaxed his jaws and drew away, as obediently as a dog. The man strode toward Taran, who scrambled to his feet.

"You have saved our lives," Taran began. "We are grateful."

The man spoke again to the wolves and the animals crowded around him, whining and wagging their tails. He was a strange-looking figure, broad and muscular, with the vigor of an ancient but sturdy tree. His white hair reached below his shoulders and his beard hung to his waist. Around his forehead he wore a narrow band of gold, set with a single blue jewel.

"From these creatures," he said, in a deep voice that was stern but not unkind, "your lives were never in danger. But you must leave this place. It is not an abode for the race of men."

"We were lost," Taran said. "We had been following our horse..."

"Melyngar?" The man turned a pair of keen gray eyes on Taran. Under his deep brow they sparkled like frost in a valley. "Melyngar brought me four of you? I understood young Gurgi was alone. By all means, then, if you are friends of Melyngar. It is Melyngar, isn't it? She looks so much like her mother; and there are so many I cannot always keep track of the names."

"I know who you are," cried Taran. "You are Medwyn!"

"Am I now?" the man answered with a smile that furrowed his face. "Yes, I have been called Medwyn. But how should you know that?"

"I am Taran of Caer Dallben. Gwydion, Prince of Don, was my companion, and he spoke of you before--- before his death. He was journeying to Caer Dathyl, as we are now. I never hoped to find you."

"You were quite right," Medwyn answered. "You could not have found me. Only the animals know my valley. Melyngar led you here. Taran, you say? Of Caer Dallben?" He put an enormous hand to his forehead. "Let me see. Yes, there are visitors from Caer Dallben, I am sure."

Taran's heart leaped. "Hen Wen!" he cried.

Medwyn gave him a puzzled glance. "Were you seeking her? Now, that is curious. No, she is not here."

"But I had thought..."

"We will speak of Hen Wen later," said Medwyn. "Your friend is badly injured, you know. Come, I shall do what I can for him." He motioned for them to follow. The wolves padded silently behind Taran, Eilonwy, and the bard. Where Melyngar waited at the end of the ravine, Medwyn lifted Gurgi from the saddle, as if the creature weighed no more than asquirrel. Gurgi lay quietly in Medwyn's arms.

The group descended a narrow footpath. Medwyn strode ahead, as slowly and powerfully as if a tree were walking. The old man's feet were bare, but the sharp stones and pebbles did not trouble him. The path turned abruptly, then turned again. Medwyn passed through a cut in a bare shoulder of the cliff, and the next thing Taran knew, they suddenly emerged into a green, sunlit valley. Mountains, seemingly impassable, rose on all sides. Here the air was gentler, without the tooth of the wind; the grass spread rich and tender before him. Set among tall hemlocks were low, white cottages, not unlike those of Caer Dallben.

At the sight of them, Taran felt a pang of homesickness. Against the face of the slope behind the cottages, he saw what appeared at first to be rows of moss-covered tree trunks; as he looked, to his surprise, they seemed more like the weather worn ribs and timbers of a long ship. The earth covered them almost entirely; grass and meadow flowers had sprung up to obliterate them further and make them part of the mountain itself.

"I must say the old fellow's well tucked away here," whispered Fflewddur. "I could never have found the path in, and I doubt I could find the path out."

Taran nodded. The valley was the most beautiful he had ever seen. Cattle grazed peacefully in the meadow. Near the hemlocks, a small lake caught the sky and sparkled blue and white. The bright plumage of birds flashed among the trees. Even as he stepped across the lush green of the turf, Taran felt exhaustion drain from his aching body.

"There's a fawn!" Eilonwy cried with delight. From behind the cottages, a speckled, longlegged fawn appeared, sniffed the air, then trotted quickly toward Medwyn. The graceful creature paid no attention to the wolves, but frisked gaily at the old man's side. The animal drew shyly away from the strangers; but her curiosity got the better of her, and soon she was nuzzling Eilonwy's hand.

"I've never seen a fawn this close," said the girl. "Achren never had any pets--- none that would stay with her, at any rate. I can't blame them at all. This one is lovely; it makes you feel all tingly, as if you were touching the wind."

Medwyn, motioning for them to wait, carried Gurgi into the largest of the cottages. The wolves sat on their haunches and watched the travelers through slanted eyes. Taran unsaddled Melyngar, who began cropping the tender grass. Half-a-dozen chickens clucked and pecked around a neat white henhouse. The rooster raised his head to show a notched comb.

"Those are Dallben's chickens!" cried Taran. "They must be! There's the brown hen, the white--- I'd know that comb anywhere." He hurried over and clucked at them. The chickens, more interested in eating, paid little attention.

Medwyn reappeared in the doorway. He carried an enormous wicker basket laden with jugs of milkm with cheese, honeycombs, and fruits that, in the lowlands, would not be in season for another month. "I shall look after your friend directly," he said. "Meantime, I thought you might enjoy--- oh, yes, so you've found them, have you?" he said, noticing Taran with the chickens. "Those are my visitors from Caer Dallben. There should be a swarm of bees, too, somewhere about."

"They flew away," Taran said, "the same day Hen Wen ran off."

"Then I imagine they came straight here," Medwyn said. "The chickens were petrified with fright; I could make no sense at all out of them. Oh, they settled down quickly enough, but of course by that time they had forgotten why they flew off in the first place. You know how chickens are, imagining the world coming to an end one moment, then pecking corn the next. They shall all fly back when they're ready, have no fear. Though it's unfortunate Dallben and Coll should be put out in the matter of eggs. I would ask you inside," Medwyn continued, "but the disorder at the moment--- there were bears at breakfast, and you can imagine the state of things. So I must ask you to attend to yourselves. If you would rest, there is straw in the byre; it should not be too uncomfortable for you."

The travelers lost no time helping themselves to Medwyn's provisions, or in finding the byre. The sweet scent of hay filled the low-ceilinged building. They scooped out nests in the straw, uncovering one of Medwyn's breakfast guests curled up and fast asleep. Fflewddur, at first uneasy, was finally convinced the bear had no appetite for bards, and soon began snoring. Eilonwy dropped off to sleep in the middle of one of her sentences.

Taran had no desire to rest. Medwyn's valley had refreshed him more than a night's slumber. He left the byre and strolled across the meadow. At the far side of the lake, otters had built a slide and were amusing themselves by tumbling down it. At Taran's approach, they stopped for a moment, raised their heads to look at him as though sorry he was unable to join them, and returned to their game. A fish broke water in a twinkle of silver scales; the ripples widened until the last of them lapped gently at the shore. Medwyn, Taran saw, had gardens of both flowers and vegetables behind the cottage. To his surprise, Taran found himself yearning to work with Coll in his own vegetable plot. The weeding and hoeing he had so despised at Caer Dallben now seemed, as he thought of his past journey and the journey yet to come, infinitely pleasant.

He sat down by the rim of the lake and looked across to the hills. With the sun resting above the peaks, the wooden skeleton of the great ship stood out sharply against the mound which nearly enveloped it. He had little chance to study it, for Medwyn appeared, walking deliberately across the field; the fawn trotted beside him, the three wolves followed. With his brown robe and white hair, Medwyn looked as broad and solid as a snowcapped mountain.

"Gurgi is more comfortable than he was," the ancient man said in his deep voice. The fawn danced at the lake shore while Medwyn ponderously sat down and leaned his huge head toward Taran. "He will recover well; there is no longer any danger. Not, at least, while he is here."

"I have thought long of Gurgi," Taran said, looking frankly into the old man's gray eyes. He explained, then, the reason for his journey and the events leading to Gurgi's accident. Medwyn listened carefully, head cocked to one side, thoughtful, while Taran recounted Gurgi's willingness to sacrifice his own life rather than endanger the others. "At first, I wasn't too fond of him," Taran admitted. "Now I've begun to like him in spite of all his whining and complaining."

"Every living thing deserves our respect," said Medwyn, knitting his shaggy brows, "be it humble or proud, ugly or beautiful."

"I wouldn't want to say that about the gwythaints," Taran answered.

"I feel only sorrow for those unhappy creatures,'' Medwyn said. "Once, long ago, they were as free as other birds, gentle and trusting. In his cunning, Arawn lured them to him and brought them under his power. He built the iron cages which are now their prison house in Annuvin. The tortures he inflicted on the gwythaints were shameful and unspeakable. Now they serve him out of terror. Thus would he strive to corrupt every animal in Prydain, no less than the race of men. That is one of the reasons I remain in this valley. Here, Arawn cannot harm them. Even so, were he to become ruler of this land, I doubt I could help them all. Those who fell into his clutches would be counted fortunate if they perished quickly."

Taran nodded. "I understand more and more why I must warn the Sons of Don. As for Gurgi, I wonder if it wouldn't be safer for him to stay here."

"Safer?" asked Medwyn. "Yes, certainly. But you would hurt him grievously were you to turn him away now. Gurgi's misfortune is that he is neither one thing nor the other, at the moment. He has lost the wisdom of animals and has not gained the learning of men. Therefore, both shun him. Were he to do something purposeful, it would mean much to him. I doubt he will delay your journey, for he will be able to walk as well as you--- by tomorrow, easily. I urge you to take him. He may even find his own way of serving you. Neither refuse to give help when it is needed," Medwyn continued, "nor refuse to accept it when it is offered. Gwythyr Son of Greidawl learned that from a lame ant, you know."

"A lame ant?" Taran shook his head. "Dallben has taught me much about ants, but nothing of a lame one."

"It is a long history," Medwyn said, "and perhaps you will hear all of it another time. For the moment, you need only know that when Kilhuch--- or was it his father? No, it was young Kilhuch. Very well. When young Kilhuch sought the hand of the fair Olwen, he was given a number of tasks by her father, Yspadadden; he was Chief Giant at the time. What the tasks were does not concern us now, except that they were very nigh impossible, and Kilhuch could not have accomplished them without the aid of his companions."

"One of the tasks was to gather nine bushels of flax seed, though there was scarcely that much in all the land. For the sake of his friend, Gwythyr Son of Greidawl undertook to do this. While he was walking over the hills, wondering how he might accomplish it, he heard a grievous wailing from an anthill; a fire had started around it and the ants were in danger of their lives. Gwythyr--- yes, I'm quite sure it was Gwythyr--- drew his sword and beat out the fire."

"In gratitude, the ants combed every field until they had collected the nine bushels. Yet the Chief Giant, a picky and disagreeable sort, claimed the measure was not complete. One flax seed was missing, and must be delivered before nightfall. Gwythyr had no idea where he could find another flax seed, but at last, just as the sun had begun to set, up hobbled a lame ant carrying a heavy burden. It was the single flax seed, and so the last measure was filled."

"I have studied the race of men," Medwyn continued. "I have seen that alone you stand as weak reeds by a lake. You must learn to help yourselves, that is true; but you must also learn to help one another. Are you not, all of you, lame ants?"

Taran was silent. Medwyn put his hand into the lake and stirred the water. After a moment, a venerable salmon rippled up; Medwyn stroked the jaws of the huge fish.

"What place is this?" Taran finally asked, in a hushed voice. "Are you indeed Medwyn? You speak of the race of men as if you were not one of them."

"This is a place of peace," Medwyn said, "and therefore not suitable for men, at least, not yet. Until it is, I hold this valley for creatures of the forests and the waters. In their mortal danger they come to me, if they have the strength to do so--- and in their pain and grief. Do you not believe that animals know grief and fear and pain? The world of men is not an easy one for them."

"Dallben," said Taran, "taught me that when the black waters flooded Prydain, ages ago, Nevvid Nav Neivion built a ship and carried with him two of every living creature. The waters drained away, the ship came to rest--- no man knows where. But the animals who came safe again into the world remembered, and their young have never forgotten. And here," Taran said, pointing toward the hillside, "I see a ship, far from water. Gwydion called you Medwyn, but I ask..."

"I am Medwyn," answered the white-bearded man, "for all that my name may concern you. That is not important now. My own concern is for Hen Wen."

"You have seen nothing of her, then?"

Medwyn shook his head. "What Lord Gwydion said is true: of all places in Prydain, she would have come here first, especially if she sensed her life in danger. But there has been no sign, no rumor. Yet she would find her way, sooner or later, unless..."

Taran felt a chill ripple at his heart. "Unless she has been killed," he murmured. "Do you think that has happened?"

"I do not know," Medwyn answered, "though I fear it may be so."

So, a few things here, that I saved to the end coz I couldn't find a good break to put commentary in.

1) We meet Medwyn! A sort of Noah figure; however, in the Welsh myth, there is Dwyfan & Dwyfach, who built the ship Nefyd Naf Neifion - you can see the comparison to the name of the shipbuilder Alexander users - who carried a pair of each species to repopulate Britain. What's interesting in comparison to the Welsh myth is that Medwyn is alone here - he has no companion. Or, perhaps, he does, and they are simply not featured in the story.

2) The conversation between Taran and Medwyn concerning Gurgi always reminds me a lot of the conversation Gandalf and Frodo have concerning Gollum, though this one has a decidedly more positive bent.

3) The story of Gwythyr and the Lame Ant is lifted from The Tale of Culhwch and Olwen, which is a story about a hero, Culhwch (or Kilhuch as Alexander anglifies it here), who is destined to marry Olwen, beautiful daughter of the chief of the giants, and in order to do so is given a great number of tasks which he accomplishes by help of his companions, who are bestowed upon him by Arthur - yes, that Arthur.

# ¿ May 31, 2023 14:24

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

nine-gear crow posted:

Both of those stories were then shoved into an ad hoc sixth Prydain book, The Foundling and Other Tales of Prydain, which hopefully Wahad will cover after the main five books are finished. But we'll see.

Unfortunately, at this time I don't yet have a copy of the short story anthology. But since I'll be at this for a little while yet, I'll see about getting one somewhere along the line.

# ¿ Jun 2, 2023 07:15

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

Chapter 14: The Black Lake

quote:

THAT NIGHT MEDWYN prepared a feast for the travelers. The disorder left by the breakfasting bears had been cleared away. The cottage was snug and neat, though even smaller than Caer Dallben. Taran could see that Medwyn was indeed unused to entertaining human visitors, for his table was barely long enough to seat them all; and for chairs he had been obliged to make do with benches and milking stools. Medwyn sat at the head of the table. The fawn had gone to sleep, but the wolves crouched at his feet and grinned happily. On the back of his chair perched a gigantic, golden-plumed eagle, watching every movement with sharp, unblinking eyes. Fflewddur, though still apprehensive, did not allow his fear to affect his appetite. He ate enough for three, without showing the least sign of becoming full. But when he asked for another portion of venison, Medwyn gave a long chuckle and explained to the amazed Fflewddur it was not meat at all but vegetables prepared according to his own recipe.

"Of course it is," Eilonwy told the bard. "You wouldn't expect him to cook his guests, would you? That would be like asking someone to dinner and then roasting him. Really, I think bards are as muddled as Assistant Pig-Keepers; neither one of you seems to think very clearly."

As much as he welcomed food and the chance to rest, Taran was silent throughout the meal, and continued so when he retired to his nest of straw. Until now, he had never imagined Hen Wen might not be alive. He had spoken again with Medwyn, but the old man could give him no assurance. Wakeful, Taran left the byre and stood outside, looking at the sky. In the clear air, the stars were blue-white, closer than he had ever seen them. He tried to turn his thoughts from Hen Wen; reaching Caer Dathyl was the task he had undertaken and that in itself would be difficult enough. An owl passed overhead, silent as ashes. The shadow appearing noiselessly beside him was Medwyn.

"Not asleep?" Medwyn asked. "A restless night is no way to begin a journey."

"It is a journey I am eager to end," Taran said. "There are times when I fear I shall not see Caer Dallben again."

"It is not given to men to know the ends of their journeys," Medwyn answered. "It may be that you will never return to the places dearest to you. But how can that matter, if what you must do is here and now?"

"I think," said Taran longingly, "that if I knew I were not to see my own home again, I would be happy to stay in this valley."

"Your heart is young and unformed," Medwyn said. "Yet, if I read it well, you are of the few I would welcome here. Indeed, you may stay if you so choose. Surely you can entrust your task to your friends."

"No," said Taran, after a long pause, "I have taken it on myself through my own choice."

"If that is so," answered Medwyn, "then you can give it up through your own choice." From all over the valley it seemed to Taran there came voices urging him to remain. The hemlocks whispered of rest and peace; the lake spoke of sunlight lingering in its depths, the joy of otters at their games. He turned away.

"No," he said quickly, "my decision was made long before this."

"Then," Medwyn answered gently, "so be it." He put a hand on Taran's brow. "I grant you all that you will allow me to grant: a night's rest. Sleep well."

Taran remembered nothing of returning to the byre or falling asleep, but he rose in the morning sunlight refreshed and strengthened. Eilonwy and the bard had already finished their breakfast, and Taran was delighted to see that Gurgi had joined them. As Taran approached, Gurgi gave a yelp of joy and turned gleeful somersaults.

"Oh, joy!" he cried. "Gurgi is ready for new walkings and stalkings, oh, yes! And new seekings and peekings! Great lords have been kind to happy, jolly Gurgi!"

Taran noticed Medwyn had not only healed the creature's leg, he had also given him a bath and a good combing. Gurgi looked only half as twiggy and leafy as usual. In addition, as he saddled Melyngar, Taran found that Medwyn had packed the saddlebags with food, and had included warm cloaks for all of them.

The old man called the travelers around him and seated himself on the ground. "The armies of the Horned King are by now a day's march ahead of you," he said, "but if you follow the paths I shall reveal, and move quickly, you may regain the time you have lost. It is even possible for you to reach Caer Dathyl a day, perhaps two, before them. However, I warn you, the mountain ways are not easy. If you prefer, I shall set you on a path toward the valley of Ystrad once again."

"Then we would be following the Horned King," Taran said. "There would be less chance of overtaking him, and much danger, too."

"Do not think the mountains are not dangerous," Medwyn said. "Though it is danger of a different sort."

"A Fflam thrives on danger!" cried the bard. "Let it be the mountains or the Homed King's hosts, I fear neither--- not to any great extent," he added quickly.

"We shall risk the mountains," Taran said.

"For once," Eilonwy interrupted, "you've decided the right thing. The mountains certainly aren't going to throw spears at us, no matter how dangerous they are. I really think you're improving."

"Listen carefully, then," Medwyn ordered. As he spoke, his hands moved deftly in the soft earth before him, molding a tiny model of the hills, which Taran found easier to follow than Fflewddur's map scratchings. When he finished, and the travelers gear and weapons were secured on Melyngar's back, Medwyn led the group from the valley. As closely as Taran observed each step of the way, he knew the path to Medwyn's valley would be lost to him as soon as the ancient man left them.

In a little while Medwyn stopped. "Your path now lies to the north," he said, "and here we shall part. And you, Taran of Caer Dallben--- whether you have chosen wisely, you will learn from your own heart. Perhaps we shall meet again, and you will tell me. Until then, farewell."

Before Taran could turn and thank Medwyn, the white bearded man disappeared, as if the hills had swallowed him up; and the travelers stood by themselves on a rocky, windswept plateau.

"Well," said Fflewddur, hitching up the harp behind him, "I somehow feel that if we meet any more wolves, they'll know we're friends of Medwyn."

Medwyn, vegan advocate since time immemorial. But the party is on the road again, with a much better feeling Gurgi, to see their journey done.

quote:

THE FIRST DAY'S MARCH was less difficult than Taran had feared. This time he led the way, for the bard admitted--- after a number of harp strings had snapped--- that he had not been able to keep all Medwyn's directions in his head. They climbed steadily until long after the sun had turned westward; and, though the ground was rough and broken, the path Medwyn had indicated lay dearly before them. Mountain streams, whose water ran cold and clear, made winding lines of sparkling silver as they danced down the slopes into the distant valley lands. The air was bracing, yet with a cold edge which made the travelers grateful for the cloaks Medwyn had given them. At a long cleft protected from the wind, Taran signaled a halt. They had made excellent progress during the day, far more than he had expected, and he saw no reason to exhaust themselves by forcing a march during the night.

Tethering Melyngar to one of the stunted trees that grew in the heights, the travelers made camp. Since there was no further danger from the Cauldron-Born, and the hosts of the Horned King moved far below and to the west of the group, Taran deemed it safe to build a fire. Medwyn's provisions needed no cooking, but the blaze warmed and cheered them. As the night shadows drifted from the peaks, Eilonwy lit her golden sphere and set it in the crevice of a faulted rock. Gurgi, who had not uttered a single moan or groan during this part of the journey, perched on a boulder and began scratching himself luxuriously; although, after Medwyn's washing and combing, it was more through habit than anything else. The bard, as lean as ever, despite the huge amount he had eaten, repaired his harp strings.

"You've been carrying that harp ever since I met you," Eilonwy said, "and you've never once played it. That's like telling somebody you want to talk to them, and when they get ready to listen, you don't say anything."

"You'd hardly expect me to go strumming out airs while those Cauldron warriors were followingus," Fflewddur said. "Somehow I didn't think it would be appropriate. But--- a Fflam is always obliging, so if you'd really care to hear me play...," he added, looking both delighted and embarrassed. He cradled the instrument in one arm and, almost before his fingers touched the strings, a gentle melody, as beautiful as the curve of the harp itself, lifted like a voice singing without words. To Taran's ear, the melody had its own words, weaving a supple thread among the rising notes. Home, home, they sang; and beyond the words themselves, so fleeting he could not be quite sure of them, were the fields and orchards of Caer Dallben, the gold afternoons of autumn and the crisp winter mornings with pink sunlight on the snow.

Then the harp fell silent. Fflewddur sat with his head bent close to the strings, a curious expression on his long face. "Well, that was a surprise," said the bard at last. "I had planned something a little more lively, the sort of thing my war leader always enjoys--- to put us in a bold frame of mind, you understand. The truth of the matter is," he admitted with a slight tone of discouragement, "I don't really know what's going to come out of it next. My fingers go along, but sometimes I think this harp plays of itself. "Perhaps," Fflewddur continued, "that's why Taliesin thought he was doing me a favor when he gave it to me. Because when I went up to the Council of Bards for my examination, I had an old pot one of the minstrels had left behind and I couldn't do more than plunk out a few chants. However, a Fflam never looks a gift horse in the mouth, or, in this case, I should say harp."

"It was a sad tune," Eilonwy said. "But the odd thing about it is, you don't mind the sadness. It's like feeling better after you've had a good cry. It made me think of the sea again, though I haven't been there since I was a little girl." At this, Taran snorted, but Eilonwy paid no attention to him. "The waves break against the cliffs and churn into foam, and farther out, as far as you can see, there are the white crests, the White Horses of Llyr, they call them; but they're really only waves waiting their turn to roll in."

"Strange," said the bard, "personally, I was thinking of my own castle. It's small and drafty, but I would like to see it again; a person can have enough wandering, you know. It made me think I might even settle down again and try to be a respectable sort of king."

"Caer Dallben is closer to my heart," Taran said. "When I left, I never gave it too much thought. Now I think of it a great deal."

Gurgi, who had been listening silently, set up a long howl. "Yes, yes, soon great warriors will all be back in their halls, telling their tales with laughings and chaffings. Then it will be the fearful forest again for poor Gurgi, to put down his tender head in snoozings and snorings."

"Gurgi," Taran said, "I promise to bring you to Caer Dallben, if I ever get there myself. And if you like it, and Dallben agrees, you can stay there as long as you want."

"What joy!" Gurgi cried. "Honest, toiling Gurgi extends thanks and best wishes. Oh, yes, fond, obedient Gurgi will work hard..."

"For now, obedient Gurgi had better sleep," Taran advised, "and so should we all. Medwyn has put us well on our way, and it can't take much longer. We'll start again at daybreak."

We hear the harp play for the first time, thanks to another wonderful simile from Eilonwy.

quote:

DURING THE NIGHT, however, a gale rose, and by morning a drenching rain beat into the cleft. Instead of slackening, the wind gained in force and screamed over the rocks. It beat like a fist against the travelers' shelter, then pried with searching fingers, as if to seize and dash them into the valley. They set out nevertheless, holding their cloaks before their faces. To make matters worse, the path broke off entirely and sheer cliffs loomed ahead of them. The rain stopped, after the travelers had all been soaked to the skin, but now the rocks were slippery and treacherous. Even thesure-footed Melyngar stumbled once, and for a breathless moment Taran feared she would be lost. The mountains swung a half-circle around a lake black and sullen below threatening clouds. Taran halted on an outcropping of stone and pointed toward the hills at the far side of the lake.

"According to what Medwyn told us," he said to the bard, "we should make for that notch, all the way over there. But I see no purpose in following the mountains when we can cut almost straight across. The lake shore is flat, at least, while here it's getting practically impossible to climb."

Fflewddur rubbed his pointed nose. "Even counting the time it would take us to go down and come up again, I think we should save several hours. Yes, I definitely believe it's worth trying."

"Medwyn didn't say a word about crossing valleys," Eilonwy put in.

"He didn't say anything about cliffs like these," answered Taran. "They seem nothing to him; he's lived here a long time. For us, it's something else again."

"If you don't listen to what somebody tells you," Eilonwy remarked, "it's like putting your fingers in your ears and jumping down a well. For an Assistant Pig-Keeper who's done very little traveling, you suddenly know all about it."

"Who found the way out of the barrow?" Taran retorted. "It's decided. We cross the valley."

The descent was laborious, but once they had reached level ground, Taran felt all the more convinced they would save time. Holding Melyngar's bridle, he led the group along the narrow shore. The lake reached closely to the base of the hills, obliging Taran to splash through the shallows. The lake, he realized, was not black in reflection of the sky; the water itself was dark, flat, and as grim and heavy as iron. The bottom, too, was as treacherous as the rocks above. Despite his care, Taran lurched and nearly got a ducking. When he turned to warn the others, to his surprise he saw Gurgi in water up to his waist and heading toward the center of the lake. Fflewddur and Eilonwy were also splashing farther and farther from land.

"Don't go through the water," Taran called. "Keep to the shore!"

"Wish we could," the bard shouted back. "But we're stuck somehow. There's a terribly strong pull..."

A moment later, Taran understood what the bard meant. An unexpected swell knocked him off his feet and even as he put out his hands to break his fall the black lake sucked him down. Beside him, Melyngar thrashed her legs and whinnied. The sky spun overhead. He was pulled along like a twig in a torrent. Eilonwy shot past him. He tried to regain his footing and catch her. It was too late. He skimmed and bobbed over the surface. The far shore would stop them, Taran thought, struggling to keep his head above the waves. A roar filled his ears. The middle of the lake was a whirlpool clutching and flinging him to the depths. Black water closed over him, and he knew he was drowning.

Well, so much for that. Book's over, everyone drowned.

# ¿ Jun 3, 2023 15:46

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

Chapter 15: King Eiddileg

quote:

DOWN HE SPUN, battling for air, in a flood that broke upon him like a crumbling mountain. Faster and faster the waters bore him along, tossing him right and left. Taran collided with something--- what it was, he could not tell--- but he clung to it even as his strength failed him. There was a crash, as though the earth had split asunder; the water turned to foam, and Taran felt himself dashed against an unyielding wall. He remembered nothing more.

When he opened his eyes he was lying on a hard, smooth surface, his hand tightly gripping Fflewddur's harp. He heard the rush of water close by. Cautiously, he felt around him; his fingers touched only wet, flat stone, an embankment of some kind. A pale blue light shone high above him. Taran decided he had come to rest in a cave or grotto. He raised himself and his movement set the harp to jangling.

"Hello? Who's that?" A voice echoed down the embankment. Faint though it was, Taran recognized it as belonging to the bard. He scrambled to his feet and crept in the direction of the sound. On the way he tripped over a form, which became suddenly vocal and indignant.

"You've done very well, Taran of Caer Dallben, with all your short cuts. What's left of me is soaked to the skin, and I can't find my bauble--- oh, here it is, all wet, of course. And who knows what's happened to the rest of us?"

The golden light flared dimly to reveal the dripping face of Eilonwy, her blue eyes flashing with vexation.

Gurgi's hairy, sputtering shadow rolled toward them. "Oh, poor tender head is filled with sloshings and washings!"

In another moment Fflewddur had found them. Melyngar whinnied behind him. "I thought I heard my harp down here," he said. "I couldn't believe it at first. Never expected to see it again. But--- aFflam never despairs! Quite a stroke of luck, though."

"I never thought I'd see anything again," Taran said, handing the instrument to Fflewddur. "We've been washed into a cave of some kind; but it's not a natural one. Look at these flagstones."

"If you'd look at Melyngar," Eilonwy called, "you'd see all our provisions are gone. All our weapons, too, thanks to your precious short cut!" It was true. The straps had broken loose and the saddle had torn away in the whirlpool. Luckily, the companions still had their swords.

"I'm sorry," Taran said. "I admit we are here through my fault. I should not have followed this path, but what's done is done. I led us here, and I'll find a way out."

He glanced around. The roar of water came from a wide, swift-running canal. The embankment itself was much broader than he had realized. Lights of various colors glowed in the high arches. He turned to his companions again. "This is very curious. We seem to be deep underground, but it isn't the lake bottom---"

Before he could utter another word, he was seized from behind, and a bag smelling strongly of onions was jammed over his head. Eilonwy screamed, then her voice grew muffled. Taran was being half-pushed, half-pulled in two directions at once. Gurgi began yelping furiously.

"Here! Get that one!" a gruff voice shouted.

"Get him yourself! Can't you see I've got my hands full?"

Taran struck out. A solid, round ball that must have been someone's head butted him in the stomach. There were slapping noises filtering through the oniony darkness around him. Those would be from Eilonwy. Now he was pushed from behind, propelled at top speed, while angry voices shouted at him--- and at each other.

"Hustle along there!"

"You fool, you didn't take their swords!"--- At this, came another shriek from Eilonwy, the sound of what might have been a kick, then a moment of silence--- "All right, let them keep their swords. You'll have the blame of it, letting them approach King Eiddileg with weapons!"

At a blind trot, Taran was shoved through what seemed a large crowd of people. Everyone was talking at once; the noise was deafening. After a number of turns, he was thrust forward again. A heavy door snapped behind him; the onion bag was snatched from his head.

Good news, the party didn't drown. Bad news, they've been kidnapped.

quote:

TARAN BLINKED. With Fflewddur and Eilonwy he stood in the center of a high-vaulted chamber, glittering with lights. Gurgi was nowhere in sight. Their captors were half-a-dozen squat, round, stubby-legged warriors. Axes hung from their belts and each man had a bow and quiver of arrows on his shoulder. The left eye of the short, burly fellow who stood beside Eilonwy was turning greenish-black.

Before them, at a long stone table, a dwarfish figure with a bristling yellow beard glared at the warriors. He wore a robe of garish red and green. Rings sparkled on his plump fingers. "What's this?" he shouted. "Who are these people? Didn't I give orders I wasn't to be disturbed?"

"But Majesty," began one of the warriors, shifting uneasily, "we caught them..."

"Must you bother me with details?" King Eiddileg cried, clasping his forehead. "You'll ruin me! You'll be the death of me! Out! Out! No, not the prisoners, you idiots!" Shaking his head, sighing and sputtering, the King collapsed onto a throne carved from rock. The guards scurried away. King Eiddileg shot a furious glance at Taran and his companions. "Now, then, out with it. What do you want? You might as well know ahead of time, you shan't have it."

"Sire," Taran began, "we ask no more than safe passage through your realm. The four of us..."

"There's only three of you," King Eiddileg snapped. "Can't you count?"

"One of my companions is missing," Taran said regretfully. He had hoped Gurgi would have overcome his fear, but he could not blame the creature for running off after his ordeal in the whirlpool. "I beg your servants to help us find him. Then, too, our provisions and weapons have been lost..."

"That's clotted nonsense!" shouted the King. "Don't lie to me, I can't stand it." He pulled an orange kerchief from his sleeve and mopped his forehead. "Why did you come here?" "Because an Assistant Pig-Keeper led us on a wild-goose chase," Eilonwy interrupted. "We don't even know where we are, let alone why. It's worse than rolling downhill in the dark."

"Naturally," said Eiddileg, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You have no idea you're in the very heart of the Kingdom of Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk, the Happy Family, the Little People, or whatever other insipid, irritating names you've put on us. Oh, no, of course not. You just happened to be passing by."

"We were caught in the lake," Taran protested. "It pulled us down."

"Good, eh?" King Eiddileg answered, with a quick smile of pride. "I've added some improvements of my own, of course."

"If you're so anxious to keep visitors away," Eilonwy said, "you should have something better--- to make people stay out."

"When people get this close," Eiddileg answered, "they're already too close. At that point, I don't want them out. I want them in."

Fflewddur shook his head. "I always understood the Fair Folk were all over Prydain, not just here."

"Of course, not just here," said Eiddileg with impatience. "This is the royal seat. Why, we have tunnels and mines every place you can imagine. But the real work, the real labor of organization is here, right here, in this very spot--- in this very throne room. On my shoulders! It's too much, I tell you, too much. But who else can you trust? If you want something done right..." The King stopped suddenly and drummed his glittering fingers on the stone table. "That's not your affair," he said. "You're in trouble enough as it is. It can't be overlooked."

"I don't see any work being done," said Eilonwy.

Before Taran could warn Eilonwy not to be imprudent, the door of the throne room burst open and a crowd of folk pressed in. Looking closer, Taran saw not all were dwarfs; some were tall, slender, with white robes; others were covered with glistening scales, like fish; still others fluttered large, delicate wings. For some moments Taran heard nothing but a confusion of voices, angry outcries and bickering, with Eiddileg trying to shout above them. Finally, the King managed to push them all out again.

"No work being done?" he cried. "You don't appreciate everything that goes into it. The Children of Evening--- that's another ridiculous name you humans have thought up--- are to sing in the forest of Cantrev Mawr tonight. They haven't even practiced. Two are sick and one can't be found. The Lake Sprites have been quarreling all day; now they're sulking. Their hair's a mess. And who does that reflect on? Who has to jolly them along, coax them, plead with them? The answer is obvious."

"What thanks do I get for it?" King Eiddileg ranted on. "None at all! Has any of you long-legged gawks ever taken the trouble--- even once, mind you--- to offer the simplest expression of gratitude, such as, 'Thank you, King Eiddileg, for the tremendous effort and inconvenience you've gone to, so that we can enjoy a little charm and beauty in the world above, which would be so unspeakably grim without you and your Fair Folk'? Just a few words of honest appreciation?"

"By no means! Just the opposite! If any of you thick-skulled oafs come on one of the Fair Folk above ground, what happens? You seize him! You grab him with your great hammy hands and try to make him lead you to buried treasure. Or you squeeze him until you get three wishes out of him--- not satisfied with one, oh, no, but three!"Well, I don't mind telling you this," Eiddileg went on, his face turning redder by the moment, "I've put an end to all this wish-granting and treasure-scavenging. No more! Absolutely not! I'm surprised you didn't ruin us long ago!" Just then a chorus of voices rose from behind the door of Eiddileg's throne room. The harmonies penetrated even the walls of heavy stone. Taran had never in his life heard such beautiful singing. He listened, enchanted, forgetting, for the moment, all but the soaring melody. Eiddileg himself stopped shouting and puffing until the voices died away.

We meet Eiddileg, King of the Tylwyth Teg - the welsh version of the Fair Folk / Aes S�dhe of the folklore of the British isles. The Tylwyth Teg are said to have five species, of sorts; the Elves, the Fairies of the Mines (here as dwarves), the household fairies (similar to brownies), the fairies of the lakes (here as the Lake Sprites) and the fairies of the mountains, who are more spooky, like hags. I don't know if Eiddileg is directly lifted from folklore, I couldn't find any information on him, but I love the character Alexander gives him here.

quote:

"That's something to be thankful for," the King said at last. "The Children of Evening have evidently got together again. Not as good as you might want, but they'll manage somehow."

"I have not heard the songs of the Fair Folk until now," Taran said. "I had never realized how lovely they were."

"Don't try to flatter me," Eiddileg cried, trying to look furious, yet beaming at the same time.

"What surprises me," Eilonwy said, while the bard plucked meditatively at his harp, trying to recapture the notes of the song, "is why you go to so much trouble. If you Fair Folk dislike all of us above ground, why do you bother?"

"Professional pride, my dear girl," said the Dwarf King, putting a chubby hand to his heart and bowing slightly. "When we Fair Folk do something, we do it right. Oh, yes," he sighed, "never mind the sacrifices we make. It's a task that needs doing, and so we do it. Never mind the cost. For myself," he added, with a wave of his hand, "it doesn't matter. I've lost sleep, I've lost weight, but that's not important..." If King Eiddileg had lost weight, Taran thought to himself, what must he have been like beforehand? He decided against asking this question.

"Well, I appreciate it," Eilonwy said. "I think it's amazing what you've been able to do. You must be extremely clever, and any Assistant Pig-Keepers who happen to be in this throne room might do well to pay attention."

"Thank you, dear girl," said King Eiddileg, bowing lower. "I see you're the sort of person one can talk to intelligently. It's unheard of for one of you big shambling louts to have any kind of insight into these matters. But you at least seem to understand the problems we face."

"Sire," interrupted Taran, "we understand your time is precious. Let us disturb you no more. Give us safe conduct to Caer Dathyl."

"What?" shouted Eiddileg. "Leave here? Impossible! Unheard of! Once you're with the Fair Folk, my good lad, you stay, and no mistake about it. Oh, I suppose I could stretch a point, for the sake of the young lady, and let you off easily. Only put you to sleep for fifty years, or turn you all into bats; but that would be a pure favor, mind you."

"Our task is urgent," Taran cried. "Even now we have delayed too long."

"That's your concern, not mine." Eiddileg shrugged.

"Then we shall make our own way," Taran shouted, drawing his sword. Fflewddur's blade leaped out and the bard stood with Taran, ready to fight.

"More clotted nonsense," King Eiddileg said, looking contemptuously at the swords pointed toward him. He shook his fingers at them. "There! And there! Now you might try to move your arms." Taran strained every muscle. His body felt turned to stone.

"Put your swords away and let's talk this over calmly," said the Dwarf King, gesturing again. "If you give me any decent reason why I should let you go, I might think it over and answer you promptly, say in a year or two." There could be no use, Taran saw, in concealing the reasons for his journey; he explained to Eiddileg what had befallen them. The Dwarf King ceased his blustering at the mention of Arawn, but when Taran had finished, King Eiddileg shook his head.

"This is a conflict you great gawks must attend to yourselves. The Fair Folk owe you no allegiance," he said angrily. "Prydain belonged to us before the race of men came. You drove us underground. You plundered our mines, you blundering clodpoles! You stole our treasures, and you keep on stealing them, you clumsy oafs..."

"Sire," Taran answered, "I can speak for no man but myself. I have never robbed you and I have no wish to. My task means more to me than your treasures. If there is ill will between the Fair Folk and the race of men, then it is a matter to be settled between them. But if the Horned King triumphs, if the shadow of Annuvin falls on the land above you, Arawn's hand will reach your deepest caverns."

"For an Assistant Pig-Keeper," said Eiddileg, "you're reasonably eloquent. But the Fair Folk will worry about Arawn when the time comes."

"The time has come," Taran said. "I only hope it has not passed."

"I don't think you really know what's going on above ground," Eilonwy suddenly exclaimed. "You talk about charm and beauty and sacrificing yourself to make things pleasant for people. I don't believe you care a bit for that. You're too conceited and stubborn and selfish..."

"Conceited!" shouted Eiddileg, his eyes popping. "Selfish! You won't find anyone more openhearted and generous. How dare you say that? What do you want, my life's blood?" With that, he tore off his cloak and threw it in the air, pulled the rings from his fingers and tossed them in every direction. "Go ahead! Take it all! Leave me ruined! What else do you want--- my whole kingdom? Do you want to leave? Go, by all means. The sooner the better! Stubborn? I'm too soft! It will be the death of me! But little you care!" At that moment the door of the throne room burst open again. Two dwarf warriors clung frantically to Gurgi, who swung them about as if they were rabbits.

"Joyous greetings! Faithful Gurgi is back with mighty heroes! This time valiant Gurgi did not run! Oh, no, no! Brave Gurgi fought with great whackings and smackings. He triumphed! But then, mighty lords are carried away. Clever Gurgi goes seeking and peeking to save them, yes! And he finds them! But that is not all. Oh, faithful, honest, fearless Gurgi finds more. Surprises and delights, oh, joy!" Gurgi was so excited that he began dancing on one foot, spinning around and clapping his hands. "Mighty warriors go to seek a piggy! It is clever, wise Gurgi who finds her!"

"Hen Wen?" cried Taran. "Where is she?"

"Here, mighty lord," Gurgi shouted, "the piggy is here!

We found Hen Wen, y'all!

# ¿ Jun 7, 2023 20:14

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

Chapter 16: Doli

quote:

TARAN TURNED ACCUSINGLY to King Eiddileg. "You said nothing of Hen Wen."

"You didn't ask me," said Eiddileg.

"That's sharp practice," Fflewddur muttered, "even for a king."

"It's worse than a lie," Taran said angrily. "You'd have let us go our way, and we'd never have known what happened to her."

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Eilonwy put in, shaking her finger at the King, who appeared most embarrassed at being found out. "It's like looking the other way when someone's about to walk into a hole."

"Finders keepers," the Dwarf King snapped. "A troop of the Fair Folk came on her near the Avren banks. She was running through a ravine. And I'll tell you something you don't know. Half-a-dozen warriors were after her, the henchmen of the Horned King. The troop took care of those warriors--- we have our own ways of dealing with you clumsy lummoxes--- and they brought your pig here, underground most of the way."

"No wonder Gwydion could find no tracks," Taran murmured to himself.

"The Fair Folk rescued her," Eiddileg angrily continued, turning bright red, "and there's another fine example. Do I get a word of thanks? Naturally not. But I do get called disagreeable names and have nasty thoughts thrown at me. Oh, I can see it in your faces. Eiddileg is a thief and a wretch--- that's what you're saying to yourselves. Well, just for that you shan't have her back. And you'll stay here, all of you, until I feel like letting you go."

Eilonwy gasped with indignation. "If you do that," she cried, "you are a thief and a wretch! You gave me your word. The Fair Folk don't go back on their word."

"There was no mention of a pig, no mention at all." Eiddileg clapped his hands over his paunch and snapped his mouth shut.

"No," Taran said, "there was not. But there is a question of honesty and honor."

Eiddileg blinked and looked sideways. He took out his orange kerchief and mopped his brow again. "Honor," he muttered, "yes, I was afraid you'd come to that. True, the Fair Folk never break their word. Well," he sighed, "that's the price forbeing openhearted and generous. So be it. You shall have your pig."

"We shall need weapons to replace those we lost," Taran said.

"What?" screamed Eiddileg. "Are you trying to ruin me?"

"And crunchings and munchings!" piped up Gurgi.

Taran nodded. "Provisions, as well."

"This is going too far," Eiddileg shouted. "You're bleeding me to death! Weapons! Food! Pigs!"

"And we beg for a guide who will show us the way to Caer Dathyl."

At this, Eiddileg nearly exploded. When finally he calmed himself, he nodded reluctantly. "I shall lend you Doli," he said. "He is the only one I can spare." He clapped his hands and gave orders to the armed dwarfs, then turned to the companions. "Off with you now, before I change my mind."

Eilonwy stepped quickly to the throne, bent and kissed Eiddileg on the top of his head. "Thank you," she whispered, "you're a perfectly lovely king."

"Out! Out!" the dwarf cried. As the stone door closed behind him, Taran saw King Eiddileg fondling his head and beaming happily. The troop of Fair Folk led the company down the vaulted corridors. Taran had at first imagined Eiddileg's realm to be no more than a maze of underground galleries. To his astonishment, the corridors soon broadened into wide avenues. In the great domes far overhead, gems glittered as bright as sunshine. There was no grass, but deep carpets of green lichen stretched out like meadows. There were blue lakes, glistening as much as the jewels above; and cottages, and small farmhouses. It was difficult for Taran and his companions to realize they were underground.

"I've been thinking," whispered Fflewddur, "that it might be wiser to leave Hen Wen here, until we can return for her."

"I thought of that, too," answered Taran. "It's not that I don't trust Eiddileg to keep his word--- most of the time. But I'm not sure we should takeanother chance in that lake, and I doubt we could find another way into his kingdom. He certainly won't make it easy for us to come back, I'm afraid. No, we must take Hen Wen while we have the chance. Once she's with me again, I won't let her out of my sight."

Suddenly the Fair Folk halted at one of the cottages, and from a neatly carpentered pen Taran heard a loud "Hwoinch!" He raced to the sty. Hen Wen was standing with her front feet on the rails, grunting at the top of her voice. One of the Fair Folk opened the gate and the white pig burst out, wriggling and squealing.Taran threw his arms around Hen Wen's neck.

"Oh, Hen!" he cried. "Even Medwyn thought you were dead!"

"Hwch! Hwaaw!" Hen Wen chuckled joyfully. Her beady eyes sparkled. With her great pink snout she rooted affectionately under Taran's chin and came close to knocking him down.

"She looks like a wonderful pig," Eilonwy said, scratching Hen Wen behind the ears. "It's always nice to see two friends meet again. It's like waking up with the sun shining."

"She's certainly a great deal of pig," agreed the bard, "though very handsome, I must say."

"And clever, noble, brave, wise Gurgi found her."

"Have no fear," Taran said with a smile to Gurgi, "there's no chance we'll forget it."

Rejoice, for the pig is still alive.

quote:

Rolling and waddling on her short legs, Hen Wen followed Taran happily, while the Fair Folk proceeded across the fields to where a stocky figure waited. The captain of the troop announced that this was Doli, the guide Eiddileg had promised. Doli, short and stumpy, almost as broad as he was tall, wore a rust-colored leather jacket and stout, knee-high boots. A round cap covered his head, but not enough to conceal a fringe of flaming red hair. An axe and short sword hung from his belt; and over his shoulder, he wore the stubby bow of the Fair Folk warrior. Taran bowed politely. The dwarf stared at him with a pair of bright red eyes and snorted. Then, to Taran's surprise, Doli took a deep breath and held it until his face turned scarlet and he looked about to burst. After a few moments, the dwarf puffed out his cheeks and snorted again.

"What's the trouble?" asked Taran.

"You can still see me, can't you?" Doli burst out angrily.

"Of course, I can still see you." Taran frowned. "Why shouldn't I?" Doli gave him a scornful look and did not answer.

Two of the Fair Folk led up Melyngar. King Eiddileg, Taran saw with relief, was as good as his word. The saddlebags bulged with provisions, and the white mare also carried a number of spears, bows, and arrows--- short and heavy, as were all the weapons of the Fair Folk, but carefully and sturdily crafted. Without another word, Doli beckoned them to follow him across the meadow. Grumbling and muttering to himself, the dwarf led them to what seemed to be the sheer face of a cliff. Only after he had reached it did Taran see long flights of steps carved into the living rock. Doli jerked his head toward the stairway and they began to climb.

This passageway of the Fair Folk was steeper than any of the mountains they had crossed. Melyngar strained forward. Wheezing and gasping, Hen Wen pulled herself up each step. The stairway turned and twisted; at one point, the darkness was such that the companions lost sight of each other. After a time, the steps broke off and the group trod a narrow pathway of hard-packed stones. Sheets of white light rippled ahead and the travelers found themselves behind a high waterfall. One after the other, they leaped the glistening rocks, splashed through a foaming stream, and at last emerged into the cool air of the hills.

Doli squinted up at the sun. "Not much daylight left," he muttered, more gruffly than King Eiddileg himself. "Don't think I'm going to walk my legs off all night, either. Didn't ask for this work, you know. Got picked for it, Guiding a crew of--- of what! An Assistant Pig-Keeper. A yellow-headed idiot with a harp. A girl with a sword. A shaggy what-is-it. Not to mention the livestock. All you can hope for is you don't run into a real war band. They'd do for you, they would. There's not one of you looks as if he could handle a blade. Humph!" This was the most Doli had spoken since they had left Eiddileg's realm and, despite the dwarf's uncomplimentary opinions, Taran hoped he would finally come around to being civil. Doli, however, had said all he intended to say for a while; later, when Taran ventured to speak to him, the dwarf turned angrily away and started holding his breath again.

"For goodness sake," Eilonwy cried, "I wish you'd stop that. It makes me feel as if I'd drunk too much water, just watching you."

"It still doesn't work," Doli growled.

"Whatever are you trying to do?" Taran asked. Even Hen Wen stared curiously at the dwarf.

"What does it look like?" Doli answered. "I'm trying to make myself invisible."

"That's an odd thing to attempt," remarked Fflewddur.

"I'm supposed to be invisible," snapped Doli. "My whole family can do it. Just like that! Like blowing out a candle. But not me. No wonder they all laugh at me. No wonder Eiddileg sends me out with a pack of fools. If there's anything nasty or disagreeable to be done, it's always 'find good old Doli.' If there's gems to be cut or blades to be decorated or arrows to be footed--- that's the job for good old Doli!" The dwarf held his breath again, this time so long that his face turned blue and his ears trembled.

"I think you're getting it now," said the bard, with an encouraging smile. "I can't see you at all." No sooner had this remark passed his lips than a harp string snapped in two. Fflewddur looked sorrowfully at the instrument. "Blast the thing," he muttered, "I knew I was exaggerating somewhat; I only did it to make him feel better. He actually did seem to be fading a bit around the edges."

"If I could carve gems and do all those other things," Taran remarked sympathetically to Doli, "I wouldn't mind not being invisible. All I know is vegetables and horseshoes, and not too much about either."

"It's silly," Eilonwy added, "to worry because you can't do something you simply can't do. That's worse than trying to make yourself taller by standing on your head."

None of these well-intentioned remarks cheered the dwarf, who strode angrily ahead, swinging his axe from side to side. Despite his bad temper, Doli was an excellent guide, Taran realized. Most of the time, the dwarf said little beyond his usual grunts and snorts, making no attempt to explain the path he followed or to suggest how long it would take the companions to reach Caer Dathyl. Taran, nevertheless, had learned a great deal of woodcraft and tracking during his journey, and he was aware the companions had begun turning westward to descend the hills. They had, during the afternoon, covered more ground than Taran thought possible, and he knew it was thanks to Doli's expert guidance. When he congratulated the dwarf, Doli answered only, "Humph!"--- and held his breath.

They camped that night on the sheltered slope of the last barrier of mountains. Gurgi, whom Taran had taught to build a fire, was delighted to be useful; he cheerfully gathered twigs, dug a cooking pit, and, to the surprise of all, distributed the provisions equally without saving out a private share for his own crunchings and munchings later on. Doli refused to do anything whatsoever. He took his own food from a large leather wallet hanging at his side, and sat on a rock, chewing glumly; he snorted with annoyance between every mouthful, and occasionally held his breath.

"Keep at it, old boy!" called Fflewddur. "Another try might do it! Your outline looks definitely blurred."

"Oh, hush!"' Eilonwy told the bard. "Don't encourage him or he'll decide to hold his breath forever."

"Just lending support," explained the crestfallen bard. "A Fflam never gives up, and I don't see why a dwarf should."

Hen Wen had not left Taran's side all day. Now, as he spread his cloak on the ground, the white pig grunted with pleasure, waddled over, and hunkered down beside him. Her crinkled ears relaxed; she thrust her snout comfortably against Taran's shoulder and chuckled contentedly, a blissful smile on her face. Soon the whole weight of her head pressed on him, making it impossible for Taran to roll onto his side. Hen Wen snored luxuriously and Taran resigned himself to sleeping, despite the assortment of whistles and groans directly below his ear. "I'm glad to see you, Hen," he said, "and I'm glad you're glad to see me. But I wish you wouldn't be so loud about it."

Pigs. Not the quietest of sleeping companions. Whoda thunk? Also, we meet Doli - who, like Eiddileg, is not the most agreeable fellow, but all his complaining seems to hide a great deal of skill; just like his king.

quote:

NEXT MORNING they turned their backs on the Eagle Mountains and began heading for what Taran hoped would be Caer Dathyl. As the trees rose more densely around them, Taran turned for a last glimpse of the Eagle itself, tall and serene in the distance. He was grateful their path had not led them over it, but in his heart he hoped one day to return and climb its towers of sun-flecked ice and black stone. Until this journey, he had never seen mountains, but now he understood why Gwydion had spoken longingly of Caer Dathyl. His thought led Taran to wonder again what else Gwydion had expected to learn from Hen Wen. When they halted, he spoke to Fflewddur about it.

"There may be someone in Caer Dathyl who can understand her," Taran said. "But if we could only get her to prophesy now, she might tell us something important." The bard agreed; however, as Taran had pointed out, they had no letter sticks.

"I could try a new spell," offered Eilonwy."Achren taught me some others, but I don't know if they'd be any use. They haven't anything to do with oracular pigs. I do know a wonderful one for summoning toads. Achren was about to teach me the spell for opening locks, but I don't suppose I'll ever learn it now. Even so, locks haven't much to do with pigs, either."

Eilonwy knelt beside Hen Wen and whispered rapidly. Hen Wen seemed to listen politely for a while, grinning broadly, wheezing, and snuffling. She gave no sign of understanding a word of what the girl was saying; and at last, with a joyful "Hwoinch!" she broke away and ran to Taran, wriggling gleefully.

"It's no use," Taran said, "and there's no sense in losing time. I hope they have letter sticks in Caer Dathyl. Though I doubt it. Whatever Dallben has, it seems to be the only one of its kind in all Prydain."

They resumed their march. Gurgi, now official cook and firemaker, strode boldly behind the dwarf. Doli led the companions through a clearing and past a line of alders. A few moments later the dwarf halted and cocked his head. Taran heard the sound, too: a faint, high-pitched screaming. It seemed to come from a twisted thornbush. Drawing his sword, Taran hurried past the dwarf. At first he could see nothing in the dark tangle. He drew closer, then stopped abruptly.

It was a gwythaint.

The gwythaints, you may remember, were Arawn's servants. So finding one can't be good news. To be continued!

# ¿ Jun 10, 2023 15:25

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

Chapter 17: The Fledgling.

quote:

THE GWYTHAINT HUNG like a crumpled black rag, one wing upraised, the other folded awkwardly on its breast. No larger than a raven, it was young and barely out of its first moult; the head seemed a little too big for its body, the feathers thin and quilly. As Taran cautiously approached, the gwythaint fluttered vainly, unable to free itself. The bird opened its curved beak and hissed warningly; but its eyes were dull and half-closed. The companions had followed Taran. As soon as Gurgi saw what it was, he hunched up his shoulders, and with many fearful glances behind him, turned and crept off to a safe distance. Melyngar whinnied nervously. The white pig, undisturbed, sat on her haunches and looked cheerful.

Fflewddur, on seeing the bird, gave a low whistle. "It's a stroke of luck the parents aren't about," he said. "Those creatures will tear a man to shreds if their young are in danger."

"It reminds me of Achren," Eilonwy said, "especially around the eyes, on days when she was in a bad temper." Doli pulled his axe from his belt.

"What are you going to do?" Taran asked.

The dwarf looked at him with surprise. "Going to do? Do you have any other stupid questions? You can't imagine I'd let it sit there, can you? I'm going to chop off its head, to begin with."

"No!" cried Taran, seizing the dwarfs arm. "It's badly hurt."

"Be glad of that," snapped Doli. "If it weren't, neither you nor I nor any of us would be standing here."

"I will not have it killed," Taran declared. "It's in pain and it needs help."

"That's true," Eilonwy said, "it doesn't look comfortable at all. For the matter of that, it looks even worse than Achren."

The dwarf threw his axe to the ground and put his hands on his hips. "I can't make myself invisible," he snorted, "but at least I'm no fool. Go ahead. Pick up the vicious little thing. Give it a drink. Pat its head. Then you'll see what happens. As soon as it's got strength enough, the first thing it'll do is slice you to bits. And next thing, fly straight to Arawn. Then we'll be in a fine stew."

"What Doli says is true," Fflewddur added. "I myself don't enjoy chopping things up--- the bird is interesting, in a disagreeable sort of way. But we've been lucky so far, with no trouble from gwythaints, at least. I don't see the use of bringing one of Arawn's spies right into our bosom, as you might say. A Fflam is always kind-hearted, but it seems to me this is overdoing it."

"Medwyn would not say so," Taran answered. "In the hills, he spoke of kindness for all creatures; and he told me much about the gwythaints. I think it's important to bring this one to Caer Dathyl. No one has ever captured a live gwythaint, as far as I know. Who can tell what value it may have?"

The bard scratched his head. "Well, yes, I suppose if it had any use at all, it would be better alive than dead. But the proposition is risky, no matter what."

Taran gestured for the others to stand away from the bush. He saw the gwythaint was wounded by more than thorns; perhaps an eagle had challenged it, for blood flecked its back and a number of feathers had been torn out. He reached in carefully. The gwythaint hissed again, and a long, rasping rattle sounded in its throat. Taran feared the bird might be dying even then. He put a hand under its feverish body. The gwythaint struck with beak and talons, but its strength had gone. Taran lifted it free of the thornbush.

"If I can find the right herbs, I'll make a poultice,'' Taran told Eilonwy. "But I'll need hot water to steep them." While the girl prepared a nest of grass and leaves, Taran asked Gurgi to build a fire and heat some stones, which could be dropped into a cup of water. Then, with Hen Wen at his heels, he quickly set out to search for the plants.

"How long are we going to stay here?" Doli shouted after him. "Not that I care. You're the ones in a hurry, not I. Humph!" He thrust his axe into his belt, jammed his cap tight on his head, and furiously held his breath. Taran was again grateful for what Coll had taught him of herbs. He found most of what he needed growing nearby. Hen Wen joined the hunt with enthusiasm, grunting happily, rooting under leaves and stones. Indeed, the white pig was the first to discover an important variety Taran had overlooked. The gwythaint did not struggle when Taran applied the poultice; soaking a piece of cloth torn from his jacket in another healing brew, he squeezed the liquid drop by drop into the bird's beak.

"That's all very well," said Doli, whose curiosity had got the better of him, and who had come to observe the operation. "How do you imagine you'll carry the nasty thing--- perched on your shoulder?"

"I don't know," Taran said. "I thought I could wrap it in my cloak."

Doli snorted. "That's the trouble with you great clodhoppers. You don't see beyond your noses. But if you expect me to build a cage for you, you're mistaken."

"A cage would be just the thing," Taran agreed. "No, I wouldn't want to bother you with that. I'll try to make one myself." The dwarf watched contemptuously while Taran gathered saplings and attempted to weave them together.

"Oh, stop it!" Doli finally burst out. "I can't stand looking at botched work. Here, get out of the way." He shouldered Taran aside, squatted on the ground, and picked up the saplings. He trimmed them expertly with his knife, lashed them with braided vines, and in no time at all the dwarf held up a serviceable cage.

"That's certainly more practical than making yourself invisible," Eilonwy said. The dwarf made no answer and only looked at her angrily.

Doli, as we see here, is a very skilled craftsman; he just oughta set more achievable goals for himself.

quote:

Taran lined the bottom of the cage with leaves, gently put the gwythaint inside, and they resumed their march. Doli now led them at a faster pace, to make up for the time they had lost. He tramped steadily down the hill slopes without even turning to see whether Taran and the others were able to keep up with him. The speed of their pace, Taran realized, served little purpose, since they were obliged to halt more frequently. But he did not deem it wise to mention this to the dwarf. Throughout the day the gwythaint steadily improved. At each halt, Taran fed the bird and applied the medicines. Gurgi was still too terrified to come near; Taran alone dared handle the creature. When Fflewddur, endeavoring to make friends, put his finger into the cage, the gwythaint roused and slashed at him with its beak.

"I warn you," snapped Doli, "no good will come of this. But don't pay any attention to what I say. Go right ahead. Cut your own throats. Then come running and complaining afterward. I'm just a guide; I do what I'm ordered to, and that's all."

At nightfall they made camp and discussed plans for the morrow. The gwythaint had entirely recovered, and had also developed an enormous appetite. It squawked furiously when Taran did not bring its food quickly enough, and rattled its beak against the cage. It gobbled up the morsels Taran gave it, then looked around for more. After eating, the gwythaint crouched at the bottom of the cage, its head cocked and listening, its eyes following every movement. Taran finally ventured to put a finger past the bars and scratch the gwythaint's head. The creature no longer hissed, and it made no attempt to bite him. The gwythaint even allowed Eilonwy to feed it, but the bard's attempts to make friends failed.

"It knows perfectly well you'd have agreed to chop off its head," Eilonwy told Fflewddur, "so you can't blame the poor thing for being annoyed at you. If somebody wanted to chop off my head, then came around afterward and wanted to be sociable, I'd peck at them too."

"Gwydion told me the birds are trained when young," Taran said. "I wish he were here. He would know best how to handle the creature. Perhaps it could be taught differently. But there's bound to be a good falconer at Caer Dathyl, and we'll see what he can do."

But the next morning, the cage was empty. Doli, who had risen long before the others, was the first to discover it. The furious dwarf thrust the cage under Taran's nose. The sapling bars had been slashed to pieces by the gwythaint's beak.

"And there you have it!" cried Doli. "I told you so! Don't say I didn't warn you. The treacherous creature's halfway to Annuvin by now, after listening to every word we said. If Arawn didn't know where we are, he'll know soon enough. You've done well; oh, very well," Doli snorted."Spare me from fools and Assistant Pig-Keepers!" Taran could not hide his disappointment or fear. Fflewddur said nothing, but the bard's face was grim.

"I've done the wrong thing again, as usual," Taran said angrily. "Doli is right. There's no difference between a fool and an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

"That's probably true," agreed Eilonwy, whose remark did nothing to cheer Taran. "But," she went on, "I can't stand people who say 'I told you so.' That's worse than somebody coming up and eating your dinner before you have a chance to sit down. Even so," she added, "Doli means well. He's not half as disagreeable as he pretends to be, and I'm sure he's worried about us. He's like a porcupine, all prickly on the outside, but very ticklish once you turn him over. If he'd only stop trying to make himself invisible, I think it should do a lot to improve his disposition.''

There was no time for further regrets. Doli set them an even swifter pace. They still followed the hills along the Ystrad valley, but at midday the dwarf turned west and once more began to descend toward the plains. The sky had grown as thick and gray as lead. Violent gusts of wind whipped at their faces. The pale sun gave no warmth. Melyngar neighed uneasily; Hen Wen, placid and agreeable until now, began to roll her eyes and mutter to herself. While the companions rested briefly, Doli went ahead to scout the land. In a short time he was back again. He led them to the crest of a hill, motioned them to stay close to the ground, and pointed toward the Ystrad below. The plain was covered with warriors, on foot and on horseback. Black banners snapped in the wind. Even at this distance, Taran could hear the clank of weapons, the steady, heavy drumming of marching feet. At the head of the winding columns rode the Horned King.

Welp, so much for that bird business. But what's worse, they've run into the Horned King's army once again.

quote:

The giant figure towered above the men-atarms, who galloped behind him. The curving antlers rose like eager claws. As Taran watched, terrified but unable to turn away, the Horned King's head swung slowly in the direction of the heights. Taran pressed flat against the earth. Arawn's champion, he was sure, could not see him; it was only a trick of his mind, a mirror of his own fear, but it seemed the Horned King's eyes sought him out and thrust like daggers at his heart.

"They have overtaken us," Taran said in a flat voice.

"Hurry," snapped the dwarf. "Get hustling, instead of dawdling and moaning. We're no more than a day away from Caer Dathyl and so are they. We can still move faster. If you hadn't stopped for that ungrateful spy of Annuvin, we'd be well ahead of them by now. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"We should arm ourselves a little better," the bard said. "The Horned King will have outriders on both sides of the valley."

Taran unstrapped the weapons on Melyngar's back and handed a bow and quiver of arrows to his companions, as well as a short spear for each. King Eiddileg had given them round bronze bucklers; they were dwarf-size and, after his view of the marching hosts, Taran found them pitifully small. Gurgi buckled a short sword around his waist. Of all the band, he was the most excited.

"Yes, yes!" he cried. "Now bold, valiant Gurgi is a mighty warrior, too! He has a grinding gasher and a pointed piercer! He is ready for great fightings and smitings!"

"And so am I!" Fflewddur declared. "Nothing withstands the onslaught of an angry Fflam!"

The dwarf clapped his hands to his head and gnashed his teeth. "Stop jabbering and move!" he sputtered. This time he was too furious to hold his breath.

Taran slung the buckler over his shoulder. Hen Wen hung back and grunted fearfully. "I know you're afraid," Taran whispered coaxingly, "but you'll be safe in Caer Dathyl."

The pig followed reluctantly; but as Doli set off once again, she lagged behind, and it was all Taran could do to urge her forward. Her pink snout trembled; her eyes darted from one side of the path to the other.

At the next halt Doli summoned Taran. "Keep on like this," he cried, "and you'll have no chance at all. First a gwythaint delays us, now a pig!"

"She's frightened," Taran tried to explain to the angry dwarf. "She knows the Horned King is near."

"Then tie her up," Doli said. "Put her on the horse."

Taran nodded. "Yes. She won't like it, but there's nothing else we can do." A few moments before, the pig had been crouched at the roots of a tree. Now there was no sign of her.

"Hen?" Taran called. He turned to the bard. "Where did she go?" he asked in alarm. The bard shook his head. Neither he nor Eilonwy had seen her move; Gurgi had been watering Melyngar and had not noticed the pig at all. "She can't have run off again," Taran cried. He raced back into the woods. When he returned, his face was pale. "She's gone," he gasped. "She's hiding somewhere, I know it." He sank to the ground and put his head in his hands. "I shouldn't have let her out of my sight, not even for a moment," he said bitterly. "I have failed twice."

"Let the others go on," Eilonwy said. "We'll find her and catch up with them." Before Taran could answer, he heard a sound that chilled his blood. From the hills came the voices of a hunting pack in full cry and the long notes of a horn. The companions stood frozen with dread. With the ice of terror in his throat, Taran looked at the silent faces around him. The dire music trembled in the air; a shadow flickered across the lowering sky.

"Where Gwyn the Hunter rides," murmured Fflewddur, "death rides close behind."

Close to the end now...but we're not there yet! A final hurdle to cross for our adventuring party. And they've lost Hen-Wen again, so there's that.

As a little note of administration: there's three chapters left to go in this book, and I will be unable to post on saturday, so I will post them all on sunday, because I think they read best in succession as the climax and denouement.

# ¿ Jun 14, 2023 20:43

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

Chapter 18: The Flame of Dyrnwyn

quote:

NO SOONER HAD THE NOTES of Gwyn's horn sunk into the hills than Taran started, as though waking from a fearful dream. Hoofbeats drummed across the meadow.

"The Homed King's scouts!" cried Fflewddur, pointing to the mounted warriors galloping toward them. "They've seen us!" Up from the plains the riders sped, bent over their saddles, urging on their steeds. They drew closer, lances leveled as if each gleaming point sought its own target.

"I could try to make another web," Eilonwy suggested, then added, "but I'm afraid the last one wasn't too useful."

Taran's sword flashed out. "There are only four of them," he said. "We match them in numbers at least."

"Put up your blade," Fflewddur said. "Arrows first. We'll have work enough for swords later." They unslung their bows. Under Fflewddur's orders, they formed a line and knelt shoulder to shoulder. The bard's spiky yellow hair blew in the wind; his face shone with excitement.

"I haven't had a good fight in years," he said. "That's one of the things I miss, being a bard. They'll see what it means to attack a Fflam!" Taran nocked an arrow to the string. At a word from the bard, the companions drew their bows and took aim.

"Loose!" shouted Fflewddur. Taran saw his own shaft fly wide of the leading horseman. With a cry of anger, he seized another arrow from the quiver. Beside him, he heard Gurgi shout triumphantly. Of the volley, only Gurgi's bolt had found its mark. A warrior toppled from hishome, the shaft deep in his throat.

"They know we can sting!" Fflewddur cried. "Loose again!"

The horsemen veered. More cautious now, the warriors raised their bucklers. Of the three, two drove directly for the companions; the third turned his mount's head and galloped to the flank of the defenders.

"Now, friends," shouted the bard, "back to back!"

Taran heard Doli grunt as the dwarf loosed an arrow at the nearest warrior. Gurgi's shot had been lucky; now the shafts hissed through the air only to glance off the attackers' light shields. Behind Taran, Melyngar whinnied and pawed the ground frantically. Taran remembered how valiantly she had fought for Gwydion, but she was tethered now and he dared not break away from the defenders to untie her. The horsemen circled. One turned his exposed side to the companions. Doli's arrow leaped from the bowstring and buried itself in the warrior's neck. The other horsemen spun their mounts and galloped across the meadow.

"We've beaten them!" cried Eilonwy. "That's like bees driving away eagles!"

The panting Fflewddur shook his head. "They'll spend no more men on us. When they come back, they'll come back with a war band. That's highly complimentary to our bravery, but I don't think we should wait for them. A Fflam knows when to fight and when to run. At this point, we had better run."

"I won't leave Hen Wen," cried Taran.

"Go look for her," growled Doli. "You'll lose your head as well as your pig."

"Crafty Gurgi will go," suggested Gurgi, "with bold seekings and peekings."

"In all likelihood," said the bard, "they'll attack us again. We can't afford to lose what little strength we have. A Fflam never worries about being outnumbered, but one sword less could be fatal. I'm sure your pig is able to look out for herself; wherever she may be, she is in less danger than we are."

Taran nodded. "It is true. But it grieves me to lose her for the second time. I had chosen to abandon my search and go to Caer Dathyl; then, after Gurgi found Hen Wen, I had hoped to accomplish both tasks. But I fear it must be one or the other."

"The question is," said Fflewddur, "is there any chance at all of warning the Sons of Don before the Horned King attacks? Doli is the only one who can answer that."

The dwarf scowled and thought for a few moments. "Possible," he said, "but we'll have to go into the valley. We'll be in the middle of the Horned King's vanguard if we do."

"Can we get through?" asked Taran.

"Won't know until you've tried," grunted Doli.

"The decision is yours," said the bard, glancing at Taran.

"We shall try," Taran answered.

For the rest of that day they traveled without a halt. At nightfall, Taran would have been glad to rest, but the dwarf warned against it. The companions pressed on in weary silence. They had escaped the attack Fflewddur expected, but a column of horsemen bearing torches passed within bowshot of them. The companions crouched in the fringe of trees until the streaks of flame wound behind a hill and vanished. In a short time, Doli led the little band into the valley, where they found concealment in the wooded groves. But the dawn revealed a sight that filled Taran with despair. The valley roiled with warrior wherever he turned his eyes. Black banners whipped against the sky. The host of the Horned King was like the body of an armed giant restlessly stirring.

For a moment, Taran stared in disbelief. He turned his face away. "Too late," he murmured. "Too late. We have failed.

Evil has won. Our party has not reached Caer Dathyl in time, despite everything they've tried.

quote:

WHILE THE DWARF surveyed the marching columns, Fflewddur strode forward. "There is one thing we can do," he cried. "Caer Dathyl lies straight ahead. Let us go on, and make our last stand there."

Taran nodded. "Yes. My place is at the side of Gwydion's people. Doli shall lead Gurgi and Eilonwy to safety." He took a deep breath and buckled his sword belt more tightly. "You have guided us well," he said quietly to the dwarf. "Return to your king with our gratitude. Your work is done."

The dwarf looked at him furiously. "Done !" he snorted. "Idiots and numbskulls! It's not that I care what happens to you, but don't think I'm going to watch you get hacked to pieces. I can't stand a botched job. Like it or not, I'm going with you." Before the words were out of his mouth, an arrow sang past Doli's head. Melyngar reared up. A party of foot soldiers sprang from the woods behind the companions.

"Begone!" the bard shouted to Taran. "Ride as fast as you can, or it will be death for all of us!"

When Taran hesitated, the bard seized him by the shoulders, pitched him toward the horse, and thrust Eilonwy after him. Fflewddur drew his sword.

"Do as I say!" shouted the bard, his eyes blazing.

Taran leaped to Melyngar's saddle and pulled Eilonwy up behind him. The white horse shot forward. Eilonwy clung to Taran's waist as the steed galloped straight across the bracken, toward the vanguard of the Horned King. Taran made no attempt to guide her; the horse had chosen her own path. Suddenly he was in the midst of the warriors. Melyngar reared and plunged. Taran's sword was out and he struck right and left. A hand clutched at the stirrups, then was ripped away. Taran saw the warrior stumble back and drown in the press of struggling men. The white horse broke free and streaked for the brow of the hill. One mounted figure galloped behind them now. In a terrified glance, Taran saw the sweeping antlers of the Horned King.

The black steed gained on them. Melyngar turned sharply and drove toward the forest. The Horned King turned with her, and as they crashed through the underbrush and past the first rows of trees, the antlered giant drew closer until both steeds galloped side by side. In a final burst of speed, the horse of the Horned King plunged ahead; the animal's flanks bore against Melyngar, who reared furiously and struck out with her hoofs. Taran and Eilonwy were flung from the saddle. The Horned King turned his mount, seeking to trample them. Taran scrambled to his feet and struck blindly with his sword. Then, gripping Eilonwy's arm, he pulled her deeper into the protection of the trees. The Horned King sprang heavily to the ground and was upon them in a few long strides.

Eilonwy screamed. Taran swung about to face the antlered man. Dark fears clutched Taran, as though the Lord of Annuvin himself had opened an abyss at his feet and he was hurtling downward. He gasped with pain, as though his old wound had opened once again. All the despair he had known as Achren's captive returned to sap his strength. Behind the bleached skull, the eyes of the Horned King flamed, as he raised a crimson stained arm. Blindly, Taran brought up his sword. It trembled in his hand. The Horned King's blade lashed against the weapon and shattered it with a single blow. Taran dropped the useless shards. The Horned King paused, a growl of savage joy rose in his throat, and he took a firmer grasp on his weapon. Mortal terror goaded Taran into action. He leaped back and spun toward Eilonwy.

"Dyrnwyn!" he cried. "Give me the sword!"

Before she could move, he tore belt and weapon from her shoulder. The Horned King saw the black scabbard and hesitated a moment, as if in fear. Taran grasped the hilt. The blade would not come free. He pulled with all his strength. The sword moved only a little from its sheath. The Horned King raised his own weapon. As Taran gave a final wrench, the scabbard turned in his hand. A blinding flash split the air in front of him. Lightning seared his arm and he was thrown violently to the ground. The sword Dyrnwyn, blazing white with flame, leaped from his hand, and fell beyond his reach. The Horned King stood over him. With a cry, Eilonwy sprang at the antlered man. Snarling, the giant tossed her aside.

A voice rang out behind the Horned King. Through eyes blurred with pain, Taran glimpsed a tall figure against the trees, and heard a shouted word he could not distinguish. The Horned King stood motionless, his arm upraised. Lightning played about his sword. The giant flamed like a burning tree. The stag horns turned to crimson streaks, the skull mask ran like molten iron. A roar of pain and rage rose from the Antlered King's throat. With a cry, Taran flung an arm across his face. The ground rumbled and seemed to open beneath him. Then there was nothing.

The...end?

----

Chapter 19: The Secret

quote:

SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the high window of a chamber pleasantly cool and fragrant. Taran blinked and tried to lift himself from the low, narrow couch. His head spun; his arm, swathed in white linen, throbbed painfully. Dry rushes covered the floor; the bright rays turned them yellow as wheat. Beside the couch, a white, sun-dappled shape stirred and rose up.

"Hwoinch!" Hen Wen, wheezing and chuckling, grinned all over her round face. With a joyful grunt, she began nuzzling Taran's cheek. His mouth opened, but he could not speak. A silvery laugh rang from a comer of the chamber.

"You should really see your expression. You look like a fish that's climbed into a bird's nest by mistake."

Eilonwy rose from the osier stool. "I was hoping you'd wake up soon. You can't imagine how boring it is to sit and watch somebody sleep. It's like counting stones in a wall."

"Where have they taken us? Is this Annuvin?" Eilonwy laughed again and shook her head.

"That's exactly the sort of question you might expect from an Assistant Pig-Keeper. Annuvin? Ugh! I wouldn't want to be there at all. Why must you always think of unpleasant things? I suppose it's because your wound probably did something to your head. You're looking a lot better now than you did, though you still have that greenish-white color, like a boiled leek."

"Stop chattering and tell me where we are!" Taran tried to roll from the couch, then sank back weakly and put a hand to his head.

"You aren't supposed to get up yet," Eilonwy cautioned, "but I imagine you've just discovered that for yourself." Wriggling and grunting loudly, the delighted Hen Wen had begun to climb onto the couch. Eilonwy snapped her fingers. "Stop that, Hen," she ordered, "you know he isn't to be disturbed or upset and especially not sat on." The girl turned again to Taran. "We're in Caer Dathyl," she said. "It's a lovely place. Much nicer than Spiral Castle."

Taran started up once more as memories flooded over him. "The Horned King!" he cried. "What happened? Where is he?"

"In a barrow, most likely, I should think."

"Is he dead?"

"Naturally," answered the girl. "You don't think he'd stand being put in a barrow if he weren't, do you? There wasn't a great deal left of him, but what there was got buried." Eilonwy shuddered. "I think he was the most terrifying person I've ever met, and that includes Achren. He gave me a dreadful tossing about--- just before he was goingto smite you." She rubbed her head. "For the matter of that, you pulled away my sword rather roughly. I told you and told you not to draw it. But you wouldn't listen. That's what burned your arm."

Taran noticed the black scabbard of Dyrnwyn no longer hung from Eilonwy's shoulder. "But then what..."

"It's lucky you went unconscious," Eilonwy continued. "You missed the worst of it. There was the earthquake, and the Horned King burning until he just, well, broke apart. It wasn't pleasant. The truth of the matter is, I'd rather not talk about it. It still gives me bad dreams, even when I'm not asleep."

Taran gritted his teeth. "Eilonwy," he said at last, "I want you to tell me very slowly and carefully what happened. If you don't, I'm going to be angry and you're going to be sorry."

"How--- can--- I--- tell--- you--- anything," Eilonwy said, deliberately pronouncing every word and making extravagant grimaces as she did so, "if--- you--- don't--- want--- me--- to--- talk?" She shrugged. "Well, in any case," she resumed, at her usual breathless rate, "as soon as the armies saw the Horned King was dead, they practically fell apart, too. Not the same way, naturally. With them, it was more sort of running away, like a herd of rabbits--- no, that isn't right, is it? But it was pitiful to see grown men so frightened. Of course,by that time the Sons of Don had their chance to attack. You should have seen the golden banners. And such handsome warriors." Eilonwy sighed. "It was--- it was like--- I don't even know what it was like."

"And Hen Wen..."

"She hasn't stirred from this chamber ever since they brought you here," said Eilonwy. "Neither have I," she added, with a glance at Taran. "She's a very intelligent pig," Eilonwy went on. "Oh, she does get frightened and loses her head once in a while, I suppose. And she can be very stubborn when she wants, which sometimes makes me wonder how much difference there is between pigs and the people who keep them. I'm not mentioning anyone in particular, you understand." The door opposite Taran's couch opened part way. Around it appeared the spiky yellow head and pointed nose of Fflewddur Fflam.

"So you're back with us," cried the bard. "Or, as you might say, we're back with you!" Gurgi and the dwarf, who had been standing behind the bard, now rushed in; despite Eilonwy's protests, they crowded around Taran. Fflewddur and Doli showed no sign of injury, but Gurgi's head was bound up and he moved with a limp.

"Yes! Yes!" he cried. "Gurgi fought for his friend with slashings and gashings! What smitings! Fierce warriors strike him about his poor tender head, but valiant Gurgi does not flee, oh, no!"

Taran smiled at him, deeply touched. "I'm sorry about your poor tender head," he said, putting a hand on Gurgi's shoulder, "and that a friend should be wounded for my sake."

"What joy! What clashings and smashings! Ferocious Gurgi fills wicked warriors with awful terror and outcries."

"It's true," said the bard. "He was the bravest of us all. Though my stumpy friend here can do surprising things with an axe."

Doli, for the first time, grinned. "Never thought any of you had any mettle to show," he said, attempting to be gruff. "Took you all for milksops at first. Deepest apologies," he added, with a bow.

"We held off the war band," Fflewddur said, "until we were sure you were well away. Some of them should have occasion to think unkindly of us for a while to come." The bard's face lit up. "There we were," he cried, "fighting like madmen, hopelessly outnumbered. But a Fflam never surrenders! I took on three at once. Slash! Thrust! Another seized me from behind, the wretched coward. But I flung him off. We disengaged them and made for Caer Dathyl, chopping and hacking all the way, beset on all sides..."

Taran expected Fflewddur's harp strings to sunder at any moment. To his surprise, they held firm. "And so," Fflewddur concluded with a carefree shrug, "that was our part. Rather easy, when you come down to it; I had no fear of things going badly, not for an instant." A string broke with a deep twang. Fflewddur bent down to Taran. "Terrified," he whispered. "Absolutely green."

Eilonwy seized the bard and thrust him toward the door. "Begone!" she cried, "all of you! You'll wear him out with your chatter." The girl shoved Gurgi and the dwarf after Fflewddur. "And stay out! No one's to come in until I say they can."

"Not even I?"

Taran started up at the familiar voice. Gwydion stood in the doorway. For a moment Taran did not recognize him. Instead of the stained cloak and coarse jacket, Gwydion wore the shining raiment of a prince. His rich mantle hung in deep folds. On a chain at his throat gleamed a sun-shaped disk of gold. His green eyes shone with new depth and power. Taran saw him now as he had always imagined him. Heedless of his wounded arm, Taran sprang from the couch. The tall figure strode toward him.

Gwydion's alive! And...Fflewddur's kind of a badass, it seems, even if he was a fearful one.

quote:

The authority of the warrior's bearing made Taran drop to one knee. "Lord Gwydion," he murmured.

"That is no greeting from a friend to a friend,"said Gwydion, gently raising Taran to his feet. "It gives me more pleasure to remember an Assistant Pig-Keeper who feared I would poison him in the forest near Caer Dallben."

"After Spiral Castle," Taran stammered, "I never thought to see you alive." He clasped Gwydion's hand and wept unashamedly.

"A little more alive than you are." Gwydion smiled. He helped Taran seat himself on the couch.

"But how did..." Taran began, as he noticed a black and battered weapon at Gwydion's side.

Gwydion saw the question on Taran's face. "A gift," he said, "a royal gift from a young lady."

"I girded it on him myself," Eilonwy interrupted. She turned to Gwydion. "I told him not to draw it, but he's impossibly stubborn."

"Fortunately you did not unsheath it entirely," Gwydion said to Taran. "I fear the flame of Dyrnwyn would have been too great even for an Assistant Pig-Keeper. It is a weapon of power, as Eilonwy recognized,'' Gwydion added. "So ancient that I believed it no more than a legend. There are still deep secrets concerning Dyrnwyn, unknown even to the wisest. Its loss destroyed Spiral Castle and was a severe blow to Arawn."With a single, firm gesture, Gwydion drew the blade and held it aloft. The weapon glittered blindingly. In fear and wonder, Taran shrank back,his wound throbbing anew. Gwydion quickly returned the blade to its scabbard.

"As soon as I saw Lord Gwydion," Eilonwy put in, with an admiring glance at him, "I knew he was the one who should keep the sword. I must say I'm glad to have done with the clumsy thing."

"Do stop interrupting," Taran cried. "Let me find out what happened to my friend before you start babbling."

"I shall not weary you with a long tale," Gwydion said. "You already know Arawn's threat has been turned aside. He may strike again, how or when no man can guess. But for the moment there is little to fear."

"What of Achren?" Taran asked. "And Spiral Castle..."

"I was not in Spiral Castle when it crumbled," Gwydion said. "Achren took me from my cell and bound me to a horse. With the Cauldron-Born, we rode to the castle of Oeth-Anoeth."

"Oeth-Anoeth?" questioned Taran.

"It is a stronghold of Annuvin," Gwydion said, "not far from Spiral Castle, raised when Arawn held wider sway over Prydain. A place of death, its walls are filled with human bones. I could foresee the torments Achren had planned for me. Yet, before she thrust me into its dungeons, she gripped my arm.

'Why do you choose death, Lord Gwydion?' she cried, 'when I can offer you eternal life and power beyond the grasp of mortal minds? I ruled Prydain long before Arawn,' Achren told me, 'and it was I who made him king over Annuvin. It was I who gave him power--- though he used it to betray me. But now, if you desire it, you shall take your place on the high throne of Arawn himself and rule in his stead.'

'Gladly will I overthrow Arawn,' I answered. 'And I will use those powers to destroy you along with him.'"

"Raging, she cast me into the lowest dungeon," Gwydion said. "I have never been closer to my death than in Oeth Anoeth. How long I lay there, I cannot be sure," Gwydion continued. "In Oeth-Anoeth, time is not as you know it here. It is better that I do not speak of the torments Achren had devised. The worst were not of the body but of the spirit, and of these the most painful was despair. Yet, even in my deepest anguish, I clung to hope. For there is this about Oeth-Anoeth: if a man withstand it, even death will give up its secrets to him."

"I withstood it," Gwydion said quietly, "and at the end much was revealed to me which before had been clouded. Of this, too, I shall not speak. It is enough for you to know that I understood the workings of life and death, of laughter and tears, endings and beginnings. I saw the truth of the world, and knew no chains could hold me. My bonds were light as dreams. At that moment, the walls of my prison melted."

"What became of Achren?" Eilonwy asked.

"I do not know," Gwydion said. "I did not see her thereafter. For some days I lay concealed in the forest, to heal the injuries of my body. Spiral Castle was in ruins when I returned to seek you; and there I mourned your death."

"As we mourned yours," Taran said.

"I set out for Caer Dathyl again," Gwydion continued. "For a time I followed the same path Fflewddur chose for you, though I did not cross the valley until much later. By then, I had outdistanced you a little. That day, a gwythaint plunged from the sky and flew directly toward me. To my surprise, it neither attacked nor sped away after it had seen me, but fluttered before me, crying strangely. The gwythaint's language is no longer secret to me--- nor is the speech of any living creature--- and I understood a band of travelers was journeying from the hills nearby and a white pig accompanied them. I hastened to retrace my steps. By then, Hen Wen sensed I was close at hand. When she ran from you," Gwydion said to Taran, "she ran not in terror but to find me. What I learned from her was more important than I suspected, and I understood why Arawn's champion sought her desperately. He, too, realized she knew the one thing that could destroy him."

"What was that?" Taran asked urgently.

"She knew the Horned King's secret name."

"His name?" Taran cried in astonishment. "I never realized a name could be so powerful."

"Yes," Gwydion answered. "Once you have courage to look upon evil, seeing it for what it is and naming it by its true name, it is powerless against you, and you can destroy it. Yet, with all my understanding,'' he said, reaching down and scratching the white pig's ear, "I could not have discovered the Horned King's name without Hen Wen. Hen Wen told me this secret in the forest. I had no need of letter sticks or tomes of enchantment, for we could speak as one heart and mind to another. The gwythaint, circling overhead, led me to the Horned King. The rest you know."

"Where is the gwythaint now?" asked Taran.

Gwydion shook his head. "I do not know. But I doubt she will ever return to Annuvin, for Arawn would rend her to pieces once he learned what she had done. I only know she has repaid your kindness in the fullest measure.

"Rest now," Gwydion said. "Later, we shall speak of happier things."

"Lord Gwydion," Eilonwy called, as he rose tol eave, "what was the Horned King's secret name?"

Gwydion's lined face broke into a smile. "It must remain a secret," he said, then patted the girl gently on the cheek. "But I assure you, it was not half as pretty as your own."

Gwydion's explanation of his time in Oeth-Anoeth reminds me a bit of Gandalf's explanation of his return as The White. "Darkness took me. And I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and everyday was as long as a life-age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done." And, in a similar way, where we thought Gwydion had perished, he has now returned to the heroes, stronger than before, to save them in a crucial moment. With a little help from some animal friends. Hen-Wen is no Shadowfax, but she's much more personable.

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A FEW DAYS AFTERWARDS, when Taran had regained strength enough to walk unaided, Gwydion accompanied him through Caer Dathyl. Standing high on a hill, the fortress alone was big enough to hold several Caer Dallbens. Taran saw armorers' shops, stables for the steeds of warrior, breweries, weaving rooms. Cottages clustered in the valleys below, and clear streams ran golden in the sunlight. Later, Gwydion summoned all the companions to the great hall of Caer Dathyl, and there, amid banners and hedges of spears, they received the gratitude of King Math Son of Mathonwy, ruler of the House of Don. The white-bearded monarch, who looked as old as Dallben and as testy, was even more talkative than Eilonwy. But when at last he had finished one of the longest speeches Taran had ever heard, the companions bowed, and a guard of honor bore King Math from the hall on a litter draped with cloth of gold. As Taran and his friends were about to take their leave, Gwydion called to them.

"These are small gifts for great valor," he said. "But it is in my power to bestow them, which I do with a glad heart, and with hope that you will treasure them not so much for their value as for the sake of remembrance."

"To Fflewddur Fflam shall be given one harp string. Though all his others break, this shall forever hold, regardless of how many gallant extravagances he may put on it. And its tone shall be the truest and most beautiful."

"To Doli of the Fair Folk shall be granted the power of invisibility, so long as he choose to retain it."

"To faithful and valiant Gurgi shall be given a wallet of food which shall be always full. Guard it well; it is one of the treasures of Prydain."

"To Eilonwy of the House of Llyr shall be given a ring of gold set with a gem carved by the ancient craftsmen of the Fair Folk. It is precious; but to me, her friendship is even more precious."

"And to Taran of Caer Dallben..." Here, Gwydion paused. "The choice of his reward has been the most difficult of all."

"I ask no reward," Taran said. "I want no friend to repay me for what I did willingly, out of friendship and for my own honor."

Gwydion smiled. "Taran of Caer Dallben," he said, "you are still as touchy and headstrong as ever. Believe that I know what you yearn for in your heart. The dreams of heroism, of worth, of achievement are noble ones; but you, not I, must make them come true. Ask me whatever else, and I shall grant it."

Taran bowed his head. "In spite of all that has befallen me, I have come to love the valleys and mountains of your northern lands. But my thoughts have turned more and more to Caer Dallben. I long to be home."

Gwydion nodded. "So it shall be."

Rewards are given. The quest is done. Time to go home.

----

Chapter 20: Welcomes

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THE JOURNEY TO CAER DALLBEN was swift and unhindered, for the lords of the southern cantrevs, their power broken, had slunk back each to his own tribe throne. Taran and his companions, with Gwydion himself leading, rode south through the valley of Ystrad. Eilonwy, who had heard so much of Taran's talk of Coll and Dallben, would not be denied a visit, and she, too, rode with them. Gwydion had given each of the companions a handsome steed; to Taran he had given the finest: the gray, silver-maned stallion, Melynlas, of the lineage of Melyngar and as swift. Hen Wen rode triumphantly on a horse-litter, looking intensely pleased with herself.

Caer Dallben had never seen so joyous a welcome--- though by this time Taran was not positive about what Dallben had or had not seen--- with such feasting that even Gurgi had his fill for once. Coll embraced Taran, who was amazed that such a hero would deign to remember an Assistant Pig-Keeper, as well as Eilonwy, Hen Wen, and anyone else he could get his hands on; his face beamed like a winter fire and his bald crown glowed with delight. Dallben interrupted his meditations to be present at the feast; though soon after the festivities, he withdrew to his chamber and was not seen for some time. Later, he and Gwydion spent several hours alone, for there were important matters Gwydion would reveal only to the old enchanter. Gurgi, making himself completely at home, snored under a pile of hay in the barn. While Fflewddur and Doli went off exploring, Taran showed Eilonwy Hen Wen's enclosure, where the pig chuckled and grunted as happily as before.

"So this is where it all began," Eilonwy said. "I don't want to sound critical, but I don't think you should have had all that trouble keeping her in. Caer Dallben is as lovely as you said, and you should be glad to be home," she went on. "It's like suddenly remembering where you put something you've been looking for."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Taran said, leaning on the railing and examining it closely.

"What will you do now?" asked Eilonwy. "I expect you'll go back to Assistant Pig-Keeping."

Without looking up, Taran nodded. "Eilonwy," he said, with hesitation, "I was hoping--- I mean, I was wondering..." Before he could finish, Coll came hurrying up and whispered that Dallben would like to see him privately. "Eilonwy---" Taran began again, then stopped abruptly and strode off to the cottage. When he entered the chamber, Dallben was writing with a great quill in The Book of Three. As soon as he saw Taran, he shut the volume quickly and put it aside.

"Well, now," Dallben said, "I should like the two of us to speak quietly to each other. First, I am interested to learn what you think of being a hero. I daresay you feel rather proud of yourself. Although," he added, "I do not gain that impression from your face."

"I have no just cause for pride," Taran said, taking his usual place on the familiar bench. "It was Gwydion who destroyed the Horned King, and Hen Wen helped him do it. But Gurgi, not I, found her. Doli and Fflewddur fought gloriously while I was wounded by a sword I had no right to draw. And Eilonwy was the one who took the sword from the barrow in the first place. As for me, what I mostly did was make mistakes."

"My, my," said Dallben, "those are complaints enough to dampen the merriest feast. Though what you say may be true, you have cause for a certain pride nevertheless. It was you who held the companions together and led them. You did what you set out to do, and Hen Wen is safely back with us. If you made mistakes, you recognize them. As I told you, there are times when the seeking counts more than the finding. Does it truly matter," Dallben went on, "which of you did what, since all shared the same goal and the same danger? Nothing we do is ever done entirely alone. There is a part of us in everyone else--- you, of all people, should know that. From what I hear, you have been as impetuous as your friend Fflewddur; I have been told, among other things, of a night when you dove head first into a thornbush. And you have certainly felt as sorry for yourself as Gurgi; and, like Doli, striven for the impossible."

"Yes," admitted Taran, "but that is not all that troubles me. I have dreamed often of Caer Dallben and I love it--- and you and Coll--- more than ever. I asked for nothing better than to be at home, and my heart rejoices. Yet it is a curious feeling. I have returned to the chamber I slept in and found it smaller than I remember. The fields are beautiful, yet not quite as I recalled them. And I am troubled, for I wonder now if I am to be a stranger in my own home."

Dallben shook his head. "No, that you shall never be. But it is not Caer Dallben which has grown smaller. You have grown bigger. That is the way of it."

"And there is Eilonwy," Taran said. "What will become of her? Is it--- is it possible you would let her stay with us?"

Dallben pursed his lips and toyed with the pages of The Book of Three. "By all rights," he said, "the Princess Eilonwy should be returned to her kinsmen--- yes, she is a princess. Did she not tell you? But there is no hurry about that. She might consent to stay. Perhaps if you spoke to her."

Taran sprang to his feet. "I shall!" He hurried from the chamber and ran to Hen Wen's enclosure. Eilonwy was still there, watching the oracular pig with interest.

"You're to stay!" Taran cried. "I've asked Dallben!"

Eilonwy tossed her head. "I suppose," she said, "it never occurred to you to ask me."

"Yes--- but I mean..." he stammered, "I didn't think..."

"You usually don't," Eilonwy sighed. "No matter. Coll is straightening up a place for me."

"Already?" cried Taran. "How did he know? How did you know?"

"Humph!" said Eilonwy.

"Hwoinch!" said Hen Wen.

"Hwoinch", indeed. Thus we come to the end of the first book of the Chronicles, the Book of Three! Nobody died (despite Taran's repeated attempts at self-sacrifice), adventure was had, and Taran has learned that being a hero is perhaps rather nothing at all like it is in the tales as he imagined; but he has learned a thing or two besides that, too; that no hero stands alone, and that good people working together can triumph anywhere.

Next Wednesday, we'll move on to chapter one of book 2: The Black Cauldron.

# ¿ Jun 18, 2023 20:08

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

BOOK 2 - The Black Cauldron

The second book of five in the series, The Black Cauldron was first published in 1965 and received a Newbery Honor in 1966 for being the runner-up to the year's "most distinguished contribution to American literature for children". Readers may perhaps recognize the title as that of the Disney movie - parts of the book were mashed together with the Book of Three. And while the Book of Three already had some dark tidings, they were mostly distant for our Assistant Pig-Keeper. In the Black Cauldron, the darkness will be quite a bit more personal, as we shall soon see; Alexander touches on this in the Author's Note, as well.

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If a darker thread runs through the high spirits, it is because the happenings are of serious import not only to the Land of Prydain but to Taran, the Assistant Pig-Keeper, himself. Although an imaginary world, Prydain is essentially not too different from our real one, where humor and heartbreak, joy and sadness are closely interwoven. The choices and decisions that face a frequently baffled Assistant Pig-Keeper are no easier than the ones we ourselves must make. Even in a fantasy realm, growing up is accomplished not without cost.

So without further ado, let's get on with it!

Chapter 1: The Council at Caer Dallben

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AUTUMN HAD COME too swiftly. In the northernmost realms of Prydain many trees were already leafless, and among the branches clung the ragged shapes of empty nests. To the south, across the river Great Avren, the hills shielded Caer Dallben from the winds, but even here the little farm was drawing in on itself. For Taran, the summer was ending before it had begun. That morning Dallben had given him the task of washing the oracular pig. Had the old enchanter ordered him to capture a full-grown gwythaint, Taran would gladly have set out after one of the vicious winged creatures. As it was, he filled the bucket at the well and trudged reluctantly to Hen Wen's enclosure. The white pig, usually eager for a bath, now squealed nervously and rolled on her back in the mud. Busy struggling to raise Hen Wen to her feet, Taran did not notice the horseman until he had reined up at the pen.

"You, there! Pig-boy!" The rider looking down at him was a youth only a few years older than Taran. His hair was tawny, his eyes black and deep-set in a pale, arrogant face. Though of excellent quality, his garments had seen much wear, and his cloak was purposely draped to hide his threadbare attire. The cloak itself, Taran saw, had been neatly and painstakingly mended. He sat astride a roan mare, a lean and nervous steed speckled red and yellow, with a long, narrow head, whose expression was as ill-tempered as her master's. "You, pig-boy," he repeated, "is this Caer Dallben?" The horseman's tone and bearing nettled Taran, but he curbed his temper and bowed courteously.

"It is," he replied. "But I am not a pig-boy," he added. "I am Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper."

"A pig is a pig," said the stranger, "and a pig-boy is a pig-boy. Run and tell your master I am here," he ordered. "Tell him that Prince Ellidyr Son of Pen-Llarcau..." Hen Wen seized this opportunity to roll into another puddle.

"Stop that, Hen!" Taran cried, hurrying after her.

"Leave off with that sow," Ellidyr commanded. "Did you not hear me? Do as I say, and be quick about it."

"Tell Dallben yourself!" Taran called over his shoulder, trying to keep Hen Wen from the mud. "Or wait until I've done with my own work!"

"Mind your impudence," Ellidyr answered, "or you shall have a good beating for it." Taran flushed. Leaving Hen Wen to do as she pleased, he strode quickly to the railing and climbed over.

"If I do," he answered hotly, throwing back his head and looking Ellidyr full in the face, "it will not be at your hands."

Ellidyr gave a scornful laugh. Before Taran could spring aside, the roan plunged forward. Ellidyr, leaning from the saddle, seized Taran by the front of the jacket. Taran flailed his arms and legs vainly. Strong as he was, he could not break free. He was pummeled and shaken until his teeth rattled. Ellidyr then urged the roan into a gallop, hauled Taran across the turf to the cottage, and there, while chickens scattered in every direction, tossed him roughly to the ground. The commotion brought Dallben and Coll outdoors. The Princess Eilonwy hurried from the scullery, her apron flying and a cookpot still in her hand. With a cry of alarm she ran to Taran's side. Ellidyr, without troubling to dismount, called to the white bearded enchanter. "Are you Dallben? I have brought your pig-boy to be thrashed for his insolence."

"Tut!" said Dallben, unperturbed by Ellidyr's furious expression. "Whether he is insolent is one thing, and whether he should be thrashed is another. In either case, I need no suggestions from you."

"I am a Prince of Pen-Llarcau!" cried Ellidyr.

"Yes, yes, yes," Dallben interrupted with a wave of his brittle hand. "I am quite aware of all that and too busy to be concerned with it. Go, water your horse and your temper at the same time. You shall be called when you are wanted." Ellidyr was about to reply, but the enchanter's stern glance made him hold his tongue. He turned the roan and urged her toward the stable. Princess Eilonwy and the stout, baldheaded Coll, meantime, had been helping Taran pick himself up.

"You should know better, my boy, than to quarrel with strangers," said Coll goodnaturedly.

"That's true enough," Eilonwy added. "Especially if they're on horseback and you're on foot."

"Next time I meet him," Taran began.

"When you meet again," said Dallben, "you, at least, shall conduct yourself with as much restraint and dignity as possible--- which, I allow, may not be very great, but you shall have to make do with it. Be off,now. The Princess Eilonwy can help you to be a little more presentable than you are at the moment." In the lowest of spirits, Taran followed the golden-haired girl to the scullery. He still smarted, more from Ellidyr's words than from the drubbing; and he was hardly pleased that Eilonwy had seen him sprawled at the feet of the arrogant Prince.

"However did it happen?" Eilonwy asked, picking up a damp cloth and applying it to Taran's face. Taran did not answer, but glumly submitted to her care. Before Eilonwy had finished, a hairy figure, covered with leaves and twigs, popped up at the window, and with great agility clambered over the sill.

"Woe and sadness!" the creature wailed, loping anxiously to Taran. "Gurgi sees smackings and whackings by strengthful lord! Poor, kindly master! Gurgi is sorry for him. "But there is news!" Gurgi hurried on. "Good news! Gurgi also sees mightiest of princes riding! Yes, yes, with great gallopings on white horse with black sword, what joy!"

"What's that?" cried Taran. "Do you mean Prince Gwydion? It can't be ..."

"It is," said a voice behind him. Gwydion stood in the doorway. With a shout of amazement, Taran ran forward and clasped his hand. Eilonwy threw her arms about the tall warrior, while Gurgi joyfully pounded the floor. The last time Taran had seen him, Gwydion wore the raiment of a prince of the royal House of Don. Now he was dressed simply in a hooded cloak of gray and a coarse, unadorned jacket. The black sword, Dyrnwyn, hung at his side. "Well met, all of you," said Gwydion. "Gurgi looks as hungry as ever, Eilonwy prettier than ever. And you, Assistant Pig-Keeper," he added, his lined and weathered face breaking into a smile, "a little the worse for wear. Dallben has mentioned how you came by those bruises."

"I sought no quarrel," Taran declared.

"But one found you, nonetheless," Gwydion said. "I think that must be the way of it with you, Taran of Caer Dallben. No matter," he said, stepping back and studying Taran closely through green-flecked eyes. "Let me look at you. You have grown since last we met." Gwydion nodded his shaggy, wolf-gray head in approval. "I hope you have gained as much wisdom as height. We shall see. Now I must make ready for the council."

"Council?" Taran cried. "Dallben said nothing of a council. He did not even say you were coming here.""The truth is," Eilonwy put in, "Dallben hasn't been saying much of anything to anybody."

"You should understand by now," said Gwydion, "that of what he knows, Dallben tells little. Yes, there is to be a council, and I have summoned others to meet us here."

"I am old enough to sit in a council of men," Taran interrupted excitedly. "I have learned much; I have fought at your side, I have ..."

"Gently, gently," Gwydion said. "We have agreed you shall have a place. Though manhood," he added softly, with a trace of sadness, "may not be all that you believe." Gwydion put his hands on Taran's shoulders. "Meanwhile, stand ready. Your task will be given soon enough."

Our first introduction to Ellidyr, Prince of Pen-Llarcau, is none too gentle. He's kind of a jerk, really. But hey, Gwydion's here! The gang's getting back together!

quote:

AS GWYDION HAD foretold, the rest of the morning brought many new arrivals. A company of horsemen soon appeared and began to make camp in the stubble field beyond the orchard. The warriors, Taran saw, were armed for battle. His heart leaped. Surely this, too, had to do with Gwydion's council. His head spun with questions and he hurried toward the field. He had not gone halfway when he stopped short in great surprise. Two familiar figures were riding upthe pathway. Taran raced to meet them.

"Fflewddur!" he called, while the bard, his beautiful harp slung over his shoulder, raised a hand in greeting. "And Doli! Is that really you?" The crimson-haired dwarf swung down from his pony. He grinned broadly for an instant, then assumed his customary scowl. He did not, however, conceal the glint of pleasure in his round, red eyes. "Doli!" Taran clapped the dwarf on the back. "I never thought I'd see you again. That is, really see you. Not after you gained the power to be invisible."

"Humph!" snorted the leather-jacketed dwarf. "Invisible! I've had all I want of that. Do you realize the effort it takes? Terrible! It makes my ears ring. And that's not the worst of it. Nobody can see you, so you get your toes stepped on, or an elbow jabbed in your eye. No, no, not for me. I can't stand it any more!"

"And you, Fflewddur," Taran cried, as the bard dismounted, "I've missed you. Do you know what the council is about? That's why you're here, isn't it? And Doli, too?"

"I know nothing about councils," muttered Doli. "King Eiddileg commanded me to come here. A special favor to Gwydion. But I can tell you right now I'd rather be back home in the realm of the Fair Folk,minding my own business."

"In my case," said the bard, "Gwydion happened to be passing through my kingdom--- purely by chance, it seemed--- though now I'm beginning to think it wasn't. He suggested I might enjoy stopping down at Caer Dallben. He said good old Doli was going to be there, so of course I set out immediately. I'd given up being a bard," Fflewddur continued, "and had settled quite happily as a king again. Really, it was only to oblige Gwydion." At this, two strings of his harp snapped with a resounding twang. Fflewddur stopped immediately and cleared his throat. "Yes, well," he added, "the truth of it is: I was perfectly miserable. I'd have taken any excuse to get out of that damp, dismal castle for a while. A council, you say? I was hoping it might be a harvest festival and I'd be needed to provide the entertainment."

"Whatever it is," Taran said, "I'm glad you're both here."

"I'm not," grumbled the dwarf. "When they start talking about good old Doli this, and good old Doli that, watch out! It's for something disagreeable."

As they made their way to the cottage, Fflewddur looked around with interest. "Well, well, do I see King Smoit's banner overthere? He's here at Gwydion's request, too, I've no doubt."

Just then a horseman cantered up and called to Fflewddur by name. The bard gave a cry of pleasure. "That's Adaon, son of the Chief Bard Taliesin," he told Taran. "Caer Dallben is indeed honored today!" The rider dismounted and Fflewddur hastened to present his companions to him. Adaon, Taran saw, was tall, with straight black hair that fell to his shoulders. Though of noble bearing, he wore the garb of an ordinary warrior, with no ornament save a curiously shaped iron brooch at his collar. His eyes were gray, strangely deep, clear as a flame, and Taran sensed that little was hidden from Adaon's thoughtful and searching glance.

"Well met, Taran of Caer Dallben and Doli of the Fair Folk," said Adaon, clasping their hands in turn. "Your names are not unknown among the bards of the north."

"Then you, too, are a bard?" asked Taran, bowing with great respect.

Adaon smiled and shook his head. "Many times my father has asked me to present myself for initiation, but I choose to wait. There is still much I hope to learn, and in my own heart I do not feel myself ready. One day, perhaps, I shall be." Adaon turned to Fflewddur. "My father sends greetings and asks how you fare with the harp he gave you. I can see it wants repair," he added, with a friendly laugh.

"Yes," admitted Fflewddur, "I do have trouble with it now and again. I can't help, ah, adding a little color to the facts--- most facts need it so badly. But every time I do," he sighed, looking at the two broken strings, "this is the result."

"Be of good cheer," said Adaon, laughing wholeheartedly. "Your gallant tales are worth all the harp strings in Prydain. And you, Taran and Doli, must promise to tell me more of your famous deeds. But first, I must find Lord Gwydion." Taking leave of the companions, Adaon mounted and rode on ahead.

Fflewddur looked after him with affection and admiration. "It can be no small matter if Adaon is here," he said. "He is one of the bravest men I know. That and more, for he has the heart of a true bard. Someday he will surely be our greatest, you can mark my words."

"And our names are indeed known to him?" Taran asked. "And there have been songs about us?"

Fflewddur beamed. "After our battle with the Horned King yes, I did compose a little something. A modest offering. But it's gratifying to know it has spread. As soon as Ifix these wretched strings I'll be delighted to let you hear it."

Adaon is the son of Taliesin, the 'chief bard' in Prydain. And while Adaon himself may not have a counterpart, the name Taliesin is very much known in the context of Welsh folklore; it is thanks to The Book of Taliesin that some of the oldest poems in Welsh have survived to this day. And Doli, as usual, is none too pleased to be around - not even with his powers of invisibility.

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SOON AFTER MIDDAY, when all had refreshed themselves, Coll summoned them to Dallben's chamber. There, a long table had been placed, with seats on either side. Taran noticed the enchanter had even made some attempt at straightening up the disorder of ancient volumes crowding the room. The Book of Three, the heavy tome filled with Dallben's deepest secrets, had been set carefully at the top of a shelf. Taran glanced up at it, almost fearfully, sure that it held far more than Dallben ever chose to reveal.

The rest of the company had begun to enter when Fflewddur took Taran's arm and drew him aside as a dark bearded warrior swept by.

"One thing you can be sure of," the bard said under his breath, "Gwydion isn't planning a harvest festival. Do you see who's here?"

The dark warrior was more richly attired than any of the company. His high-bridged nose was falcon-like, his eyes heavy-lidded but keen. Only to Gwydion did he bow; then, taking a seat at the table, he cast a cool glance of appraisal on those around him.

"Who is he?" whispered Taran, not daring to stare at this proud and regal figure.

"King Morgant of Madoc," answered the bard, "the boldest war leader in Prydain, second only to Gwydion himself. He owes allegiance to the House of Don." He shook his head in admiration. "They say he once saved Gwydion's life. I believe it. I've seen that fellow in battle. All ice! Absolutely fearless! If Morgant's to have a hand in this, something interesting must be stirring. Oh, listen. It's King Smoit. You can always hear him before you can see him." A bellow of laughter resounded beyond the chamber, and in another moment a giant, red-headed warrior rolled in at the side of Adaon. He towered above all in the chamber and his beard flamed around a face so scarred with old wounds it was impossible to tell where one began and another ended. His nose had been battered to his cheekbones; his heavy forehead was nearly lost in a fierce tangle of eyebrows; and his neck seemed as thick as Taran's waist.

"What a bear!" said Fflewddur with an affectionate chuckle. "But there's not a grain of harm in him. When the lords of the southern cantrevs rose against the Sons of Don, Smoit was one of the few who stayed loyal. His kingdom is Cantrev Cadiffor." Smoit stopped in the middle of the chamber, threw back his cloak, and hooked his thumbs into the enormous bronze belt which strained to bursting about his middle.

"Hullo, Morgant!" he roared. "So they've called you in, have they?" He sniffed ferociously. "I smell blood-letting in the wind!" He strode up to the stern war leader and fetched him a heavy clout on the shoulder.

"Have a care," said Morgant, with a lean smile that showed only the tips of his teeth, "that it will not be yours."

"Ho! Oho!" King Smoit bellowed and slapped his massive thighs. "Very good! Have a care it will not be mine! Never fear, you icicle! I have enough to spare!" He caught sight of Fflewddur. "And another old comrade!" he roared, hurrying to the bard and flinging his arms about him with such enthusiasm that Taran heard Fflewddur's ribs creak. "My pulse!" cried Smoit. "My body and bones! Give us a tune to make us merry, you butter-headed harp-scraper!" His eye fell on Taran. "What's this, what's this?" He seized Taran with a mighty, red-furred hand. "A skinned rabbit? A plucked chicken?"

"He is Taran, Dallben's Assistant PigKeeper," said the bard.

"I wish he were Dallben's cook!" cried Smoit. "I've hardly lined my belly!" Dallben began to rap for silence. Smoit strode to his place after giving Fflewddur another hug.

"There may not be any harm in him," said Taran to the bard, "but I think it's safer to have him for a friend."

All the company now gathered at the table, with Dallben and Gwydion at one end, Coll at the other. King Smoit, overflowing his chair, sat on the enchanter's left across from King Morgant. Taran squeezed in between the bard and Doli, who grumbled bitterly about the table being too high. To the right of Morgant sat Adaon, and beside him Ellidyr, whom Taran had not seen since morning. Dallben rose and stood quietly a moment. All turned toward him. The enchanter pulled on a wisp of beard.

"I am much too old to be polite," Dallben said, "and I have no intention of making a speech of welcome. Our business here is urgent and we shall get down to it immediately. Little more than a year ago, as some of you have good cause to remember," Dallben went on, glancing at Taran and his companions, "Arawn, Lord of Annuvin suffered grave defeat when the Horned King, his champion, was slain. For a time the power of the Land of Death was checked. But in Prydain evil is never distant. None of us is foolish enough to believe Arawn would accept a defeat without challenge," Dallben continued. "I had hoped for a little more time to ponder the new threat of Annuvin. Time, alas, will not be granted. Arawn's plans have become all too clear. Of them, I ask Lord Gwydion to speak."

Gwydion rose in turn. His face was grave. "Who has not heard of the Cauldron-Born, the mute and deathless warriors who serve the Lord of Annuvin? These are the stolen bodies of the slain, steeped in Arawn's cauldron to give them life again. They emerge implacable as death itself, their humanity forgotten. Indeed, they are no longer men but weapons of murder, in thrall to Arawn forever. In this loathsome work," Gwydion went on, "Arawn has sought to despoil the graves and barrows of fallen warriors. Now, throughout Prydain, there have been strange disappearances, men suddenly vanishing to be seen no more; and Cauldron-Born appear where none has ever before been sighted. Arawn has not been idle. As I have now learned, his servants dare to strike down the living and bear them to Annuvin to swell the ranks of his deathless host. Thus, death begets death; evil begets evil." Taran shuddered. Outdoors the forest burned crimson and yellow. The air was gentle as though a summer day had lingered beyond its season, but Gwydion's words chilled him like a sudden cold wind. Too well he remembered the lifeless eyes and livid faces of the Cauldron-Born, their ghastly silence and ruthless swords.

"To the meat of it!" cried Smoit. "Are we rabbits? Are we to fear these Cauldron slaves?"

"There will be meat enough for you to chew on," answered Gwydion with a grim smile. "I tell you now, none of us has ever set on a more perilous task. I ask your help, for I mean to attack Annuvin itself to seize Arawn's cauldron and destroy it."

Lots of new faces in this introduction; and Gwydion reveals to us the purpose of the book; to destroy the Black Cauldron. Exciting!

# ¿ Jun 22, 2023 05:34

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

Chapter 2: The Naming of the Tasks

quote:

TARAN STARTED from his chair. The chamber was utterly silent. King Smoit, about to say something, remained openmouthed. Only King Morgant showed no sign of amazement; he sat motionless, eyeshooded, a curious expression on his face.

"There is no other way," said Gwydion. "While the Cauldron-Born cannot be slain, we must prevent their number from growing. Between the power of Annuvin and our own strength the balance is too fine. As he gathers fresh warriors to him, Arawn reaches his hands closer to our throats. Nor do I forget the living, foully murdered and doomed to bondage even more foul. Until this day," Gwydion continued, "only the High King Math and a few others have known what has been in my mind. Now that you have all heard, you are free to go or stay, as it pleases you. Should you choose to return to your cantrevs, I will not deem your courage less."

"But I will!" shouted Smoit. "Any wheyblooded pudding-guts who fears to stand with you will have me to deal with!"

"Smoit, my friend," replied Gwydion firmly but with affection, "this is a choice to be made without persuasion from you." No one stirred. Gwydion looked around and then nodded with satisfaction. "You do not disappoint me," he said. "I had counted on each of you for tasks which will be clear later." Taran's excitement crowded out his fear of the Cauldron-Born. It was all he could do to swallow his impatience and not ask Gwydion, then and there, what his task would be. For once, he wisely held his tongue. Instead, it was Fflewddur who leaped to his feet.

"Of course!" cried the bard. "I saw the whole thing immediately! You'll need warriors, naturally, to fetch out that disgusting cauldron. But you'll need a bard to compose the heroic chants of victory. I accept! Delighted!"

"I chose you," Gwydion said, not unkindly, "more for your sword than for your harp."

"How's that?" asked Fflewddur. His brow wrinkled in disappointment. "Oh, I see," he added, brightening. "Yes, well, I don't deny a certain reputation along those lines. A Fflam is always valiant! I've slashed my way through thousands"--- he glanced uneasily at the harp--- "well, ah, shall we say numerous enemies."

"I hope you will all be as eager to accomplish your tasks once they are set out," said Gwydion, drawing a sheet of parchment from his jacket and spreading it on the table. We meet at Caer Dallben not only for safety," he went on. "Dallben is the most powerful enchanter in Prydain, and here we are under his protection. Caer Dallben is the one place Arawn dares not attack, but it is also the most suitable to begin our journey to Annuvin." With a finger he traced a direction northwest from the little farm. "Great Avren is shallow at this season," he said, "and may be crossed without difficulty. Once across, it is an easy progress through Cantrev Cadiffor, realm of King Smoit, to the Forest of Idris lying south of Annuvin. From there, we can go quickly to Dark Gate." Taran caught his breath. Like all the company, he had heard of Dark Gate, the twin mountains guarding the southern approach to the Land of Death. Though not as mighty as Mount Dragon at the north of Annuvin, Dark Gate was treacherous, with its sharp crags and hidden drops. "It is a difficult passage," Gwydion continued, "but the least guarded, as Coll Son of Collfrewr will tell you."

Coll rose to his feet. The old warrior, with his shining bald head and huge hands, looked as if he would prefer battle to discoursing in council. Nevertheless, he grinned broadly at the company and began to speak. "We are going, as you might say, through Arawn's back door. The cauldron stands on a platform in the Hall of Warriors, which is just beyond Dark Gate, as I well remember. The entrance to the Hall is guarded, but there is a rear portal, heavily bolted. One man might open it to others if, like Doli, he could move unseen."

"I told you I wouldn't like it," Doli muttered to Taran. "This business of turning invisible! Gift? A curse! Look where it leads. Humph!" The dwarf snorted irritably but made no further protest.

"It is a bold plan," Gwydion said, "but with bold companions it can succeed. At Dark Gate, we shall divide into three bands. The first shall number Doli of the Fair Folk, Coll Son of Collfrewr, Fflewddur Fflam Son of Godo, and myself. With us will be six of King Morgant's strongest and most valiant warriors. Doli, invisible, will enter first to raw the bolts and to tell us how Arawn's guards are posted. Then we shall breach the portal and seize the cauldron. At the same time, on my signal, the second band of King Morgant and his horsemen will attack Dark Gate, seemingly in great strength, to sow confusion and to draw away as many of Arawn's forces as possible."

King Morgant nodded and for the first time spoke. His voice, though ice-edged, was measured and courteous. "I rejoice that we at last decide to strike directly against Arawn. I myself would have undertaken to do so long before this, but I was bound to await the command of Lord Gwydion. But now I say this," continued Morgant. "While your plan is sound, the path you choose is not suitable for quick retreat should Arawn pursue you."

"There is no shorter way to Caer Dallben," Gwydion answered, "and here is where the cauldron must be brought. We must accept the risk. However, if we are too sharply pressed, we shall take refuge at Caer Cadarn, stronghold of King Smoit. To this end, I ask King Smoit to stand ready with all his warriors near the Forest of Idris."

"What?" roared Smoit. "Keep me from Annuvin?" He struck the table with his fist. "Do you leave me sucking my thumbs? Let Morgant, that black-bearded, cold-blooded, slippery-scaled pike play rear guard!" Morgant gave no sign of having heard Smoit's outburst.

Gwydion shook his head. "Our success depends on surprise and swift movement, not numbers. You, Smoit, must be our firm support should our plans go awry. Your task is no less important.

"The third band will await us near Dark Gate, to guard our pack animals, secure our retreat, and to serve as the need demands; they will be Adaon Son of Taliesin, Taran of Caer Dallben, and Ellidyr Son of Pen-Llarcau."

Ellidyr's voice rose quickly and angrily. "Why must I be held back? Am I no better than a pig-boy? He is untried, a greenapple!"

"Untried!" Taran shouted, springing to his feet. "I have stood against the Cauldron-Born with Gwydion himself. Have you been better tried, Prince Patchcloak?"

Ellidyr's hand flew to his sword. "I am a son of Pen-Llarcau and swallow no insults from..."

"Silence!" commanded Gwydion. "In this venture the courage of an Assistant Pig-Keeper weighs as much as that of a prince. I warn you, Ellidyr, curb your temper or leave this council."

"And you," Gwydion added, turning to Taran, "you have repaid anger with a childish insult. I had thought better of you. Moreover, both of you shall obey Adaon in my absence." Taran flushed and sat down. Ellidyr, too, took his place again, his face dark and brooding. "Let us end our meeting," said Gwydion. "I shall speak with each of you later and at more length. Now I have matters to discuss with Coll. At dawn tomorrow be ready to ride for Annuvin."

And so the plan is drawn. Coll, you may remember from the first novel, once saved Hen-Wen from Arawn's clutches; him being the one to reveal the existence of the backdoor in this case is a neat little call-back to that.

quote:

As the company began leaving the chamber, Taran stepped beside Ellidyr and held out his hand. "In this task we must not be enemies."

"Speak for yourself," Ellidyr answered. "I have no wish to serve with an insolent pigboy. I am a king's son. Whose son are you? So you have stood against the Cauldron-Born," he scoffed. "And with Gwydion? You lost no chance to make that known."

"You boast of your name," Taran replied. "I take pride in my comrades."

"Your friendship with Gwydion is no shield to me," said Ellidyr. "Let him favor you all he chooses. But hear me well, in my company you will take your own part."

"I shall take my own part," Taran said, his anger rising. "See that you take yours as boldly as you speak."

Adaon had come up beside them. "Gently, friends," he laughed. "I had thought the battle was against Arawn, not among ourselves." He spoke quietly, but his voice held a tone of command as he turned his glance from Taran to Ellidyr. "We hold each other's lives in our open hands, not in clenched fists." Taran bowed his head. Ellidyr, drawing his mended cloak about him, stalked from the chamber without a word. As Taran was about to follow Adaon, Dallben called him back.

"You are an excellent pair of hotbloods," the enchanter remarked. "I have been trying to decide which of you is the more muddled. It is not easy," he yawned. "I shall have to meditate on it."

"Ellidyr spoke the truth," Taran said bitterly. "Whose son am I? I have no name but the one you gave me. Ellidyr is a prince---"

"Prince he may be," said Dallben, "yet perhaps not so fortunate as you. He is the youngest son of old Pen-Llarcau in the northern lands; his elder brothers have inherited what little there was of family fortune, and even that is gone. Ellidyr has only his name and his sword, though I admit he uses them both with something less than wisdom. However," Dallben went on, "these things have a way of righting themselves. Oh, before I forget..." His robe flapping around his spindly legs, Dallben made his way to a huge chest, unlocked it with an ancient key, and raised the lid. He bent and rummaged inside. "I confess to a certain number of regrets and misgivings," he said, "which could not possibly interest you, so I shall not burden you with them. On the other hand, here is something I am sure will interest you. And burden you, too, for the matter of that." Dallben straightened and turned. In his hands he held a sword. Taran's heart leaped. He grasped the weapon eagerly, his hands trembling so that he nearly dropped it. Scabbard and hilt bore no ornament; the craftsmanship lay in its proportion and balance. Though of great age, its metal shone clear and untarnished, and its very plainness had the beauty of true nobility. Taran bowed low before Dallben and stammered thanks.

Dallben shook his head. "Whether you should thank me or not," he said, "remains to be seen. Use it wisely," he added. "I only hope you will have cause to use it not at all."

"What are its powers?" Taran asked, his eyes sparkling. "Tell me now, so that..."

"It's powers?" Dallben answered with a sad smile. "My dear boy, this is a bit of metal hammered into a rather unattractive shape; it could better have been a pruning hook or a plow iron. Its powers? Like all weapons, only those held by him who wields it. What yours may be, I can in no wise say."

"We shall make our farewells now," Dallben said, putting a hand on Taran's shoulder. Taran saw, for the first time, how ancient was the enchanter's face, and how careworn. "I prefer to see none of you before you leave," Dallben went on. "Such partings are one thing I would spare myself. Besides, later your head will be filled with other concerns and you will forget anything I might tell you. Be off and see if you can persuade the Princess Eilonwy to gird you with that sword. Now that you have it," he sighed, "I suppose you might just as well observe the formalities."

Ellidyr continues to be a jerk - but, more importantly, Taran has a new sword! And one that won't put him in the infirmary for drawing it.

quote:

EILONWY WAS PUTTING AWAY earthen bowls and dishes when Taran hurried into the scullery. "Look!" he cried. "Dallben gave me this! Gird it on me--- I mean, if you please. Say you will. I want you to be the one to do it."

Eilonwy turned to him in surprise. "Yes, of course," she said, blushing, "if you really..."

"I do!" cried Taran. "After all," he added, "you're the only girl in Caer Dallben."

"So that's it!" Eilonwy retorted. "I knew there was something wrong when you started being so polite. Very well, Taran of Caer Dallben, if that's your only reason you can go find someone else and I don't care how long it takes you, but the longer the better!" She tossed her head and began furiously drying a bowl.

"Now what's wrong?" asked Taran, puzzled. "I said 'please,' didn't I? Do gird it on me," he urged. "I promise to tell you what happened at the council."

"I don't want to know," answered Eilonwy. "I couldn't be less interested---what happened? Oh, here, give me that thing." Deftly she buckled the leather belt around Taran's waist. "Don't think I'm going through all the ceremonies and speeches about being brave and invincible," said Eilonwy. "To begin with, I don't think they apply to Assistant Pig-Keepers, and besides I don't know them. There," she said, stepping back. "I must admit," she added, "it does look rather well on you."

Taran drew the blade and held it aloft. "Yes," he cried, "this is a weapon for a man and a warrior!"

"Enough of that!" cried Eilonwy, stamping her foot impatiently. "What about the council?"

"We're setting out for Annuvin," Taran whispered excitedly. "At dawn. To wrest the cauldron from Arawn himself. The cauldron he uses to..."

"Why didn't you say so right away?" Eilonwy cried. "I won't have half enough time to get my things ready. How long will we be gone? I must ask Dallben for a sword, too. Do you think I'll need..."

"No, no," Taran interrupted. "You don't understand. This is a task for warriors. We can't be burdened with a girl. When I said 'we' I meant..."

"What?" shrieked Eilonwy. "And all this while you let me think that--- Taran of Caer Dallben, you make me angrier than anyone I've ever met. Warrior indeed! I don't care if you have a hundred swords! Underneath it all you're an Assistant Pig-Keeper and if Gwydion's willing to take you, there's no reason he shouldn't take me! Oh, get out of my scullery!" With a cry, Eilonwy seized a dish. Taran hunched his shoulders and fled, while earthenware shattered behind him.

Hell hath no fury like an Eilonwy in a scullery.

# ¿ Jun 24, 2023 17:48

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

Chapter 3: Adaon

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pay attention, readers; this one's important.

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They should soon be there," Adaon answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ Jun 28, 2023 17:27

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

Chapter 4: In the Shadow of Dark Gate

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And so shall you be," Taran said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not possible!" Taran cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ Jul 1, 2023 15:55

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

Chapter 5: The Huntsmen of Annuvin

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# ¿ Jul 5, 2023 16:24

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

Chapter 6 - Gwystyl

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's its name?" Eilonwy asked.

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

And a much more pleasurable companion, Kaw!

quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about the Huntsmen?" Taran put in. "If they're still tracking us..."

"Huntsmen?" Gwystyl turned a sickly greenish-white and his hands trembled. "How on earth did you come across them? I'm sorry to hear that. If I had known before, it might have been possible--- oh, it's too late for that. They'll be all over the place now. No, really, you could have shown a little more consideration."

"You might think we wanted to have them after us!" cried Eilonwy, unable to curb her impatience. "That's like inviting a bee to come and sting you."

At the girl's outburst, Gwystyl shriveled up in his robe and looked more dismal than ever. He choked, wiped his forehead with a trembling hand, and let a large tear roll down his nose. "I didn't mean it that way, my dear child, believe me." Gwystyl sniffed. "I just don't see what's to be done about it--- if anything at all. You've got yourself into a dreadful predicament. How or why, I'm sure I can't imagine."

"Gwydion had led us to attack Arawn," Taran began.

Gwystyl hurriedly raised a hand. "Don't tell me," he interrupted with an anxious frown. "Whatever it is, I don't want to hear about it. I'd rather not know. I don't want to be caught up in any of your mad schemes. Gwydion? I'm surprised he, at least, didn't know better. But it's to be expected, I suppose. There's no use complaining."

"Our quest is urgent," said Adaon, who had finished binding Ellidyr's wound and had come to stand near Gwystyl. "We ask you to do nothing to endanger yourself. I would not tell you the circumstances that brought us here, but without knowing them you cannot realize how desperately we need your help."

"We had come to seize the cauldron from Annuvin," Taran said.

"Cauldron?" murmured Gwystyl.

"Yes, the cauldron!" shouted the furious dwarf. "You pale grub! You lightless lightning bug! The cauldron of Arawn's Cauldron-Born!"

"Oh, that cauldron," Gwystyl answered feebly. "Forgive me, Doli, I was thinking of something else. When did you say you were going?" The dwarf seemed on the verge of seizing Gwystyl by his robe and shaking him, but Adaon stepped forward and quickly explained what had occurred at Dark Gate. "It's a shame," Gwystyl murmured, with a sorrowful sigh. "You should never have got mixed up with the thing. It's too late to think about that, I'm afraid. You'll just have to make the best of it. I don't envy you. Believe me, I don't. It's one of those unfortunate events."

"But you don't understand," Taran said. "We aren't mixed up with the cauldron. It isn't in Annuvin any more. Someone has already stolen it."

"Yes," said Gwystyl, with a gloomy look at Taran, "yes, I know."

He...knows?

# ¿ Jul 8, 2023 13:03

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 7: Kaw

quote:

TARAN STOPPED SHORT. "You know that?" he asked in surprise. "Then why didn't you..."

Gwystyl gulped and darted nervous glances about him. "Oh, I know. But only in a very general way, you understand. I mean, I don't really know anything at all. Just the usual unfounded rumor you might expect to hear in a beastly place like this. Of no importance. Pay no attention to it."

"Gwystyl," said Doli sharply, "you know more about this than you let on. Now, out with it."

The gloomy creature flung his hands to his head and began moaning and rocking back and forth. "Do go away and let me alone," he sobbed. "I'm not well; I have so many tasks to finish, I shall never be caught up."

"You must tell us!" cried Taran. "Please," he added, lowering his voice, for the wretched Gwystyl had begun to shake violently, his eyes turning up as though he were about to have a fit. "Do not keep your knowledge from us. If you stay silent, our lives are risked for no purpose."

"Leave it alone," Gwystyl choked, fanning himself with an edge of his robe. "Don't bother with it. Forget it. That's the best thing you can do. Go back wherever you came from. Don't even think about it."

"How can we do that?" Taran cried. "Arawn won't rest until he has the cauldron again."

"Of course he won't rest," Gwystyl said. "He isn't resting now. That's exactly why you should drop the search and go quietly. You'll only stir up more trouble. And there's enough of that already."

"Then we'd better get back to Caer Cadarn and join Gwydion as quickly as we can," Eilonwy said.

"Yes, yes, by all means," broke in Gwystyl, with the first trace of eagerness Taran had glimpsed in this strange individual. "I only give you this advice for your own good. I'm glad, very glad, you've seen fit to follow it. Now, of course," he added, almost brightly, "you'll want to be on your way. Very wise of you. I, unhappily, have to stay here. I envy you, I really do. But--- that's the way of it, and there's little anyone can do. A pleasure meeting you all. Goodbye."

"Goodbye?" cried Eilonwy. "If we put our noses above ground and the Huntsmen are waiting for us--- yes, it will be goodbye indeed! Doli says it's your duty to help us. And with that, you haven't done a thing. Except sigh and moan! If this is the best the Fair Folk can manage, why, I'd rather be up a tree with my toes tied together!"

Gwystyl clutched his head again. "Please, please, don't shout. I'm not up to shouting today. Not after the horses. One of you can go and see if the Huntsmen are still there. Not that it will really do any good, for they might have just stepped away for a moment."

"I wonder who'll do that?" muttered the dwarf. "Good old Doli, of course. I thought I'd done with making myself invisible."

"I could give all of you a little something," Gwystyl went on, "not that it will do much good. It's a kind of powder I've put by in case of need. I was saving it for emergencies."

"What do you call this, you clot!" Doli growled.

"Yes, well, I meant, ah, more for personal emergencies," Gwystyl explained, paling. "But it doesn't matter about me. You can have it. Take all of it, go ahead. You put it on your feet, or whatever you walk on--- I mean hooves and so forth," Gwystyl added. "It doesn't work too well, hardly much sense in bothering. Because it wears off. Naturally, if you're walking on it, it would do that. However, it will hide your tracks for a while."

"That's what we need," said Taran. "Once we throw the Huntsmen off our trail, I think we can outrun them."

"I'll get some," Gwystyl said with eagerness. "It won't take a moment." As he made to leave the chamber, however, Doli took him by the arm.

"Gwystyl," said the dwarf severely, "you have a skulking, sneaking look in your eyes. You might hoodwink my friends. But don't forget you're also dealing with one of the Fair Folk. I have a feeling," Doli added, tightening his grip, "you're far too anxious to see us gone. I'm beginning to wonder, if I squeezed you a little, what more might come out." At this, Gwystyl rolled up his eyes and fainted away. The dwarf had to haul him upright, while Taran and the others fanned him.

At length Gwystyl opened one eye. "Sorry," he gasped. "Not myself today. Too bad about the cauldron. One of those unfortunate things."

Too bad.

quote:

The crow, who had been watching all this activity, turned a beady glance on his owner and flapped his wings with such vigor that Gurgi roused himself in alarm.

"Orddu!" Kaw croaked.

Fflewddur turned in surprise. "Well, can you imagine that! He didn't say 'kaw' at all. At least it didn't seem that way to me. I could have sworn he said something like 'ordo.' "

"Orwen!" croaked Kaw. "Orgoch!"

"There," said Fflewddur, looking at the bird with fascination. "He did it again."

"It's strange," agreed Taran. "It sounded like ordorwenorgoch! And look at him, running back and forth on his perch. Do you think we've upset him?"

"He acts as if he wants to tell us something," began Eilonwy. Gwystyl's face, meanwhile, had turned the color of ancient cheese.

"You may not want us to know," said Doli, roughly seizing the terrified Gwystyl, "but he does. This time, Gwystyl, I really mean to squeeze you."

"No, no, Doli, please don't do that," wailed Gwystyl. "Don't give him another thought. He does odd things; I've tried to teach him better habits, but it doesn't do any good." A flood of Gwystyl's pleading and moaning followed, but the dwarf paid it no heed, and began to carry out his threat. "No," squealed Gwystyl. "No squeezing. Not today. Listen to me, Doli," he added, his eyes crossing and uncrossing frantically, "if I tell you, will you promise to go away?" Doli nodded and relaxed his grip. "All Kaw meant to say," Gwystyl went on hurriedly, "is that the cauldron is in the hands of Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch. That's all. It's a shame, but there's certainly nothing to be done about it. It hardly seemed worth mentioning."

"Who are Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch?" Taran asked. His excitement and impatience were getting the better of him, too, and he was sorely tempted to aid Doli in squeezing Gwystyl.

"Who are they?" murmured Gwystyl. "You had better ask what are they?"

"Very well," cried Taran, "what are they?"

"I don't know," replied Gwystyl. "It's hard to say. It doesn't matter; they've got the cauldron and you might as well let it rest there." He shuddered violently. "Don't meddle with them; there's no earthly use in it."

"Whoever they are, or whatever they are," cried Taran, turning to the rest of the company, "I say find them and take the cauldron. That's what we set out to do, and we should not turn back now. Where do they live?" he asked Gwystyl.

"Live?" asked Gwystyl with a frown. "They don't live. Not exactly. It's all very vague. I really don't know."

Kaw flapped his wings again. "Morva!" he croaked.

"I mean," Gwystyl moaned, as the angry Doli reached for him again, "they stay in the Marshes of Morva. Exactly where, I have no idea, no idea at all. That's the trouble. You'll never find them. And if you do, which you won't, you'll wish you never had." Gwystyl wrung his bony hands, and his trembling features indeed held a look of deepest dread.

"I have heard of the Marshes of Morva, " Adaon said. "They lie to the west of here. How far, I do not know."

"I do!" interrupted Fflewddur. "A good day's journey, I should say. I once came upon them during my wanderings. I recall them quite clearly. Unpleasant stretch of country and quite terrifying. Not that it bothered me, of course. Undaunted, I strode through ..." A harp string snapped abruptly with a resounding twang. "I went around them," the bard corrected himself hurriedly. "Dreadful, smelly, ugly looking fens they were. But," he added, "if that's where the cauldron is, then I say with Taran: go there! A Fflam never hesitates!"

"A Fflam never hesitates to open his mouth," put in Doli. "Gwystyl is telling the truth for once, I'm sure of it. I've heard tales, back in Eiddileg's realm, of those--- whatever you call thems. And they weren't pleasant. Nobody knows much about them. Or, if they do, they aren't telling."

A spooky marsh, you say? Well, wouldn't be an adventure series without one.

quote:

"You should pay attention to Doli," interrupted Eilonwy, turning impatiently to Taran. "I don't see how you can even think about getting the cauldron away from whoever has it--- and not even knowing whatever has it. Besides," Eilonwy went on, "Gwydion ordered us to meet him at Caer Cadarn, and if my memory hasn't got holes in it from all the nonsense I've been hearing, he didn't say a word about going off in the opposite direction."

"You don't understand," Taran retorted. "When he told us to meet him, he was going to plan a new search. He didn't know we would find the cauldron."

"In the first place," Eilonwy said, "you haven't found the cauldron."

"But we know where it is!" cried Fflewddur. "That's just as good!"

"And in the second place," Eilonwy continued, ignoring the bard, "if you've got any news about it, the only wise thing is to find Gwydion and tell him what you know."

"That's sense," put in Doli. "We'll have enough trouble getting to Caer Cadarn without splashing around in swamps on a wild goose chase. You listen to her. She's the only one, outside of myself, who has any notion of what ought to be done."

Taran hesitated. "It may be," he said, after a pause, "that we would be wiser returning to Gwydion. King Morgant and his warriors can lend us their strength." He spoke these words with some effort; in the back of his mind he yearned to find the cauldron, to bring it in triumph to Gwydion. Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Eilonwy and Doli had proposed the surer plan.

"It seems to me, then," he began. But he had no sooner started to agree with Doli than Ellidyr thrust his way to the fireside.

"Pig-boy," Ellidyr said, "you have chosen well. Return with your friends and let us make our parting here."

"Parting?" asked Taran, puzzled.

"Do you think I would turn my back now, when the prize is nearly won?" Ellidyr said coldly. "Go your way, pig-boy, and I shall go mine--- to the Marshes of Morva themselves. Wait for me at Caer Cadarn," Ellidyr added with a scornful smile. "Warm your courage beside the fire. I shall bring the cauldron there." Taran's eyes flashed with anger at Ellidyr's words. The thought that Ellidyr should find the cauldron was more than he could bear.

"I shall warm my courage, Son of Pen-Llarcau," he cried, "in whatever fire you choose! Go back, the rest of you, if that's what you want. I was a fool to listen to the thoughts of a girl!" Eilonwy gave a furious shriek. Doli raised a hand in protest, but Taran cut him short. He was calmer now that his first anger had passed. "This is not a game of courage," he said. "I would be twice a fool, and so should we all, to be goaded by an idle taunt. This much, at least, I have learned from Gwydion. But there is also this: Arawn seeks the cauldron even now. We do not dare lose the time it would take to bring help. If he finds the cauldron before we do..."

"And if he doesn't?" put in Doli. "How do you know he knows where it is? And if he doesn't know, how long will it take him to find out? A merry while, I'll be bound, even with all his Cauldron-Born and Huntsmen and gwythaints, and what have you! There's a risk either way, any clodpole can see that. But if you ask me, there's more risk than otherwise if you go popping off into the Marshes of Morva."

"And you, Taran of Caer Dallben," said Eilonwy, "you're only making excuses for some harebrained idea of your own. You've been talking and talking and you've forgotten one thing. You're not the one to decide anything; and neither are you, Ellidyr. Adaon commands you both, if I'm not mistaken." Taran flushed at Eilonwy's reminder.

"Forgive me, Adaon," he said, bowing his head. "I did not intend to disobey your orders. The choice is yours."

Adaon, who had been listening silently near the fire, shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "this choice cannot be mine. I have said nothing for or against your plan; the decision is greater than I dare make."

"But why?" cried Taran. "I don't understand," he said quickly and with concern. "Of all of us, you know best what to do."

Adaon turned his gray eyes toward the fire. "Perhaps you will understand one day. For now, choose your path, Taran of Caer Dallben," he said. "Wherever it may lead, I promise you my help."

Taran drew back and stood silent a moment, filled with distress and uneasiness.It was not fear touching his heart, but the wordless sorrow of dry leaves rushing desolate before the wind. Adaon continued to watch the dance of the flames.

"I shall go to the Marshes of Morva," Taran said.

Adaon nodded. "So it shall be." No one spoke then. Even Ellidyr made no reply; he bit his lips and fingered the hilt of his sword.

"Well," said Doli at last, "I suppose I might as well go along, too. Do what I can. But it's a mistake, I warn you."

"Mistake?" cried the jubilant bard. "By no means! I wouldn't be kept away from it!"

"And I certainly won't," declared Eilonwy. "Someone has to make sure there are at least a few of us with good sense along. Marshes! Ugh! If you insist on making fools of yourselves, I wish you'd picked a drier way."

"And Gurgi will help!" shouted Gurgi, springing to his feet. "Yes, yes, with seekings and peekings!"

"Gwystyl," said Doli, with a look of resignation, "you might as well go and fetch that powder you were talking about." While Gwystyl eagerly rummaged through the alcove, the dwarf drew a deep breath and flickered out of sight. He was back after some length of time, fully visible and looking furious, his ears trembling and rimmed with blue.

"There's five Huntsmen camped over the rise," he said. "They've settled down for the--- oh, my ears--- night. If that powder is any good, we can be well away before they even know we've been here." The companions dusted their feet and the hooves of their steeds with a black substance Gwystyl distributed from a moldering sack. He seemed almost gleeful, as Taran untethered Melynlas and led the horse from behind the screen of brambles.

"Goodbye, goodbye," muttered Gwystyl. "I hate to see you waste your time, not to mention your lives. But that's the way of it, I suppose. Here today, gone tomorrow, and what's anyone to do about it? Goodbye. I hope we meet again. But not soon. Goodbye." With that, the portal shut. Taran took a firmer grip on the bridle of Melynlas and the companions moved silently into the forest.

Off to the Marshes of Morva we go! Adaon seems to know more than he's letting on, too - though whether that is in Taran's favor remains to be seen.

# ¿ Jul 12, 2023 17:19

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 8: A Stone in the Shoe

quote:

OUTSIDE THE WAY POST, night had already fallen; the sky was clear once more, but the chill had deepened. Adaon and Fflewddur held a hurried council on which path to follow, and agreed the company should ride westward until dawn, conceal themselves and sleep, then turn due south. As before, Eilonwy shared Melynlas with Taran, and Gurgi clung to the back of Lluagor. Fflewddur had offered to lead the way, claiming he had never been lost and could find the Marshes with his eyes shut; after two harp strings had snapped, he reconsidered and gave up his position to Adaon. Doli, still muttering angrily about his buzzing ears, rode last, as rear guard, although he flatly refused to make himself invisible no matter what the circumstances. Ellidyr had spoken to no one since leaving the melancholy Gwystyl, and Taran had seen the cold rage in his eyes after the companions' decision to press on to the Marshes of Morva.

"I think he really would have tried to bring back the cauldron by himself," Taran said to Eilonwy. "And you know how much chance he would have had alone. That's the kind of childish thing I'd have done when I was an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

"You're still an Assistant Pig-Keeper," answered Eilonwy. "You're going to these silly swamps because of Ellidyr, and anything else you say is pure nonsense. Don't tell me it wouldn't have been wiser to find Gwydion. But no, you have to decide the other way and drag the rest of us along." Taran did not reply. Eilonwy's words stung him--- all the more because he had begun to regret his own decision. Now the companions had set off, doubts tormented him and his heart was heavy. Taran could not forget the strange tone in Adaon's voice and sought again and again to understand why he had turned from a choice rightfully his. He jogged Melynlas closer to Adaon and leaned from the saddle.

"I am troubled," he said in a low voice, "and I wonder now if we should not turn back. I fear you have kept something from me, and had I known what it was, I would have chosen otherwise." If Adaon shared Taran's doubts, he showed no sign. In the saddle, he rode unbowed, as though he had gained new strength and the weariness of the journey could no longer touch him. On his face was a look Taran had never seen before and could not fathom. In it was pride, yet more than that; for it held, as well, a light that seemed almost joyous.

After a long pause Adaon said, "There is a destiny laid on us to do what we must do, though it is not always given to us to see it."

"I think you see many things," Taran replied quietly, "many things which you tell no one. It has long been in my mind," he went on, with much hesitation, "and now more than ever--- the dream you had, the last night in Caer Dallben. You saw Ellidyr and King Morgant; to me, you foretold I would grieve. But what did you dream of yourself?"

Adaon smiled. "Is that what troubles you? Very well, I shall tell you. I saw myself in a glade; and though winter lay all around, it was warm and sunlit. Birds called and flowers sprang up from bare stones."

"Your dream was beautiful," said Eilonwy, "but I can't guess its meaning."

Taran nodded. "Yes, it is beautiful. I feared it had been unhappy and for that reason you chose not to speak of it." Adaon said nothing more and Taran fell back into his own thoughts, still finding no reassurance. Melynlas moved ahead, surefooted despite the darkness. The stallion was able to avoid the loose stones and fallen branches that lay across the winding path, even without Taran's hands on the reins. His eyes heavy with fatigue, Taran leaned forward and patted the stallion's powerful neck.

"Follow the way, my friend," Taran murmured. "Surely you know it better than I do." At daybreak Adaon raised his hand and signaled a halt. Throughout the night they had ridden, as it seemed to Taran, down a long series of descending slopes. They were still in the Forest of Idris, but here the ground had leveled a little. Many of the trees were yet covered with leaves; the undergrowth was thicker; the land less stark than the hills around Dark Gate. Doli, his pony snorting white mist, galloped up to report no sign of the Huntsmen on their trail.

"How long that sallow mealworm's powder lasts I couldn't guess," said the dwarf. "And I don't think it'll do us that much good anyway. If Arawn's looking for the cauldron, he's going to look hard and close. The Huntsmen must know we've come in this general direction. If enough of them keep after us, sooner or later they're bound to find us. That Gwystyl--- for all the help he's been! Humph! And his crow, too. Humph! I wish we hadn't run into either of them." Ellidyr had dismounted and was anxiously studying Islimach's left foreleg. Taran, too, swung down and went to Ellidyr's side. The horse whinnied and rolled her eyes as he approached.

"She has gone lame," Taran said. "Unless we can help her, I fear she will not be able to hold the pace."

"I need no pig-boy to tell me that," answered Ellidyr. He bent and examined the mare's hoof with a gentleness of touch which surprised Taran.

"If you lightened her burden," Taran suggested, "it might ease her for a while. Fflewddur can take you up behind him."

Ellidyr straightened, his eyes black and bitter. "Do not give me council on my own steed. Islimach can go on. And so she will." Nevertheless, as Ellidyr turned away, Taran saw his face fill with lines of worry.

"Let me look at her," Taran said. "Perhaps I can find the trouble." He knelt and reached toward Islimach's foreleg.

"Do not touch her," cried Ellidyr. "She will not abide a stranger's hands." Islimach reared and bared her teeth. Ellidyr laughed scornfully. "Learn for yourself, pig-boy," he said. "Her hooves are sharp as knives, as you shall see." Taran rose and grasped Islimach's bridle. For a moment, as the horse lunged, he feared she would indeed trample him. Islimach's eyes were round with terror; she whickered and struck out at him. A hoof glanced against his shoulder, but Taran did not loosen his hold. He reached up and put a hand to Islimach's long, bony head. The mare shuddered, but Taran spoke quietly and soothingly to her. She tossed her mane, the straining muscles relaxed; the reins went loose and she made no attempt to draw away. Without stopping the flow of reassuring words, Taran raised her hoof. As he had suspected, there was a small, jagged stone wedged far back behind the shoe. He drew his knife. Islimach trembled, but Taran worked quickly and deftly. The stone came free and fell to the ground.

"This has happened even to Melynlas," Taran explained, patting the roan's flank. "There's a place deep in the hoof anyone can miss it if they don't know. It was Coll who showed me how to find it."

Ellidyr's face was livid. "You have tried to steal honor from me, pig-boy," he said through clenched teeth. "Will you now rob me of my horse?" Taran had expected no thanks, but the angry thrust of Ellidyr's words took him aback. Ellidyr's hand was on his sword. Taran felt a surge of answering anger, a flush rising to his cheeks, but he turned away.

"Your honor is your own," Taran answered coldly, "and so is your steed. Whatstone is in your shoe, Prince of Pen Llarcau?"

He strode to his companions, who had taken cover in the tangle of brush. Gurgi had already opened the wallet and was proudly distributing its contents. "Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried gleefully, "crunchings and munchings for all! Thanks to generous, kindhearted Gurgi! He will not let brave warriors suffer bellies filled only with howlings and growlings!" Ellidyr remained behind, patting Islimach's neck and murmuring in the roan's ear. Since he made no move to join the companions at their meal, Taran called out to him. But the Prince of Pen-Llarcau only gave him a bitter glance and remained with Islimach.

"That foul-tempered nag is the only thing he cares about," muttered the bard, "and as far as I can see, the only thing that cares about him. They're two of a kind, if you ask me."

Adaon, sitting a little apart from the others, called Taran to him. "I commend your patience," he said. "The black beast spurs Ellidyr cruelly."

"I think he'll feel better once we find the cauldron," Taran said. "There will be glory enough for all to share."

Adaon smiled gravely. "Is there not glory enough in living the days given to us? You should know there is adventure in simply being among those we love and the things we love, and beauty, too. But I would speak to you of another matter," Adaon went on. His handsome face, usually tranquil, was clouded. "I have few possessions, for I count them of little importance. But these few I treasure: Lluagor, my packets of healing herbs, and this," he said, touching the clasp at his throat, "the brooch I wear, a precious gift from Arianllyn, my betrothed. Should any ill befall me, they are yours. I have watched you closely, Taran of Caer Dallben. In all my journeys I have met no one else to whom I would rather entrust them."

"Do not speak of ill befalling you," Taran cried. "We are companions and protect one another against dangers. Besides, Adaon, your friendship is gift enough for me."

"Nevertheless," Adaon replied, "we cannot know all the future holds. Will you accept them?" Taran nodded. "It is well," Adaon said. "Now my heart is lighter."

After the meal it was decided they would rest until midday. Ellidyr made no comment when Adaon ordered him to stand the first watch. Taran rolled up in his cloak under the protection of a bush. Exhausted by the journey, and by his own doubts and fears, he slept heavily.

Ellidyr remains a jerk, despite Taran's best efforts to extend an olive branch. Adaon remains a cryptic dreamer. But at least they have a rest, now.

quote:

The sun was high when he opened his eyes. He sat up with a start, realizing his turn at guard had almost passed. Around him, the companions still slept.

"Ellidyr," he called, "why didn't you wake me?" He rose hurriedly to his feet. There was no sign of Ellidyr or Islimach. Taran hastily roused the others. He ran a little distance into the trees, then circled back. "He's gone!" Taran cried. "He's gone after the cauldron alone. He said he would and now he's done it!"

"Stolen a march on us, has he?" grumbled Doli. "Well, we'll catch up to him, and if we don't--- that's his concern. He doesn't know where he's going and, for the matter of that, neither do we."

"Good riddance to him," said Fflewddur. "If we have any kind of luck at all, we may not see him again."

For the first time Taran saw deep alarm in Adaon's face. "We must overtake him quickly," Adaon said. "Ellidyr's pride and ambition swallow him up. I fear to think what might happen should the cauldron come into his hands." They set off with all possible haste. Adaon soon found Ellidyr's trail leading southward.

"I was hoping he might have got disgusted with the whole business and gone home," said Fflewddur, "but there's no doubt of it, he's heading for Morva." Despite their speed, the companions saw no sign of Ellidyr himself. They pressed on, urging the last strength from the laboring horses, until they were obliged to halt for breath. A cold wind had risen, swirling the leaves in great circles above their heads.

"I do not know if we can overtake him," Adaon said. "He rides as swiftly as we, and he is nearly a quarter day's journey ahead of us." His heart pounding, Taran flung himself from Melynlas and slumped to the ground. He cradled his head in his hands. From a distance came the shrill call of a bird, the first birdsong he had heard since leaving Caer Dallben.

"That is not the true speech of a bird," Adaon cried, springing to his feet. "The Huntsmen have found us." Without awaiting Adaon's order, the dwarf raced in the direction of the Huntsmen's signal. As Taran watched, Doli vanished before his eyes. Adaon drew his sword. "This time we must stand against them," he said. "We can run from them no longer." Quickly he commanded Taran, Eilonwy, and Gurgi to ready their bows, while he and the bard mounted their horses. Within moments the dwarf was back again.

"Five Huntsmen!" he cried. "Go on, the rest of you. I'll play them the same trick."

"No," said Adaon. "I do not trust it to work again. Hurry, follow me." He led them through a clearing and halted at the far side. "Here we make our stand," Adaon said to Taran. "As soon as they come in sight, Fflewddur, Doli, and I will charge them from the flank. When they turn to give battle, loose your arrows."

Adaon swung around to face the clearing. In another instant the Huntsmen burst from cover. They had no sooner taken a stride forward than Adaon, with a great cry, urged his horse across the ground. Doli and the bard galloped beside him. Even as Taran drew his bow, Adaon was in the midst of the Huntsmen, striking left and right with his blade. The dwarf had pulled the stubby axe from his belt and chopped furiously at his enemies. Surprised by the fierce attack, theHuntsmen spun about to engage the riders. Taran loosed his arrow, and heard the shafts of Eilonwy and Gurgi whistle past him. The flight of all three went wild, snatched by the wind and skittering among the dry bushes. Shouting madly, Gurgi fitted another arrow to his bow. Three Huntsmen pressed toward Fflewddur and the dwarf, forcing them into a thicket. Adaon's sword flashed and rang against the weapons of his assailants. Now Taran dared not loose another shaft for fear of hitting one of the companions.

"We are fighting uselessly," he cried, and flung his bow to the ground. He unsheathed his sword and ran to Adaon's aid. One of the Huntsmen shifted his attack to Taran, who struck out at him with all his strength. His blow glanced from the jacket of animal skins, but the Huntsman lost his footing and dropped to earth. Taran stepped forward. He had forgotten the vicious daggers of the Huntsmen until he saw the man raise himself and snatch at his belt. Taran froze with horror. In front of him, he saw the snarling face with its crimson brand, the arm uplifted to throw the blade. Suddenly Lluagor was between him and the Huntsman. Adaon rose in the saddle and swept down with his sword. As the Huntsman toppled, the knife flew glittering through the air.

Adaon gasped and dropped his weapon. He slumped over Lluagor's mane, clutching the dagger in his breast. With a cry of anguish, Taran caught him as he was about to fall.

"Fflewddur! Doli!" Taran shouted. "To us! Adaon is wounded!"

Uh oh.

# ¿ Jul 15, 2023 14:46

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 9: The Brooch

quote:

FFLEWDDUR'S HORSE REARED as the Huntsmen turned their attack against him. The death of one of their band had roused the enemy to even greater violence and frenzy.

"Take him to safety!" cried the bard. With a mighty leap his steed cleared the bushes and streaked into the forest. The dwarf on his pony followed. With a shout of rage, the remaining Huntsmen pursued them.

Taran seized Lluagor's bridle and, while Adaon clung to the horse's mane, raced toward the edge of the clearing. Eilonwy ran to meet them. Between them, they kept Adaon from falling and tore their way into the undergrowth. Gurgi, leading Melynlas, hurried after them. They ran blindly, stumbling through brambles and harsh nets of dead vines. The wind had risen, cold and biting as a winter gale, but the forest opened a little, and as the ground dipped, they found themselves in a protected hollow in a glade of alders. From the back of Lluagor, Adaon raised his head and gestured for them to stop. His face was gray and drawn, his black hair damp on his brow.

"Put me down," he murmured. "Leave me. I can go no farther. How do the bard and Doli fare?"

"They have led the Huntsmen away from us," Taran answered quickly. "We are safe here for a while. I know Doli can throw them off our trail, and Fflewddur will help him. They'll join us again somehow, I'm sure. Rest now. I'll fetch your medicines from the saddlebags."

Carefully, they lifted Adaon from his steed and carried him to a hillock. While Eilonwy brought the leather water flask, Taran and Gurgi unharnessed Lluagor and set the saddle under Adaon's head. The wind howled above the trees, but this sheltered spot, by contrast, seemed warm. The driven clouds broke away; the sun turned the branches to gold. Adaon raised himself. His gray eyes scanned the glade and he nodded briefly.

"Yes, this is a fair place. I shall rest here."

"We shall heal your wound," Taran replied, hastily opening a packet of herbs. "You'll soon be comfortable, and if we must move, we can make a litter from branches and sling it between our horses."

"I am comfortable enough," Adaon said. "The pain has gone and it is pleasant here, as warm as spring." At Adaon's words, Taran's heart filled with terror. The quiet glade, the sun on the alders seemed suddenly menacing.

"Adaon!" he cried in alarm. "This is what you dreamed!"

"It is much like it," Adaon answered quietly.

"You knew, then!" cried Taran. "You knew there would be peril for you. Why did you not speak of it before? I would never have sought the Marshes. We could have turned back."

Adaon smiled. "It is true. Indeed, that is why I dared not speak. I have yearned to be again at the side of my beloved Arianllyn, and my thoughts are with her now. But had I chosen to return, I would ever wonder whether my choice was made through wisdom or following the wishes of my own heart. I see this is as it must be, and the destiny laid upon me. I am content to die here."

"You saved my life," Taran cried. "You will not lose your own life for me. We shall find our way to Caer Cadarn and Gwydion."

Adaon shook his head. He put his hand to his throat and undid the iron clasp at the collar of his jacket. "Take this," he said. "Guard it well. It is a small thing, but more valuable than you know."

"I must refuse," answered Taran with a smile that ill concealed his anxiety. "Such would be the gift of a dying man. But you shall live, Adaon."

"Take it," Adaon repeated. "This is not my command to you, but the wish of one friend to another." He pressed the brooch into Taran's unwilling hand. Eilonwy had come with water to steep the herbs. Taran took it from her and knelt again beside Adaon. Adaon's eyes had closed. His face was calm; his hand lay outstretched and open on the ground.

And thus he died.

Farewell.

quote:

WHEN THEIR GRIEF ABATED a little, the companions hollowed out a grave, lining it with flat stones. Wrapping him in his cloak, they lowered Adaon into the earth and laid the turf gently over him, while Lluagor whinnied plaintively and pawed the dry ground. Then they raised a mound of boulders. In a sheltered corner of the glade, Eilonwy found handfuls of small flowers still untouched by the frost. These she scattered on the grave, where they fell among the crevices and seemed to spring from the rocks themselves. They remained there silently until nightfall, without a sign of Fflewddur or Doli.

"We shall wait for them until dawn," Taran said. "Beyond that, we dare not stay. I fear we have lost more than one gallant friend."

"Adaon warned that I would grieve," he murmured to himself. "And so I do, thrice over."

Too burdened with sorrow, too weary even to set a guard, they huddled in their cloaks and slept. Like his spirit, Taran's dreams were confused, filled with dismay and fear. In them, he saw the mournful faces of the companions, the calm face of Adaon. He saw Ellidyr seized by a black beast that sank its claws into him and gripped him until Ellidyr cried out in torment. The restless images gave way to a vast sweep of meadow, where Taran ran through grasses shoulder high, desperately seeking a path he could not find. Overhead, a gray bird fluttered and spread its wings. He followed it and a path opened at his feet. He saw, too, a turbulent stream with a great boulder in the midst of it. On the boulder lay Fflewddur's harp, which played of itself as the wind stirred the strings.Taran was running, then, through a trackless marsh. A bear and two wolves set upon him and made to rend him with their fangs. Terrified, he sprang into a dark pool, but the water suddenly turned to dry land. The enraged beasts snarled and leaped after him.

He woke with a start, his heart pounding. The night had barely ended; the first streaks of dawn rose above the glade. Eilonwy stirred; Gurgi whimpered in his sleep. Taran bowed his head and put his face in his hands. The dream lay heavily upon him; he could still see the gaping jaws of a wolf and the sharp, white teeth. He shuddered. He knew he must decide now whether to return to Caer Cadarn or seek the Marshes of Morva. Taran looked beside him at the sleeping figures of Gurgi and Eilonwy. In little more than a day, the companions had been scattered like leaves, and there remained only this pitifully small band, itself lost and driven. How could they hope to find the cauldron? Taran doubted they would even be able to save their own lives; yet the journey to Caer Cadarn would be as perilous as this quest, perhaps more so. Nevertheless, a choice had to be made. He rose after a time and saddled the horses. Eilonwy was now awake and Gurgi was poking a tousled, twig-covered head from the folds of his cloak.

"Hurry," Taran ordered. "We'd better get an early start before the Huntsmen overtake us."

"They'll find us soon enough," Eilonwy said. "They're probably as thick as burdock between here and Caer Cadarn."

"We are going to the Marshes," Taran said, "not Caer Cadarn."

"What?" Eilonwy cried. "Are you still thinking about those wretched swamps? Do you seriously think we can find that cauldron, let alone haul it back from wherever it is? On the other hand," Eilonwy went on, before Taran could answer her, "I suppose it's the only thing we can do, now that you've got us in the stew. And there's no telling what Ellidyr has in mind. If you hadn't made him jealous over a silly horse..."

"I feel pity for Ellidyr," Taran answered. "Adaon once told me he saw a black beast on Ellidyr's shoulders. Now I understand a little what he meant."

"Well," remarked Eilonwy, "I'm surprised to hear you say that. But it was kindhearted of you to help Islimach; I'm really glad you did. I'm sure you meant well, and that's encouraging in itself. It does make a person think there might be some hope for you after all."

Taran did not reply, for he was still anxious and oppressed, although the disturbing dreams had already begun to fade. He swung astride Melynlas; Gurgi and Eilonwy shared Lluagor; and the companions swiftly rode from the glade. It was Taran's intention to head southward, hoping somehow to come upon the Marshes of Morva within another day; although he admitted to himself that he had no more than a vague idea of their distance or exact location. The day was bright and crisp. As Melynlas cantered over the frosty ground, Taran caught sight of a glittering, dew covered web on a hawthorn branch and of the spider busily repairing it. Taran was aware, strangely, of vast activities along the forest trail. Squirrels prepared their winter hoard; ants labored in their earthen castles. He could see them clearly, not so much with his eyes but in a way he had never known before. The air itself bore special scents. There was a ripple, sharp and clear, like cold wine. Taran knew, without stopping to think, that a north wind had just begun to rise. Yet in the middle of this he noticed another scent mingled through. He turned Melynlas toward it.

"Since you're leading us," Eilonwy remarked, "I wonder if it would be too much to expect you to know where you're going."

"There is water nearby," Taran said. "We shall need to fill our flasks..." He hesitated, puzzled. "Yes, there is a stream," he murmured, "I'm sure of it. We must go there." Nevertheless, he could not quite overcome his surprise when, after a short while, they indeed came upon a swift running brook winding its way through a stand of rowans. They rode to its bank. With a cry, Taran sharply reined in Melynlas. On a rock in the middle of the stream sat Fflewddur, cooling his bare feet in the water. The bard leaped up and splashed across to greet the companions. Though haggard and worn, he appeared unwounded.

"Now there's a stroke of luck, my finding you--- your finding me, rather. I hate to admit it, but I'm lost. Completely. Got turned around somehow after Doli and I began leading the Huntsmen a chase. Tried to make my way back to you and got lost even more. How is Adaon? I'm glad you managed to..." The bard stopped. Taran's expression told him what had happened. Fflewddur shook his head sadly. "There are few like Adaon," he said. "We can ill afford the loss. Nor the loss of our good old Doli. I'm not sure what happened," Fflewddur went on. "All I know is that we were galloping at top speed. You should have seen him! He rode like a madman, popping invisible and back again, the Huntsmen racing after him. If it hadn't been for him, they'd have dragged me down for certain. They're stronger than ever, now. Then my horse fell. That is to say," the bard hastily added, as his harp strings tensed and jangled, "I fell off. Fortunately, by that time Doli had led them well away. At the rate he was going..." Fflewddur sighed heavily. "What has befallen him since then, I do not know." The bard bound up his leggings. He had walked all the distance and was quite pleased to be riding once again. Gurgi mounted behind him on Lluagor. Taran and Eilonwy rode Melynlas. The bard's news lowered Taran's spirits further, for he realized now there was little chance of Doli rejoining them. Nevertheless, he continued to lead the companions southward. Until he should recognize a landmark, Fflewddur agreed this was the only course.

"The trouble is," he explained, "if we veer too far south, we'll simply end up in the sea and miss the Marshes altogether." Taran himself could offer no suggestions. Downcast, he gave Melynlas rein and made little effort to guide the stallion. The trees thinned out behind him and the companions entered a wide, rolling meadow. Taran, halfdozing in the saddle, his cloak wrapped round his shoulders, roused himself uneasily. The meadow, with its high grass stretching all around them, was familiar. He had seen it before; where, he could not quite remember. He fingered Adaon's clasp at his throat. Suddenly, with fear and excitement, he understood. His hands trembled at the discovery. Taran glanced overhead. A gray bird circled, glided downward on outspread wings, then flew rapidly across the fields and disappeared from sight.

"That was a marsh bird," Taran said, quickly turning Melynlas. "If we follow this way," he added, pointing in the direction of the bird's flight, "I'm sure we'll come directly to Morva."

"Well done!" cried the bard. "I must say I never would have noticed it."

"That's at least one clever thing you've done today," Eilonwy admitted.

"This is not my doing," Taran said with a puzzled frown. "Adaon spoke the truth. His gift is a precious one." He told Eilonwy hurriedly about the clasp and the dreams of the night before.

"Don't you see?" he cried. "I dreamed about Fflewddur's harp--- and we found Fflewddur himself. It wasn't all my own idea to go looking for a stream; it just came to me and I knew we would find it. Just now, when I saw the bird--- that was in my dream. And there was another dream, a terrible one, of wolves... That's going to happen, too. I'm sure of it. Adaon's dreams were always true. He told me of them."

At first Eilonwy was loath to believe him. "Adaon was a wonderful man," she said. "You can't tell me it was all because of a piece of iron. I don't care how magical it is."

"I don't mean that," Taran said. "What I believe," he added thoughtfully, "is that Adaon understood these things anyway. Even with his clasp, there is much I do not understand. All I know is that I feel differently somehow. I can see things I never saw before--- or smell or taste them. I can't say exactly what it is. It's strange, and awesome in a way. And very beautiful sometimes. There are things that I know..." Taran shook his head. "And I don't even know how I know them."

Eilonwy was silent for a moment. "Yes," she said slowly, "I believe it now. You don't even sound quite like yourself. Adaon's clasp is a priceless gift. It gives you a kind of wisdom," she added, "which, I suppose, is what Assistant Pig Keepers need more than anything else."

So we've lost a dreamer, but it turns out his clasp is still a guiding sign - if you learn how to interpret dreams and sudden knowledge you didn't knew you had, of course.

# ¿ Jul 19, 2023 17:53

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 10: The Marshes of Morva.

quote:

FROM THE MOMENT the marsh bird appeared, Taran led the companions swiftly, following without hesitation a path which now seemed clear. He felt the powerful muscles of Melynlas moving beneath him, and guided the steed with unaccustomed skill. The stallion responded to this new touch on the reins with mighty bursts of speed, so much so that Lluagor could barely keep pace. Fflewddur shouted for Taran to halt a bit and let them all catch their breath. Gurgi, looking like a windblown haystack, gratefully clambered down, and even Eilonwy gave a sigh of relief.

"Since we've stopped," Taran said, "Gurgi might as well share out some food. But we'd better find shelter first, if we don't want to get soaked."

"Soaked?" cried Fflewddur. "Great Belin, there isn't a cloud in the sky! It's a gorgeous day--- taking everything into consideration."

"If I were you," Eilonwy advised the puzzled bard, "I should listen to him. Usually, that's not a wise thing to do. But the circumstances are a little different now." The bard shrugged and shook his head, but followed Taran across the rolling fields into a shallow ravine. There, they found a wide and fairly deep recess in the shoulder of a hill.

"I hope you aren't wounded," remarked Fflewddur. "My war leader at home has an old wound that gives him a twinge when the weather changes. Very handy, I admit; though it does seem a painful way of foretelling rain. I always think it's easier just to wait, and every kind of weather's bound to come along sooner or later."

"The wind has shifted," Taran said. "It comes from the sea now. It's restless, with a briny taste. There's a smell of grass and weeds, too, which makes me think we aren't far from Morva. If all goes well, we may reach the Marshes by tomorrow."

Soon afterward, the sky indeed clouded over and a chill rain began pelting against the hill. In moments it grew to a heavy downpour. Water coursed in rivulets on either side of their shelter, but the companions remained dry.

"Wise master," shouted Gurgi, "protects us from slippings and drippings!"

"I must say," the bard remarked, "you foretold it exactly."

"Not I," said Taran. "Without Adaon's clasp, I'm afraid we'd all have been drenched."

"How's that?" asked the perplexed Fflewddur. "I shouldn't think a clasp would have anything to do with it." As he had explained to Eilonwy, Taran now told the bard what he had learned of the brooch. Fflewddur cautiously examined the ornament at Taran's throat.

"Very interesting," he said. "Whatever else it may have, it bears the bardic symbol--- those three lines there, like a sort of arrowhead."

"I saw them," Taran said, "but I didn't know what they were."

"Naturally," said Fflewddur. "It's part of the secret lore of the bards. I learned that much when I was trying to study for my examinations."

"But what do they mean?" Taran asked.

"As I recall," put in Eilonwy, "the last time I asked him to read an inscription..."

"Yes," said Fflewddur with embarrassment, "that was something else again. But I know the bardic symbol well. It is secret, though since you have the clasp I don't suppose it can do any harm for me to tell you. The lines mean knowledge, truth, and love."

"That's very nice," said Eilonwy, "but I can't imagine why knowledge, truth, and love should be so much of a secret."

"Perhaps I should say unusual as much as secret," answered the bard. "I sometimes think it's hard enough to find any one of them, even separately. Put them all together and you have something very powerful indeed."

The secret of the clasp revealed! Well, sort of.

quote:

Taran, who had been thoughtfully fingering the clasp, stopped and looked about him uneasily. "Hurry," he said, "we must leave here at once."

"Taran of Caer Dallben," Eilonwy cried, "you're going too far! I can understand coming out of the rain, but I don't see deliberately going into it." Nevertheless, she followed; and the companions, at Taran's urgent command, untethered the horses and ran from the hillside. They had not gone ten paces before the entire slope, weakened by the downpour, collapsed with a loud roar.

Gurgi yelped in terror and threw himself at Taran's feet. "Oh, great, brave, and wise master! Gurgi is thankful! His poor tender head is spared from terrible dashings and crashings!"

Fflewddur put his hands on his hips and gave a low whistle. "Well, well, fancy that. Another moment and we'd have been buried for good and all. Never part with that clasp, my friend. It's a true treasure."

Taran was silent. His hand went to Adaon's brooch, and he stared at the shattered hill slope with a look of wonder. The rain slackened a little before nightfall. Although drenched and chilled to the bone, the companions had made good progress by the time Taran allowed them to rest again. Here, gray and cheerless moors spread before them. Wind and water had worn crevices in the earth, like the gougings of a giant's fingers. The companions made their camp in a narrow gorge, glad for the chance to sleep even on the muddy ground. Taran drowsed with one hand on the iron brooch, the other grasping his sword. He was less weary than he had expected, despite the grueling ride. A strange sense of excitement thrilled him, different from what he had felt when Dallben had presented him with the sword. However, his dreams that night were troubled and unhappy. At first light, as the companions began their journey again, Taran spoke of his dreams to Eilonwy.

"I can make no sense of them," he said with hesitation. "I saw Ellidyr in mortal danger. At the same time it was as though my hands were bound and I could not help him."

"I'm afraid the only place you're going to see Ellidyr is in your dreams," replied Eilonwy. "There certainly hasn't been a trace of him anywhere. For all we know, he could have been to Morva and gone, or not even reached the Marshes in the first place. It's too bad you didn't dream of an easier way to find that cauldron and put an end to all this. I'm cold and wet and at this point I'm beginning not to care who has it."

"I dreamed of the cauldron, too," Taran said anxiously. "But everything was confused and clouded. It seems to me we came upon the cauldron. And yet," he added, "when we found it, I wept." Eilonwy, for once, was silent, and Taran had no heart to speak of the dream again.

And the dreams go on. If we're to believe them to be portents of things to come - as we did with Adaon - this book won't have a happy ending, friends.

quote:

Shortly after midday they reached the Marshes of Morva. Taran had sensed them long before, as the ground had begun to turn spongy and treacherous under the hooves of Melynlas. He had seen more marsh birds and had heard, far in the distance, the weird and lonely voice of a loon. Ropes of fog, twisting and creeping like white serpents, had begun to rise from the reeking ground. Now the companions halted, and stood in silence at a narrow neck of the swamp. From there, the Marshes of Morva stretched westward to the horizon. Here, huge growths of thorny furze rose up. At the far side, Taran distinguished meager clumps of wasted trees. Under the gray sky, pools of stagnant water flickered among dead grasses and broken reeds. A scent of ancient decay choked his nostrils. A ceaseless thrumming and groaning trembled in the air. Gurgi's eyes were round with terror, and the bard shifted uneasily on Lluagor.

"You've led us here well enough," said Eilonwy. "But how do you ever expect to go about finding a cauldron in a place like this?" Taran motioned her to be silent. As he looked across the dreaded Marshes, something stirred in his mind.

"Do not move," he cautioned in a low voice. He glanced quickly behind him. Gray shapes appeared from the line of bushes straggling over a hillock. They were not two wolves, as he had thought at first, but two Huntsmen in jackets of wolf pelts. Another Huntsman, in a heavy cloak of bearskin, crouched beside them.

"The Huntsmen have found us," Taran went on quickly. "Follow every step I take. But not a motion until I give the signal." Now he understood the dream of the wolves clearly, and knew exactly what he must do. The Huntsmen, believing they could take their prey unawares, drew closer.

"Now!" shouted Taran. He urged Melynlas forward and galloped head long intothe Marshes. Heaving and plunging, the stallion labored through the mire. With a great shout, the Huntsmen raced after him. Once, Melynlas nearly foundered in a deep pool. The great strides of the pursuers brought them closer, so close that in a fearful backward glance Taran saw one of them, teeth bared in a snarl, reach out to clutch the stirrups of Lluagor. Taran spun Melynlas to the right. Lluagor followed. A shout of terror rose behind them. One of the men clad in wolfskin had stumbled and pitched forward, screaming as the black bog seized and sucked him down. His two comrades grappled each other, striving desperately to flee the ground that fell away under their feet. The Huntsman in bearskin flung out his arms and scrabbled at the weeds, growling in rage; the last warrior trampled the sinking man, vainly seeking a foothold to escape the deadly bog.

Melynlas galloped onward. Brackish water spurted at his hooves, but Taran guided the powerful stallion along what seemed a chain of submerged islands, never stopping even when he reached the far side of the swamp. There, on more solid ground, he raced through the furze and beyond the clump of trees. While Lluagor pounded after him, Taran followed a long gully toward the protection of a high mound. Suddenly he reined in the stallion. At the side of the mound, almost a part of the turf itself, rose a low cottage. It was so cleverly concealed with sod and branches that Taran had to look again to see there was a doorway. Circling the hill were tumbledown stables and something resembling a demolished chicken roost. Taran began to back Melynlas away from this strange cluster of buildings and cautioned the others to keep silent.

"I shouldn't worry about that," Eilonwy said. "Whoever lives in there surely heard us coming. If they aren't out to welcome us or fight with us by now, then I don't think anyone's there at all." She leaped from Melynlas and made her way toward the cottage.

"Come back!" Taran called. He unsheathed his sword and followed her. The bard and Gurgi dismounted and drew their own weapons. Alert and cautious, Taran approached the low doorway. Eilonwy had discovered a window, half-hidden by turf and grass, and was peering through it.

"I don't see anybody," she said, as the others came up beside her. "Look for yourself."

"For the matter of that," said the bard, ducking his head and squinting past Eilonwy, "I don't think anyone's been here for quite some time. So much the better! In any case, we'll have a dry place to rest."

The chamber, Taran saw, indeed seemed deserted, of inhabitants, at least, for the room was even more heaped up and disorderly than Dallben's. In one corner stood a wide loom with a good many of the threads straggling down. The work on the frame was less than half-finished and so tangled and knotted he could imagine no one ever continuing it. Broken crockery covered a small table. Rusted and broken weapons were piled about.

"How would you like it," asked a cheerful voice behind Taran, "if you were turned into a toad? And stepped on?"

I don't think I'd like that very much at all!

# ¿ Jul 22, 2023 18:25

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 11: The Cottage

quote:

TARAN SPUN AROUND and raised his sword. Suddenly in his hand writhed a cold serpent, hissing and twisting to strike. With a cry of horror he flung it away. The serpent fell to the ground, and there, in its place, lay Taran's blade. Eilonwy stifled a scream. Taran drew back fearfully. Facing him was a short and rather plump little woman with a round, lumpy face and a pair of very sharp black eyes. Her hair hung like a clump of discolored marsh weeds, bound with vines and ornamented with bejeweled pins that seemed about to lose themselves in the hopeless tangle. She wore a dark, shapeless, ungirt robe covered with patches and stains. Her feet were bare and exceptionally large. The companions drew closer together. Gurgi, trembling violently, crouched behind Taran. The bard, looking pale and uneasy, nevertheless prepared to stand his ground.

"Come along, my ducklings," the enchantress said cheerily. "I promise it won't hurt a bit. You can bring your sword if you want," she added with an indulgent smile at Taran, "though you won't need it. I've never seen a toad with a sword. On the other hand, I've never seen a sword with a toad, so you're welcome to do as you please."

"We please to stay as we are," cried Eilonwy. "Don't think we're going to let anybody..."

"Who are you?" Taran cried. "We have done you no harm. You have no cause to threaten us."

"How many twigs in a bird's nest?" asked the enchantress suddenly. "Answer quickly. There, you see," she added. "Poor chicks, you don't even know that. How could you be expected to know what you really want out of life?"

"One thing I want," retorted Eilonwy, "is not to be a toad."

"You're a pretty little duck," said the enchantress in a kind, cajoling voice. "Would you give me your hair once you've done with it? I have such trouble with mine these days. Do you ever have the feeling things are disappearing into it and you might never see them again? No matter," she went on. "You'll enjoy being toads, skipping about here and there, sitting on toadstools--- well, perhaps not that. Toads don't really sit on toadstools. But you might dance in dew circles. Now there's a charming thought."

"Don't be frightened," she added, leaning over and whispering in Taran's ear. "You can't for a moment imagine I'd do all I said. Goodness no, I wouldn't dream of stepping on you. I couldn't stand the squashiness." With mounting terror, Taran cast desperately about in his mind for some means of saving his companions. He would have considered this disheveled creature's intention as mad and impossible had he not remembered the serpent in his hand, its menacing fangs and cold eyes. "You mightn't like being toads at first," the enchantress said reasonably. "It takes getting used to. But," she added in a reassuring tone, "once it's happened, I'm certain you wouldn't want it any other way."

"Why are you doing this?" Taran cried with all the more anger at feeling himself powerless. He turned his head in fear and revulsion as the enchantress gave him a kindly pat on the cheek.

"Can't have people poking and prying," she said. "You understand that much, don't you? Make an exception for one, then it's two, three, and next thing you know, hundreds and hundreds trampling things and getting underfoot. Believe me, this is best for everybody." From around the side of the hill, at that moment, two more figures appeared. Both closely resembled the stout little woman, except that one wore a black cloak with the hood pulled up, nearly concealing her face; and at the throat of the other hung a necklace of milky white stones. The enchantress ran to them and called out happily, "Orwen! Orgoch! Hurry! We're going to make toads!"

Taran gasped. He shot a quick glance at the bard and Eilonwy. "Did you hear those names?" he whispered hurriedly. "We've found them!"

Our troop has found some of my favorite characters in this entire series. Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch are amazing, even if they have a terrible inclination to turn people into toads.

quote:

The bard's face was filled with alarm. "Much good it may do us," he said. "By the time they're through, I don't think we're going to care about the cauldron or anything else. I've never danced in a dew circle," he continued under his breath. "In different circumstances I might enjoy it. But not now," he added with a shudder.

"I've never met a person," whispered Eilonwy, while Gurgi snuffled in fright, "who could talk about such dreadful things and smile at the same time. It's like ants walking up and down your back."

"We must try to take them unawares," Taran said. "I don't know what they can do to all of us all at once. I don't even know if there's anything we can do to them. But we must take the chance. One or two of us may survive."

"I suppose that's all we can do," agreed the bard. He swallowed with difficulty and gave Taran a worried look. "If it should turn out that I--- I mean, if I should be--- yes, well, what I mean is should anything happen to me, I beg you, do pay attention to where you tread." Meantime, the three enchantresses had returned to the cottage.

"Oh, Orddu," the one with the necklace was saying, "why must it always be toads? Can't you think of anything else?"

"But they're so neat," replied Orddu, "compact and convenient."

"What's wrong with toads?" asked the hooded one. "That's the trouble with you, Orwen, always trying to make things complicated."

"I only suggested something else, Orgoch," answered the enchantress called Orwen, "for the sake of variety."

"I love toads," murmured Orgoch, smacking her lips. Even in the shadow of the hood Taran could see the features of the enchantress moving and twitching in what he feared was impatience.

"Look at them standing there," Orddu said, "poor little goslings, all wet and muddy. I've been talking to them, and I think they finally realize what's best for them."

"Why, those are the ones we saw galloping across the Marsh," said Orwen, toying with her beads. "It was so clever of you," she added, smiling at Taran, "to have the Huntsmen swallowed up in the bog, really quite well done."

"Disgusting creatures, Huntsmen," muttered Orgoch. "Nasty, hairy, vicious things. They turn my stomach."

"They stick to their work," ventured the bard. "I'll say that much for them."

"We had a whole flock of Huntsmen here the other day," said Orddu. "They were poking and prying around, just as you were. Now you understand why I said we couldn't make exceptions."

"We didn't make exceptions of them, did we, Orddu?" said Orwen. "Though it wasn't toads, if you remember."

"I remember very distinctly, my dear," replied the first enchantress, "but you were Orddu then. And when you're being Orddu, you can do as you please. But I'm Orddu today, and what I say is..."

"That's not fair," interrupted Orgoch. "You always want to be Orddu. I've had to be Orgoch three times in a row, while you've only been Orgoch once."

"It's not our fault, my sweet," said Orddu, "if we don't like being Orgoch. It isn't comfortable, you know. You have such horrid indigestion. If you'd only pay more attention to what you take for your meals."

Taran had been trying to follow this conversation of the enchantresses, but found himself more confused than ever. Now he had no clear idea which was really Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch, or whether they were all three the same. However, their remarks about the Huntsmen gave him hope for the first time.

"If the Huntsmen of Annuvin are your enemies," Taran said, "then we have common cause. We, too, have fought against them."

"Enemies, friends, it all comes to the same in the end," muttered Orgoch. "Do make haste, Orddu, and take them off to the shed. It's been a terribly long morning."

"You are a greedy creature," said Orddu, with a tolerant smile at the hooded crone. "There's another reason why neither of us wants to be Orgoch if we can possibly help it. Perhaps if you learned to control yourself better...? Now listen to what these dear mice have to tell us. It should be interesting; they say such charming things." Orddu turned to Taran. "Now, my duckling," she said pleasantly, "how did it come about that you're on such bad terms with the Huntsmen?"

Taran hesitated, fearful of revealing Gwydion's plan. "They attacked us," he began.

"Of course they did, my poor goslings," said Orddu with sympathy. "They're always attacking everybody. That's one of the advantages of being toads; you needn't worry about such things any more. It will be all romps in the forest and lovely wet mornings. The Huntsmen won't vex you any more. True, you shall have to keep an eye out for herons, kingfishers, and serpents. But apart from that, you won't have a care in the world."

"But who is 'us'?" interrupted Orwen. She turned to Orddu. "Aren't you going to find out their names?"

"Yes, by all means," murmured Orgoch, with a lip-smacking sound. "I love names."

Once again Taran hesitated. "This... this," he said, gesturing toward Eilonwy, "is Indeg. And Prince Glessic..."

Orwen giggled and gave Orddu an affectionate nudge. "Listen to them," she said. "They're delightful when they lie."

"If they won't give their right names," said Orgoch, "then simply take them." Taran stopped short. Orddu was studying him closely. With sudden discouragement, he realized his efforts were useless.

"This is Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad," he said. "And Fflewddur Fflam."

"A bard of the harp," Fflewddur added.

"And this is Gurgi." Taran continued.

"So that's a gurgi," said Orwen with great interest. "It seems to me I've heard of them, but I never knew what they were."

"It's not a gurgi," retorted Eilonwy. "It's Gurgi. And there's only one."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi put in, venturing to step from behind Taran. "And he is bold and clever! He will not let brave companions become toads with humpings and jumpings!"

Orgoch looked curiously at him. "What do you do with the gurgi?" she asked. "Do you eat it or sit on it?"

"I should think," Orddu suggested, "whatever you did, you would have to clean it first. And you, my duck," she said to Taran, "who are you?"

Taran straightened and threw back his head. "I am Taran," he said, "Assistant Pig-Keeper of Caer Dallben."

"Dallben!" cried Orddu. "You poor lost chicken, why didn't you say so in the first place? Tell me, how is dear little Dallben?"

Little Dallben?

# ¿ Jul 26, 2023 17:54

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

The idea of three witches/wisewomen or even a triple goddess is nothing new. The Norns, the Three Witches of MacBeth, The Greek Fates, etc. I don't know if the rotating identities has a particular basis in folklore though, but agreed that it is really cool.

# ¿ Jul 27, 2023 20:35

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 12: Little Dallben

quote:

TARAN'S JAW DROPPED. Before he could answer, the enchantresses had crowded around the companions and were leading them to the cottage. In wonder, he turned to Fflewddur, who looked less pale now that Orddu had stopped speaking of toads.

"Little Dallben?" Taran whispered. "I've never in my life heard anyone talk about him that way. Can they mean the same Dallben?"

"I don't know," whispered the bard in return. "But if they think it is--- Great Belin, don't tell them otherwise!" Inside, with a great deal of joyous bustling that in fact accomplished little, the enchantresses hurried to straighten up the chamber. Orwen, in obvious excitement and delight, brought out a number of rickety chairs and stools; Orgoch cleared the table of crockery by brushing it onto the floor; Orddu clapped her hands and beamed at the companions.

"I should never have thought it," she began. "Oh, no, no, my duck!" she cried suddenly to Eilonwy, who had drawn closer to the loom and had just bent forward to examine the fabric. "Mustn't touch. Nasty prickles if you do. It's full of nettles. Come sit with us, there's a love."

Despite the sudden warmth of their welcome, Taran glanced at the enchantresses with uneasiness. The chamber itself filled him with odd forebodings he could not name, which eluded him like shadows. Gurgi and the bard, however, appeared delighted at the strange turn of events, and set heartily to eating the food that soon arrived at thetable. Taran looked questioningly at Eilonwy. The girl guessed his thought.

"Don't be afraid to eat," she said behind her hand. "It's perfectly all right, not the least bit poisonous or enchanted. I can tell. I learned how when I was staying with Queen Achren and learning to be a sorceress. What you do is..."

"Now, my sparrow," Orddu interrupted, "you must tell us all about dear little Dallben. What is he doing? Does he still have The Book of Three?"

"Well... why, yes he does," Taran said, with some confusion, beginning to wonder if the enchantresses did not know more about Dallben than he did.

"Poor little robin," remarked Orddu, "and such a heavy book. I'm surprised he would even be able to turn the pages."

"Well, you see," Taran said, still puzzled, "the Dallben that we know, he isn't little. I mean, he's rather elderly."

"Elderly!" burst out Fflewddur. "He's every bit of three hundred and eighty years old! Coll himself told me."

"He was such a dear, sweet little thing," said Orwen with a sigh. "All pink cheeks and chubby fingers."

"I love babies," said Orgoch, smacking her lips.

"His hair is quite gray," said Taran, who could not bring himself to believe these strange creatures were indeed speaking of his old teacher. The idea of the learned Dallben ever having pink cheeks and chubby fingers was beyond his imagination. "He has a beard too," he added.

"A beard?" cried Orddu. "What's little Dallben doing with a beard? Why in the world should he want such a thing? Such a charming little tadpole!"

"We found him in the marsh one morning," said Orwen. "All by himself in a great wicker basket. It was too sweet for words. Orgoch, of course..." At this Orgoch made an irritable noise and her eyes glared from the depths of the hood.

"Come now, dear Orgoch, don't look so disagreeable," said Orddu. "We're all friends together here; we can talk about such things now. Well, I shall put it this way and spare Orgoch's feelings. She didn't want to keep him. That is, not in the usual sense. But we did. And so we brought the poor fledgling to the cottage."

"He grew very quickly," added Orwen. "Why, it was no time before he was toddling around, and talking, and doing little errands. So kind and polite. A perfect joy. And you say he has a beard?" She shook her head. "Curious notion. Wherever did he find it?"

"Yes, a delightful little sparrow he was,"said Orddu. "But then," she continued with a sad smile, "there was that distressing accident. We were brewing some herbs one morning, a rather special potion."

"And Dallben," sighed Orwen, "sweet little Dallben was stirring the kettle for us. It was one of those kind, thoughtful things he was always doing. But when it came to a boil, some of it bubbled up and splashed out."

"It burned his poor dear fingers," Orddu added. "But he didn't cry, no indeed. He just popped his fingers into his mouth, the brave little starling. Of course, some of the potion was still there, and he swallowed it."

"As soon as he did that," explained Orwen, "he knew every bit as much as we did. It was a magical brew, you understand, a recipe for wisdom."

"After that," Orddu went on, "it was out of the question to keep him with us. It would never have been the same; no, it would never have done at all; you can't have that many people knowing that much all under the same roof. Especially since he was able to guess some of the things Orgoch had in mind. And so we had to let him go--- really let him go, that is. Orgoch, by this time, was the one who wanted to keep him. In her own fashion, which I doubt he would have liked."

"He would have been a sweet little thing," murmured Orgoch.

"I must say we did quite handsomely by him," Orddu continued. "We gave him his choice of a harp, a sword, or The Book of Three. Had he chosen the harp, he could have been the greatest bard in the world; the sword and the dear duckling could have ruled all Prydain. But," Orddu said, "he chose The Book of Three. And to tell the truth, we were just as happy that he did, for it was heavy and moldy and did nothing but gather dust. And so he left to make his way in the world. And that was the last we saw of him."

"A good thing sweet, dear Dallben isn't here," Fflewddur chuckled to Taran. "Their description hardly matches. I fear they might be rather startled." Taran had been silent throughout Orddu's account, wondering how he dared bring up the matter of the cauldron.

"Dallben has been my master as long as I can remember," he said at last, deciding frankness was the best way to go about it especially since the enchantresses seemed able to guess when he was not telling the truth. "If you are as fond of him as I..."

"We love him dearly, the sweet thing," said Orddu, "you can be sure of that."

Well, I suppose a potion of wisdom is as good a wizard origin as any. Doesn't quite have the same vibe to it as years of study, but we'll let it slide.

quote:

"Then I beg you to help us carry out his wishes and the wishes of Gwydion Prince of Don," Taran went on. He explained what had taken place at the council, what they had learned at Dark Gate and from Gwystyl. He spoke of the urgency of bringing the cauldron to Caer Dallben, and asked, too, whether the enchantresses had seen Ellidyr.

Orddu shook her head. "A Son of Pen-Llarcau? No, my duck, there's been no such person anywhere near. If he'd come across the Marshes, we'd have been bound to see him."

"We have a lovely view of the fens from the hilltop," Orwen put in with such enthusiasm that her necklace bounced and rattled. "You must come and enjoy it. Indeed, you're perfectly welcome to stay as long as you want," she added eagerly. "Now that little Dallben's gone, and found himself a beard, too, the place isn't half as cheery as it used to be. We wouldn't change you into a toad--- unless you insisted on it."

"Stay, by all means," croaked Orgoch with a leer.

"Our task is to regain the cauldron," Taran pressed, preferring to overlook Orgoch's remark. "From what Gwystyl told us..."

"You said his crow told you, my lamb," interrupted Orddu. "Don't believe everything you hear from a crow."

"Doli of the Fair Folk believed him," Taran said. "Do you tell me now that you have no cauldron? I ask you this in the name of Dallben himself."

"Cauldron?" answered Orddu. "Why, goodness, we have dozens! Cauldrons, kettles, cook pots--- we can hardly keep track of them all."

"I speak of the cauldron of Annuvin," Taran said firmly, "the cauldron of Arawn and his deathless warriors."

"Oh," said Orddu, laughing cheerfully, "you must mean the Black Crochan."

"I do not know its name," Taran said, "but that may be the one we seek."

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer one of the others?" asked Orwen. "They're much more attractive than that old thing. And much more practical. What use have you for Cauldron-Born? They would only be a nuisance. We can give you a kettle to brew the most marvelous sleeping potions, or one you can sprinkle on daffodils to take away that bilious yellow."

"Our concern is with the Black Crochan," Taran insisted, deciding this was indeed the name of Arawn's cauldron. "Will you not tell me the truth? Is the cauldron here?"

"Of course it's here," replied Orddu. "Why not, since it was ours to begin with? And always has been!"

"Yours?" cried Taran. "Then Arawn stole it from you?"

"Stole?" Orddu answered. "Not exactly. No, we couldn't say it was stolen."

"But you couldn't have given it to Arawn," Eilonwy cried, "knowing what he meant to use it for!"

"Even Arawn had to be allowed to have his chance," said Orddu tolerantly. "One day you'll understand why. For there is a destiny laid on everything; on big, ugly Crochans as well as poor little ducklings, and a destiny laid even on us. Besides, Arawn paid dearly for the use of it, very dearly indeed, you can be sure. The details, my duckling, are of a private nature which does not concern you. In any case, the Crochan was not to be his forever."

"Arawn swore to return it after a time," said Orwen. "But when the time came, he broke his oath to us, as might be expected."

"Ill-advised," murmured Orgoch.

"And since he wouldn't give it back," Orddu said, "what else could we do? We went and took it."

"Great Belin!" cried the bard. "You three ladies ventured into the heart of Annuvin and carried the thing out? How did you ever manage?"

Orddu smiled. "There are a number of ways, my curious sparrow. We could have flooded Annuvin with darkness and floated the cauldron out. We could have put all the guards to sleep. Or we could have turned ourselves into--- well, no matter--- let us say we could have used a variety of methods. In any case, the cauldron is here again.

"And," the enchantress added, "here it will stay. No, no," she said, raising a hand to Taran. "I can see you'd like to have it, but that's out of the question. Much too dangerous for wandering chicks like you. My goodness, we shouldn't sleep at night. No, no, not even for the sake of little Dallben. In fact," Orddu went on, "you'd be much safer being toads than having anything to do with the Black Crochan." She shook her head. "Better yet, we could change you into birds and have you fly back to Caer Dallben immediately.

"No indeed," she continued, rising from the table and taking hold of Taran's shoulders. "Off you ducklings must go and never give a second thought to the Crochan. Tell dear little Dallben and Prince Gwydion we're terribly sorry, and if there's anything else we can possibly do... But not that. Oh, my no." Taran started to protest, but Orddu cut him short and guided him rapidly to the door, while the other enchantresses hustled the companions after him.

"You may sleep in the shed tonight, my chickens," said Orddu. "Then, first thing in the morning, away with you to little Dallben. And you shall decide whether you'd rather go on your legs. Or," she added, this time without a smile, "on a pair of your own wings."

"Or," muttered Orgoch, "hopping all the way."

Well, the gang tried. So much for recovering the black cauldron.

# ¿ Jul 29, 2023 20:39

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 13: The Plan

quote:

THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT behind them and once again the companions found themselves outside the cottage.

"Well, I like that!" Eilonwy cried indignantly. "After all their talk of dear little Dallben and sweet little Dallben, they've turned us out!"

"Better turned out than into, if you take my meaning," said the bard. "A Fflam is always kind to animals, but somehow I can't bring myself to feel I should like to actually become one!"

"No, oh, no!" Gurgi cried fervently. "Gurgi, too, wants to stay as he is--- bold and clever!"

Taran turned back to the cottage and began pounding on the door. "They must listen to us!" he declared. "They didn't even take time to think it over." But the door did not open, and though he ran to the window and rapped long and loud, the enchantresses did not show themselves again.

"I'm afraid that's your answer," said Fflewddur. "They've said all they intend to say--- and perhaps it's for the best. And I have the uneasy feeling all that knocking and thumping might--- well, you don't know but what those, ah, ladies get upset at noises."

"We can't just go away," Taran replied. "The cauldron is in their hands and, friends of Dallben or not, there's no telling what they'll do with it. I fear them and I distrust them. You heard the way the one called Orgoch was talking. Yes, I can well imagine what she'd have done to Dallben." He shook his head gravely. "This is what Gwydion warned against. Whoever has the cauldron can be a mortal threat to Prydain, if they choose to be."

"At least Ellidyr hasn't found it," Eilonwy said. "That's something to be grateful for."

"If you want the advice of one who is, after all, the oldest of us here," said the bard, "I think we should do well to hurry home and let Dallben and Gwydion attend to the matter. After all, Dallben should know how to deal with those three."

"No," Taran answered, "that I will not do. We should lose precious days in travel. The Huntsmen failed to get the cauldron back. But who knows what Arawn will attempt next? No, we dare not leave the thing here."

"For once," declared Eilonwy, "I agree. We've come this far and we shall have to go on to the end. I don't trust those enchantresses either. They wouldn't sleep if they thought we had the cauldron? I shall certainly have nightmares if I think of them with it! Not to mention Arawn! I believe no one, human or otherwise, should have that much power." She shuddered. "Ugh! There go the ants on my back again!"

"Yes, well, it's true," Fflewddur began. "But the fact remains--- they have that wretched pot and we don't. They're there and we're here, and it looks very much as though it will stay that way."

Taran was thoughtful a moment. "When Arawn wouldn't give the cauldron back to them," he said, "they went and took it. Now, since they won't let us have the cauldron, I see only one way: we shall have to take it."

"Steal it?" cried the bard. His worried expression changed rapidly and his eyes brightened. "I mean," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "steal it? Now there's a thought," he went on eagerly. "Never occurred to me. Yes, yes, that's the way," he added with excitement. "Now, that has some style and flair to it!"

"One difficulty," Eilonwy said. "We don't know where they've hidden the cauldron, and they evidently aren't going to let us in to find out."

Taran frowned. "I wish Doli were here; we'd have no trouble at all. I don't know--- there must be some way. They told us we could stay the night," he continued. "That gives us from now until dawn. Come, let's not stand in front of their cottage or they'll know we're up to something. Orddu spoke of a shed."

The companions led their horses to the side of the hill where a low, dilapidated building tottered shakily on the turf. It was bare and bleak and the autumn wind whistled through the chinks in the earthen wall. The bard stamped his feet and beat his arms.

"Chilly spot to plan anything," he remarked. "Those enchantresses may have a lovely view of the Marshes, but it's a cold one."

"I wish we had some straw," Eilonwy said, "or anything to keep us warm. We'll freeze before we have a chance to think of anything at all."

"Gurgi will find straw," Gurgi suggested. He scurried out of the shed and ran toward the chicken roost.

Taran paced back and forth. "We'll have to get into the cottage as soon as they're asleep." He shook his head and fingered the brooch at his throat. "But how? Adaon's clasp has given me no idea. The dreams I had of the cauldron are without meaning to me. If I could only understand them..."

"Suppose you dozed off right now," said Fflewddur helpfully, "and slept as fast as you could? As hard as you could, I mean. You might find the answer."

"I'm not sure," replied Taran. "It doesn't quite work that way."

"It should be a lot easier than boring a hole through the hill," said the bard, "which was my next suggestion."

"We could block up their chimney and smoke them out," Eilonwy said. "Then one of us could sneak into the cottage. No," she added, "on second thought, I'm afraid anything we might put down their chimney ---well ---they could very likely put something worse up. Besides, they don't have a chimney, so we shall have to forget that idea." Gurgi, meantime, had returned with a huge armload of straw from the chicken roost, and the companions gratefully began heaping it on the clay floor. While Gurgi went off again to fetch another load, Taran looked dubiously at the straggly pile.

"I suppose I could try to dream," he said, without much hope. "I certainly haven't a better suggestion."

"We can bed you down very nicely," said Fflewddur, "and while you're dreaming, the rest of us will be thinking, too. That way, we can all be working after our own fashion. I don't mind telling you," he added, "I wish I had Adaon's brooch. Sleep? I wouldn't need to be asked twice, for I'm weary to my bones." Taran, still unsure, made ready to settle himself in the straw when Gurgi reappeared, wide-eyed and trembling. The creature was so upset he could only gasp and gesture. Taran sprang to his feet.

"What is it?" he cried. Gurgi beckoned them toward the chicken roost and the companions hurried after him.

The agitated Gurgi led them into the wattle-and-daub building, then slunk back, terrified. He pointed to the far corner. There, in the midst of the straw, stood a cauldron. It was squat and black, and half as tall as a man. Its ugly mouth gaped wide enough to hold a human body. The rim of the cauldron was crooked and battered, its sides dented and scarred; on its lips and on the curve of its belly lay dark brown flecks and stains which Taran knew were not rust. A long, thick handle was braced by a heavy bar; two heavy rings, like the links of a great chain, were set in either side. Though of iron, the cauldron seemed alive, grim and brooding with ancient evil. The empty mouth caught the chill breeze and a hushed muttering rose from the cauldron's depths, like the lost voices of the tormented dead.

"It is the Black Crochan," Taran whispered in fear and awe. He well understood Gurgi's terror, for the very sight of the cauldron was enough to make him feel an icy hand clutching his heart. He turned away, hardly daring to look at it any longer. Fflewddur's face was pale. Eilonwy put a hand to her mouth. In the corner, Gurgi shivered pitifully. Though he himself had found it, he gave no joyous yelps of triumph. Instead, he sank deeper into the straw and tried to make himself as small as possible.

"Yes, well, I suppose it is indeed," replied Fflewddur, swallowing hard. "On the other hand," he added hopefully, "perhaps it is not. They did say they had a number of other cauldrons and kettles lying about. I mean, we shouldn't want to make a mistake."

"It is the Crochan," Taran said. "I have dreamed of it. And even if I had not, I would know it still, for I can sense the evil in it."

"I, too," murmured Eilonwy. "It is full of death and suffering. I understand why Gwydion wants to destroy it." She turned to Taran. "You were right in seeking it without delay," Eilonwy added with a shudder. "I'll take back all the things I said. The Crochan must be destroyed as soon as possible."

"Yes," Fflewddur sighed, "I'm afraid this is the Crochan itself. Why couldn't it have been a nice little kettle instead of this ugly, hulking brute? However," he went on, taking a deep breath, "let's snatch it! A Fflam never hesitates!"

"No!" cried Taran, putting out a hand to restrain the bard. "We dare not take it in broad daylight; and we mustn't stay here or they'll know we've found it. We'll come back after nightfall with the horses and drag it away. For now, we'd better keep to the shed and act as if nothing has happened." The companions quickly returned to the shed. Once away from the Crochan, Gurgi regained some of his spirits.

"Crafty Gurgi found it!" he cried. "Oh, yes! He always finds what is lost! He has found piggies, and now he finds a great cauldron of wicked doings and brewings! Kind master will honor humble Gurgi!" Nevertheless, his face wrinkled with fear.Taran gave Gurgi a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"Yes, old friend," he said, "you have helped us more than once. But I never would have imagined they'd have hidden the Crochan in an empty chicken roost, under a pile of dirty straw." He shook his head. "I'd think they'd want to guard it better."

"Not at all," said the bard. "They were very clever. They put it in one of the first places anybody would look, knowing quite well it was so easy nobody would ever think of looking there."

"Perhaps," Taran said. He frowned. "Or perhaps," he added, unable to stifle the dread suddenly filling him, "they meant us to find it."

Dun dun dunnn....

quote:

IN THE SHED the companions tried to sleep, knowing the night to come would be one of hard and dangerous labor. Fflewddur and Gurgi dozed briefly; Eilonwy huddled in her cloak with some straw piled around her. Taran was too restless and uneasy even to close his eyes. He sat silently, in his hands a long coil of rope he had taken from what little gear remained to the companions. They had decided to sling the cauldron between the two horses and make their way from the Marshes into the safe shelter of the forest, where they would destroy the Crochan. No sign of life came from the cottage. At nightfall, however, a candle suddenly glowed in the window. Taran rose quietly and moved stealthily out of the shed. Clinging to the shadows, he made his way to the low building and peered in. For a moment he stood there, amazed, unable to move. Then he turned and raced back to the others as quickly as he could.

"I saw them in there!" he whispered, rousing the bard and Gurgi. "They aren't the same ones at all!"

"What?" cried Eilonwy. "Are you sure you didn't stumble on a different cottage?"

"Of course I didn't," retorted Taran. "And if you don't believe me, go and look for yourself. They aren't the same. There are three of them, yes, but they're different. One of them was carding wool; one of them was spinning; and the third was weaving."

"I suppose, really," said the bard, "it passes the time for them. There's little enough to do in the middle of these dismal bogs."

"I shall indeed have to see for myself," Eilonwy declared. "There's nothing so strange about weaving, but beyond that I can't make any sense of what you say." With Taran leading, the companions stole cautiously to the window. It was as he had said. Inside the cottage three figures wentabout their tasks, but not one of them resembled Orddu, Orwen, or Orgoch.

"They're beautiful!" whispered Eilonwy.

"I've heard of hags trying to disguise themselves as beautiful maidens," murmured the bard, "but I've never heard of beautiful maidens wanting to disguise themselves as hags. It isn't natural, and I don't mind telling you it makes me edgy. I think we'd better seize the cauldron and be gone."

"I don't know who they are," said Taran, "but I fear they are more powerful than we could even guess. Somehow we've fallen on something--- I don't know what. It troubles me. Yes, we must take the cauldron as soon as we can, but we shall wait until they're asleep."

"If they sleep," said the bard. "Now that I've seen this, nothing would surprise me, not even if they hung by their toes all night, like bats." For a long time Taran feared the bard was right and that the enchantresses might not sleep at all. The companions took turns watching the cottage and it was not until almost dawn that the candle finally winked out. In an agony of waiting, Taran still delayed. Soon a loud snoring rose from within.

"They must have gone back to themselves again," remarked the bard. "I can't imagine beautiful ladies snoring like that. No, it's Orgoch. I'd recognize that snort anywhere." In the still shadows of the false dawn the companions hastened to the chicken roost where Eilonwy ventured to light her bauble. The Crochan squatted in its corner, black and baleful.

"Hurry now," Taran ordered, taking hold of the handle. "Fflewddur and Eilonwy, pick up those rings; and Gurgi, lift the other side. We'll haul it out and rope it to the horses. Ready? All lift together." The companions gave a mighty heave, then nearly fell to the ground. The cauldron had not moved.

"It's heavier than I thought," said Taran. "Try again." He made to shift his grip on the handle. But his hands would not come free. In a spurt of fear, he tried to pull away. It was in vain.

"I say," muttered the bard, "I seem to be caught on something."

"So am I!" Eilonwy cried, struggling to tear her hands loose.

"And Gurgi is caught!" howled the terrified Gurgi. "Oh, sorrow! He cannot move!" Desperately the companions flung themselves back and forth, fighting against the mute, iron enemy. Taran wrenched and tugged until he sobbed for lack of strength. Eilonwy had dropped in exhaustion, her hands still on the heavy ring. Once again, Taran strained to break free. The Black Crochan held him fast.

A figure in a long night robe appeared at the doorway.

"It's Orddu!" cried the bard. "We'll be toads for sure!"

The party does not, in fact, even lift.

# ¿ Aug 2, 2023 18:43

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 14: The Price

quote:

ORDDU, BLINKING SLEEPILY and looking more disheveled than ever, stepped inside the chicken roost. Behind her followed the other two enchantresses, also in flapping night robes, their hair unbound and falling about their shoulders in a mass of snarls and tangles. They had again taken the shapes of crones, in no way resembling the maidens Taran had spied through the window. Orddu raised a sputtering candle above her head and peered at the companions.

"Oh, the poor lambs!" she cried. "What have they gone and done? We tried to warn them about the nasty Crochan, but the headstrong little goslings wouldn't listen! My, oh my," she clucked sorrowfully, "now they've got their little fingers caught!"

"Don't you think," said Orgoch in a croaking whisper, "we should start the fire?"

Orddu turned to her. "Do be silent, Orgoch," she cried. "What a dreadful thought. It's much too early for breakfast."

"Never too early," muttered Orgoch.

"Look at them," Orddu went on fondly. "They're so charming when they're frightened. Like birdlings without their feathers."

"You have tricked us, Orddu!" Taran cried. "You knew we'd find the cauldron and you knew what would happen!"

"Why, of course we did, my chicken," Orddu replied sweetly. "We were only curious to find out what you'd do when you did find it. And now you've found it, and now we know!" Taran struggled desperately to free himself. Despite his terror, he flung back his head and glared defiantly at Orddu.

"Kill us if you choose, you evil hags!" he cried. "Yes, we would have stolen the cauldron and destroyed it! And so shall I try again, as long as I live!" Taran threw himself furiously against the immovable Crochan and once again with all his strength tried vainly to wrest it from the ground.

"I love to see them get angry, don't you?" Orwen whispered happily to Orgoch.

"Do take care," Orddu advised Taran, "or you'll harm yourself with all that thrashing about. We forgive you for calling us hags," she added indulgently. "You're upset, poor chicken, and liable to say anything."

"You are evil creatures!" Taran cried. "Do with us what you will, but sooner or later you shall be overcome. Gwydion shall learn of our fate. And Dallben..."

"Yes, yes!" shouted Gurgi. "They will find you, oh, yes! With great fightings and smitings!"

"My dear pullets," replied Orddu, "you still don't understand, do you? Evil? Why, bless your little thumping hearts, we aren't evil."

"I should hardly call this 'good'," muttered the bard. "Not, at least, from a personal point of view."

"Of course not," agreed Orddu. "We're neither good nor evil. We're simply interested in things as they are. And things as they are, at the moment, seem to be that you're caught by the Crochan."

"And you don't care!" cried Eilonwy. "That's worse than being evil!"

"Certainly we care, my dear," Orwen said soothingly. "It's that we don't care in quite the same way you do, or rather care isn't really a feeling we can have."

"Come now," said Orddu, "don't trouble your thoughts with such matters. We've been talking and talking and we have some pleasant news for you. Bring the Crochan outdoors--- it's so stuffy and eggy in here--- and we shall tell you. Go ahead," she added, "you can lift it now." Taran cast Orddu a distrustful glance, but ventured to put his weight against the cauldron. It moved, and he discovered, too, his hands were free. With much labor the companions managed to raise the heavy Crochan and carry it from the chicken roost. Outside, the sun had already risen. As the companions set the cauldron on the ground and quickly drew away, the rays of dawn turned the black iron as red as blood.

"Yes, now as I was saying," Orddu continued, while Taran and his companions rubbed their aching arms and hands, "we've talked it over and we agree--- even Orgoch agrees--- that you shall have the Crochan if you truly want it."

Good news, everyone!

quote:

"You'll let us take it?" cried Taran. "After all you've done?"

"Quite so," replied Orddu. "The Crochanis useless--- except for making Cauldron-Born. Arawn has spoiled it for anything else, as you might imagine. It's sad it should be so, but that's the way things are. Now, I assure you, Cauldron-Born are the last creatures in the world we should want around here. We've decided the Crochan is nothing but a bother to us. And, since you're friends of Dallben..."

"You're giving us the Crochan?" Taran began in astonishment.

"Delighted to oblige you ladies," said the bard.

"Gently, gently, my ducklings," Orddu interrupted. "Give you the Crochan? Oh, goodness no! We never give anything. Only what is worth earning is worth having. But we shall allow you the opportunity to buy it."

"We have no treasures to bargain with," Taran said in dismay. "Alas that we do not."

"We couldn't expect you to pay as much as Arawn did," replied Orddu, "but we're sure you can find something to offer in exchange. Oh, shall we say... the North Wind in a bag?"

"The North Wind!" Taran exclaimed. "Impossible! How could you ever dream...?"

"Very well," said Orddu, "we shan't be difficult. The South Wind, then. It's much gentler."

"You make sport of us," Taran cried angrily. "The price you ask is beyond what any of us can pay."

Orddu hesitated. "Possibly you're right," she admitted. "Well, then, something a little more personal. I have it!" she said, beaming at Taran. "Give us--- give us the nicest summer day you can remember! You can't say that's hard, since it belongs to you!"

"Yes," Orwen said eagerly. "A lovely summer afternoon full of sunlight and sleepy scents."

"There's nothing so sweet," murmured Orgoch, sucking a tooth, "as a tender young lamb's summer afternoon."

"How can I give you that?" protested Taran. "Or any other day, when they're--- they're inside of me somewhere? You can't get them out! I mean..."

"We could try," Orgoch muttered. Orddu sighed patiently. "Very well, my goslings. We've made our suggestions and we're willing to listen to yours. But mind you, if it's to be a fair exchange, it must be something you prize as much as the Crochan."

"I prize my sword," Taran said. "It is a gift from Dallben and the first blade that is truly mine. For the Crochan I would gladly part with it." He began quickly to unbuckle his belt, but Orddu waved an uninterested hand.

"A sword?" she answered, shaking herhead. "Goodness, no, my duck. We already have so many--- too many, in fact. And some of them famous weapons of mighty warriors."

"Then," said Taran, with hesitation, "I offer you Lluagor. She is a noble animal." He paused, seeing Orddu's frown. "Or," he added reluctantly in a low voice, "there is my horse, Melynlas, a colt of Melyngar, Prince Gwydion's own steed. None is faster or more surefooted. I treasure Melynlas beyond all others."

"Horses?" said Orddu. "No, that won't do at all. Such a bother feeding them and caring for them. Besides, with Orgoch it's difficult to keep pets about."

Taran was silent for a moment. His face paled as he thought of Adaon's brooch and his hand went protectively to it. "All that remains to me," he began slowly.

"No, no!" Gurgi cried, thrusting his way toward the enchantress and brandishing his wallet. "Take Gurgi's own great treasure! Take bag of crunchings and munchings!"

"Not food," said Orddu. "That won't do either. The only one of us who has the slightest interest in food is Orgoch. And I'm sure your wallet holds nothing to tempt her." Gurgi looked at Orddu in dismay.

"But it is all poor Gurgi has to give." He held out the wallet once again. The enchantress smiled and shook her head. Gurgi's hands fell to his sides; his shoulders drooped; and he turned mournfully away.

"You must like jewelry," Eilonwy put in quickly. She pulled the ring from her finger and offered it to Orddu. "This is a lovely thing," Eilonwy said. "Prince Gwydion gave it to me. Do you see the stone? It was carved by the Fair Folk." Orddu took the ring, held it close to her eye, and squinted.

"Lovely, lovely," she said. "So pretty. Almost as pretty as you, my lamb. But so much older. No, I'm afraid not. We have a number of them, too. We really don't want any more. Keep it, my chick. One day you may find some use for it, but we surely won't." She gave back the ring to Eilonwy, who sadly replaced it on her finger.

"I do have something else I treasure," Eilonwy went on. She reached into the folds of her cloak and brought out the golden sphere. "Here," she said, turning it in her hands so that it shone with a bright glow. "It's much better than just a light," Eilonwy said. "You see things differently in it, clearer, somehow. It's very useful."

"How sweet of you to offer it to us," said Orddu. "But there again, it's something we don't really need."

"Ladies, ladies!" cried Fflewddur. "You've overlooked a most excellent bargain." He stepped forward and unslung his harp. "I quite understand that bags of food and all such couldn't possibly interest you. But I ask you to consider this harp. You're alone in this gloomy fen," he went on, "and a little music should be just the thing. The harp almost plays of itself," Fflewddur continued. He put the beautifully curved instrument to his shoulder, barely touched the strings, and a long, lovely melody filled the air. "You see?" cried the bard. "Nothing to it!"

"Oh, it is nice!" Orwen murmured wistfully. "And think of the songs we could sing to keep ourselves company."

Orddu peered closely at the harp. "I notice a good many of the strings are badly knotted. Has the weather got into them?"

"No, not exactly the weather," said the bard. "With me, they tend to break frequently. But only when I--- only when I color the facts a bit. I'm sure you ladies wouldn't have that kind of trouble."

"I can understand you should prize it," Orddu said. "But, if we want music we can always send for a few birds. No, all things considered, it would be a nuisance, keeping it in tune and so on."

"Are you certain you have nothing else?" Orwen asked hopefully.

"That's all," said the disappointed bard. "Absolutely everything. Unless you want the cloaks off our backs."

"Bless you, no!" said Orddu. "It wouldn't be proper in the least for you ducklings to go without them. You'd perish with the cold--- and what good would the Crochan be to you then? I'm terribly sorry, my chicks," Orddu went on. "It does indeed seem you have nothing to interest us. Very well, we shall keep the Crochan and you shall be on your way."

The Weird Sisters certainly are shrewd negotiators. Makes you wonder what they made Arawn pay for borrowing the cauldron.

# ¿ Aug 5, 2023 18:40

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 15: The Black Cauldron

Title drop!

quote:

FAREWELL, MY OWLETS," Orddu said, turning toward the cottage. "Unfortunate you couldn't strike a bargain with us. But that, too, is the way things are. Flutter home to your nest, and give all our love to little Dallben."

"Wait!" Taran called, and strode afterher. Eilonwy, realizing his intent, cried out in protest and caught his arm. Gently, Taran put her aside. Orddu stopped and looked back at him. "There is--- there is one thing more," Taran said in a low voice. He stiffened and took a deep breath. "The brooch I wear, the gift of Adaon Son of Taliesin."

"Brooch?" said Orddu, eyeing him curiously. "A brooch, indeed? Yes, that might be more interesting. Just the thing, perhaps. You should have mentioned it sooner." Taran lifted his head and his eyes met Orddu's. For that instant it seemed to him they were quite alone. He raised his hand slowly to his throat and felt the power of the brooch working within him.

"You have been toying with us, Orddu," he whispered. "You saw that I wore Adaon's clasp from the moment we came here. You knew it for what it was."

"Does that matter?" Orddu replied. "It is still your choice, whether you will bargain with it. Yes, we know the brooch well. Menwy Son of Teirgwaedd, first of the bards, fashioned it long ago."

"You could have slain us," Taran murmured, "and taken the clasp."

Orddu smiled sadly. "Do you not understand, poor chicken? Like knowledge, truth, and love themselves, the clasp must be given willingly or its power is broken. And it is, indeed, filled with power. This, too, you must understand. For Menwy the bard cast a mighty spell on it and filled it with dreams, wisdom, and vision. With such a clasp, a duckling could win much glory and honor. Who can tell? He might rival all the heroes of Prydain, even Gwydion Prince of Don.

"Think carefully, duckling," Orddu said. "Once given up, it shall not come to you again. Will you exchange it for an evil cauldron you intend only to destroy?"

As he held the brooch, Taran recalled with bitter clarity the joys of sight and scent, of dewdrops on a spider web, his rescue of the companions from the rock fall, of Gurgi praising his wisdom, the admiring eyes of Eilonwy, and Adaon who had entrusted the brooch to him. Once more there came to him the pride of strength and knowledge. At his feet, the ugly cauldron seemed to mock him. Taran nodded, barely able to speak.

"Yes," he said heavily. "This shall be my bargain." Slowly he undid the clasp at his throat. As he dropped the bit of iron into Orddu's outstretched hand, it was as though a light flickered and died in his heart, and he nearly cried out with the anguish of it.

"Done, my chicken!" Orddu cried. "The brooch for the Crochan!" About him the companions stood insilence and dismay. Taran's hands clenched.

"The Crochan is ours," he said, looking Orddu full in the face. "Is this not so? It is ours, to do with as we please?"

"Why, of course, dear fledgling," Orddu said. "We never break a bargain. It's yours entirely, no question of it."

"In your stables," Taran said, "I saw hammers and iron bars. Will you grant us the use of them? Or," he added bitterly, "must we pay still another price?"

"Use them by all means," replied Orddu. "We'll count that as part of the bargain, for you are a bold chicken, we must admit."

Taran led the companions to the stable and there he paused. "I understand what you were all trying to do," he said quietly, taking their hands in turn. "Each of you would have given up what you treasured most, for my sake. I'm glad Orddu didn't take your harp, Fflewddur," he added. "I know how unhappy you'd be without your music, even more than I without my brooch. And Gurgi, you should never have tried to sacrifice your food on my account. And Eilonwy, your ring and your bauble are much too useful and beautiful to exchange for an ugly Crochan. All of these things," Taran said, "are doubly precious now. And so are you, the best of true comrades." He seized a heavy hammer that was leaning against the wall. "Come now, friends, we have a task to finish."

Armed with iron bars and sledges, the companions hurried back to the cottage and, while the enchantresses looked on curiously, Taran raised his hammer. With all his strength he brought it down on the Crochan. The hammer rebounded. The cauldron rang like a deep bell of doom, but remained undented. With a cry of anger, Taran struck again. The bard and Eilonwy added a fury of blows, while Gurgi belabored the cauldron with an iron bar. Despite their efforts, the cauldron showed not the slightest damage. Drenched and exhausted, Taran leaned on his hammer and wiped his streaming face.

"You should have told us, my goslings, what you intended," Orddu called. "You can't do that to the Crochan, you know."

"The cauldron belongs to us," retorted Eilonwy. "Taran has paid more than enough. It's our business if we want to smash it!"

"Naturally," replied Orddu, "and you're quite welcome to hammer and kick it from now until the birds start nesting again. But, my silly goslings, you'll never destroy the Crochan that way. Goodness no, you're going at it all wrong!" Gurgi, about to crawl inside the Crochan and attack it from within, stopped to listen while Orddu continued. "Since the Crochan is yours," she said, "you're entitled to know how to dispose of it. There's only one way, though very simple and neat it is."

"Then tell us!" Taran cried. "So that we may put an end to the evil thing!"

"A living person must climb into it," Orddu said. "When he does, the Crochan will shatter. But," she added, "there's only one disagreeable thing about that, the poor duckling who climbs in will never climb out again alive." With a yelp of terror, Gurgi sprang from the cauldron and scuttled to a safe distance, where he furiously brandished his iron bar and shook his fist at the Crochan.

"Yes," said Orddu with a smile, "that's the way of it. The Crochan only cost you a brooch, but it will cost a life to destroy it. Not only that, but whoever gives up his life to the Crochan must give it willingly, knowing full well what he does. And now, my chickens," she went on, "we must really say farewell. Orgoch is dreadfully sleepy. You had us up so early, you know. Farewell, farewell." She waved a hand and, with the other enchantresses, turned to enter the cottage.

"Stop!" Taran shouted. "Tell us, is there no other way?" He ran to the doorway. Orddu's head popped out for an instant.

"None whatever, my chicken," she said, and for the first time there was a hint of pity in her voice. The door snapped shut in Taran's face. He pounded in vain; no further reply came from the enchantresses, and even the window suddenly darkened with an impenetrable black fog.

And so we learn the truth of the Black Cauldron; and a bitter truth it is.

quote:

"When Orddu and her friends say farewell," remarked the bard, "they mean it. I doubt we shall see them again." He brightened. "And that's the most cheerful piece of news I've had this morning."

Taran wearily dropped his hammer to the ground. "Surely there must be something else we can do. Though we cannot destroy the Crochan, we dare not part with it."

"Hide it," suggested Fflewddur. "Bury it. And I should say, as soon as possible. You can be quite certain we won't find anyone eager to jump into the thing and break it for us."

Taran shook his head. "No, we cannot hide it. Sooner or later Arawn would find it, and all our efforts would have been useless. Dallben will know," he went on. "He alone has the wisdom to deal with the cauldron. Gwydion himself planned to bring the Crochan to Caer Dallben. Now that must be our task."

Fflewddur nodded. "I suppose that's the only safe thing. But it's a cumbersome beast. I don't see the four of us lugging it along some of those mountain trails."

In front of the silent cottage, the companions led out Lluagor and Melynlas and lashed the cauldron between the two steeds. Gurgi and Eilonwy guided the heavily laden horses, while Taran and the bard walked, one in front, one behind, to steady the Crochan. Though eager to be gone from Orddu's cottage, Taran did not dare venture across the Marshes of Morva again. Instead, he determined the companions would travel some distance from the edges of the swamp, keeping to solid ground and following a path half-circling the bog until they reached the moors.

"It's longer," Taran said, "but the Marshes are too treacherous. Last time, Adaon's brooch guided me. Now," he added with a sigh, "I'm afraid I'd lead us to the same fate as the Huntsmen."

"That's rather a good idea!" cried the bard. "Not for us," he added quickly, "for the Crochan. Sink the beastly pot in the quicksand!"

"No thank you!" answered Eilonwy. "By the time we found quicksand, we'd be sinking along with the Crochan. If you're tired, we can change off and you lead Melynlas."

"Not at all, not at all," grunted Fflewddur. "It's not as heavy as all that. In fact, I find the exercise bracing, quite invigorating. A Fflam never flags!"

At this, a harp string broke, but the bard gave it no heed, busy as he was in holding his side of the swaying cauldron. Taran trudged in silence, speaking only to call directions to Eilonwy and Gurgi. They continued with few moments of rest throughout the day. Nevertheless by sunset Taran realized they had covered only a little distance and had barely reached the broad moorlands. He was aware, too, of his own fatigue, heavy as the Crochan itself, a weariness he had never noticed while he had worn Adaon's brooch. They camped on an open heath, cold and barren, shrouded with mist drifting from the Marshes of Morva. There they unroped the Crochan from the tired horses and Gurgi brought out food from the wallet. After the meal, Fflewddur's spirits revived. Although shivering in the chill and dampness, the bard put his harp to his shoulder and attempted to cheer the companions with a merry song. Taran, usually eager to listen to the bard's music, sat apart, gloomily watching the cauldron. After a time Eilonwy drew near and put her hand on his shoulder.

"I realize it's no consolation to you," she said, "but if you look at it in one way, you didn't give up a thing to the enchantresses, not really. You did exchange the clasp and everything that went along with it. But, don't you see, all those things came from the clasp itself; they weren't inside of you. I think," she added, "it would have been much worse giving up a summer day. That's part of you, I mean. I know I shouldn't want to give up a single one of mine. Or even a winter day, for the matter of that. So, when you come right down to it, Orddu didn't take anything from you; why, you're still yourself and you can't deny that!"

"Yes," Taran answered. "I am still only an Assistant Pig Keeper. I should have known that anything else was too good to last."

"That may be true," said Eilonwy, "but as far as being an Assistant Pig-Keeper is concerned, I think you're a perfectly marvelous one. Believe me, there's no question in my mind you're the best Assistant Pig-Keeper in all Prydain. How many others there are, I'm sure I don't know, but that's beside the point. And I doubt a single one of them would have done what you did."

"I could not have done otherwise," Taran said, "not if we were to gain the cauldron. Orddu said they were interested in things as they are," he went on. "I believe now they are concerned with things as they must be. "Adaon knew there was a destiny laid on him," Taran continued, turning to Eilonwy, his voice growing firmer, "and he did not turn from it, though it cost him his life.

"Very well," he declared. "If there is a destiny laid on me, I shall face it. I hope only that I may face it as well as Adaon did his."

"But don't forget," added Eilonwy, "no matter what else happens, you won the cauldron for Gwydion and Dallben and all of us. That's one thing nobody can take away from you. Why, for that alone you have every reason to be proud."

Taran nodded. "Yes, this much have I done." He said no more and Eilonwy quietly left him there. For long after the others had gone to sleep, Taran sat staring at the Crochan. He thought carefully over all Eilonwy had told him; his despair lightened a little and pride stirred within him. Soon the cauldron would be in Gwydion's hands and the long task ended.

"This much have I done," Taran repeated to himself, and new strength budded in his heart. Nevertheless, as the wind moaned across the heath and the Crochan loomed before him like an iron shadow, he thought once again of the brooch, and he buried his face in his hands and wept.

And we have come to the part where Taran has learned another lesson. That with great power comes great responsibility - but not necessarily great happiness.

# ¿ Aug 9, 2023 15:49

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 16: The River

quote:

HIS NIGHT'S SLEEP refreshed Taran but little and hardly blunted the edge of his weariness. Nevertheless, at dawn he roused the companions and with much effort they began roping the Crochan to Lluagor and Melynlas. When they finished, Taran glanced around him uneasily.

"There is no concealment for us on these moors," he said. "I had hoped we might keep to the flatlands where our journey would be easier. But I fear that Arawn will have his gwythaints seeking the Crochan. Sooner or later they will find us, and here they could fall on us like hawks on chickens."

"Please don't mention chickens," said the bard with a sour grimace. "I had quite enough of that from Orddu."

"Gurgi will protect kind master!" shouted Gurgi.

Taran smiled and put a hand on Gurgi's shoulder. "I know you'll do your best," he said. "But all of us together are no match for even one gwythaint." Taran shook his head. "No," he said reluctantly, "I think we had better turn north to the Forest of Idris. It's the longest way around, but at least it would give us some cover."

Eilonwy agreed. "It's not usually wise to go in the direction opposite to where you want to be," she said. "But you can be sure I'd rather not fight gwythaints."

"Lead on, then," said Fflewddur. "A Fflam never falters! Though what my aching bones might do is another matter!"

Crossing the moorlands, the companions journeyed without difficulties, but once within the Forest of Idris the Crochan grew more burdensome. Although the trees and bushes offered concealment and protection, the paths were narrow. Lluagor and Melynlas stumbled often and, despite their most valiant efforts, they could barely drag the cauldron through the brush. Taran called a halt.

"Our horses have borne all they can," he said, patting the lathered neck of Melynlas. "Now it is our turn to help them. I wish Doli were here." He sighed. "I'm sure he'd find an easier way of carrying the Crochan. He'd think of something clever. Like making a sling out of branches and vines."

"There!" cried Eilonwy. "You've just said it yourself! You're doing amazingly well without Adaon's brooch!" With their swords Taran and the bard cut stout branches, while Eilonwy and Gurgi stripped vines from the tree trunks. Taran's spirits lifted when he saw the sling take shape according to his plan. The companions hoisted up the Crochan and set off again. But even with the sling, and all their strength, their progress was slow and painful.

"Oh, poor weary arms!" moaned Gurgi. "Oh, moilings and toilings! This evil pot is a cruel and wicked master to us all! Oh, sorrow! Fainting Gurgi will never leave Caer Dallben again unbidden!"

Taran gritted his teeth, as the rough branches bit into his shoulders. To him, too, it seemed as if the ugly, heavy cauldron had gained some strange life of its own. The Crochan, squat and blood-darkened, lurched behind him as he stumbled through the brush. It caught on jutting tree limbs, as though eagerly clutching them to itself. Often, at these sudden checks, the companions lost their footing and went sprawling. Then, laboriously, they were obliged to set the Crochan back in its sling once again. Though the weather was chill enough to turn their breath white, their clothing was drenched with sweat and nearlyripped to shreds by the grasping brambles.

The trees had begun to grow more dense, and the ground rose toward the comb of a hill. For Taran, the Crochan seemed to gain weight with every pace. Its leering, gaping mouth taunted him, and the cauldron dragged at his strength as he heaved and struggled along the ascending trail. The companions had nearly reached the crest of the hill when one of the carrier branches snapped. The Crochan plunged to the ground and Taran fell headlong. Painfully picking himself up and rubbing his shoulder, he stared at the spiteful cauldron and shook his head.

"No use," Taran gasped. "We'll never get it through the forest. No sense trying."

"You sound like Gwystyl," Eilonwy remarked. "If I didn't have my eyes open, I could barely tell the difference."

"Gwystyl!" cried the bard, looking ruefully at his blistered hands. "I envy that fellow in his rabbit warren! Sometimes I think he had quite the right idea."

"We are too few to carry such a burden," Taran said hopelessly. "With another horse or another pair of hands there might be a chance. We are only deceiving ourselves if we think we can bring the Crochan to Caer Dallben."

"That may be true," Eilonwy sighed wearily. "But I don't know what else we can do, except keep on deceiving ourselves. And perhaps by that time we'll be home." Taran cut a new branch for the sling, but his heart was as heavy as the Crochan itself. And, as the companions wrestled their burden over the hill and descended into a deep valley, Taran nearly sank to the ground in despair. Before them, like a brown, menacing serpent, stretched a turbulent river.

Taran stared grimly at the choppy waters for a moment, then turned away. "There is a destiny laid on us that the Crochan shall never reach Caer Dallben."

"Nonsense!" cried Eilonwy. "If you stop now, then you've given up Adaon's brooch for nothing! That's worse than putting a necklace on an owl and letting it fly away!"

"If I'm not mistaken," said Fflewddur helpfully, "that must be the River Tevvyn. I've crossed it farther to the north, where it takes its source. Surprising, the bits of information you pick up as a wandering bard."

"Alas, it does us no good, my friend," Taran said, "unless we could turn north again and cross where the river is less wide."

"Afraid that wouldn't answer," said Fflewddur. "We'd have the mountains to go over, that way. If we're to cross at all, we shall have to do it here."

"It seems a little shallower down that way," said Eilonwy, pointing to a spot where the river curved around a sedge covered bank. "Very well, Taran of Caer Dallben," she said, "what shall it be? We can't just sit here until gwythaints or something even more disagreeable find us, and we certainly can't go back to Orddu and offer to exchange the Crochan again."

Taran took a deep breath. "If you are all willing," he said, "we shall try to cross."

I like the implication here that the Cochran isn't just used for evil but actively exudes evil around it - or at least misfortune.

quote:

SLOWLY, STRUGGLING under the cruel weight, the companions brought the Crochan to the riverbank. While Gurgi, leading the horses, cautiously set one foot, then the other, into the stream, Taran and the bard shouldered the sling. Eilonwy followed beside them to steady the swaying cauldron. The icy water slashed at Taran's legs like a knife. He dug his heels into the river bed, seeking a firmer foothold. He plunged deeper; behind him, the straining, grunting Fflewddur did his best to avoid dropping his end of the sling. The chill of the river took Taran's breath away. His head spun, the branches nearly slipped from his numb fingers. For one moment of terror he felt himself falling. His foot found a rock and he braced himself on it. The vines creaked and tensed as the weight of the cauldron shifted. The companions were in midstream now and the water rose only to their waists. Taran raised his streaming face. The opposite bank was not far; the ground appeared smoother, the forest not as dense.

"Soon there!" he cried, taking heart anew. Gurgi, he saw, had already led the horses from the water and was turning back to help the toiling companions. Closer to the bank the river bottom turned stony. Blindly, Taran picked his way through the treacherous rocks. Ahead rose a number of high boulders and he warily guided the Crochan past them. Gurgi was reaching out his hands when Taran heard a sharp cry from the bard. The cauldron lurched. With all his strength Taran heaved forward. Eilonwy seized the cauldron by its handle and tugged desperately. Taran flung himself to dry ground. The Crochan rolled to its side and sank in the muddy shallows. Taran turned back to help Fflewddur. The bard, who had fallen heavily against the boulders, was struggling to shore. His face was white with pain; his right arm hung uselessly at his side.

"Is it broken? Is it broken?" Fflewddur moaned as Taran and Eilonwy hurried to lead him up the bank.

"I'll be able to tell in a moment," Taran said, helping the stumbling bard to sit down and prop his back against an alder. He opened Fflewddur's cloak, slit the sleeve of the jacket, and carefully examined the damaged arm. Taran saw quickly that the bard's fall had not only been severe but that one of the cauldron's legs had given him a deep gash in his side. "Yes," Taran said gravely, "I'm afraid it is." At this the bard set up a loud lament and bowed his head.

"Terrible, terrible," he groaned. "A Fflam is always cheerful, but this is too much to bear."

"It was a bad accident," Eilonwy said, trying to hide her concern, "but you mustn't take on so. It can be fixed. We'll bind it up."

"Useless!" cried Fflewddur in despair. "It will never be the same! Oh, it is the fault of that beastly Crochan! The wretched thing struck at me deliberately, I'm sure!"

"You'll be all right, I promise you," Taran reassured the sorrowful bard. He tore several wide strips from his cloak. "Good as new in a little while," he added. "Of course, you won't be able to move your arm until it's healed."

"Arm?" cried Fflewddur. "It's not my arm that worries me! It's my harp!"

"Your harp is in a better state than you are," said Eilonwy, taking the bard's instrument from his shoulder and putting it in his lap.

"Great Belin, but you gave me a shock!" Fflewddur said, caressing the harp with his free hand. "Arms? Naturally, they heal themselves with no trouble at all. I've had a dozen broken--- yes, well, that is to say I snapped my wrist once during a little sword play--- in any case, I have two arms. But only one harp!" The bard heaved an immense sigh of relief. "Indeed, I feel better already." Despite Fflewddur's brave grin, Taran saw the bard was suffering more than he chose to admit. Quickly and gently Taran finished making a splint and winding the strips about it, then brought herbs from Lluagor's saddlebag.

"Chew these," he told Fflewddur. "They will ease your pain. And you'd better stay perfectly still for a while."

"Lie still?" cried the bard. "Not now, of all times! We must fish that vile pot out of the river!"

Taran shook his head. "The three of us will try to raise it. With a broken arm even a Fflam wouldn't be much help."

"By no means!" cried Fflewddur. "A Fflam is always helpful!" He struggled to raise himself from the ground, winced, and fell back again. Gasping with the pain of his exertion, he looked dolefully at his injury.

Taran uncoiled the ropes and, with Gurgi and Eilonwy following, made his way to the shallows. The Crochan lay half submerged in the water. The current eddied around its gaping mouth and the cauldron seemed to be muttering defiance. The sling, Taran saw, was undamaged, but the cauldron was caught firmly between the boulders. He looped a rope and cast it over a jutting leg, directing Gurgi and Eilonwy to pull when he signaled. He waded into the river, bent, and tried to thrust his shoulder under the cauldron. Gurgi and Eilonwy hauled with all their strength. The Crochan did not move. Soaked to the skin, his hands numb, Taran wrestled vainly with the cauldron. Breathless, he staggered back to shore where he attached ropes to Lluagor and Melynlas. Once again Taran returned to the icy stream. He shouted to Eilonwy, who led the horses away from the river. The ropes tightened; the steeds labored; Taran heaved and tugged at the immovable cauldron. The bard had managed to regain his feet and lent what effort he could. Gurgi and Eilonwy took their places in the water beside Taran, but the Crochan resisted the force of all their muscles. In despair Taran signaled for them to stop. Heavy-hearted, the companions returned to shore.

"We shall camp here for the rest of the day," Taran said. "Tomorrow, when we have our strength back, we can try again. There may be some other way of getting it out, I don't know. It is tightly wedged and everything we do seems to make it worse." He looked toward the river, where the cauldron crouched like a glowering beast of prey.

"It is a thing of evil," Taran said, "and has brought nothing but evil. Now, at the last, I fear it has defeated us." He turned away. Behind him the bushes rustled. Taran spun around, his hand on his sword. A figure stepped from the edge of the forest.

Friend or foe? Guess we'll find out next chapter.

# ¿ Aug 12, 2023 20:04

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Sorry everyone. I should note I'm not, in fact, dead, or ill or anything of the sort, but real life did get in the way a bit. Chapters return on Wednesday.

# ¿ Aug 28, 2023 21:21

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

We're back! And to make up for lost time, two chapters today.

Chapter 17: The Choice

quote:

IT WAS ELLIDYR. With Islimach following, he strode to the riverbank. Dry mud caked his tawny hair and grimed his face. His cheeks and hands had been cruelly slashed; his bloodstained jacket was half ripped from his shoulders, and he wore no cloak. Dark-ringed, his eyes glittered feverishly. Ellidyr halted before the speechless companions, threw back his head, and glanced scornfully at them.

"Well met," he said in a hoarse voice, "brave company of scarecrows." His lips drew back in a taut, bitter grin. "The pig-boy, the scullery maid--- I do not see the dreamer."

"What do you here?" Taran cried, facing him angrily. "You dare speak of Adaon? He is slain and lies beneath his burial mound. You have betrayed us, Son of Pen-Llarcau! Where were you when the Huntsmen set upon us? When another sword would have turned the balance? The price was Adaon's life, a better man than you shall ever be!" Ellidyr did not reply, but moved stiffly past Taran and squatted down near the pile of saddlebags.

"Give me food," he said sharply. "Roots and rain water have been my meat and drink."

"Evil traitor!" shouted Gurgi, leaping to his feet. "There are no crunchings and munchings for wicked villain, no, no!"

"Hold your tongue," said Ellidyr, "or you shall hold your head."

"Give him food, as he asks," Taran ordered. Muttering furiously, Gurgi obeyed and opened the wallet.

"And just because we're feeding you," cried Eilonwy, "don't think you're welcome to it!"

"The scullery maid is not pleased to see me," said Ellidyr. "She shows temper."

"Can't say I really blame her," rejoined Fflewddur. "And I don't see that you should expect anything else. You've done us a bad turn. Would you have us hold a festival?"

"The harp-scraper is still with you, at least," Ellidyr said, seizing the food from Gurgi. "But I see he is a bird with the wing down."

"Birds again," murmured the bard with a shudder. "Shall I never be allowed to forget Orddu?"

"Why do you seek us?" Taran demanded. "You were content to leave us once. What brings you here now?"

"Seek you?" Ellidyr laughed harshly. "I seek the Marshes of Morva." "Well, you're a long way from them," Eilonwy cried. "But if you're in a hurry to get there--- as I hope you are--- I'll be glad to give you directions. And while you're there, I suggest you find Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch.They'll be happier to see you than we are."

Ellidyr wolfed down his food and settled himself against the saddlebags. "That is better," he said. "Now there is a bit more life in me."

"Enough to take you wherever you happen to be going," snapped Eilonwy.

"And wherever you happen to be going," replied Ellidyr, "I wish you the joy of your journey. You shall find Huntsmen enough to satisfy you."

"What," cried Taran, "are the Huntsmen still abroad?"

"Yes, pig-boy," Ellidyr answered. "All Annuvin is astir. The Huntsmen I have outrun, a noble game of hare and hounds. The gwythaints have had their sport of me," he added with a contemptuous laugh, "though it cost them two of their number. But enough remain to offer you good hunting, if that is your pleasure."

"I hope you didn't lead them to us," Eilonwy began.

"I led them nowhere," said Ellidyr, "least of all to you, since I did not know you were here. When the gwythaints and I parted company, I assure you I gave little heed to the path I chose."

"You can still choose your path," said Eilonwy, "so long as it leads you from us. And I hope you follow it as swiftly as you didwhen you sneaked away."

"Sneaked away?" laughed Ellidyr. "A Son of Pen-Llarcau does not sneak. You were too slow-footed for me. There were matters of urgency to attend to."

"Your own glory!" Taran replied sharply. "You thought of nothing else. At least, Ellidyr, speak the truth."

"It is true enough I meant to go to the Marshes of Morva," Ellidyr said with a bitter smile. "And true enough I did not find them. Though I should, had the Huntsmen not barred my way. From the scullery maid's words," Ellidyr went on, "I gather you have been to Morva."

Taran nodded. "Yes, we have been there. Now we return to Caer Dallben."

Ellidyr laughed again. "And you, too, have failed. But, since your journey was the longer, I ask you which of us wasted more of his labor and pains?"

"Failed?" cried Taran. "We did not fail! The cauldron is ours! There it lies," he added, pointing past the riverbank to the black hump of the Crochan. Ellidyr sprang to his feet and looked across the water.

"How, then!" he shouted wrathfully. "Have you cheated me once more?" His face darkened with rage. "Do I risk my life again so that a pig-boy may rob me of my prize?" His eyes were frenzied and he made to seize Taran by the throat.

Taran struck away his hand. "I have never cheated you, Son of Pen-Llarcau!" he cried. "Your prize? Risk your life? We have lost life and shed blood for the cauldron. Yes, a heavy price has been paid, heavier than you know, Prince of Pen Llarcau." Ellidyr seemed to strangle on his rage. He stood without moving, his face working and twitching. But he soon forced himself to seem again cold and haughty, though his hands still trembled.

"So, pig-boy," he said in a low, rasping voice, "you have found the cauldron after all. Yet, indeed, it would seem to belong more to the river than to you. Who but a pig-boy would leave it stranded thus? Did you not have wits enough or strength enough to smash it, that you must bear it with you?"

"The Crochan cannot be destroyed unless a man give up his life in it," Taran answered. "We have wits enough to know it must be put safely in Dallben's hands."

"Would you be a hero, pig-boy?" asked Ellidyr. "Why do you not climb into it yourself? Surely you are bold enough. Or are you a coward at heart, when the test is put upon you?"

Taran disregarded Ellidyr's taunt. "We need your help," he said urgently. "Our strength fails us. Help us bring the Crochan to Caer Dallben. Or at least aid us to move it to the riverbank."

"Help you?" Ellidyr threw back his head and laughed wildly. "Help you? So that a pigboy may strut before Gwydion and boast of his deeds? And a Prince of Pen-Llarcau play the churl? No, you shall have no help from me! I warned you to take your own part! Do it now, pig-boy!"

Eilonwy screamed and pointed to the sky. "Gwythaints!"

A flight of three gwythaints soared high above the trees. Racing with the wind-driven clouds, the gigantic birds sped closer. Taran and Eilonwy caught up Fflewddur between them and stumbled into the bushes. Gurgi, almost witless with fear, pulled on the horses' bridles, leading them to the safety of the trees. While Ellidyr followed, the gwythaints swooped downward, the wind rattling in their flashing feathers. With harsh and fearsome shrieking, the gwythaints circled around the cauldron, blotting out the sun with their black wings. One of the ferocious birds came to rest on the Crochan and for an instant remained poised there, beating its wings. The gwythaints made no attempt to attack the companions, but circled once again, then drove skyward. They veered north and the mountains quickly hid them. Pale and shaking, Taran stepped from the bushes.

"They have found what they were seeking," he said. "Arawn will soon know the Crochan waits to be plucked from our hands." He turned to Ellidyr. "Help us," he asked again, "I beg you. We dare not lose a moment."

Ellidyr shrugged and strode down the river-bank into the shallows where he looked closely at the half-sunken Crochan. "It can be moved," he said when he returned. "But not by you, pig-boy. You will need the strength of Islimach added to your own steeds--- and you will need mine."

"Lend us your strength, then," Taran pleaded. "Let us raise the Crochan and be gone from here before more of Arawn's servants reach it."

"Perhaps I shall; perhaps I shall not," answered Ellidyr with a strange look in his eyes. "Did you pay a price to gain the cauldron? Very well, you shall pay another one. Hear me, pig-boy," he went on. "If I help you bear the cauldron to Caer Dallben, it shall be on my own conditions."

"This is no time for conditions," cried Eilonwy. "We don't want to listen to your conditions, Ellidyr. We'll find our own way to get the Crochan out. Or we'll stay here with it and one of us can go back and bring Gwydion."

"Stay here and be slain," Ellidyr replied. "No, it must be done now, and done as I say or not at all." He turned to Taran. "These are my conditions," he said. "The Crochan is mine, and you shall be under my command. It is I who found it, not you, pig-boy. It is I who fought for it and won it. So you shall say to Gwydion and the others. And you shall all swear the most binding oath."

"No, we shall not!" cried Eilonwy. "You ask us to lie so that you may steal the Crochan and steal our own efforts with it! You are mad, Ellidyr!"

"Not mad, scullery maid," said Ellidyr, his eyes blazing, "but weary to my death. Do you hear me? All my life have I been forced into the second rank. I have been put aside, slighted. Honor? It has been denied me at every turn. But this time I shall not let the prize slip from my fingers."

"Adaon saw a black beast on your shoulders," Taran said quietly. "And I, too, have seen it. I see it now, Ellidyr."

"I care nothing for your black beast!" shouted Ellidyr. "I care for my honor."

And here we come to Ellidyr's raison d'etre. He's always lost before. He was the youngest son, so he would only ever be prince. His family has lost everything material so all he has left is his honor, his name and his horse. He needs this win. Badly.

quote:

"Do you think," Taran said, "I care nothing for mine?"

"What is the honor of a pig-boy?" laughed Ellidyr, "compared to the honor of a prince?"

"I have paid for my honor," answered Taran, his voice rising, "more dearly than you would pay for yours. Do you ask me now to cast it away?"

"You, pig-boy, dared reproach me for seeking glory," said Ellidyr. "Yet you yourself cling to it with your dirty hands. I shall not tarry here. My terms or nothing. Make your choice."

Taran stood silent. Eilonwy seized Ellidyr by the jacket. "How dare you ask such a price?"

Ellidyr drew away. "Let the pig-boy decide. It is up to him whether he will pay it."

"If I swear this," Taran said, turning to the companions, "you must swear along with me. Once given, I will not break an oath, and it would be even more to my shame if I broke this one. Before I can decide, I must know whether you, too, will bind yourselves. On this we must all agree." No one spoke.

At length, Fflewddur murmured, "I put the decision in your hands and abide by what you do." Gurgi nodded his head solemnly.

"I shall not lie!" Eilonwy cried, "not for this traitor and deserter."

"It is not for him," Taran said quietly, "but for the sake of our quest."

"It isn't right," Eilonwy began, tears starting in her eyes.

"We do not speak of rightness," Taran answered. "We speak of a task to be finished."

Eilonwy looked away. "Fflewddur has said the choice is yours," she murmured at last. "I must say the same." For a long moment Taran did not speak. All the anguish he had felt when Adaon's brooch had left his hands returned to him. And he recalled Eilonwy's words in his blackest despair, the girl's voice telling him that nothing could take away what he had done. Yet this was the very price Ellidyr demanded.

Taran bowed his head. "The cauldron, Ellidyr, is yours," he said slowly. "We are at your command, and all things shall be as you say. Thus we swear." Heavy-hearted and silent, the companions followed Ellidyr's orders and once again lashed ropes around the sunken Crochan. Ellidyr hitched the three horses side by side, then attached the lines to them. While Fflewddur held the bridles with his uninjured hand, the companions waded into the shallows.

Ellidyr, standing up to his knees in the rushing water, commanded Taran, Eilonwy, and Gurgi to post themselves on either side of the Crochan and keep it from slipping back against the boulders. He signaled an order to the waiting bard, then bent to his own task. As he had done with Melynlas long before, Ellidyr thrust his shoulders as far below the cauldron as the rocks allowed. His body tensed; the veins rose to bursting on his streaming forehead. Still the cauldron did not yield. Beside him, Taran and Eilonwy heaved vainly at the sling.

Gasping for breath, Ellidyr turned once more to the Crochan. The sling creaked against the boulders; the ropes strained. Ellidyr's shoulders were cut and bleeding, his face deathly white. He choked out another command to the companions; his muscles trembled in a final effort. With a cry, he pitched forward into the water, stumbling to gain his balance. Then he gave an exultant shout. The cauldron had lifted free. Desperately the companions labored to bring the Crochan to shore. Ellidyr seized one end of the sling and thrust ahead. The cauldron skidded to dry, firm ground. On the riverbank they quickly roped the sling between Melynlas and Lluagor. Ellidyr hitched up Islimach as the leading horse, to guide the others and bear a share of the weight.

Until then Ellidyr's eyes had burned with triumph, but now his face changed. "My cauldron has been won back from the river," he said, with a curious glance at Taran. "But I think perhaps I was too hasty. You met my terms too quickly," he added. "Tell me, what is in your mind, pig-boy?" Rage filled him again. "I know well enough! Once more you would try to cheat me!"

"You have my oath." Taran began.

"What is the oath of a pig-boy?" Ellidyr said. "You gave it; you will break it!"

"Speak for yourself," Eilonwy said angrily. "That's what you would do, Prince of Pen-Llarcau. But we are not like you."

"The cauldron needed all of us to raise it," Ellidyr continued, lowering his voice. "But does it now need all of us to carry it? A few would serve," he added. "Yes, yes--- only a few. Perhaps only one, if he were strong enough. Was my price too low?" he went on, spinning around to face Taran.

"Ellidyr," Taran cried, "you are truly mad."

"Yes!" laughed Ellidyr. "Mad to believe your word alone! The price must be silence, utter silence!" His hand moved to his sword. "Yes, pig-boy, I knew in time we should have to face one another."

He lunged forward, his sword out and raised. Before Taran could draw his own blade, Ellidyr swung viciously and pressed to the attack. Taran stumbled down the riverbank and leaped to a boulder, feverishly grasping for his weapon. Ellidyr strode into the water while the companions raced to stop him. As Ellidyr swung his blade again, Taran lost his footing and toppled from the boulder. He tried to rise, but the stones slipped from under him and he stumbled backward. He threw up his hands. The current was clutching at him and he fell. The sharp edge of a rock loomed up, and he knew no more.

So. It's foe, after all.

Chapter 18: The Loss

quote:

IT WAS NIGHT when Taran came to his senses. He found himself propped against a log, a cloak wrapped around him. His head throbbed; his body ached. Eilonwy was bending over him anxiously. Taran blinked his eyes and tried to sit up. For some moments his memory held only a mingling of sights and sounds, of rushing water, a stone, a shout; his head still whirled. A yellow light shone in his eyes. He realized, as his mind gradually cleared, that the girl had lit the golden sphere and had set it on the log. Beside him, a small fire blazed. Crouched next to it, the bard and Gurgi fed twigs to the flames.

"I'm glad you decided to wake up," Eilonwy said, trying to appear cheerful, as Fflewddur and Gurgi came to kneel beside Taran. "You swallowed so much of the river we were afraid we'd never be able to pump it out of you, and that rap on your head didn't help matters."

"The Crochan!" Taran gasped. "Ellidyr!" He looked around him. "This fire," he murmured, "we dare not show a light Arawn's warriors..."

"It was either build a fire or let you freeze to death," said the bard, "so of course we decided on the first. At this point," he added with a wry grin, "I doubt it can make too much difference. Since the cauldron is out of our hands, I don't believe Arawn will have quite the same interest in us. Happily, I might say."

"Where is the Crochan?" Taran asked. Despite his spinning head, he raised himself from the log.

"It is with Ellidyr," said Eilonwy. "And if you ask where he is," put in the bard, "we can answer you very quickly: we do not know."

"Wicked prince goes off with wicked pot," Gurgi added, "yes, yes, with ridings and stridings!"

"Good riddance to them," agreed Fflewddur. "I don't know which is worse, the Crochan or Ellidyr. Now, at least, they're both together."

"You let him go?" Taran cried in alarm. He put his hands to his head. "You let him steal the Crochan?"

"Let is hardly the word, my friend," the bard answered ruefully.

"You seem to have forgotten," Eilonwy added. "Ellidyr was trying to kill you. It's a good thing you fell into the river, because I can tell you the goings-on weren't very pleasant on the shore. It was terrible, as a matter of fact," the girl went on. "We'd all started after Ellidyr--- by that time you were already floating down the river like a twig in a--- well, like a twig in a river. We tried to save you, but Ellidyr turned on us. I'm certain he meant to kill us," Eilonwy said. "You should have seen his face, and his eyes. He was furious. Worse than that. Fflewddur tried to stand against him..."

"That villain has the strength of ten!"said the bard. "I could barely draw my sword--- it's clumsy when you have a broken arm, you understand. But I faced him! A dreadful clash of weapons! You've never seen the prowess of an outraged Fflam! Another moment and I should have had him at my mercy--- in a manner of speaking," the bard added quickly. "He knocked me sprawling."

"And Gurgi fought, too! Yes, yes, with smitings and bitings!"

"Poor Gurgi," said Eilonwy, "he did his best. But Ellidyr picked him up and tossed him against a tree. When I tried to draw my bow, he snatched it away and snapped it in his hands."

"He chased us into the woods, after that," Fflewddur said. "I've never seen a man in such a frenzy. Shouting at the top of his voice, calling us robbers and oath-breakers, and that we were trying to keep him in second place, that's all he's able to say or think now, if you choose to call that thinking."

Taran shook his head sadly. "I fear the black beast has swallowed him up as Adaon warned," he said. "I pity Ellidyr from the bottom of my heart."

"I should pity him more," muttered Fflewddur, "if he hadn't tried to slice off my head."

"For long, I hated him," Taran said, "but in the little while I bore Adaon's brooch, I believe I saw him more clearly. His heart is unhappy and tormented. Nor shall I forget what he said to me: that I taunted him for seeking glory yet clung to it myself." Taran spread his hands in front of him. "With dirty hands," he said heavily.

"Pay no heed to what Ellidyr says," Eilonwy cried. "After what he made us do, he has no right to blame anyone for anything."

"And yet," Taran said softly, almost to himself, "he spoke the truth."

"Did he?" said Eilonwy. "It was only too true, for his own honor he would have slain us all."

"We managed to escape from him," Fflewddur continued. "That is, he finally stopped pursuing us. When we came back, the horses, the Crochan, and Ellidyr were gone. After that we followed down the river looking for you. You hadn't gone far. But I'm still amazed that anyone can swallow so much water in such a short distance."

"We must find him!" Taran cried. "We dare not let him keep the Crochan! You should have left me and gone after him." He tried to climb to his feet. "Come now, there is no time to lose!"

Fflewddur shook his head. "I'm afraid there's no use in it, as our friend Gwystyl might say. There's not a sign of him anywhere. We have no idea where he planned to go or what he had in mind to do. He has too long a start on us. And, though I hate to admit it, I don't believe any one of us, or all of us together, could do very much against him." The bard glanced at his broken arm. "We're hardly in the best way to deal with the Crochan or Ellidyr, even if we found them."

Taran stared silently into the fire. "You, too, speak the truth, my friend," he said with great gloom. "You have all done more than I could ever ask. Alas, much better than I. Yes, it would be useless now to seek Ellidyr, as useless as our quest has been. We have forfeited all for nothing--- Adaon's brooch, our honor, and now the Crochan itself. We shall return to Caer Dallben empty-handed. Perhaps Ellidyr was right," he murmured. "It is not fitting for a pig-boy to seek the same honor as a prince."

"Pig-boy!" Eilonwy cried indignantly. "Don't ever speak of yourself that way, Taran of Caer Dallben. No matter what has happened, you're not a pig-boy; you're an Assistant Pig Keeper! That's honor in itself! Not that they don't mean the same thing, when you come right down to it," she said, "but one is proud and the other isn't. Since you have a choice, take the proud one!" Taran said nothing for a time, then raised his head to Eilonwy.

"Adaon once told me there is more honor in a field well plowed than in a field steeped in blood." As he spoke, his heart seemed to lighten. "I see now that what he said was true above all. I do not begrudge Ellidyr his prize. I, too, shall seek honor. But I shall seek it where I know it will be found."

Hen-Wen's a pretty honorable pig, it's true.

quote:

THE COMPANIONS PASSED the night in the forest and next morning turned southward across gentler land. They saw neither Huntsmen nor gwythaints, and they made little attempt at concealment; for, as the bard had said, the forces of Arawn sought the Crochan and not a pitiful band of stragglers. Unburdened, they moved more easily, though without Lluagor and Melynlas their pace on foot was slow and painful. Taran trudged silently, his head bowed against the bitter wind. Dead leaves drove against his face, but he paid them no heed, filled as he was with the distress of his own thoughts.

Some while after midday Taran caught sight of movement among the trees covering a hill crest. Foreseeing danger, he urged the companions to hurry across the open meadow and find cover in a thicket. But before they could reach it, a party of horsemen appeared at the rise and galloped toward them. Taran and the bard drew their swords, Gurgi nocked an arrow into his bowstring and the weary band made ready to defend themselves as best they could.

Fflewddur suddenly gave a great shout and waved his sword excitedly. "Put up your weapons!" he cried. "We're safe at last! These are Morgant's warriors! They bear the colors of the House of Madoc!" The warriors pounded closer. Taran, too, cried out with relief. They were indeed King Morgant's riders, and at their head rode King Morgant himself. As they reined up beside the companions, Taran hurried to Morgant's steed and dropped to one knee.

"Well met, Sire," he cried. "We feared your men were servants of Arawn." King Morgant swung down from the saddle. His black cloak was torn and travel-stained, his face haggard and grim, but his eyes still held the fierce pride of a hawk. A trace of a smile flickered on his lips.

"But you would have stood against us nonetheless," he said, raising Taran to his feet.

"What of Prince Gwydion, of Coll?" Taran asked quickly and with sudden uneasiness. "We were separated at Dark Gate and have had no word of them. Adaon, alas, is slain. And Doli, too, I fear."

"Of the dwarf, there has been no trace," answered Morgant. "Lord Gwydion and Coll Son of Collfrewr are safe. They seek you even now. Though," Morgant added, with another half smile, "it has been my good fortune to find you. The Huntsmen of Annuvin pressed us sharply at Dark Gate," Morgant went on. "At last we fought free of them and began to make our way toward Caer Cadarn, where Lord Gwydion hoped you would join us. We had not reached there," said Morgant, "before we had word of you, and that you had taken it on yourselves to go to the Marshes of Morva. That was a bold venture, Taran of Caer Dallben," Morgant added, "as bold, perhaps, as it was ill advised. You should learn that a warrior owes obedience to his lord."

"It did not seem we could do otherwise," Taran protested. "We had to find the Crochan before Arawn. Would you not have done the same?"

Morgant nodded curtly. "I do not reproach your spirit, but would have you understand that Lord Gwydion himself would hesitate to make a decision of such weight. We would have known nothing of your movements had not Gwystyl of the Fair Folk brought us news. Lord Gwydion and I separated then to search for you."

"Gwystyl?" Eilonwy interrupted. "Not Gwystyl! Why, he wouldn't have done the least thing for us--- until Doli threatened to squeeze him! Gwystyl! All he wanted was to be let alone and hide in his wretched burrow!"

Morgant turned to her. "You speak without knowledge, Princess. Among all who hold the way posts, Gwystyl of the Fair Folk is the shrewdest and bravest. Did you believe King Eiddileg would trust a lesser servant so close to Annuvin? But," he added, "if you misjudged him, it was his intention that you do so. As for the Crochan itself," Morgant went on, as Taran looked at him in amazement, "though you failed to bring it from Morva, Prince Ellidyr has done us noble service. Yes," Morgant added quickly, "my warriors came upon him near the River Tevvyn in the course of our search. From his words, I understood that you were drowned and your companions scattered, and that he bore the cauldron from Morva."

"That's not true," Eilonwy began, her eyes flashing angrily.

"Be silent!" Taran cried.

"No, I will not be silent," retorted Eilonwy, spinning around to face Taran. "You aren't going to tell me you still think you're bound by that oath you made us all swear!"

"What does she mean?" Morgant asked. His eyes narrowed and he studied Taran closely.

"I'll tell you what I mean!" Eilonwy answered, heedless of Taran's protest. "It's very simple. Taran paid for it, and paid dearly. We carried it almost on our backs every step of the way from Morva, until Ellidyr came along. He helped us--- he certainly did that, just the way a robber helps you tidy up your chamber! That's the truth of it, and I don't care what anybody else says!"

"Does she indeed speak the truth?" Morgant asked. When Taran did not answer, Morgant nodded slowly and continued in a thoughtful tone. "I believe she does, though you stay silent. There was much of Prince Ellidyr's tale which rang false to me. As I once told you, Taran of Caer Dallben, I am a warrior and I know my men. But when you face Ellidyr himself, I shall know beyond all doubt. Come," said Morgant, helping Taran to his steed, "we shall ride to my camp. Your task is ended. The Crochan is in my hands."

Hey, we did it gang! Morgant's here to save the day!

quote:

Morgant's warriors took up the rest of the companions and they galloped swiftly into the wood. The war lord had made camp in a wide clearing, well protected by trees, its approach guarded by a deep ravine, and the tents had been blended in with a line of underbrush. Taran saw Lluagor and Melynlas tethered among the steeds of the warriors; a little apart, Islimach pawed the ground nervously and pulled at her halter. Near the center of the clearing Taran caught his breath at the sight of the Black Crochan, which now had been removed from its sling. Though two of Morgant's warriors stood by it with drawn swords, Taran could not shake off the sense of fear and foreboding that hung like a dark mist about the cauldron.

"Do you not fear Arawn will attack you here and gain the cauldron once again?" Taran whispered. Morgant's eyes hooded over and he gave Taran a glance both of anger and pride.

"Whoever challenges me shall be met," he said coldly, "be it the Lord of Annuvin himself."

A warrior drew aside the curtain of one of the pavilions, and the war lord led them inside. There, bound hand and foot, lay the still form of Ellidyr. His face was covered with blood and he appeared so grievously battered that Eilonwy could not stifle a cry of pity.

"How is this?" Taran exclaimed, turning to Morgant in shock and reproach. "Sire," headded quickly, "your warriors had no right to use him so ill! This is shameful and dishonorable treatment."

"Do you question my conduct?" Morgant replied. "You have much to learn of obedience. My warriors heed my orders and so shall you. Prince Ellidyr dared to resist me. I caution you not to follow his example." At a call from Morgant, armed guards strode quickly into the tent. The war leader made a brief gesture toward Taran and his companions.

"Disarm them and bind them fast."

Oh.

# ¿ Aug 30, 2023 16:51

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 19: The War Lord

quote:

BEFORE THE STARTLED TARAN could draw his blade, a guard seized him and quickly lashed his arms behind his back. The bard, too, was seized. Screaming and kicking, Eilonwy fought vainly. For an instant Gurgi broke loose from his captors and flung himself toward King Morgant. But a warrior struck him brutally to the ground, leaped astride the limp figure, and trussed him tightly.

"Traitor!" Eilonwy shrieked. "Liar! You dare to steal..."

"Silence her," Morgant said coldly, and in another moment a gag muffled her cries. Frantically Taran struggled to reach the girl's side, before he was thrown down and his legs secured with thongs. Morgant watched silently, his features fixed and without expression. The guards stepped away from the helpless companions. Morgant gestured for the warriors to leave the tent. Taran, whose head still spun with confusion and disbelief, strained against his bonds.

"You are already a traitor," he cried. "Will you now be a murderer? We are under the protection of Gwydion; you will not escape his wrath!"

"I do not fear Gwydion," answered Morgant, "and his protection is worthless to you now. Worthless, indeed, to all Prydain. Even Gwydion is powerless against the Cauldron-Born."

Taran stared at him in horror. "You would not dare to use the Crochan against your own kinsmen, your own people. This is even more foul than treachery and murder!"

"Do you believe so?" Morgant replied. "Then you have more lessons to learn than that of obedience. The cauldron belongs to him who knows how to keep it and how to use it. It is a weapon ready for a hand. For years Arawn was master of the cauldron, yet he lost it. Is this not proof he was unworthy, that he did not have the strength or cunning to prevent its slipping from his grasp ? Ellidyr, the proud fool, believed he could keep it. He is hardly fit to be cast into it."

"What," Taran cried, "will you set yourself to rival Arawn?"

"To rival him?" Morgant asked with a hard smile. "No. To surpass him. I know my worth, though I have chafed in the service of lesser men than I. Now I see the moment is ripe. There are few," he continued haughtily, "who understand the uses of power. And few who dare use it when it is offered them. Power such as this was offered once to Gwydion," Morgant went on. "He refused it. I shall not fail to take it. Shall you?"

"I?" asked Taran, with a terrified glance at Morgant. King Morgant nodded. His eyes were hooded, but his falcon's face was keen and avid.

"Gwydion has spoken of you," he said. "He told me little, but that little is of interest. You are a bold youth--- and perhaps more than that. How much more, I do not know. But I do know you are without family, without name or future. You can expect nothing. And yet," Morgant added, "you can expect everything, I would not offer this to one such as Ellidyr," Morgant continued. "He is too prideful, weakest where he believes himself strong. Do you remember I told you that I know good mettle? There is much that is possible with you, Taran of Caer Dallben. And this is what I offer--- swear that you shall serve me as your liege lord and when the time is right you shall be my war leader, second only to me in all Prydain."

"Why do you offer me this?" Taran cried. "Why should you choose me?"

"As I have said," Morgant answered, "there is much you might achieve, if the way is opened for you. Do not deny you have dreamed long of glory. It is not impossible for you to find it, if I judge you well."

"Judge me well," Taran flung back, "and you would know I scorn to serve an evil traitor!"

"I have no time to hear you vent your rage," Morgant said. "Many plans must be made between now and dawn. I shall leave you with this to consider: will you be first among my warriors--- or first among my Cauldron-Born?"

"Give me to the cauldron, then!" Taran shouted. "Cast me in it now, even as I live!"

"You have called me traitor," Morgant answered, smiling. "Do not call me fool. I, too, know the secret of the cauldron. Do you think I would have the Crochan shatter even before it began its work? Yes," he went on, "I, too, have been to the Marshes of Morva, long before the cauldron was taken from Annuvin. For I knew that sooner or later Gwydion must make this move against Arawn. And so I prepared myself. Did you pay a price for the Crochan? I, too, paid a price for the knowledge of its workings. I know how to destroy it, and I know how to make it yield a harvest of power. But you were bold, nonetheless, to hope to trick me," Morgant added. "You fear me," he said, drawing closer to Taran, "and there are many in Prydain who do. Yet you defy me. To dare that, there are few. This is rare metal indeed, ready to be tempered." Taran was about to speak, but the war lord raised his hand. "Say no more. Instead, think carefully. If you refuse, you shall become a voiceless, mindless slave, without even hope of death to release you from your bondage."

Taran's heart sank, but he raised his head proudly. "If that is the destiny laid on me..."

"It will be a harder destiny than you believe," Morgant said, his eyes flickering. "A warrior does not fear to give up his own life.But will he sacrifice that of his comrades?" Taran gasped with horror as Morgant went on.

"Yes," said the war lord, "one by one your companions shall be slain and given to the Crochan. Who will it devour before you cry a halt? Will it be the bard? Or the shabby creature that serves you? Or the young Princess? They shall go before you, even as you watch. And, at the last, yourself. Weigh this carefully," said the war lord. "I shall return for your answer." He flung his black cloak about his shoulders and strode from the tent. Taran struggled against his bonds, but they held firm. He sank back and bowed his head.

The gang's in trouble now, folks.

quote:

The bard, who had been silent this while, heaved a sorrowful sigh. "In the Marshes of Morva," he said, "if I had only known, I should have asked Orddu to change me into a toad. At the time I didn't care for the idea. As I think of it now, it's a happier life than being a Cauldron warrior. At least there would have been dew circles to dance in."

"He will not succeed in this," Taran said. "Somehow, we must find a way to escape. We dare not lose hope."

"I agree absolutely," Fflewddur answered. "Your general idea is excellent; it's only the details that are lacking. Lose hope? By no means! A Fflam is always hopeful! I intend to go on hoping," he added ruefully, "even when they come and pop me into the Crochan." Gurgi and Ellidyr still lay unconscious, but Eilonwy had not ceased working furiously at the gag and now at last she succeeding in forcing it out of her mouth.

"Morgant!" she gasped. "He'll pay for this! Why, I thought I'd stifle! He might have kept me from talking, but he didn't keep me from listening. When he comes back, I hope he tries to put me in the cauldron first! He'll soon find out who he's dealing with. He'll wish he'd never thought of making his own Cauldron-Born!"

Taran shook his head. "By then it will be too late. We shall be slain before we are taken to the Crochan. No, there is only one hope. None of you shall be sacrificed because of me. I have decided what I must do."

"Decided!" Eilonwy burst out. "The only thing you have to decide is how we shall escape from this tent. If you're thinking of anything else, you're wasting your time. That's like wondering whether to scratch your head when a boulder's about to fall on it."

"This is my decision," Taran said slowly. "I will accept what Morgant offers."

"What?" Eilonwy exclaimed in disbelief. "For a while I thought you'd actually learned something from Adaon's brooch. How can you think to accept?"

"I shall swear my allegiance to Morgant," Taran went on. "He shall have my word, but shall not make me keep it. An oath given under threat of death cannot bind me. This way, at least, we may gain a little time."

"Are you sure Morgant's warriors didn't strike you on the head and you didn't notice it?" Eilonwy asked sharply. "Do you imagine Morgant won't guess what you plan? He has no intention of keeping his part of the bargain; he'll slay us all anyway. Once you're in his clutches--- I mean more than you are--- you won't get out of them. Morgant might have been one of the greatest war leaders in Prydain; but he's turned evil, and if you try coming to terms with him, well, you'll find it's worse than being a Cauldron warrior. Though I admit that isn't very attractive either."

Taran was silent for a time. "I fear you are right," he said. "But I don't know what else we can do."

"Get out first," Eilonwy advised. "We can decide what else when the time comes. Somehow it's hard to think about where to run as long as your hands and feet are tied up."

And where would they run, indeed? It's not like Morgant has a whole army at his disposal, or anything.

quote:

With much difficulty, the tightly bound companions struggled closer and sought to undo each other's thongs. The knots refused to yield, slipped from their numb fingers, and only bit more deeply into their flesh. Again and again the companions returned to their labors until they lay breathless and exhausted. Even Eilonwy no longer had the strength to speak. They rested a while, hoping to gain new energy, but the night moved as a heavy, tormented dream and the moments they passed in fitful drowsing did nothing to restore them, nor did they dare lose too much precious time; morning, Taran knew, would come swiftly. The cold, gray trickle of dawn had already begun to seep into the tent.

All night, as they had toiled, Taran had heard the movements of warriors in the clearing, the voice of Morgant crying harsh, urgent commands. Now he dragged himself painfully to the curtain at the entrance of the tent, pressed his cheek against the cold ground, and tried to peer out. He could see little, for the rising mists swirled above the turf, and he made out only shadow shapes hastening back and forth. The warriors, he imagined, were gathering their gear, perhaps making ready to strike camp. A long, pitiful whinny came from the line of tethered horses and he recognized it as that of Islimach. The Crochan still squatted where it had been; Taran made out the dark, brooding mass, and it seemed to him, in a flare of horror, that its mouth gaped greedily. Taran rolled over and pulled himself back to the companions. The bard's features were pale; he appeared half dazed by fatigue and suffering. Eilonwy raised her head and looked silently at him.

"What," murmured Fflewddur, "has the moment already come for us to say farewell?"

"Not yet," Taran said, "though Morgant will be here soon enough, I fear. Then our time will be upon us. How does Gurgi fare?"

"The poor thing is still unconscious," Eilonwy answered. "Leave him as he is, it is kinder thus."

Ellidyr stirred and groaned feebly. Slowly his eyes opened; he winced, turned his bloodstained, broken face to Taran, and studied him for a time as though without recognition. Then his torn lips moved in his familiar, bitter grimace.

"And so we are together again, Taran of Caer Dallben," he said. "I did not expect us to meet so soon."

"Have no fear, Son of Pen-Llarcau," Taran answered. "It shall not be for long." Ellidyr bowed his head. "For that I am truly sorry. I would make up the ill I have done all of you."

"Would you have said the same if the cauldron were still in your hands?" Taran asked quietly.

Ellidyr hesitated. "I shall speak the truth--- I do not know. The black beast you saw is a harsh master; its claws are sharp. Yet I did not feel them until now. But I tell you this," Ellidyr continued, trying to lift himself, "I stole the cauldron out of pride, not evil. I swear to you, on whatever honor remains to me, I would not have used it. Yes, I would have taken your glory for my own. But I, too, would have borne the Crochan to Gwydion and offered it for destruction. Believe this much of me."

Taran nodded. "I believe you, Prince of Pen-Llarcau. And now perhaps even more than you believe it yourself." A wind had risen, moaning through the trees and shaking the tent. The curtain blew back. Taran saw the warriors forming in ranks behind the cauldron.

Well, at least Ellidyr's come aorund.

# ¿ Sep 2, 2023 15:44

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# ¿ May 8, 2024 21:07

Wahad: May 19, 2011; There is no escape.

Chapter 20: The Final Price.

quote:

ELLIDYR!" TARAN CRIED. "Have you strength enough to break your bonds and free the rest of us?" Ellidyr rolled on his side and strained desperately against the tight cords. The bard and Taran tried to aid him, but at last Ellidyr fell back, exhausted and gasping with the pain of his efforts.

"Too much of my strength is gone," he murmured. "I fear Morgant has given me my death wound. I can do no more." The curtain blew open again. An instant later Taran was flung full length and roughly spun around. He kicked wildly with his bound legs and tried to right himself.

"Stop struggling, you clot!" a voice shouted in his ear.

"Doli!" Taran's heart leaped. "Is it you?"

"Clever question!" snapped the voice. "Stop trying to fight me! Things are hard enough without your squirming! Whoever tied these knots, I wish he had them about his neck!"

Taran felt firm hands drawing at the thongs. "Doli! How did you come here?"

"Don't bother me with silly chatter," growled the dwarf. Taran felt a knee jabbing into the small of his back as Doli took a better grip on the bonds. "Can't you see I'm busy?" muttered the dwarf. "No, of course you can't, but that doesn't matter. Drat! If I hadn't lost my axe I'd be through this in no time! Oh, my ears! I've never stayed invisible so long at one go! Hornets! Wasps!" Suddenly the thongs parted. Taran sat up and began as best he could to unbind his legs. In another moment Doli himself flashed into sight and set about freeing the bard. The stout dwarf was grimy, muddy, and his ears were tinged bright blue. Doli stopped his exertions to clap his hands to his head. "Enough invisibility is enough!" he cried. "No need for it here. Not yet. Bumblebees! A whole hive of them in my ears!"

"How did you ever find us?" cried Eilonwy, as the dwarf ripped away her bonds.

"If you must know," the dwarf snapped impatiently, "I didn't find you. Not at first. I found Ellidyr. Saw him come up from the river a little before Morgant reached him. I was on my way to Caer Cadarn, after I shook off the Huntsmen, to get help from Gwydion. I didn't dare waste time chasing through the Marshes after you. Ellidyr had the cauldron. And your horses, too. That got my suspicions up. So I went invisible and followed him on foot. As soon as I understood what had happened, I turned back to look for you. My pony had run off--- dratted beast, we never liked each other--- and you got here ahead of me." The dwarf knelt and untied Gurgi, who had begun to show some signs of life, but hesitated when he came to Ellidyr.

"What about this one?" Doli asked. "I have an idea he's better off as he is," he added gruffly. "I know what he tried to do." Ellidyr raised his head.

Taran met his glance and gestured quickly to Doli. "Free him," Taran ordered. Doli paused, doubtful. Taran repeated his words. The dwarf shook his head, then shrugged. "If you say so," he muttered, setting to work on Ellidyr's bonds. While Eilonwy chafed Gurgi's wrists, the bard hurried to the tent flap and cautiously peered out. Taran searched vainly for weapons.

"I can see Morgant," Fflewddur called. "He's on his way here. Well, he shall have a surprise."

"We are unarmed!" Taran cried. "They far outnumber us and can slay us at their pleasure!"

"Rip up the back of the tent!" Doli exclaimed. "Make a run for it through the forest!"

"And leave the Crochan in Morgant's hands?" replied Taran. "No, that we dare not do!"

Ellidyr had risen to his feet. "I had not strength enough to break my own bonds," he said, "but I can still serve you." Before Taran could stop him, Ellidyr plunged from the tent. The guards shouted the alarm. Taran saw Morgant fall back in astonishment, then draw his sword.

"Slay him!" Morgant commanded. "Slay him! Keep him from the cauldron!" With the bard and Doli at his heels, Taran raced from the tent and flung himself against King Morgant, fighting furiously to wrest the sword from the war lord's hands. With a savage snarl, Morgant caught him by the throat and tossed him to the ground, then turned to pursue Ellidyr. The horsemen had broken ranks and hastened to close upon the running figure. Taran scrambled to his feet. Ahead, he saw Ellidyr grappling fiercely with one of the warriors. Fighting as he had never fought before, the Prince of Pen-Llarcau, Taran knew, was calling on all the strength remaining to him. Ellidyr threw the warrior down, but faltered and cried out as the man's sword thrust deep into his side. Clutching the wound, Ellidyr stumbled ahead.

"No! No!" Taran shouted. "Ellidyr! Save yourself!"

A few paces from the cauldron, struggling madly, Ellidyr broke free of the warriors. Then, with a cry, he flung himself into the Crochan's gaping mouth. The Crochan shuddered like a living thing. In horror and dismay, Taran cried out again to Ellidyr. He fought his way toward the cauldron, but in another instant a sharp clap, louder than thunder, rang above the clearing. The leafless trees trembled to their roots; the branches writhed as if in agony. Then, while echoes ripped the air and a whirlwind screamed overhead, the cauldron split and shattered. The jagged shards fell away from the lifeless form of Ellidyr. A war horse burst from the thicket. Astride it rode King Smoit, a naked sword in his fist, a shout of battle on his lips. Behind the red-bearded King streamed mounted warriors, who plunged against the men of Morgant. In the press of combat, Taran glimpsed a white steed galloping to the charge.

"Gwydion!" Taran shouted and struggled to reach his side. He caught sight of Coll, then; the stout old warrior had drawn his sword and struck mightily about him. Gwystyl, with Kaw clinging to his shoulder, dashed into the fray. Bellowing with rage, King Smoit drove straight for Morgant, who raised his sword and lashed viciously at the rearing steed. Smoit leaped to the ground. Two of Morgant's warriors threw themselves in front of him to defend their lord, but Smoit cut them down with powerful blows and strode past. Eyes unhooded and blazing, his teeth bared, Morgant fought savagely amid the shattered pieces of the cauldron, as though he sought defiantly to claim them. His sword had broken under the force of Smoit's attack, yet he slashed and thrust again and again with the jagged blade, the grimace of hatred and arrogance frozen upon his features, his hand still clutching the bloodstained weapon even as he fell. Morgant's riders had been slain or captured as Gwydion's voice rose in command to cease the combat. Taran stumbled to Ellidyr's side and tried to raise him. He bowed his head in grief.

"The black beast is gone from you, Prince of Pen-Llarcau," he murmured.

A high-pitched whinny behind him made Taran turn. It was Islimach who had broken her tether and now stood over the body of her master. The roan lifted her lean, bony head, tossed her mane, spun about, and galloped from the clearing. Taran, understanding the frenzied look in the roan's eyes, cried out and ran after her. Islimach plunged through the undergrowth. Taran strove to overtake her and seize the hanging bridle, but the roan sped onward to the ravine. She did not check her speed even at the brink. Islimach made a mighty leap, hung poised in the air a moment, then plummeted to the rocks below. Taran covered his face with his hands and turned away.

Well, at long last, Ellidyr and Islimach can rest. They only had eachother in life - and they couldn't go on without the other.

quote:

IN THE CLEARING the bodies of King Morgant and Ellidyr lay side by side, and the remainder of King Smoit's horsemen rode in a slow, mournful circle around them. Alone and apart, Gwydion leaned heavily on the black sword Dyrnwyn, his shaggy head bent, his weathered face filled with sorrow. Taran drew near and stood silently.

At length Gwydion spoke. "Fflewddur has told me all that befell you. My heart is grieved that Coll and I found you only now. Yet, without King Smoit and his warriors, I fear we might not have prevailed. He grew impatient and came seeking us. Had I been able to send him word, I would have summoned him long before this. I am grateful to him for his impatience. And to you, too, Assistant Pig-Keeper," he added. "The Crochan is destroyed, and with it Arawn's power to add to the number of his Cauldron-Born. It is one of the gravest defeats Arawn has ever suffered. But I know the price you paid."

"It is Ellidyr who paid the final price," Taran said slowly. "The last honor belongs to him." He spoke then of Islimach. "He has lost all else, even his steed."

"Or perhaps gained all," Gwydion answered. "And his honor shall be certain. We shall raise a barrow to his memory. Islimach, too, shall rest with him, for they are both now at peace. Smoit's dead shall also sleep in honor, and a barrow be raised above Morgant King of Madoc."

"Morgant?" Taran asked, turning a puzzled glance to Gwydion. "How can there be honor for such a man?"

"It is easy to judge evil unmixed," replied Gwydion. "But, alas, in most of us good and bad are closely woven as the threads on a loom; greater wisdom than mine is needed for the judging.

"King Morgant served the Sons of Don long and well," he went on. "Until the thirst for power parched his throat, he was a fearless and noble lord. In battle he saved my life more than once. These things are part of him and cannot be put aside or forgotten.

"And so shall I honor Morgant," Gwydion said, "for what he used to be, and Ellidyr Prince of Pen-Llarcau for what he became."

[quote]NEAR THE TENTS of Morgant, Taran found the companions again. Under Eilonwy's care, Gurgi had recovered from the guard's blow and looked only a little shaken.

"Poor tender head is filled with breakings and achings," Gurgi said, with a wan smile at Taran. "He is sad not to fight at side of kindly master. He would have struck down wicked warriors, oh, yes!"

"There's been more than enough fighting," Eilonwy said. "I found your sword again," she added, handing the weapon to Taran. "But sometimes I wish Dallben hadn't given it to you in the first place. It's bound to lead to trouble."

"Oh, I should think our troubles are over," put in Fflewddur, cradling his injured arm. "The beastly old kettle is smashed to bits, thanks to Ellidyr," he went on sadly. "The bards shall sing of our deeds--- and of his."

"I don't care about that," grumbled Doli, rubbing his ears, which had only now begun to return to their natural color. "I just don't want anyone, not even Gwydion, dreaming up another scheme to have me turn invisible."

"Good old Doli," Taran said. "The more you grumble, the more pleased you are with yourself."

"Good old Doli," replied the dwarf."Humph!" Taran caught sight of Coll and King Smoit resting beneath an oak. Coll had taken off his close-fitting helmet and, though bruised and slashed, his face beamed and his bald head glowed with pleasure, as he put an arm around Taran's shoulders.

"We did not meet as soon as I expected," Coll said with a wink, "for I hear you were busy with other things."

"My body and blood!" roared Smoit, giving Taran a clap on the back. "You looked like a skinned rabbit last time I saw you. Now the rabbit is gone and only the skin and bones are left!" A loud squawk interrupted the redbearded King. In surprise Taran turned and saw Gwystyl, sitting alone and morose. On his shoulder Kaw hopped up and down and bobbed his head in delight.

"So it's you again," Gwystyl remarked, sighing heavily as Taran hurried over. "Well, you shan't blame me for what's happened. I warned you. However, what's done is done and there's no sense complaining. No use in it at all."

"You shall not deceive me again, Gwystyl of the Fair Folk," Taran said. "I know who you are and the valiant service you have rendered." Kaw croaked joyfully as Taran smoothed his feathers and scratched him under the beak.

"Go on," Gwystyl said, "put him on your shoulder. That's what he wants. For the matter of that, you shall have him as a gift, with the thanks of the Fair Folk. For you have done us a service, too. We were uneasy with the Crochan knocking about here and there; one never knew what would happen. Yes, yes, pick him up," Gwystyl added with a melancholy sigh. "He's taken quite a fancy to you. It's just as well. I'm simply not up to keeping crows any more, not up to it at all."

"Taran!" croaked Kaw.

"Though I warn you again," Gwystyl went on, "pay no attention to him. Most of the time he talks just to hear himself talk--- like some others I could mention. The secret is: don't listen. No use in it. No use whatever."

He's a good bird.

quote:

AFTER THEY HAD RAISED the barrows, Gwystyl left to resume his guard at the way post; the companions, King Smoit, and his riders departed from the clearing and turned their horses toward the River Avren. High overhead, their wings darkening the sky, flight after flight of gwythaints retreated toward Annuvin. Of the Huntsmen there was no sign; and Gwydion believed that Arawn, learning of the Crochan's destruction, had summoned them to return.The companions rode not in triumphant joy but slowly and thoughtfully. The heart of King Smoit, too, was heavy, for he had suffered the loss of many warriors. With Kaw perched on his shoulder, Taran rode beside Gwydion at the head of the column as it wound through hills rich with autumn's colors. For a long while Taran did not speak.

"It is strange," he said at last. "I had longed to enter the world of men. Now I see it filled with sorrow, with cruelty and treachery, with those who would destroy all around them."

"Yet, enter it you must," Gwydion answered, "for it is a destiny laid on each of us. True, you have seen these things. But there are equal parts of love and joy. Think of Adaon and believe this. Think, too, of your companions. Out of friendship for you, they would have given up all they valued; indeed, all they possessed."

Taran nodded. "I see now the price I paid was the least of all, for the brooch was never truly mine. I wore it, but it was no part of me. I am thankful I kept it as long as I did; at least I knew, for a little while, how a bard must feel and what it must be like to be a hero."

"That is why your sacrifice was all the more difficult," Gwydion said. "You chose to be a hero not through enchantment but through your own manhood. And since you have chosen, for good or ill, you must take the risks of a man. You may win or you may lose. Time will decide."

They had come into the Valley of Ystrad, and here Gwydion reined up the goldenmaned steed.

"Melyngar and I must now return to Caer Dathyl," he said, "and bring word to King Math. You shall tell Dallben all that has happened; indeed, this time you know more of these events than I. Go swiftly," Gwydion said, reaching out, his hand. "Your comrades wait for you; and Coll, I know, is eager to ready his vegetable garden for winter. Farewell, Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper ---and friend." Gwydion waved once and rode northward. Taran watched until he was out of sight. He turned Melynlas, then, and saw the faces of the companions smiling at him.

"Hurry along," Eilonwy called. "Hen Wen will be wanting her bath. And I'm afraid Gurgi and I left in such a hurry I didn't take time to straighten up the scullery. That's worse than starting a journey and forgetting to put on your shoes!"

Taran galloped toward them.

And so we come to the end of Book 2! Quite a heavy hit with everything that's gone on. What do you think?

Saturday, we'll move on to Book 3 - The Castle of Llyr.

# ¿ Sep 6, 2023 18:21

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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