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

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

I'd last read these books in Primary school, many decades ago.

What's the background to Gurgi? I'm getting very Gollum vibes, and wasn't the best friend of Gilgamash sorta like that (though undoubtedly bigger and stronger for the propaganda value). Is there such a creature in Welsh lore?

# ? May 28, 2023 11:57

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# ? Apr 25, 2024 01:10

Esposito: Apr 5, 2003; Sic transit gloria. Maybe we'll meet again someday, when the fighting stops.

Kestral posted:

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

This was cover of the the book I owned as a child and is, thus, my platonic Gurgi

# ? May 28, 2023 15:47

Selachian: Oct 9, 2012

For me, it's the Evaline Ness covers or nothing.

As for Gurgi, there's a character named Gwrgi who appears in the Triads a few times, but he doesn't seem to have much relation to our Gurgi other than being sort of animal-like.

# ? May 28, 2023 22:39

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Having encountered the movie long before the books I have the Disney versions of most characters in my mind for most of the characters, especially Gurgi who looks like this in the film:

This kind of half dog, half squirrel little muppet-looking thing.

Honestly, the only two designs that the Disney movie got wrong were Fflewdur and the Horned King. Book Fflewdur is supposed to be a guy in his 30s with crazy blond hair, basically this 80s David Bowie looking MFer, and in the Disney movie he's an old rear end man for some reason. The Horned King, meanwhile, is supposed to be this jacked as poo poo barbarian in the books who just wears a horned skull as a mask, but in the Disney movie he's this skeletal lich like sorcerer more in keeping with how Arawn is depicted when we finally get around to maybe meeting him. It's a great design for what they decided to adapt the story into for the movie, but as a 1:1 book adaptation it's just so wrong.

# ? May 28, 2023 22:49

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

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

Taran learning the paramount rule of Prydain, not to infringe on anyone�s mysterious ambiguity.

Thank you so much for posting these, they�re bringing back all sorts of wonderful and amusing memories, like my childhood tendency to mix up Lloyd Alexander and Christopher Lloyd.

# ? May 31, 2023 17:34

Crescent Wrench: Sep 30, 2005; The truth is usually just an excuse for a lack of imagination.; Grimey Drawer

Selachian posted:

For me, it's the Evaline Ness covers or nothing.

Hell yeah, these are the ones the school library had.

I'm so excited I stumbled onto this thread in the early going. I treasured these books, and I'm already loving the trip back in time.

# ? May 31, 2023 22:41

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

I have that pink cover anthology of all five books, myself

# ? May 31, 2023 22:47

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

Selachian posted:

For me, it's the Evaline Ness covers or nothing.

We don't get that kind of "not good, only amazing" cover art any more, and the world is poorer for it. Lookit dat PIGGY!

Wasn't there an obvious and painful Gurgi knockoff somewhere in Terry Goodkind too?

# ? Jun 1, 2023 16:17

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Hieronymous Alloy posted:

We don't get that kind of "not good, only amazing" cover art any more, and the world is poorer for it. Lookit dat PIGGY!

Wasn't there an obvious and painful Gurgi knockoff somewhere in Terry Goodkind too?

Wouldn't surprise me. Then again, Alexander was also obviously trying to do a "What if Gollum, but a good person?" character with Gurgi, so it wouldn't surprise me if other authors had similar ideas or just ripped him off outright.

# ? Jun 1, 2023 16:56

Selachian: Oct 9, 2012

Hieronymous Alloy posted:

We don't get that kind of "not good, only amazing" cover art any more, and the world is poorer for it. Lookit dat PIGGY!

They get overlooked a lot, but Alexander also wrote, and Ness illustrated, a couple of picture books set in Prydain -- Coll and His White Pig (where Hen Wen gets kidnapped, again, and Coll has to save her) and The Truthful Harp (about how Fflewddur got his harp). Worth seeking out for kids who can't handle chapter books yet.

# ? Jun 1, 2023 17:13

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Selachian posted:

They get overlooked a lot, but Alexander also wrote, and Ness illustrated, a couple of picture books set in Prydain -- Coll and His White Pig (where Hen Wen gets kidnapped, again, and Coll has to save her) and The Truthful Harp (about how Fflewddur got his harp). Worth seeking out for kids who can't handle chapter books yet.

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.

# ? Jun 1, 2023 17:19

Strategic Tea: Sep 1, 2012

I think Terry Goodkind had more of a 'what if Gollum, but Gollum' character. God even to 13yo me those books were... unoriginal.

# ? Jun 1, 2023 19:03

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Strategic Tea posted:

I think Terry Goodkind had more of a 'what if Gollum, but Gollum' character. God even to 13yo me those books were... unoriginal.

While Terry Goodkind is (was?) indeed terrible, the real LotR rip-off is the Sword of Shannara, a very direct cut and paste job right down to a not-aragorn, a not-gandalf etc, and the two yokels (who are at least humans this time, not hobbits) get separated from their group and go off into the bad guy's lair alone, followed by this gnarly little poo poo who's obsessed with the titular sword, which is the one ring stand-in. Like it really is the LotR trilogy to a blatant degree. I think it was extremely commercially successful, I even read an article once that credited it with beginning the modern boom of fantasy publishing.

# ? Jun 1, 2023 23:41

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

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Wahad posted:

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.

I just bought it myself on Amazon the other day, so it's still available out there.

# ? Jun 2, 2023 15:59

Strategic Tea: Sep 1, 2012

Genghis Cohen posted:

While Terry Goodkind is (was?) indeed terrible, the real LotR rip-off is the Sword of Shannara, a very direct cut and paste job right down to a not-aragorn, a not-gandalf etc, and the two yokels (who are at least humans this time, not hobbits) get separated from their group and go off into the bad guy's lair alone, followed by this gnarly little poo poo who's obsessed with the titular sword, which is the one ring stand-in. Like it really is the LotR trilogy to a blatant degree. I think it was extremely commercially successful, I even read an article once that credited it with beginning the modern boom of fantasy publishing.

Oh poo poo you're right. I mean Terry Brooks (Shannara) not Goodkind!

# ? Jun 2, 2023 19:01

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

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

Wahad posted:

Chapter 14: The Black Lake
Well, so much for that. Book's over, everyone drowned.

I did think it was an interesting and bold choice to fill the four subsequent books with nothing but blank pages, but honestly I can respect it.

# ? Jun 3, 2023 20:54

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

Medwyn's offer to Taran is interesting given the events and ending of book 5. I have to assume Lloyd Alexander knew the general beats and such, but how much does Medwyn know about Taran? Does he make that offer because he knows Taran would refuse? (Because if he did decide to stay with Medwyn, the repercussions would be pretty bad for everyone and everything).

# ? Jun 4, 2023 20:04

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

regulargonzalez posted:

Medwyn's offer to Taran is interesting given the events and ending of book 5. I have to assume Lloyd Alexander knew the general beats and such, but how much does Medwyn know about Taran? Does he make that offer because he knows Taran would refuse? (Because if he did decide to stay with Medwyn, the repercussions would be pretty bad for everyone and everything).

This is also just Taran's whole deal summed up in a single scene: people (benevolently) temping him with offers to derail his quest and become a completely different person in the process, and Taran going "Nah, I'm cool. Thanks though. See ya!" and then leaving.

# ? Jun 4, 2023 20:19

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

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Wahad posted:

Chapter 15: King Eiddileg

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

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.

We found Hen Wen, y'all!

I did not remember all these little episodes in the first book! Definitely jumps around a bit, the put-upon bureaucrat as the fairy king is not something I would have fully understood/appreciated as a child.

# ? Jun 7, 2023 23:54

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

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

And we dress in black.

Good old Doli! I remember him being a favorite of mine when I was a kid, so I'm looking forward to seeing more.

# ? Jun 10, 2023 18:30

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

GodFish posted:

Good old Doli! I remember him being a favorite of mine when I was a kid, so I'm looking forward to seeing more.

One of the stories in The Foundling has a cameo from Doli in it, and reading it all these years later after the main books was like being reunited with an old friend... who's a complete loving rear end in a top hat, but that's beside the point :allears:

# ? Jun 10, 2023 19:33

Esposito: Apr 5, 2003; Sic transit gloria. Maybe we'll meet again someday, when the fighting stops.

Strategic Tea posted:

Oh poo poo you're right. I mean Terry Brooks (Shannara) not Goodkind!

But Goodkind does have a character called Samuel who is a Gollum analogue, at least in appearance and somewhat in behavior.

# ? Jun 10, 2023 20:29

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.

quote:

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

quote:

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

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Wahad posted:

The end

A great finish! Really takes me back to reading them as a kid. Amongst the nice and worthy life lessons, I don't remember noticing this before: "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." Mysterious old sage being mysterious? Or an old chap having a nap after a large lunch? Could be a nice little glimpse of his down to earth humanity.

Really will get these for my son when he's old enough. I can see why they are so enduringly popular as YA books.

# ? Jun 19, 2023 11:44

MadDogMike: Apr 9, 2008; Cute but fanged

I always did love that the story ended with Taran feeling he did nothing but make mistakes, I definitely related at that age to someone who tried to do the right thing but felt like all they did was mess up all the time. As coming of age stories go, this series is one of the best ones at showing the growth from child to adult; Taran always had a decent heart but you can follow the improvements that come from experience with him.

# ? Jun 21, 2023 00:43

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

MadDogMike posted:

I always did love that the story ended with Taran feeling he did nothing but make mistakes, I definitely related at that age to someone who tried to do the right thing but felt like all they did was mess up all the time. As coming of age stories go, this series is one of the best ones at showing the growth from child to adult; Taran always had a decent heart but you can follow the improvements that come from experience with him.

I think The Black Cauldron and Taran Wanderer are were Taran really does the most growing up. The Book of Three is just kind of the prelude to that with him kind of bumbling from incident to incident in a lot of ways, but The Black Cauldron is where Taran really becomes competent as a character and a person. The Castle of Llyr meanwhile is mostly Eilonwy's book of character growth with Taran mostly going "Oh for gently caress's sake, really? :rolleyes:

" to a lot of its shenanigans, and then The High King is like everyone's final exam where they all put what they've learned over the last four books to the test and sink or swim on those merits.

# ? Jun 21, 2023 00:56

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

Taran Wanderer is *such* a story.

Oddly, The Grey King reminded me a lot of it, book 4 of a 5 book series in that general kind of setting and story. Taran Wanderer preceded it by almost a decade, but I've no idea what kind of link there might have been between Susan Cooper and Lloyd Alexander.

# ? Jun 21, 2023 02:42

MadDogMike: Apr 9, 2008; Cute but fanged

silvergoose posted:

Taran Wanderer is *such* a story.

Definitely my favorite of the whole series, yeah.

# ? Jun 22, 2023 00:11

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.

quote:

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

quote:

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.

quote:

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

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

King Smoit is probably my favorite character in the whole series. He's like Santa Claus, but he'll beat the poo poo out of you if you're naughty.

# ? Jun 22, 2023 05:46

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

Doli, getting the power to be invisible: hahaha, yes! gently caress yeah!

Doli, being invisible: what the gently caress. This loving sucks.

# ? Jun 22, 2023 17:26

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

Same with Gurgi's infinite wallet of food tbh. And maybe Eilonwy's ring? I don't remember but there's a vague sense that it comes into play in book 3.

# ? Jun 22, 2023 19:53

Crescent Wrench: Sep 30, 2005; The truth is usually just an excuse for a lack of imagination.; Grimey Drawer

nine-gear crow posted:

King Smoit is probably my favorite character in the whole series. He's like Santa Claus, but he'll beat the poo poo out of you if you're naughty.

To this day I still occasionally think of being hungry as needing to "line my belly" as Smoit calls it.

# ? Jun 23, 2023 13:36

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# ? Apr 25, 2024 01:10

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

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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