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

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Hemp Knight: Sep 26, 2004

Wahad posted:

Chapter 14: Daylight

Uh oh.

Thus the fitting end of Dorath. And we circle back to Medwyn's command earlier in the book!

Now where have we heard that before?

Huh, I�d forgotten all about Dorath reappearing in this book. I thought that he was only in Taran Wanderer.

For that matter, I�d forgotten that Medwyn told the animals to help against Annuvin. I wondered what the hell the wolves suddenly showed up.

# ? May 3, 2024 04:34

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# ? May 18, 2024 15:28

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

Chapter 15: The River of Ice

quote:

UNDER THE SUDDEN OUTPOURING of golden light, the Huntsmen shouted in alarm and a wave of fear rippled along the marching column as they faltered and fell back into the protection of a deep gorge. Instantly Taran realized how closely he had come to leading the Commot horsemen into a fatal trap, but a cry of joy sprang from his lips.

"Eilonwy!" He would have urged Melynlas across the valley to the mountainside had not Fflewddur put out a restraining hand.

"Hold, hold," cried the bard. "She's found us, right enough. Great Belin, there's no mistaking the light from that girl's bauble! She's saved out lives with it. Gurgi's sure to be with her, too; but if you go galloping after them, none of you will get back. We've seen the Huntsmen, and they could hardly help seeing us." Doli had clambered atop a boulder and stood peering after the retreating Huntsmen. Eilonwy's signal winked out as quickly as it had appeared, and in another moment the winter darkness, fell once more over the valley.

"A fine plight!" growled the dwarf. "Of all times to be caught above ground! The mine is useless to us, and there's no other passage within a week's march. Even if there were, we couldn't reach it with an army of Huntsmen blocking the way."

Fflewddur had drawn his sword. "I say attack! Those foul villains had a good scare. They'll have no stomach for a fight now. We'll set upon them without warning. Great Belin, that's something they won't expect!"

Doli snorted at him. "You've left your wits in the mineshaft! Set upon the Huntsmen? Slay one and make the others that much stronger? Even Fair Folk would think twice about attacking those ruffians. No, my friend, it won't answer."

"When I was a giant," put in Glew, "it would have been a simple matter for me to put them all to flight. However, through no fault of my own, times have changed, and I can hardly say they've changed for the better. On Mona, for example, one day I had decided something really had to be done about those impudent bats. It's an interesting tale..."

"Silence, you puny thing," commanded the bard. "You've said enough and done enough."

"That's right, lay all the blame on me," sniffed Glew. "It's my fault Gwydion's sword was stolen, my fault the Cauldron-Born escaped, my fault every other disagreeable thing has happened." The bard did not deign to answer the former giant's whining outburst. Taran, having ordered the Commot warriors into the relative safety of the tunnel mouth, returned and stood beside the companions.

"I fear Doli is right," Taran said. "By attacking the Huntsmen we can only destroy ourselves. Our strength is slight enough as it is, and we dare not waste it. We have been long delayed, and already may be too late to aid Gwydion. No, we must find some means to make our way despite the Huntsmen."

Doli shook his head. "Still won't answer. They know we're here; they'll know if we try to move. All they need to do is track us. For the matter of that, I'll be surprised if we're not attacked before dawn. Look to your skins, my friends. It may be the last time you'll see them whole."

"Doli," Taran said urgently, "you're the only one who can help us now. Will you spy out the Huntsmen's camp? Learn all you can of their plans. I know how you feel about turning yourself invisible, but..."

"Invisible!" shouted the dwarf, clapping a hand to his head. "I knew it would come to that sooner or later. It always does! Good old Doli! Turn invisible! I'm not sure I can do it any more, I've tried to forget how. It hurts my ears. I'd sooner have my head stuffed with hornets and wasps. No, no, out of the question. Ask anything else you like, but not that."

"Good old Doli," Taran said. "I was sure you'd do it."

Good old Doli.

quote:

After a further show of reluctance, which deceived no one, except perhaps Doli himself, the crimson-haired dwarf consented to do as Taran had asked. Doli wrinkled his eyes shut, took a deep breath, as though making ready to plunge into icy water, and flickered out of sight. Had it not been for a stifled sound of irritable grumbling, Taran would not have believed Doli to be there at all. Only the faint click of pebbles stirred by unseen feet told Taran that the dwarf had moved from the tunnel toward the enemy lines.

At Doli's orders the Fair Folk troop took guard posts in a wide half-circle beyond the tunnel's mouth, where their sharp eyes and ears could catch any threatening movement or sound. Taran was amazed at how still these warriors remained, silent and nearly as invisible as Doli. Their white garb made them seem no more than ice-covered stones or frosted hummocks under the moon, which had now begun to drift from behind the clouds. The horsemen drowsed among their steeds for warmth. Glew curled up nearby. Just within the tunnel Fflewddur sat with his back against the wall of rock, one hand on his harp, the other resting on the huge head of Llyan, who had stretched out beside him and was gently purring. Mufed in his cloak, Taran gazed once more in wonder at the mountainside where first had appeared Eilonwy's signal light.

"She is alive," he murmured to himself. "Alive," he whispered again and again, and his heart leaped each time he spoke the words. Gurgi would be with her, of this he was somehow sure. All his senses told him both companions had survived. Over the chill air came the baying of a wolf. There were other sounds, as of distant shouting, but they soon faded, and he gave them no thought, filled as he was with his new-found hope.

Half the night had worn away when Doli flickered back into sight. The dwarf, too excited to complain of his buzzing ears, hurriedly beckoned Taran and Fflewddur to follow him. Ordering the horsemen to stand alert, Taran hastened after the companions. The Fair Folk warriors were already jogtrotting behind Doli, silent as white shadows. Taran at first thought the dwarf meant to lead them directly to the Huntsmen's camp; instead Doli turned off a little distance before it and began scrambling up a slope rising high above the gorge.

"The Huntsmen are still there," Doli muttered under his breath as they climbed. "No wish of their own. We have some friends we didn't know about--- bears and wolves, dozens of them, all along the rim of the gorge. A band of Huntsmen tried to climb out. Good thing they couldn't see me or I wouldn't be here. But they were seen. The bears got to them first. Quick work they made of those villains. Bloody work, but quick."

"They slew a party of Huntsmen?" Taran frowned. "Now the others are even stronger."

"Be that as it may," replied Doli. "The bears and wolves can attend to them better than we can. I doubt the Huntsmen will attack tonight. They fear the animals. They'll stay in the gorge until morning. And that's where I want them. I think I've struck on something."

By this time they had reached the summit and had come to the rim of an ice-bound lake. At the sheer drop over the edge of the bluff, a frozen waterfall glittered under the moon; like fingers on a huge fist, vast icicles clawed at the steep slope, as though holding the lake in its frigid grip. A river of hard silver twisted downward toward the gorge where the Huntsmen were sheltering. Taran glimpsed their campfires glowing like baleful eyes in the darkness. Though he could not be sure, it seemed to him that shadowy shapes stirred among the rocks and stunted brush of the higher ground; perhaps the bears and wolves of which the dwarf had spoken.

"There!" Doli said, "what do you think of that?"

"What do I think?" cried the bard. "My old friend, I think you're the one who left your wits in the mine. You've led us on a good climb, but I should hardly call this a moment to admire the beauties of nature."

The dwarf put his hands on his hips and looked at Fflewddur with exasperation. "Sometimes I think Eiddileg's right about you humans. Can't you see past your nose? Can't you see at all? We're nearly atop those ruffians. Free the lake! Free the waterfall! Let it go pouring down! Straight into the camp!"

Taran caught his breath. For a moment, his heart leaped hopefully. Then he shook his head. "The task is too great, Doli. The ice will defeat us."

"Then melt it!" shouted the dwarf. "Cut branches, bushes, all that will burn. Where the ice is too thick, chop it away! How many times must I tell you? You're dealing with Fair Folk!"

"Can it indeed be done?" Taran whispered.

"Would I have said it if I didn't think so?" the dwarf snapped. Fflewddur gave a low whistle of admiration.

"You think in large terms, old fellow. But it appeals to me. Great Belin, if we could pull it off we'd strike them all down at one blow! And rid ourselves of them once and for all!" Doli was no longer listening to the bard, but was passing hasty orders to the Fair Folk warriors, who unslung their axes and, with all speed, began chopping and hacking at the trees, uprooting underbrush and racing with their burdens to the lake.

Casting his doubts aside, Taran drew his sword and hewed at the branches. Fflewddur toiled beside him. Despite the bitter cold air, their brows streamed; their panting breath hung in a white haze before their faces. At the frozen waterfall the axes of the Fair Folk rang upon the ice. Doli dashed among the warriors, adding to the pile of bushes and branches, dislodging rocks and boulders to form a straighter, swifter channel. The night was waning quickly. Taran stumbled in exhaustion, his cold-numbed hands torn and bleeding. Fflewddur was barely able to keep his feet But the efforts of the Fair Folk never slackened. Before dawn the lake and the watercourse were piled high, as though a forest had overgrown them. Only then was Doli satisfied.

"Now, we'll set it alight," he cried to Taran. "Fair Folk tinder burns hotter than anything you humans know. It will blaze in no time."

He whistled shrilly through his teeth. All along the lake the torches of the Fair Folk flamed, then arched like shooting stars as the warriors flung them into the pyre. Taran saw the first branches catch fire, then the rest. A fierce crackling filled his ears, and over it he heard Doli shouting for the companions to race clear of the blaze. A wave of heat like the breath of a furnace caught at Taran as he struggled for a foothold among the stones. The ice was melting. He heard the hiss of quenched flames. But the fire, too high to be altogether extinguished, raged even more hotly. From the watercourse came the crack and groan of boulders shifting under the growing pressure of the rising flood. In a moment, like a gate ripped from its hinges, like a wall collapsing, the side of the bluff gave way, and through the channel burst a sheet of water carrying all before it. Huge blocks of ice thundered down the slope, bounding and rolling as if they had been no more than pebbles. The swift outpouring bore with it the flaming branches; above the streaming mass, clouds of sparks billowed and swirled, and the watercourse blazed all along its length. In the gorge below, the Huntsmen shouted and strove to flee. It was too late. The rushing waters and careening boulders flung back the warriors as they sought to scramble up the ravine. Screaming and cursing, they fell beneath the cascade or were tossed in the air like chips, to be dashed against the sharp rocks. A few gained higher ground, but as they did, Taran saw dark shapes spring to grapple with them, and now it was the turn of the waiting animals to take vengeance on those who had ever mercilessly hunted and slaughtered them.

Silence fell over the gorge. In the dawn light Taran saw the glint of the dark water that had flooded the ravine. Some of the branches still burned, others smouldered, and a gray mist of smoke hung in the air. A rattle of stones behind him made Taran spin about and snatch his blade from the scabbard.

"Hullo!" said Eilonwy. "We're back again!"

Hullo!

quote:

"YOU HAVE AN ODD WAY of welcoming people," Eilonwy went on, as Taran, his heart too full to speak, stared speechless at her. "You might at least say something."

While Gurgi, yelping joyfully, tried to greet everyone at once, Taran stepped quickly to Eilonwy's side, put his arms about her and drew the Princess close to him. "I had given up hope..."

"A silly thing to do," Eilonwy answered. "I never did. Though I admit having a few uneasy moments with that ruffian Dorath, and I could tell you tales you wouldn't believe about wolves and bears. I'll save them for later, when you can tell me all that's been happening to you. As for the Huntsmen," she continued, as the reunited companions made their way to the tunnel, "I saw the whole thing. At first I hadn't any idea what you were up to. Then I understood. It was wonderful. I should have known Doli had a hand in it. Good old Doli! It looked like a river of burning ice..." The Princess stopped suddenly and her eyes widened. "Do you realize what you've done?" she whispered. "Don't you see?"

"Know what we've done?" laughed Fflewddur. "Indeed we do! We've rid ourselves of the Huntsmen, and a good job it was. A Fflam couldn't have done better. As for what I see, I'm more pleased with what I can't see, if you take my meaning, namely, not a sign of those villains."

"Hen Wen's prophery!" Eilonwy cried. "Part of it's come true! Have all of you forgotten? Night turn to noon and rivers burn with frozen fire ere Dyrnwyn be regained. Well, you've burned a river, or so it seems to me. Frozen fire could just as well mean all that ice and flaming branches, couldn't it?"

Taran looked closely at the Princess. His hands trembled as the words of the prophecy echoed in his memory. "Have you seen what we ourselves did not see? But have you not done as much as we did? Without realizing it yourself? Think! 'Night turn to noon.' Your bauble made daylight of darkness!"

It was Eilonwy's turn to be surprised. "So it did!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, yes!" shouted Gurgi. "Wise piggy told the truth! Mighty blade will be found again!"

Fflewddur cleared his throat. "A Fflam is always encouraging," he said, "but in this case I should remind you, the prophecy also said Dyrnwyn's flame would be quenched and its power would vanish, which leaves us no better off than we were, even if we did manage to find it. And I also recall something about asking mute stones to speak. So far I've heard not a word from any of the stones here, though in the matter of boulders and rocks, there's hardly a short supply. The only message they've given me is that they're hard to sleep on. Moreover, if you want my opinion, I'd say don't trust prophecies in the first place. It's been my experience they're as bad as enchantments and lead only to one thing: trouble."

"I do not understand the meaning of the prophecy myself," Taran said. "Are these signs of hope, or do we deceive ourselves by wishing them to be? Only Dallben or Gwydion has wisdom to interpret them. And yet I can't help feeling there is some hope at last. But it is true. Our task is no easier than it was."

Doli grimaced. "No easier? It's impossible now. Do you still mean to gain the Red Fallows? I warn you the Cauldron-Born are far out of reach." He snorted. "Don't talk to me about prophecies. Talk about time. We've lost too much of it."

"I have thought long about this, too," Taran answered. "It has been in my mind ever since the tunnel fell. I believe our only chance is to go straight across the mountains and try to hold back the Cauldron-Born as they turn northwest to Annuvin."

"Slim hope," Doli replied. "The Fair Folk can't venture that far. It's forbidden land. That close to Arawn's realm, Fair Folk would die. Gwystyl's waypost was nearest to the Land of Death, and you've seen what it did to his digestion and disposition. The best we could do is to put you well on your way. One of us might go with you," he added. "You can imagine who that is. Good old Doli! I've spent so much time above ground with you humans that being in Annuvin can't harm me. Yes, I'll go with you," Doli went on, scowling furiously. "I see nothing else for it. Good old Doli! Sometimes I wish I didn't have such an agreeable temper. Humph!"

As the prophecy foretold! And our party is back together in full strength. All the better to tackle the most dangerous part ahead; Annuvin itself.

# ? May 4, 2024 20:47

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!

# ? May 4, 2024 21:17

MadDogMike: Apr 9, 2008; Cute but fanged

Genghis Cohen posted:

Eh, he got his throat torn out by a wolf. I think the details of the description are occluded in line with the YA audience of the books. Most violence in them seems to be portrayed that way, people bloodlessly expire like an early 20th century swashbuckling movie. But it's definitely not a lovely way to go.

Given his threats to Eilonwy were something rather past the PG line themselves, I think a nice brutal throat tearing was terribly appropriate really even for YA fiction.

# ? May 5, 2024 03:35

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

MadDogMike posted:

Given his threats to Eilonwy were something rather past the PG line themselves, I think a nice brutal throat tearing was terribly appropriate really even for YA fiction.

# ? May 5, 2024 09:15

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

This whole situation would be a lot simpler if Glew were a giant.

# ? May 5, 2024 16:47

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Darthemed posted:

This whole situation would be a lot simpler if Glew were a giant.

Just send Glew to fend off/hopefully get swarmed to death by the Cauldron-Born. Everyone wins.

# ? May 6, 2024 06:35

filmcynic: Oct 30, 2012

Mintymenman posted:

The Kestrel/Westmark books are delightful and Time Cat keeps getting reprinted for a reason. Also, just going to drop this here:
https://youtu.be/Wt9ZHQy2wAk?si=YhvIxjTEVBSucL5N

Everything on the channel is amazing.

Catching up on the thread, and wanted to say thanks to everyone for the recommendations about Alexander's other work. Looking forward to starting the Westmark series. Also, that Youtube link is fantastic.

# ? May 6, 2024 15:32

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

Chapter 16: The Enchanter

quote:

LIKE A WEARY CHILD, the old man hunched over the bookstrewn table, his head upon his arm. Across his bony shoulders he had flung a cloak; the fire still flickered in the hearth, but the chill of this winter sank into him more deeply than any other he could remember. At his feet, Hen Wen stirred restlessly and whimpered in a high, plaintive voice. Dallben, who was neither altogether asleep nor awake, reached down a frail hand and gently scratched her ear. The pig would not be calmed. Her pink snout twitched, she snorted and muttered unhappily and tried to hide her head in the folds of his robe. The enchanter at last roused himself.

"What is it, Hen? Is our time upon us?" He gave the pig a reassuring pat and rose stiffly from the wooden stool. "Tut, it is a moment to pass, no more than that, whatever the outcome."

Without haste he took up a long ash-wood staff and, leaning on it, hobbled from the chamber. Hen Wen trotted at his heels. At the cottage door, he pulled the cloak tighter about him and stepped into the night. The moon was at its full, riding distant in a deep sky. Dallben stood, listening carefully. To another's ears, the little farm would have seemed silent as the moon itself, but the old enchanter, his brow furrowed, his eyes half closed, nodded his head.

"You are right, Hen," he murmured. "I hear them now. But they are still far. What then," he added, with a wrinkled smile, "must I wait long for them and freeze the little marrow left in my bones?"

Nevertheless, he did not return within the cottage but moved a few paces across the dooryard. His eyes; which had been heavy with drowsiness, grew bright as ice crystals. He peered sharply past the leafless trees of the orchard, as though to see into the shadows entwining the circling forest like black ivy tendrils. Hen Wen stayed behind, sitting uneasily on her haunches and watching the enchanter with much concern on her broad, bristly face.

"I should say there are twenty of them," Dallben remarked, then added wryly, "I do not know whether to be insulted or relieved. Only twenty? It is a paltry number. Yet more than that would be too cumbersome for the long journey, especially through the fighting in the Valley of Ystrad. No, twenty would be deemed ample and well chosen." For some time the old man stood quietly and patiently. At last, through the clear air, a faint sound of hoofbeats grew more insistent, then stopped, as if the riders had dismounted and were walking their steeds.

Against the dark tangle of trees where the forest rose at the edge of the stubble field, the darting shapes could have been no more than shadows cast by the bushes. Dallben straightened, raised his head, and blew out his breath as gently as if he were puffing at thistledown. In an instant a biting gale shrieked across the field. The farm was calm, but the wind ripped with the force of a thousand swords into the forest, where the trees clashed and rattled. Horses whinnied, men shouted as branches suddenly lashed against them. The gale beat against the warriors, who flung up their arms to shield themselves from it. Still, the war band pressed on, struggling through the wind whipped forest and at last gaining the stubble field. At the onset of the gale, Hen Wen, squealing fearfully, had turned tail and dashed into the cottage. Dallben raised a hand and the wind died as quickly as it had risen. Frowning, the old man smote his staff on the frozen turf.

Deep thunder muttered, the ground shuddered; and the field heaved like a restless sea. The warriors staggered and lost their footing, and among the attackers many fled to the safety of the forest, hastening to escape, fearful the earth itself might open and swallow them. The rest, urging each other on, drew their swords and stumbled across the field, racing toward the cottage. With some vexation Dallben thrust out his arm with fingers spread as though he were casting pebbles into a pond. From his hand a crimson flame spurted and stretched like a fiery lash, in blinding streaks against the black sky.

The warriors cried out as ropes of crackling flame caught at them and twined about their arms and legs. The horses broke loose and galloped madly into the woods. The attackers threw down their weapons and tore frantically at their cloaks and jackets. Howling in pain and terror, the men reeled and plunged in full flight back to the forest. The flames vanished. Dallben, about to turn away, glimpsed one figure which still pressed across the empty field. Alarmed, the old man gripped his staff and hobbled as quickly as he could into the cottage. The warrior was striding past the stables and into the dooryard. With footfalls pounding behind him, Dallben hurried across the threshold, but the old man had no sooner gained the refuge of his chamber than the warrior burst through the doorway. Dallben spun about to face his assailant.

"Beware!" cried the enchanter. "Beware! Take no step closer." Dallben had drawn himself up to his full height, his eyes flashed, and his voice rang with such a commanding tone that the warrior hesitated. The man's hood had fallen back and the firelight played over the golden hair and proud features of Pryderi Son of Pwyll. Dallben's eyes never faltered. "I have long awaited you, King of the West Domains." Pryderi made as if to take a step forward. His hand dropped to the pommel of the naked sword at his belt. Yet the old man's glance held him.

"You mistake my rank," Pryderi said mockingly. "Now I rule a larger realm. Prydain itself."

"What then," replied Dallben, feigning surprise, "is Gwydion of the House of Don no longer High King of Prydain?"

Pryderi laughed harshly. "A king without a kingdom? A king in rags, hunted like a fox? Caer Dathyl has fallen, the Sons of Don are scattered to the wind. This you already know, though it seems the tidings have reached you swiftly."

"All tidings reach me swiftly," Dallben said. "Swifter, perhaps, than they reach you."

"Do you boast of your powers?" Pryderi answered scornfully. "At the last, when you most needed them, they failed. Your spells did no more than frighten a handful of warriors. Does the crafty Dallben take pride in putting churls to flight?"

"My spells were not meant to destroy, only to warn," Dallben replied. "This is a place of danger to all who enter against my will. Your followers heeded my warning. Alas, Lord Pryderi, that you did not. These churls are wiser than their king, for it is not wisdom that a man should seek his own death."

"Again you are mistaken, wizard," Pryderi said. "It is your death I seek." Dallben tugged at the wisps of his beard.

"What you may seek and what you may find are not always one, Son of Pwyll," he said quietly. "Yes, you would take my life. That is no secret to me. Has Caer Dathyl fallen? That victory is hollow so long as Caer Dallben stands and so long as I live. Two strongholds have long stood against the Lord of Annuvin: a golden castle and a farmer's cottage. One lies in ruins. But the other is still a shield against evil, and a sword ever pointed at Arawn's heart. The Death-Lord knows this, and knows as well that he cannot enter here, nor can his Huntsmen and Cauldron-Born. Thus have you come," Dallben added, "to do your master's bidding."

A flush of anger spread over Pryderi's face. "I am my own master," he cried. "If power is given me to serve Prydain, shall I fear to use it? I am no Huntsman, who kills for the joy of killing. I do what must be done, and shrink not from it. My purpose is greater than the life of a man, or a thousand men. And if you must die, Dallben, then so be it." Pryderi ripped the sword from his belt, and in a sudden movement struck at the enchanter. But Dallben had taken a firmer grip on his staff and raised it against the blow. Pryderi's blade shattered upon the slender wood, and the shards fell ringing to the ground. Pryderi cast the broken hilt from him. Yet it was not fear that filled his eyes, but scorn. "I have been warned of your powers, wizard. I chose to prove them for myself."

Dallben had not moved. "Have you been truly warned? I think not. Had you been, you would not have dared to face me."

"Your strength is great, wizard," Pryderi said, "but not so great as your weakness. Your secret is known to me. Strive against me as you will. At the end it is I who must conquer. Of all powers one is forbidden you on pain of your own death. Are you master of winds? Can you make the earth tremble? This is useless toying. You cannot do what the lowest warrior can do: you cannot kill." From his cloak Pryderi had drawn a short black dagger whose pommel bore the seal of Annuvin. "No such ban is laid upon me," he said. "As I have been warned, so have I been armed. This blade comes from the hand of Arawn himself. It can be wielded despite all your spells." A look of pity and deep sorrow had come over Dallben's wrinkled face.

"Poor foolish man," he murmured. "It is true. This weapon of Annuvin can take my life and I cannot stay your hand. But you are blind as the mole that toils in the earth. Ask now, Lord Pryderi, which the master and which the slave. Arawn has betrayed you. Yes, betrayed you," Dallben said, his voice sharp and cold. "You thought to make him serve you. Yet all unwitting you have served him better than any of his hirelings. He sent you to slay me, and gave you the means to do it. Indeed, perhaps you shall slay me. But it will be Arawn's triumph, not yours. Once you have done his bidding, you are a useless husk to the Lord of Annuvin. He knows full well that never will I let you depart alive from Caer Dallben. You are a dead man, Lord Pryderi, even as you stand here."

Pryderi raised the black dagger. "With words you seek to ward off your death."

"See from the window," Dallben answered. As he spoke, a crimson glow poured through the casement. A broad belt of flames had sprung up to circle Caer Dallben. Pryderi faltered and stepped back. "You have believed half-truths," Dallben said. "No man has ever suffered death at my hands. But those who scorn my spells do so at their own peril. Slay me, Lord Pryderi, and the flames you see will sweep over Caer Dallben in an instant. There is no escape for you." Pryderi's golden features were drawn in a look of disbelief, mingled with growing fear at the enchanter's words.

"You lie," he whispered hoarsely. "The flames will die, even as you will die."

"That, Lord, you must prove for yourself," Dallben said.

"I have my proof!" Pryderi cried. "Arawn would not destroy what he seeks most. There were two tasks! In all your wisdom you did not guess them. Your death was only one. The other, to gain The Book of Three." Dallben shook his head sadly and glanced at the heavy, leather-bound tome.

"You have been doubly betrayed, then. This book will no more serve Arawn than it will serve any evil end. Nor will it serve you, Lord Pryderi." The force of the old man's voice was like a cold wind. "You have steeped your hands in blood, and in your pride sought to pass judgment on your fellow men. Was it your concern to serve Prydain? You chose an evil means to do it. Good cannot come from evil. You leagued yourself with Arawn for what you deemed a noble cause. Now you are a prisoner of the very evil you hoped to overcome, prisoner and victim. For in The Book of Three you are already marked for death." Dallben's eyes blazed and the truth of his words seemed to grip Pryderi's throat. The King's face had turned ashen. With a cry, he flung away the dagger and clutched at the huge book. Desperately his hands reached out as if they would rip it asunder.

"Touch it not!" Dallben commanded. But Pryderi had already seized it. As he did so a blinding bolt of lightning sprang like a blazing tree from the ancient tome. Pryderi's death shriek rang through the chamber. Dallben turned away and bowed his head as though some heavy grief had come upon him.

Beyond the little farm the circle of fire dwindled and faded in the quiet dawn.

Hey, Dallben does know magic! How about that.

# ? May 8, 2024 16:28

nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Wahad posted:

Chapter 16: The Enchanter

Hey, Dallben does know magic! How about that.

Probably my favourite chapter in the entire series :allears:

. The guy who effortlessly sacked the capital of Prydain and killed the High King shows up with his crew to raze a tiny farm in the middle of nowhere, encounters a real wizard with a real divine artifact in his care and just gets erased from existence in three sentences.

Yes, it's a cheap way of dealing with a villain who vastly outstrips the heroes in power and who they could never defeat in a fair fight, but it's no less awesome to see it go down.

# ? May 8, 2024 17:03

TheGreatEvilKing: Mar 28, 2016

nine-gear crow posted:

Probably my favourite chapter in the entire series . The guy who effortlessly sacked the capital of Prydain and killed the High King shows up with his crew to raze a tiny farm in the middle of nowhere, encounters a real wizard with a real divine artifact in his care and just gets erased from existence in three sentences.

Yes, it's a cheap way of dealing with a villain who vastly outstrips the heroes in power and who they could never defeat in a fair fight, but it's no less awesome to see it go down.

It doesn't feel cheap because its the exact kind of dumb poo poo you expect Pryderi to do.

I also interpreted the "cannot kill" line less as Dallben not having the power to do so and more that Dallben being vehemently opposed to it. It's the contrast between the real power Dallben has vs Pryderi's shallow power based solely on violence.

# ? May 9, 2024 14:24

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

Chapter 17: The Snowstorm

quote:

THE FAIR FOLK WARRIORS, all save Doli, had turned back at the line of treeless crags marking the westernmost edge of the Hills of Bran-Galedd, for beyond that point the land lay under the sway of Arawn Death-Lord. For some days now the companions had toiled painfully through a wilderness of stone, where not even moss or lichen flourished. The sky was gray, and the few thin clouds no more than shreds of darker gray. It was as though an evil mist had seeped from the stronghold of Annuvin, stifling all living things and leaving only this rocky waste.

The companions spoke little, husbanding their strength. From the first day within the borders of the Land of Death, they had been obliged to dismount and go on foot, leading the weary horses through the treacherous passes. Even the stallion Melynlas showed signs of fatigue; the steed's powerful neck drooped and his gait sometimes faltered. Llyan, however, padded skillfully along the narrowest and most dangerous of ledges. Often, while the companions labored down one sharp descent to clamber up an even sharper slope, the enormous cat leaped from one crag to the next, and they would come upon her sitting with her tail coiled about her haunches, waiting for Fflewddur to scratch her ears, after which she would bound off once more.

Doli, firmly gripping his staff, his white hood pulled well down over his face, trudged at the head of the little band. Taran had never ceased to wonder at the tireless dwarf who found, as though by secret sense, hidden footpaths and narrow ways that helped speed the harsh journey. Yet, after a time, Doli's pace seemed to flag. Taran saw with growing concern and uneasiness that from time to time the dwarf would lose his footing and his step turn suddenly unsure. When Doli staggered and dropped to one knee, Taran ran to his side, alarmed, and tried to lift up the dwarf. The companions hurried to join him. Doli's usually ruddy face had grown mottled and he breathed only in painful gasps. He struggled to regain his feet.

"Curse this evil realm," he muttered. "Can't stand it as well as I thought. Don't gawk! Give me a hand up."

Stubbornly, the dwarf refused to mount one of the horses, insisting he felt better when his feet were on the ground. When Taran urged him to rest, Doli angrily shook his head.

"I said I'd find a passage for you," he snapped. "And I mean to. Can't stand a botched job. When the Fair Folk set about a task, they do it right, and don't dawdle over it."

Nevertheless, after a short while Doli reluctantly consented to climb astride Melynlas. He fumbled with the stirrups but grumbled irritably when Fflewddur helped him into the saddle. Even this relief was not long lasting. The dwarf's head soon dropped weakly forward, he swayed unsteadily and, before Taran could reach him, lurched from the stallion's back and pitched to the ground. Taran quickly signaled a halt.

"We'll go no further today," he told the dwarf. "By morning you'll have your strength again."

Doli shook his head. His face was white, his crimson eyes had turned dull; "No use waiting," he gasped. "I've been too long here. It will grow worse. Must keep on while I can still guide you."

"Not at the cost of your life," Taran said.

"Hevydd the Smith will ride with you to the border. Llassar Son of Drudwas will help the rest of us find our way."

"Won't do," muttered the dwarf. "Take too long without Fair Folk skill. Tie me to the saddle," he commanded. He strove to raise himself from the ground, but fell back and lay motionless. His breathing grew rasping and violent.

Taran cried out in alarm, "He's dying. Hurry, Fflewddur. Help me put him on Llyan. She is the swiftest mount. Ride back with him. There may still be time."

"Leave me here," Doli gasped. "You can't spare Fflewddur. His sword is worth ten. Or six, at least. Go quickly."

"That I will not do," replied Taran.

"Fool!" choked the dwarf. "Heed me!" he commanded. "It must be done. Are you a war leader or an Assistant Pig-Keeper?"

Taran knelt by the dwarf, whose eyes were half-closed, and gently put a hand on Doli's shoulder. "Need you ask, old friend? I'm an Assistant Pig-Keeper." Taran rose to meet the bard, who had hastened up with Llyan, but when he turned back to the dwarf, the ground was empty. Doli had vanished.

"Where has he gone?" shouted Fflewddur.

An irritable voice came from somewhere near a boulder. "Here! Where else do you think?"

"Doli!" cried Taran. "You were close to your death, and now..."

"I've turned invisible, as any clodpole with half an ounce of sense can plainly see," snorted Doli. "Should have thought of it before. Last time in Annuvin, I was invisible most of the way. Never realized how it protected me."

"Can it serve you now?" asked Taran, still a little bewildered. "Dare you keep on?"

"Of course," the dwarf retorted. "I'm better already. But I'll have to stay invisible. As long as I can stand it, that is! Invisible! Hornets and wasps in my ears!"

"Good old Doli!" Taran cried, seeking vainly to pump the dwarf's unseen hand.

"Not that again!" snapped the dwarf. "I'd not do this willingly--- oh, my ears--- for any mortal in Prydain--- oh, my head--- but you! And don't shout! My ears won't stand it!"

Doli's staff, which had dropped to the ground, seemed to rise of itself, as the invisible dwarf picked it up. From the motion of the staff Taran could see that Doli had once more begun trudging ahead. Guiding themselves by the length of wood, the companions followed. Yet even without sight of the staff they could have found their way, led by the sound of loud and furious grumbling.

Good old Doli. Also, it's a little harrowing to see what effect the realm of Annuvin has on the Fair Folk. No wonder Gwystyl was so miserable all the time, having parked as close to the borders as he was.

quote:

Fflewddur was first to sight the gwythaints. In the distance, above a shallow ravine three black-winged shapes soared and circled.

"What have they found?" the bard cried. "Whatever it is, I hope we're not the ones to be found next!" Taran sounded his horn and signaled the war band to find whatever protection they could among the huge boulders. Eilonwy, disregarding Taran's orders, scrambled to the top of a high, jutting stone and shaded her eyes.

"I can't tell for sure," Eilonwy said, "but it looks to me as though they've cornered something. Poor creature. It will not last long against them." Gurgi crouched fearfully against a rock and tried to make himself as flat as a fish.

"Nor will Gurgi, if they see him," he wailed. "They will seize his poor tender head with gashings and slashings!"

"Pass on! Pass on!" Glew shouted, his little face puckered in fright. "They're busy with their prey. Don't stop here like fools. Get as far away as wecan. Oh, if I were a giant again, you'd not find me lingering!"

The gwythaints narrowed their circle and had begun to swoop downward, seeking their kill. But suddenly what appeared to be a black cloud, with a dark shape leading it, streaked down from the eastern quarter of the sky. Before the surprised companions could follow its swift movement overhead, the cloud shattered as if at its leader's command into winged fragments that drove straight upon the huge birds. Even at this distance Taran could hear the furious screams of the gwythaints as they veered aloft to face these strange assailants.

Fflewddur had leaped up beside Eilonwy and, as Taran and Doli clambered to a vantage point, the bard shouted excitedly: "Crows! Great Belin, I've never seen so many!"

Like great black hornets, the crows swarmed over their enemy; it was not a single combat of bird against bird, but a battle in which whole troops of crows grappled and clung to the gwythaints' lashing wings, heedless of sharp beaks and talons, forcing the creatures earthward. When, by sheer strength, the gwythaints shook off their attackers, a new troop would form and renew the charge. The gwythaints sought to break free of their burden by plunging downward, scraping as closely as they dared against the sharp stones. But as they did, the crows pecked furiously at them and the gwythaints spun and fluttered dizzily, losing their course and falling once again victim to the relentless onslaught. In a last burst of power, the gwythaints beat their way aloft; they turned and sped desperately northward, with the crows in hot pursuit. They vanished over the horizon, all save a solitary crow that flew swiftly toward the companions.

"Kaw!" Taran shouted and held out his arms.

Jabbering at the top of his voice, the crow swooped down. His eyes glittered in triumph and he flapped his shiny wings more proudly than a rooster. He gabbled, croaked, squawked, and poured forth such a torrent of yammering that Gurgi clapped his hands over his ears. From his perch on Taran's wrist, Kaw bobbed his head and clacked his beak, thoroughly delighted with himself and never for a moment ceasing his chatter. Taran, trying vainly to interrupt the crow's raucous and boastful clamor, had despaired of learning any tidings from the roguish bird when Kaw flapped his wings and sought to fly off again.

"Achren! " kaw croaked. "Achren! Queen!"

"You've seen her?" Taran caught his breath. He had given little thought to the once-powerful Queen since her flight from Caer Dallben. "Where is she?"

The crow fluttered a little distance away, then returned, his beating wings urging Taran to follow him. "Close! Close! Gwythaints!"

Eilonwy gasped. "That's what we saw. The gwythaints have slain her!"

"Alive!" Kaw answered. "Hurt!" Taran ordered the Commot horsemen to await him, then leaped to the ground to follow after Kaw. Eilonwy, Doli, and Gurgi hastened to join him. Glew refused to budge, remarking that he had already skinned himself on enough rocks and had no intention of going out of his way for anyone.

Fflewddur, hesitated a moment. "Yes, well, I suppose I shall go along, too, should you need help in carrying her. But it doesn't sit well with me. Achren was eager enough to go her own way, and I rather think we shouldn't meddle. Not that I fear her, not for a moment--- ah, the truth of it is," he hurriedly added, as the harp strings tensed, "the woman makes me shudder. Since the day she threw me into her dungeon, I've noticed something unfriendly about her. She has no fondness for music, I can tell you. Nevertheless," he cried, "a Fflam to the rescue!" Like a tattered bundle of black rags the still form of Queen Achren lay in the fissure of a massive rock where she had, in her last hope, pressed to escape the gwythaints' vicious beaks and talons. Yet her refuge, Taran saw pityingly, had offered the Queen scant protection. Achren moaned faintly as the companions carefully lifted her from the crevice. Llyan, who had followed along with the bard, crouched silently nearby, and lashed her tail uneasily. Achren's face, drawn and deathly pale, had been badly slashed, and her arms bore many deep and bleeding wounds. Eilonwy held the woman and tried to revive her.

"Llyan shall carry her back with us," Taran said. "She will need more healing herbs than I have brought; more than her wounds, a fever has weakened her. She has gone long without food or drink."

"Her shoes are in ribbons," Eilonwy said. "How far must she have wandered in this awful place? Poor Achren! I can't say I'm fond of her, but it makes my toes curl up just imagining what could have happened." Fflewddur, after helping move the unconscious Queen to more level ground, had stayed a few paces away. Gurgi, too, chose to keep some distance between Achren and himself. Nevertheless, at Taran's bidding they drew closer and the bard, with many soothing words, held Llyan steady while the other companions lifted Achren to the great cat's back.

"Hurry along," called the voice of Doli. "It's starting to snow."

White flakes had begun drifting from the heavy sky; within little time a biting wind swirled around the companions and snow drove against them in an ever-thickening cloud. Needles of ice stung their faces, it grew more and more difficult to see, and as the storm gained in fury even Doli could no longer be sure of the path. The companions staggered blindly in a file, each clutching the other, with Taran gripping an end of Doli's staff. Kaw, almost entirely covered with snow, hunched up his wings and tried desperately to keep his perch on Taran's shoulder. Llyan, burdened with the motionless Queen, bent her great head against the gale and plodded onward; but the sure-footed cat often stumbled over hidden boulders and snowfilled pits. Once Gurgi yelled in terror and vanished as suddenly as if the earth had swallowed him. He had tumbled into a deep crevice and by the time the companions were able to haul him out, the hapless creature had nearly turned into a shaggy icicle. He trembled so violently he could scarcely walk, and between them, Taran and Fflewddur bore him along. The wind did not slacken, the snow fell in an impenetrable curtain; and the cold, already bitter, grew even more intense. Breathing was painful and with each labored gasp Taran felt the frigid draft like daggers in his lungs. Eilonwy half-sobbed with cold and exhaustion, and she clung to Taran, striving to keep her footing as Doli led them through drifts that now had risen more than kneehigh.

"We can't go on," the dwarf shouted above the wind. "Find shelter. Make our way to the horsemen when the snow lets up."

"But the warriors, how shall they fare?" Taran replied anxiously.

"Better than we!" the dwarf cried. "Where they are, there's a good-sized cave I noticed along the cliff wall. Your young shepherd is bound to find it, never fear. Our trouble is finding something for ourselves."

However, even after long and painful searching, the dwarf discovered nothing more than a shallow gully below an overhanging ledge. The companions stumbled gratefully into it; here they were protected against the worst battering of the wind and snow. But the cold still gripped them, and no sooner had they halted than their bodies seemed to stiffen and they moved arms and legs only with the greatest difficulty. They clung together for warmth and pressed against Llyan's thick coat of fur. Even this gave them little comfort for, as night fell, the chill deepened. Taran stripped off his cloak and covered Eilonwy and Achren; Gurgi insisted on adding his sheepskin jacket and he crouched with his shaggy arms wrapped around himself, his teeth chattering loudly.

"I fear that Achren will not live the night," Taran murmured to Fflewddur. "She was too close to death when we found her. She will not have strength to stand such cold."

"Will any of us?" answered the bard. "Without a fire, we might just as well say farewell to each other right now."

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Eilonwy sighed. "I've never been so comfortable in all my life." Taran looked at her in alarm. The girl did not stir under the cloak. Her eyes were half-shut, her voice faltered with drowsiness. "Quite warm," she rambled on happily, "What a lovely goosefeather quilt I have. How odd. I dreamed we were all caught in a terrible storm. It wasn't pleasant at all. Or am I still dreaming? No matter. When I wake up, it will all be gone away." Taran, his face drawn with anxiety, shook her roughly.

"Don't sleep!" he cried. "If you sleep it will be your death."

Eilonwy did not answer him, but only turned her head away and closed her eyes. Gurgi had curled up beside her and could not be roused. Taran himself felt a fatal drowsiness spreading over him.

"Fire," he said, "we must build a fire."

"From what?" Doli brusquely replied. "There's not a twig to be found in this wilderness. What will you burn? Our boots? Our cloaks? We'll freeze all the faster." He flickered back into sight. "And if I'mgoing to freeze, I won't do it with hornets buzzing in my ears."

Fflewddur, who had been silent this while, reached behind him and unslung his harp. At this, Doli gave a furious shout.

"Harp music!" he cried. "My friend, your wits are frozen solid as ice!"

"It shall give us the tune we need," replied Fflewddur.

Taran dragged himself to the side of the bard. "Fflewddur, what do you mean to do?"

The bard did not answer. For a long moment he held the harp lovingly in his hands and gently touched the strings, then with a quick motion raised the beautiful instrument and smashed it across his knee. Taran cried out in anguish as the wood shattered into splinters and the harp strings tore loose with a discordant burst of sound. Fflewddur let the broken fragments drop from his hands.

"Burn it," he said. "It is wood well-seasoned."

Taran seized the bard by the shoulders. "What have you done?" he sobbed. "Gallant, foolish Fflam! You have destroyed your harp for the sake of a moment's warmth. We need a greater fire than this wood can ever give us."

Doli, however, had quickly taken flint from his pouch and had struck a spark into the pitiful heap of splinters. Instantly, the wood blazed up and sudden warmth poured over the companions. Taran stared amazed at the rising flames. The bits of wood seemed hardly to be consumed, yet the fire burned all the more brightly. Gurgi stirred and raised his head. His teeth had ceased their chattering and color was returning to his frost-pinched face. Eilonwy, too, sat up and looked about her as though waking from a dream. At a glance she understood what fuel the bard had offered, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"Don't give it a second thought," cried Fflewddur. "The truth of the matter is that I'm delighted to be rid of it. I could never really play the thing, and it was more a burden than anything else. Great Belin, I feel light as a feather without it. Believe me, I was never meant to be a bard in the first place, so all is for the best." In the depths of the flame several harp strings split in two and a puff of sparks flew into the air. "But it gives a foul smoke," Fflewddur muttered, though the fire was burning clear and brilliant. "It makes my eyes water horribly." The flames had now spread to all the fragments, and as the harp strings blazed a melody sprang suddenly from the heart of the fire. Louder, and more beautiful it grew, and the strains of music filled the air, echoing endlessly among the crags. Dying, the harp seemed to be pouring forth all the songs ever played upon it, and the sound shimmered like the fire.

All night the harp sang, and its melodies were of joy, sorrow, love, and valor. The fire never abated, and little by little new life and strength returned to the companions. And as the notes soared upward a wind rose from the south, parting the falling snow like a curtain and flooding the hills with warmth. Only at dawn did the flame sink into glowing embers and the voice of the harp fall silent. The storm had ended, the crags glistened with melting snow. Wordless and wondering, the companions left their shelter. Fflewddur lingered behind for a moment. Of the harp, nothing remained but a single string, the one unbreakable string which Gwydion had given the bard long ago. Fflewddur knelt and drew it from the ashes. In the heat of the fire the harp string had twisted and coiled around itself, but it glittered like pure gold.

Gained a powerful (though not so much at the moment) sorceress, lost a harp. Is that an even trade?

# ? May 11, 2024 18:37

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

Lotta good moments in this chapter. I had forgotten about Fflewddur burning his harp - personal sacrifices like that always get me.

# ? May 11, 2024 19:27

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

�Since the day she threw me in her dungeon, I�ve noticed something unfriendly about her� is a great line (one among many).

# ? May 12, 2024 15:09

roffles: Dec 25, 2004

TheGreatEvilKing posted:

I also interpreted the "cannot kill" line less as Dallben not having the power to do so and more that Dallben being vehemently opposed to it. It's the contrast between the real power Dallben has vs Pryderi's shallow power based solely on violence.

I figured it was just the usual rules-lawyering where Dallben's like "Yeah *I* can't kill you but if I set some fires and then die.... "

# ? May 12, 2024 15:28

Hemp Knight: Sep 26, 2004

Wahad posted:

Chapter 17: The Snowstorm

Good old Doli. Also, it's a little harrowing to see what effect the realm of Annuvin has on the Fair Folk. No wonder Gwystyl was so miserable all the time, having parked as close to the borders as he was.

Gained a powerful (though not so much at the moment) sorceress, lost a harp. Is that an even trade?

Flewddur sacrificing his harp was probably the bit that got to me most as a kid. As the harp has appeared in all 5 books, along with its spell that makes the strings break whenever Flewddur lies, it�s almost a character in its own right. It�s a beautifully written bit, with details like the fire it made lasting all night, and only the magical unbreakable string being left by morning.

# ? May 12, 2024 22:49

MadDogMike: Apr 9, 2008; Cute but fanged

Hemp Knight posted:

Flewddur sacrificing his harp was probably the bit that got to me most as a kid. As the harp has appeared in all 5 books, along with its spell that makes the strings break whenever Flewddur lies, it�s almost a character in its own right. It�s a beautifully written bit, with details like the fire it made lasting all night, and only the magical unbreakable string being left by morning.

Yeah, that was surprisingly gut-wrenching when I first read it, and I was already less than cheery from Coll going down earlier. Though of course it ain't over yet.

# ? May 14, 2024 07:30

Strategic Tea: Sep 1, 2012

The harp burning through the night playing a final song is proper myth n' legend stuff, that is how you write magic.

# ? May 14, 2024 10:50

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# ? May 18, 2024 15:28

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

Chapter 18: Mount Dragon

quote:

AS DOLI HAD FORETOLD Llassar had led the warriors to shelter in a cave and had saved them from the full fury of the snowstorm. The companions now made ready to continue their journey. The sharp crags that were their last obstacle lay not far distant. The crest of Mount Dragon loomed dark and forbidding. With the help of Taran's healing potions and Eilonwy's care, Achren had regained consciousness. Fflewddur was still reluctant to come within fewer than three paces of the black-robed Queen, but Gurgi had finally taken enough courage to open his wallet and offer food to the half-starved woman--- although the creature's face wrinkled uneasily and he held out the morsels at arm's length, as if fearful of being bitten. Achren, however, ate sparingly; Glew, for his part, lost no time in snatching up what remained, popping it into his mouth and glancing about to see whether more might be forthcoming. Achren's fever had left her weakened in body, yet her face had lost none of its haughtiness; and after Taran had briefly recounted what had brought the companions so close to Annuvin it was with ill-disguised scorn that she answered him.

"Does a pig-keeper and his shabby followers hope to triumph where a queen failed? I would have reached Annuvin long since, had it not been for Magg and his warriors. By chance, his war band came upon me in Cantrev Cadiffor." Her broken lips drew back in a bitter grimace. "They left me for dead. I heard Magg laugh when they told him I had been slain. He, too, shall know my vengeance. Yes, I lay in the forest like a wounded beast. But my hatred was sharper than their sword thrusts. I would have crept after them on hands and knees and given my last strength to strike them down, though indeed I feared that I would die unrevenged. But I found refuge. There are still those in Prydain who pay homage to Achren. Until I could journey once again, they sheltered me; and for that service they shall be rewarded. Yet I failed even within sight of my goal. The gwythaints were more ruthless than Magg. They would have made certain of my death--- I, who once commanded them. Sharp will be their punishment."

"I have the awful feeling," Eilonwy whispered to Taran, "that Achren sometimes thinks she's still Queen of Prydain. Not that I mind, so long as she doesn't take it into her head to try to punish us." Achren, overhearing Eilonwy's remarks, turned to the girl.

"Forgive me, Princess of Llyr," she said quickly. "I spoke half in a rambling dream and the cold comforts of memory. I am grateful to you for my life and shall repay you far beyond its worth. Hear me well. Would you pass the mountain bastions of Annuvin? You follow the wrong path."

"Humph!" Doli cried, popping visible for a moment. "Don't tell one of the Fair Folk he's on the wrong path."

"Yet it is true," Achren replied. "There are secrets unknown even to your people."

"It's no secret that if you cross mountains you choose the easiest way," Doli snapped back. "And that's what I plan. I'm taking my bearings from Mount Dragon, but you can believe me, once we're closer, we'll turn aside and find a passage through the lower slopes. Do you think I'm such a fool as to do otherwise?"

Achren smiled contemptuously. "In so doing, dwarf, you would indeed be a fool. Of all the peaks surrounding Annuvin, Mount Dragon alone can be breached. Heed me," she added, as Taran murmured in disbelief. "The crags are lures and traps. Others have been deceived, and their bones lie in the pitfalls. The lower mountains beckon with promise of easier passage, but no sooner are they crossed than they fall away into sheer cliffs. Does Mount Dragon warn you to shun its heights? The western descent is a very roadway to the Iron Portals of Annuvin. To reach it there is a hidden trail, where I shall guide you."

Taran looked closely at the Queen. "Such are your words, Achren. Do you ask us to stake our lives on them?"

Achren's eyes glittered. "In your heart you fear me, Pig-Keeper. But which do you fear the more--- the path I offer you or the certain death of Lord Gwydion? Do you seek to overtake Arawn's Cauldron warriors? This you cannot do, for time will defeat you unless you follow where I lead. This is my gift to you, Pig-Keeper. Scorn it if you choose, and we shall go our separate ways."

Achren turned and muffled herself with her ragged cloak. The companions drew away from her and spoke among themselves. Doll, thoroughly vexed and disgruntled by Achren's judgment of his skill, nonetheless admitted that he could have unwittingly led them astray. "We Fair Folk have never dared to journey here, and I can't prove what she says one way or the other. But I've seen mountains that look sheer on one side--- and on the other you could roll down without so much as a bump. So she could be telling the truth."

"And she could be trying to get rid of us the fastest way she knows," the bard put in. "Those pitfalls with bones in them make my flesh creep. I think Achren would be delighted if some of those bones were ours. She's playing her own game, you can be sure of that." He shook his head uneasily. "A Fflam is fearless, but with Achren, I prefer being wary." Taran was silent a moment, searching for the wisdom to choose one way or the other, and again felt the weight of the burden Gwydion had set upon him to be more than he could bear. Achren's face was a pallid mask; he could read nothing of her heart in it. More than once the Queen would have taken the lives of the companions. But, as he knew, she had served Dallben well and faithfully after her own powers had been shattered.

"I believe," he said slowly, "that we can do no less than trust her until she gives us clear reason to doubt. I fear her," he added, "as do all of us. Yet I will not let fear blind me to hope."

"I agree," said Eilonwy, "which makes me think in this case, at least, your judgment is quite right. I admit that trusting Achren is like letting a hornet sit on your nose. But sometimes you only get stung when you try to brush it off--- the hornet, I mean."

Taran went to Achren's side. "Lead us to Mount Dragon," he said. "We will follow you."

Well, at least the gang has a way in. Maybe.

quote:

ANOTHER DAY'S TRAVEL brought the companions across a harsh, uneven valley that lay within the shadow of Mount Dragon itself. The summit had been well named, for Taran saw its peak was in the rough shape of a monstrous, crested head with gaping jaws, and on either side the lower slopes spread like outflung wings. The great blocks and shafts of stone that rose to form its jagged bulk were dark, mottled with patches ofdull red. Before this last barrier, poised as though to swoop downward and crush them, the companions fearfully halted. Achren strode to the head of the waiting column and beckoned them onward.

"There are other, easier paths," Achren said, as they entered a narrow defile that twisted between towering walls of sheer cliffs, "but they are longer and those who travel them can be seen before they reach the stronghold of Annuvin. This one is known only to Arawn and his most trusted servants. And to me, for it was I who showed him the secret ways of Mount Dragon."

Taran, however, soon began to fear Achren had deceived them, for the path rose so steeply that men and horses could barely keep their footing. Achren seemed to be leading them deep into the heart of the mountain. Mighty shelves of overhanging rocks rose like arches above the toiling band, blotting the sky from their sight. At times, the path skirted yawning chasms and more than once Taran stumbled, buffeted by a sudden chill blast that flung him against the walls. His heart pounded and his head reeled at the sight of the deep gorges opening at his feet, and terrified he clung to the sharp edges of jutting rocks. Achren, whose step did not falter, only turned and silently glanced at him, a mocking smile on her ravaged face.The path continued to rise, though not so abruptly, for it no longer followed the slope of the mountain but seemed almost to double back on itself, and the companions gained the higher reaches of the trail only by small degrees. The huge stone jaws of the dragon's head loomed above. The trail which, for some of its course, had been hidden by grotesque formations of rocks, now lay exposed, and Taran could see most of the mountain slope dropping sharply below him. They were almost at the highest ridge of the dragon's shoulder, and it was there that Kaw, scouting ahead, returned to them and clacked his beak frantically.

"Gwydion! Gwydion!" the' crow jabbered at the top of his voice. "Annuvin! Haste!"

Taran sprang past Achren and raced to the ridge, clambering upward among the rocks, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the stronghold. Had the Sons of Don already begun their attack on Annuvin? Had Gwydion's warriors themselves overtaken the Cauldron-Born? His heart pounding against his ribs, he struggled higher. Suddenly the dark towers of Arawn's fastness were below him. Beyond the high walls, beyond the massive Iron Portals, ugly and brooding, he glimpsed the spreading courtyards, the Hall of Warriors where once the Black Cauldron had stood. Arawn's Great Hall rose, glittering like black, polished marble, andabove it, at the highest pinnacle, floated the Death-Lord's banner. The sight of Annuvin sickened him with the chill of death that hung over it, his head spun and shadows seemed to blind him. He pressed higher. Struggling shapes filled the courtyard, the clash of blades and shouted battle cries struck his ears. Men were scaling the western wall; Dark Gate itself had been breached, and Taran believed he saw the flash of Melyngar's white flanks and golden mane, and the tall figures of Gwydion and Taliesin. The Commot men had not failed! Arawn's deathless host had been held back and victory was in Gwydion's hands.

But even as Taran turned to shout the joyous tidings, his heart froze. Southward he glimpsed the hastening army of Cauldron-Born. Their iron-shod boots rang and clattered as the mute warriors raced toward the heavy gates and the horns of the troop captains shrieked for vengeance. Taran leaped from the ridge to join the companions. The shelf of stone crumbled at his feet. He pitched forward, Eilonwy's scream rang in his ears; and the sharp rocks seemed to whirl upward against him. Desperately he clutched at them and strove to break his fall. With all his strength he clung to the sheer side of Mount Dragon, while jagged stones bit like teeth into his palms. His sword, ripped from his belt, clattered into the gorge. He saw the horrified faces of the companions above him and knew he was beyond their reach. His muscles trembling, his lungs bursting with his efforts, he fought to climb upward to the path. His foot slipped and he twisted about to regain his balance. It was then that he saw, plunging from the peak of Mount Dragon, the gwythaint speeding toward him.

Did we really make it this far, only to fall now?

# ? May 15, 2024 16:39

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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