Lloyd Alexander - The Castle of Llyr

Taran picked up the bauble. Bending to hands and knees, he scanned every portion of this prison, hoping to find some crack or tiny opening the companions could enlarge. The walls rose sheer and un­broken.

"He has trapped us well," said Taran, sinking to the ground. "There is but one way out. The way Glew offers us."

"As I consider it," said Rhun, "he asked for only one of us. That would leave three to keep search­ing for the Princess."

Taran was thoughtful for a moment. "For the first time," he said bitterly, "I believed I had guessed where Magg meant to bring Eilonwy. To Caer Colur. It is the strongest clue we have gained. Now it is use­less to us."

"Useless?" said Rhun. "Not at all. We need only do as Glew suggests, and the others can be on their way."

"Do you expect that feeble worm to keep his word?" Fflewddur asked angrily. "I would trust him every bit as much as I would trust Magg."

"Nevertheless," said Rhun, "we can't be sure until we try."

The companions fell silent at the Prince of Mona's words. Gurgi, who had crouched on the earth and wrapped his woolly arms around his knees, stared wretchedly at Taran. "Gurgi will go," the creature whispered faintly, though he trembled so much he could hardly speak. "Yes, yes, he will give his poor tender head for broilings and boilings."

"Valiant Gurgi," murmured Taran. "Indeed I know you would give up your poor tender head." He patted the frightened Gurgi. "But there is no question of that. We must stand together. If Glew wants a life, he shall pay dearly for it."

Fflewddur once more began digging and chipping at the rock. "I agree with you entirely," he said. "We must stand as one― to the extent that we have any choice at all. As soon as the little fellow comes back― oh, drat and blast― I don't know why I keep thinking of him as a little fellow, except that he impresses me that way no matter what his size. He'll surely seize one of us. He hasn't the honor of a flea or the heart of a gnat, and he's desperate. If we fight him, there's a good chance all of us shall be slain."

"You cannot mean we should take Glew's bargain," said Taran.

"Certainly not," replied Fflewddur, "I shall stand sword in hand and smite the little fellow about the knees since I can't reach his head. I only mean to point out the risks. As far as his ridiculous idea of having us choose among ourselves is concerned, I don't think it even worth a thought."

"I do," said Prince Rhun.

Taran turned in surprise to Rhun, not fully understanding his words. The Prince of Mona grinned at him almost shyly.

"It's the only thing that will satisfy Glew," said Rhun, "and for that I think it's a very cheap bargain."

"No life can be so cheaply held," Taran began.

"I'm afraid you're wrong," answered Rhun. He smiled and shook his head. "I've thought a great deal about this since we've been in the cavern, and there's no sense not facing facts. I― I don't see that I've been any help whatever. On the contrary, I've brought nothing but ill luck. Not that I meant to, but it seems that's the way of it with me. So, if any one of us can be dispensed with, why, I should have to say that person is― myself.

"It's true," Rhun quickly went on, disregarding Taran's cry of protest. "I'm delighted to be of some use for once, especially if it will help Eilonwy. I assure you I won't mind in the slightest. As Glew says, it will only take a moment.

"There's not one of you who wouldn't give up his life for a companion," Rhun added. "Fflewddur Fflam offered his life for ours in Llyan's lair. Even now poor Gurgi is willing to offer his." He raised his head. "A bard, a humble creature of the forest, an Assistant Pig-Keeper." Rhun's eyes met Taran's and in a low voice he said, "Can a Prince do less? I doubt I should ever really be able to measure up to being a true Prince. Except in this."

Taran looked at Rhun for a long moment. "You speak of measure," he said. "I had measured you as no more than a feckless princeling. I was wrong. You are a truer Prince and better man than ever I believed. But this sacrifice is not yours to make. You know my oath to your father."

Prince Rhun grinned again. "Indeed, a heavy oath," he said. "Very well, I shall lift it from you. I say," he added, "it's astonishing, but I wonder what became of all the bats?"

WHY― THEY'RE GONE!" Taran quickly flashed the golden light about the chamber. "Every one of them!"

"Yes, yes," Gurgi cried. "No more shriekings and squeakings!"

"I can't say I'm unhappy about it," added the bard. "I get along well enough with mice, and I've always been fond of birds, but when you put the two together I'd just as soon avoid them."

"The bats may prove our best friends and surest guides," Taran said. "Rhun has struck on something. The bats have found a way out. If we can only discover it, we can follow them."

"Quite so," answered the bard, making a wry face. "First thing would be to turn into bats ourselves. Then, I daresay, we should have no difficulties."

Taran strode hurriedly from one end of the chamber to the other. He played the bauble's light over the walls, sending the beams upward to the sloping ceiling of rock, scanning each crevice and outcropping, but saw only a few shallow niches from which some ancient stone had fallen.

Again and again he swept the golden light around the cave. A fair, shadowy line seemed traced amid the stones high above him. He stepped back and studied it carefully. The shadow deepened, and Taran realized it marked a narrow ledge, a flaw in the rock. "There it is!" he called, holding the bauble as steadily as his trembling hands allowed. "There― you can barely make it out, the wall curves and hides it. But see where the rock seems to dip and break…"

"Amazing!" cried Rhun. "Astonishing! It's a passage, rightly enough. The bats have gone through it. Do you think we can?"

Setting the golden sphere on the ground, Taran strode to the rock face and sought to raise himself by grasping the slight ripples of stone; but the wall was too sheer, his hands slipped, clutched vainly for support, and he fell back before he had been able to climb his own height. Gurgi, too, attempted to scale the smooth surface. For all his agility, he did little better than Taran and he sank down, puffing and moaning.

"Just as I said," glumly remarked Fflewddur. "All we need is a few pairs of wings."

Taran had not ceased to stare at the high passageway taunting him with the promise of freedom beyond his reach. "We cannot climb the wall," he said, frowning, "but there may still be hope." His eyes turned from the distant ledge to the companions, then back again. "A rope would not help us, even if we had one. There is no means of securing it. But a ladder…"

"Exactly what we need," said Fflewddur. "But unless you're prepared to build one on the spot, we shouldn't waste our time grieving over something we don't have."

"We can build a ladder," Taran said quietly. "Yes. I should have seen it at once."

"What, what?" cried the bard. "A Fflam is clever, but you're going far beyond me."

"We can do it," replied Taran, "and need seek no further. We ourselves are the ladder."

"Great Belin!" shouted Fflewddur, clapping his hands. "Of course! Yes, we shall climb on each other's shoulders." He ran to the wall and measured it with a glance. "Still too high;" he said, shaking his head. "Even the topmost man would reach it with little to spare."

"But he would reach it, nevertheless," insisted Taran. "It is our only escape."

" His only escape," corrected the bard. "Whoever climbs out will shorten our ladder by that much. Our choice is hardly better than what Glew gave us," he added. "Only one of us can save himself."