Lloyd Alexander - The Black Cauldron

Taran, who had been crouched against a tree, raised his head from his hands. From a distance came a long, wavering cry. Another voice answered it, then another. "Are they giving up the hunt?" he asked. "Have we outrun them?"

Adaon shook his head. "I doubt it. They would not pursue us this far only to let us escape." He swung stiffly to Lluagor's back. "We must ride until we find a safer place to rest. We would have little hope if we let them come upon us now."

As Ellidyr strode to the weary Islimach, Taran took him by the arm. "You fought well, Son of Pen-Llarcau," he said quietly. "I think that I owe you my life."

Ellidyr turned to him with the same glance of contempt Taran had seen in the grove. "It is a small debt," he replied. "You value it more than I do."

They set out once again, moving deeper into the forest, as rapidly as their strength allowed. The day had turned heavy with dampness and chill. The sun was feeble, wrapped in ragged gray clouds. Their progress slowed in the tangle of underbrush and the wet leaves mired the struggling animals. Doli, who had been bent over his saddle, straightened abruptly. He looked sharply around him. Whatever he saw caused him to be strangely elated.

"There are Fair Folk here," he declared, as Taran rode up beside him.

"Are you sure?" Taran asked. "How do you know?"

Though he looked closely, he could see no difference between this stretch of forest and the one they had just passed through.

"How do I know? How do I know?" snapped Doli. "How do you know how to swallow your dinner?"

He kicked his heels against the pony's flanks and hurried past Adaon, who halted in surprise. Doli jumped down, and after examining several trees ran quickly to the ruins of an enormous hollow oak. He thrust his head inside and began shouting at the top of his voice. Taran, too, dismounted. With Eilonwy at his heels, he ran to the tree, fearful the fatigue and strain of the day had at last driven the dwarf out of his wits.

"Ridiculous!" muttered Doli, pulling his head out of the tree. "I can't be that far wrong!"

He bent, sighted along the ground, and made incomprehensible calculations on his fingers. "It must be!" he cried. "King Eiddileg wouldn't let things run down this badly."

With that, he gave a number of furious kicks against the tree roots. Taran was sure the angry dwarf would have climbed into the tree itself had the opening in the trunk been larger.

"I'll report it," Doli cried, "yes, to Eiddileg himself! Unheard of! Impossible!"

"I don't know what you're doing," Eilonwy said, brushing past the dwarf and stepping up to the oak, "but if you'd tell us, we might be able to help you."

As the dwarf had done, she peered into the hollow trunk. "I don't know who's down there," she called, "but we're up here and Doli wants to talk to you. At least you can answer! Do you hear me?"

Eilonwy turned away and shook her head. "They're impolite, whoever they are. That's worse than somebody shutting their eyes so you can't see them!"

A faint but distinct voice rose from the tree. "Go away," it said.

DOLI HURRIEDLY PUSHEDEilonwy aside and ducked his head back into the tree trunk. He began shouting again, but the dead wood so muffled the sound that Taran could distinguish nothing of the conversation, which consisted mainly of long outbursts from the dwarf followed by brief and reluctant answers.

At length Doli straightened up and beckoned the others to follow. He set off at a great rate directly across the woodland, and after little more than a hundred paces, he jumped down a jutting bank. Taran, leading the dwarfs pony as well as Melynlas, hastened to join him. Adaon, Ellidyr, and the bard turned their mounts rapidly and were soon behind them.

The bank was so steeply inclined and overgrown that the horses could barely keep their footing. They stepped delicately among the brambles and exposed rocks. Islimach tossed her mane and whinnied nervously. The bard's mount came near to falling onto her haunches, and even Melynlas snorted a protest against the difficult slope.

By the time Taran reached a shelf of level ground, Doli had run to the protected face of the embankment and was fuming impatiently before a huge tangle of thorn bushes. To Taran's amazement the brambles began to shudder as though being pushed from inside; then, with much scraping and snapping of twigs, the whole mass opened a crack.

"It's a way post of the Fair Folk," Eilonwy cried. "I knew they had them every which where, but leave it to good old Doli to find one!"

As Taran reached the dwarfs side, the portal opened wide enough for him to glimpse a figure behind it.

Doli peered inside. "So it's you, Gwystyl," he said. "I might have known."

"So it's you, Doli," a sad voice replied. "I wish you'd given me a little warning."

"Warning!" cried the dwarf. "I'll give you more than a warning if you don't open up! Eiddileg will hear of this. What good's a way post if you can't get into it when you have to? You know the rules: if any of the Fair Folk are in danger…Well, that's what we're in right now! On top of everything else, I could have shouted myself hoarse!" He gave a furious kick at the brambles.

The figure heaved a long and melancholy sigh, and the portal opened wider. Taran saw a creature which, at first glance, looked like a bundle of sticks with cobwebs floating at the top. He realized quickly the strange doorkeeper resembled certain of the Fair Folk he had once seen in Eiddileg's kingdom; only this individual seemed in a woeful state of disrepair.

Unlike Doli, Gwystyl was not of the dwarf kindred. Though taller, he was extremely thin. His sparse hair was long and stringy; his nose drooped wearily above his upper lip, which in turn drooped toward his chin in a most mournful expression. Wrinkles puckered his forehead; his eyes blinked anxiously; and he seemed on the verge of bursting into tears. Around his bent shoulders was draped a shabby, grimy robe, which he fingered nervously. He sniffed several times, sighed again, and grudgingly beckoned Doli to enter.

Gurgi and Fflewddur had come up behind Taran. Gwystyl, noticing them for the first time, gave a stifled moan.

"Oh, no," he said, "not humans. Another day, perhaps. I'm sorry, Doli, believe me. But not the humans."

"They're with me," snapped the dwarf. "They claim Fair Folk protection, and I'll see they get it."

Fflewddur's horse, slipping among the branches, whinnied loudly, and at this Gwystyl clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Horses!" he sobbed. "That's out of the question! Bring in your humans if you must. But not horses. Not horses today, Doli, I'm simply not up to horses today. Please, Doli," he moaned, "don't do this to me. I'm not well, not at all well, really. I couldn't think of it. All the snorting and stamping and big bony heads. Besides, there's no room. No room at all."

"What place is this?" Ellidyr questioned angrily. "Where have you led us, dwarf? My horse does not leave my side. Climb into this rathole, the rest of you. I shall guard Islimach myself."

"We can't leave the horses above ground," Doli told Gwystyl, who had already begun to retreat into the passageway. "Find room or make room," he ordered. "That's flat!"

Sniffing, groaning, shaking his head, Gwystyl with great reluctance heaved the doorway open to its full width.

"Very well," he sighed, "bring them in. Bring them all in. And if you know any others, invite them, too. It doesn't matter. I only suggested― an appeal to your generous heart, Doli. But I don't care now. It makes no difference."

Taran had begun to think Gwystyl had good reason for concern. The portal was barely high enough for the animals to pass through. Only with difficulty did Adaon's tall steed enter; and Islimach rolled her eyes frantically as the thorns tore at her flanks.