Lloyd Alexander - The Book of Three

"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."

NEXT MORNINGthey 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 GWYTHAINT HUNGlike 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."