Taran Wanderer (8 page)

“He has no strength for his task,” Taran murmured. “We dare not let him go on.”

Fflewddur nodded. “I doubt he could, even if he wanted to.” The bard's face, like Taran's,
was drawn tightly with concern.

Taran was silent. What he must do was plain to him; yet, despite himself, he shrank from
facing it. His mind groped for another, better plan, but found none, returning always to
the same answer. What kept him from taking the clear course was not reluctance to help a
close companion, for this he would have done gladly. Nor was it fear for his life, but
terror that he might share Doli's fate; not only that his own quest would fail but that he
might himself be imprisoned, hapless in some pitful creature shape, captive forever.

He knelt at Doli's side. “You must stay here. Fflewddur and Gurgi will watch over you.
Tell me how I may find Morda.”

The Walls of Thorns

H
EARING THIS, DOLI KICKED
weakly and croaked an incomprehensible protest, though nothing else could he do but agree
to Taran's plan. With Kaw on his shoulder, Taran set off afoot through the woods. Behind
him loped Gurgi, who had insisted on going with him.

After a time Taran shortened his stride and finally halted to glance around him at the
forest now thick with brambles. High thorn bushes rose amid the trees in a tangled,
impassable screen. Taran realized he had found what he sought. The tall bushes were no
haphazard growth, but had been craftily twined into a dense barrier, a living wall nearly
twice his height, bristling with spines sharper than the talons of a gwythaint. Taran drew
his sword and strove to cut an opening in the thicket.

The brambles were hard as cold iron and Taran blunted both his strength and his blade
against them. All he gained for his labor was a tiny hole to which he pressed his eye; he
made out nothing more than a dark mound of boulders and black turf surrounded by rank
weeds and burdock. What first seemed the lair of a wild beast he saw to be a rambling,
ill-shaped dwelling of low, squat walls roofed with sod. There was no movement, no sign of
life, and he wondered if the wizard had left his fastness and the companions had come too
late. The thought only put a sharper edge to his uneasiness.

“Somehow Doli forced his way in,” Taran murmured, shaking his head. “But his skill is
greater than mine; he must have struck on an easier passage. If we try climbing over,”
Taran added, “we risk being seen.”

“Or caught on brambles with jabbings and stabbings!” Gurgi replied. “Oh, bold Gurgi does
not like climbing walls without knowing what lies in lurkings beyond.”

Taran took the crow from his shoulder. “Morda surely has his own passage: a breach in the
thorns, or perhaps a tunnel. Find it for us,” he said urgently to Kaw. “Find it for us,
old friend.”

“And hasten, too,” Gurgi put in. “No jokings and trickings!”

Silent as an owl, the crow flew upward, circled the barrier, then dropped out of sight.
Taran and Gurgi crouched waiting in the shadows. After some while, when the sun had dipped
below the trees and dusk had gathered with still no tidings from Kaw, Taran began to fear
for the bird. Prankster though he was, Kaw understood the seriousness of his mission, and
Taran knew it was more than whim that delayed the crow's return.

At last Taran dared wait no longer. He strode to the barrier and carefully began to climb.
The branches writhed like serpents and tore viciously at his hands and face. Wherever he
sought a foothold the thorns turned against him as with a will of their own. Just below,
he heard Gurgi panting, as the sharp points struck through the creature's matted hair.
Taran paused to catch his breath while Gurgi clambered up beside him. The top of the wall
was almost within reach.

With a sudden lashing and rattling among the thorns, a slipnoose tightened around Taran's
upraised arm. He shouted in alarm and in that instant glimpsed the terrified face of Gurgi
as loops of finely knotted cords whipped over the creature's body. A bent sapling sprang
upright, pulling the ropes with it. Taran felt himself ripped from the brambles and,
dangling on the end of the strong cord, flung upward and over the barrier. Now he
understood the words Doli had striven to gasp out: traps and snares. He fell, and darkness
swallowed him.

A
BONY HAND GRIPPED
his throat. In his ears rasped a voice like a dagger drawn across a stone. “Who are you?”
it repeated. “Who are you?”

Taran struggled to pull away, then realized his hands were bound behind him. Gurgi
whimpered miserably. Taran's head spun. The guttering light of a candle stabbed his eyes.
As his sight cleared, he saw a gaunt face the color of dry clay, eyes glittering like cold
crystals deep set in a jutting brow as though at the bottom of a well. The skull was
hairless; the mouth a livid scar stitched with wrinkles.

“How have you come here?” demanded Morda. “What do you seek of me?”

In the dimness Taran could make out little more than a low-ceilinged chamber and a
fireless hearth filled with dead ashes. He himself had been propped in the angle of a low
wall. Gurgi lay sprawled on the flagstones beside him. He glimpsed Kaw pinioned in a
wicker basket set on a heavy oaken table, and he cried out to the bird.

“What then,” snapped the wizard, “is this crow yours? He found one of my snares, as you
did. None enters here without my knowledge. This much have you already learned. Now it is
I who shall learn more of you.”

“Yes, the bird is mine,” Taran answered in a bold voice, deciding his only hope lay in
telling as much of the truth as he dared. “He flew beyond the thicket and did not return
to us. We feared some mishap and went in search of him. We journey to the Llawgadarn
Mountains. You have no cause to hinder us.”

“You have hindered yourselves,” replied Morda, “foolish creatures without the wits of a
fly. To the Llawgadarn Mountains, you say? Perhaps. Perhaps not. In the race of men is
much greed and envy; but of truth, little. Your face speaks for you and calls you liar.
What do you hope to hide? No matter. Your paltry store of days you call life is spun out.
You shall not leave here. And yet--- now you are in my hands, it may be that you shall
serve me. I must ponder that. Your lives indeed may have some small use--- to me, if not
to yourselves.”

More than the wizard's words filled Taran with horror. As he watched, unable to take his
own eyes away, Taran saw that Morda's gaze was unblinking. Even in the candle flame the
shriveled eyelids never closed; Morda's cold stare never wavered.

The wizard straightened and drew the grimy, threadbare robe closer about his wasted body.
Taran gasped, for from Morda's withered neck hung a silver chain and crescent moon. Only
one other he knew wore such an ornament: Princess Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad. Unlike
Eilonwy's, the horns of this crescent held a strangely carved gem, clear as water, whose
facets sparkled as though lit by an inner fire.

“The emblem of the House of Llyr!” Taran cried.

Morda started and drew back. With fingers lean as spider's legs he clutched at the gem.
“Fool,” he hissed, “did you think to gain this from me? Is that why you were sent? Yes,
yes,” he muttered, “so it must be.” His bloodless lips twitched faintly as he fixed Taran
with his unlidded eyes. “Too late. The Princess Angharad is long dead, and all its secrets
are mine.”

Taran stared at him, bewildered to hear the name. “Angharad Daughter of Regat?” he
whispered. “Eilonwy never knew her mother's fate. But it was you--- at your hands,” he
burst out, “at your hands she met her death!”

Morda said nothing for a time, seeming as one gripped by a black dream. When he spoke, his
voice was heavy with hatred. “Think you the life or death of one of you feeble creatures
should concern me? I have seen enough of the human kind and have judged them for what they
are: lower than beasts, blind and witless, quarrelsome, caught up in their own small
cares. They are eaten by pride and senseless striving; they lie, cheat, and betray one
another. Yes, I was born among the race of men. A human!” He spat the word scornfully.
“But long have I known it is not my destiny to be one with them, and long have I dwelt
apart from their bickerings and jealousies, their little losses and their little gains.”

Deep in their shrunken sockets the wizard's eyes glittered. "As I would not debase myself
to share their lives, neither would I share their deaths. Alone, I studied the arts of
enchantment. From the ancient lore I learned the Fair Folk held certain gems hidden in
their secret troves; he who possessed one gained life far longer than any mortal's mayfly
span of days. None had found these treasure troves, and few had even dared to search. Yet
I knew that I would learn the means to find them.

“As for her who called herself Angharad of Llyr,” the wizard continued, “of a winter's
night she begged refuge in my dwelling, claiming her infant daughter had been stolen,
that she had journeyed long in search of her.” The wizard's lips twisted. “As if her fate
or the fate of a girl child mattered to me. For food and shelter she offered me the
trinket she wore at her throat. I had no need to bargain; it was already mine, for too
weak was she, too fevered to keep it from me if I chose to take it. She did not live out
the night.”

In loathing Taran turned his face away. “You took her life, as surely as if you put a
dagger in her heart.”

Morda's sharp, bitter laugh was like dry sticks breaking. “I did not ask her to come here.
Her life was worth no more to me than the book of empty pages I found among her
possessions. Though in its way the book proved to be not without some small value. In time
a whining weakling found his way to me. Glew was his name, and he sought to make an
enchanter of himself. Little fool! He beseeched me to sell him a magic spell, an amulet, a
secret word of power. Sniveling upstart! It pleased me to teach him a lesson. I sold him
the empty book and warned him not to open it or look upon it until he had traveled far
from here lest the spells vanish.”

“Glew!” Taran murmured. “So it was you who cheated him.”

“Like all your kind,” answered Morda, “his own greed and ambition cheated him, not I. His
fate I know not, nor do I care to know. This much he surely learned: The arts of
enchantment are not bought with gold.”

“Nor stolen through heartlessness and evil, as you robbed the Princess Angharad,” Taran
flung back.

“Heartlessness? Evil?” said Morda. “These words are toys for creatures such as you. To me
they mean nothing; my powers have borne me beyond them. The book served to make a fool
taste his folly. But the jewel, the jewel served me, as all things will do at the end. The
woman Angharad had told me the gem would lighten burdens and ease harsh tasks. And so it
did, though years I spent in probing its secrets until I gained mastery of its use. At my
command it dwindled the heaviest faggots to no more than twigs. With the gem's help I
raised a wall of thorns. As my skill grew, I found the waters of a hidden spring.”

The wizard's unblinking eyes glittered triumphantly. “At last,” he whispered, "at last the
gem led me to what I had ever sought: a Fair Folk treasure trove.

“This trove held none of the life-giving stones,” Morda went on. "But what matter! If not
here, then would I find them elsewhere. Now all Fair Folk treasure, mines, hidden
pathways--- all lay open to me.

“One of the Fair Folk watchers came upon me then. I dared not let him raise an alarm.
Though none had ever stood against any of them, I did so!” cried Morda. “My jewel was more
than a trinket to lighten a scullery maid's toil. I had grasped the heart of its power. At
my command this Fair Folk spy turned to a sightless, creeping mole! Yes,” Morda hissed, “I
had gained power even beyond what I sought. Who now would disobey me when I held the means
to make men into the weak, groveling creatures they truly are! Did I seek only a gem? The
whole kingdom of the Fair Folk was within my grasp. And all of Prydain! It was then I
understood my true destiny. The race of men at last had found its master.”

“Its master?” Taran cried, aghast at Morda's words. “You are viler than those you scorn.
Dare you speak of greed and envy? The power of Angharad's gem was meant to serve, not
enslave. Late or soon, your life will be forfeit to your evil.”

The glint in Morda's lidless eyes flickered like a serpent's tongue. “Think you so?” he
answered softly.

From beyond the chamber came a shout, a sudden crashing amid the wall of thorns. Morda
nodded curtly. “Another fly finds my web.”

“Fflewddur!” Taran gasped as Morda strode from the chamber. He flung himself closer to
Gurgi and the two tore at each other's bonds; in vain, for within a few moments the wizard
returned, half-dragging a figure he trussed securely and threw to the ground beside the
companions. It was, as Taran feared, the luckless bard.

“Great Belin, what's happened to you? What's happened to me?” groaned Fflewddur, stunned.
“You didn't come back... I went to have a look--- feared you'd got caught somehow in those
brambles.” The bard painfully shook his head. “What a jolt! My neck will never be the
same.”

“You shouldn't have followed us,” Taran whispered. “I had no way to warn you. What of
Doli?”

“Safe enough,” replied Fflewddur. “Safer, at least, than we are now.”

Morda had been intently watching the companions. “So it was the Fair Folk who sent you to
spy on me. You are leagued with the dwarfish creature foolish enough to think he could
escape me. So be it. Did I think to spare you? You will share his fate.”

“Yes, Doli of the Fair Folk is our companion,” Taran cried. “Unloose him from your spell.
I warn you: Harm none of us. Your plan will fail, Morda. I am Taran of Caer Dallben, and
we are under the protection of Dallben himself.”

“Dallben,” spat Morda. “Gray-bearded dotard! His powers cannot shield you now. Even
Dallben will bow before me and do my bidding. As for you,” he added, “I will not slay you.
That would be paltry punishment. You will live--- as long as you are able to live in the
shapes you will soon have; live and know, during every moment of your wretched days, the
cost of defying me.”

Morda took the jewel and chain from about his neck and turned to Fflewddur. “Let your
boldness in seeking your fellows now be cowardice. Flee at the barking of hounds or the
tread of hunters. Crouch in fear at the flutter of a leaf and the passing of every shadow.”

The gem flashed blindingly. Morda's hand shot forward. Taran heard Fflewddur cry out, but
the bard's voice died in his throat. Gurgi screamed and Taran, horror-stricken, saw the
bard no longer at his side. Kicking frantically in Morda's grasp was a dun-colored hare.

With a harsh laugh Morda held the animal aloft and stared scornfully at it a moment before
flinging it into a wicker basket near Kaw's cage. The wizard strode to the companions and
stood above Gurgi whose eyes rolled in terror and who could only gibber wordlessly.