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 MORNING they 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.
Chapter 17
The Fledgling
THE GWYTHAINT HUNG like 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.'
'I will not have it killed,' Taran declared. 'It's in pain and it needs help.'
'That's true,' Eilonwy said, 'it doesn't look comfortable at all. For the matter of that, it looks even worse than Achren.'
The dwarf threw his axe to the ground and put his hands on his hips. 'I can't make myself invisible,' he snorted, 'but at least I'm no fool. Go ahead. Pick up the vicious little thing. Give it a drink. Pat its head. Then you'll see what happens. As soon as it's got strength enough, the first thing it'll do is slice you to bits. And next thing, fly straight to Arawn. Then we'll be in a fine stew.'
'What Doli says is true,' Fflewddur added. 'I myself don't enjoy chopping things up? the bird is interesting, in a disagreeable sort of way. But we've been lucky so far, with no trouble from gwythaints, at least. I don't see the use of bringing one of Arawn's spies right into our bosom, as you might say. A Fflam is always kind-hearted, but it seems to me this is overdoing it.'
'Medwyn would not say so,' Taran answered. 'In the hills, he spoke of kindness for all creatures; and he told me much about the gwythaints. I think it's important to bring this one to Caer Dathyl. No one has ever captured a live gwythaint, as far as I know. Who can tell what value it may have?'
The bard scratched his head. 'Well, yes, I suppose if it had any use at all, it would be better alive than dead. But the proposition is risky, no matter what.'
Taran gestured for the others to stand away from the bush. He saw the gwythaint was wounded by more than thorns; perhaps an eagle had challenged it, for blood flecked its back and a number of feathers had been torn out. He reached in carefully. The gwythaint hissed again, and a long, rasping rattle sounded in its throat. Taran feared the bird might be dying even then. He put a hand under its feverish body. The gwythaint struck with beak and
