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Authors: Lloyd Alexander

BOOK: The Castle of Llyr
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“Dallben, my master, is the most powerful enchanter in Prydain,” Taran said. “It may be that he can find a means to help you. But it is your help we need now. The sooner we are free, the sooner I shall return to him.”
“Too long to wait,” moaned Glew. “I'll be a mushroom myself by that time.”
“Help us,” Taran pleaded. “Help us and we shall try to help you.”
Glew said nothing for a moment. His forehead wrinkled and his lips twitched nervously. “Very well, very well,” he sighed, climbing to his feet. “Follow me. Oh—there's one thing you might do,” he added. “If it would be no bother to you, it's such a little thing, if you really wouldn't mind. So at least I might have the satisfaction, however brief. A tiny favor. Would you call me—King Glew?”
“Great Belin,” shouted Fflewddur, “I'll call you king, prince, or whatever you choose. Only show us a way out of here—Sire!”
Glew's spirits seemed to lift as he shambled toward the dim reaches of the cavern. The companions scrambled down the ledge and hastened to keep up with his huge strides. Glew, having spoken to no one since his confinement, never left off talking. He had, he explained, tried to brew new potions—this time to make himself smaller. In one of the chambers he had even set up a kind of workshop, where a bubbling pool of steaming hot water served to boil his concoctions. Glew's cleverness in devising makeshift pestles and mortars, cook-pots and basins from painstakingly hollowedout stones surprised Taran and filled him with a pitying admiration for the desperate giant. But his mind turned over and over on itself, seeking an understanding that escaped him like a will-o'-the-wisp each time he drew close to it. He was certain the answer lay in the ruined halls of Caer Colur, and certain the companions would find Eilonwy there.
Impatient to be gone, he ran forward as Glew halted at a chimneylike shaft of rock. Close to the ground the dark mouth of a tunnel opened.
“Farewell,” sniffed Glew, pointing sorrowfully at the tunnel. “Go straight on. You shall find your way.”
“You have my word,” Taran said, while Gurgi, Fflewddur, and Prince Rhun crawled into the opening. “If it is in Dallben's power, he will help you.”
Clutching the bauble, Taran bent and thrust his way past the jagged arch. Bats rose in a shrieking cloud. He heard Gurgi cry out in fear and raced ahead. Next moment, he collided with a wall of
stone and fell back on his heels while the bauble slipped from his grasp and dropped among the pebbles on the uneven ground. With a shout Taran spun to see a massive rock pushed into the opening, and flung himself toward it.
Glew had sealed the passage.
The Tomb
T
he bard, like Taran, had dashed headlong into the wall, and now struggled to his feet. Gurgi's yells rang above the screeching of the bats. Prince Rhun stumbled to Taran's side and threw his weight against the immovable rock. The bauble had rolled into a corner, but one glance, in the light of the glowing sphere, showed Taran there was no other way in or out of the chamber.
“Glew!” Taran called, pushing with all his strength at the blocked passage. “Let us out! What have you done!”
While Gurgi, jabbering furiously, beat his fists against the unyielding stone, Taran plunged against it once more. Beside him, he heard Prince Rhun gasping with his own efforts. Fflewddur shoved and heaved mightily, lost his footing, and sprawled to earth.
“Little worm!” the bard shouted at the top of his voice. “Liar! You've betrayed us!”
From the other side of the stone came Glew's muffled voice, “I'm very sorry. Forgive me. But what else am I to do?”
“Let us out!” Taran demanded again, still straining to move the
rock. With a sob half of anger and half of despair, he dropped to earth and scrabbled desperately at the loose pebbles.
“Move aside heavy stone, evil, wicked little giant!” shouted Gurgi. “Take away lockings and blockings! Or rageful Gurgi will smack your great feeble head!”
“We would have done you a kindness,” Taran cried. “And you repay us with treachery.”
“I say, that's true enough,” called Prince Rhun. “How do you expect anyone to help you if they're buried in here?”
Faint though it was, a sobbing sound drifted from beyond the blocked passageway. “Too long!” moaned the voice of Glew. “Too long! I can wait no more in this ghastly cave! Who knows whether Dallben would care about my fate? Very likely he wouldn't. It must be done now. Now!”
“Glew,” Taran said, forcing himself to be as calm and patient as he could, for he was convinced the giant had taken leave of his senses, “there is nothing we alone can do for you or we would have done it before this.”
“But there is! There is!” cried Glew. “You shall help with my potions. I'm sure I can brew another to bring me back to size. That's all I ask. Is that too much?”
“If you want us to help you cook up more of those dreadful messes you fed Llyan,” called Fflewddur, “you're taking a curious way to win our friendship.” The bard hesitated and his eyes widened in sudden dismay. “Great Belin,” he murmured, “as he did with Llyan … !”
Even as the bard spoke, Taran's legs began to quake, for the same thought had occurred to him. “Fflewddur,” he whispered,
“he is indeed out of his wits. This cavern has driven him mad.”
“Not a bit of it,” replied the bard. “It makes excellent sense, in a nasty, horrible fashion. He has no one else to try his concoctions on!” He pressed to the stone and cupped his hands around his mouth. “You shan't do that, you wretched, sniveling worm!” he shouted. “We won't swallow your evil stews! Even if you starve us! And if you try to cram them down our throats, you'll learn that a Fflam can bite!”
“I promise,” pleaded Glew, “you won't have to swallow a thing. I'll take all the risks myself. Terrible risks they are, too. Suppose I should turn into a puff of smoke and blow away? You never know, when you're dealing with such recipes. It could happen.”
“I wish it would,” muttered Fflewddur.
“No, no,” Glew went on, “this won't hurt you a bit, you can be sure. It won't take more than a moment of your time. Half a moment! And I shall only need one of you. Only one! You can't say that's asking too much, you can't be so selfish …”
Glew's voice had risen to a frenzy and he had begun shouting and wailing so loudly and rapidly Taran could barely make out the words; but as he listened, Taran felt the blood drain from his heart, a chill held and shook him as Glew babbled on.
“Glew,” he cried, despair welling up in him, “what do you mean to do with us?”
“Please, please try to understand,” returned Glew's voice. “It's my only chance. I'm sure it will work. I've thought it over carefully ever since I've been in this awful hole. I know I can brew the
right potion; I have all I need. Except one thing. One tiny little ingredient. It won't hurt you a bit; you won't feel a thing, I swear it to you.”
Taran gasped in horror. “You mean to kill one of us!”
There was a long silence. Finally Glew's voice reached the companions again; it sounded as though Glew's feelings had been hurt. “You make it sound so—so raw!”
“Great Belin,” shouted Fflewddur, “let me get my hands on your scrawny neck and I'll make
you
sound raw!”
There was another silence. “Please,” said Glew faintly, “try to look at it from my side.”
“Gladly,” said Fflewddur. “Just push away that rock.”
“Don't think it's easy for me,” Glew went on. “I'm fond of all of you, especially the little fuzzy one; and I feel dreadful about the whole thing. But there's no chance anyone else will stop down here. You do understand that, don't you? You aren't angry? I'd never forgive myself if you were.
“Even now,” he added plaintively, “I don't know how I'll ever bring myself to pick out one of you. No, no, I can't. I haven't the heart. Don't ask me to put myself through that torment. No, you shall decide among you. That will be best all around.
“Believe me,” Glew continued, “it will be worse for me than for you. But I'll shut my eyes, so I won't see which one of you it is. Then, after it's over, we'll try to forget about it. We'll be the best of good friends—those of you remaining, that is. I'll lead you out of here, I promise. We'll find Llyan—oh, it will be good to see her again—and all will be well.
“Don't go away,” said Glew. “I'll get a few things ready. I won't keep you waiting.”
“Glew, listen to me!” called Taran. “This is an evil deed you plan. Set us free!”
No answer came. The rock did not move.
“Dig, friends!” cried Fflewddur, drawing his sword. “Dig for your lives!”
Taran and Gurgi unsheathed their blades and, side by side, attacked the ground beneath the ponderous stone. With all their strength they thrust into the rocky, unyielding earth. Their swordpoints rang on the pebbles, but try as they would they could barely scrape away more than a shallow hole. Prince Rhun sought to force his sword under the rock but succeeded only in snapping the point off the blade.
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?”

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