Alexander, Lloyd Chronicles of Prydain 02 The Black Cauldron

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Gwystyl, I really mean to squeeze you."
"No, no, Doli, please don't do that," wailed Gwystyl. "Don't give him another thought. He does odd
things; I've tried to teach him better habits, but it doesn't do any good."
A flood of Gwystyl's pleading and moaning followed, but the dwarf paid it no heed, and began to carry
out his threat.
"No," squealed Gwystyl. "No squeezing. Not today. Listen to me, Doli," he added, his eyes crossing and
uncrossing frantically, "if I tell you, will you promise to go away?"
Doli nodded and relaxed his grip.
"All Kaw meant to say," Gwystyl went on hurriedly, "is that the cauldron is in the hands of Orddu,
Orwen, and Orgoch. That's all. It's a shame, but there'scertainly nothing to be done about it. It hardly
seemed worth mentioning."
"Who are Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch?" Taran asked. His excitement and impatience were getting the
better of him, too, and he was sorely tempted to aid Doli in squeezing Gwystyl.
"Who arethey ?" murmured Gwystyl. "You had better askwhat are they?"
"Very well," cried Taran, "what are they?"
"I don't know," replied Gwystyl. "It's hard to say. It doesn't matter; they've got the cauldron and you
might as well let it rest there." He shuddered violently. "Don't meddle with them; there's no earthly use in
it."
"Whoever they are, or whatever they are," cried Taran, turning to the rest of the company, "I say find
them and take the cauldron. That's what we set out to do, and we should not turn back now. Where do
they live?" he asked Gwystyl.
"Live?" asked Gwystyl with a frown. "They don't live. Not exactly. It's all very vague. I really don't
know."
Kaw flapped his wings again. "Morva!" he croaked.
"I mean," Gwystyl moaned, as the angry Doli reached for him again, "they stay in the Marshes of Morva.
Exactly where, I have no idea, no idea at all. That's the trouble. You'll never find them. And if you do,
which you won't, you'll wish you never had." Gwystyl wrung his bony hands, and his trembling features
indeed held a look of deepest dread.
"I have heard of the Marshes of Morva, " Adaon said. "They lie to the west of here. How far, I do not
know."
"I do!" interrupted Fflewddur. "A good day's journey, I should say. I once came upon them during my
wanderings. I recall them quite clearly. Unpleasant stretch of country and quite terrifying. Not that it
bothered me, of course. Undaunted, I strode through ..."
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A harp string snapped abruptly with a resounding twang.
"I went around them," the bard corrected himself hurriedly. "Dreadful, smelly, ugly-looking fens they
were. But," he added, "if that's where the cauldron is, then I say with Taran: go there! A Fflam never
hesitates!"
"A Fflam never hesitates to open his mouth," put in Doli. "Gwystyl is telling the truth for once, I'm sure of
it. I've heard tales, back in Eiddileg's realm, of those--- whatever you call thems. And they weren't
pleasant. Nobody knows much about them. Or, if they do, they aren't telling."
"You should pay attention to Doli," interrupted Eilonwy, turning impatiently to Taran. "I don't see how
you can even think about getting the cauldron away from whoever has it--- and not even knowing
whatever has it.
"Besides," Eilonwy went on, "Gwydion ordered us to meet him at Caer Cadarn, and if my memory
hasn't got holes in it from all the nonsense I've been hearing, he didn't say a word about going off in the
opposite direction."
"You don't understand," Taran retorted. "When he told us to meet him, he was going to plan a new
search. He didn't know we would find the cauldron."
"In the first place," Eilonwy said, "you haven't found the cauldron."
"But we know where it is!" cried Fflewddur. "That's just as good!"
"And in the second place," Eilonwy continued, ignoring the bard, "if you've got any news about it, the
only wise thing is to find Gwydion and tell him what you know."
"That's sense," put in Doli. "We'll have enough trouble getting to Caer Cadarn without splashing around
in swamps on a wild goose chase. You listen to her. She's the only one, outside of myself, who has any
notion of what ought to be done."
Taran hesitated. "It may be," he said, after a pause, "that we would be wiser returning to Gwydion. King
Morgant and his warriors can lend us their strength."
He spoke these words with some effort; in the back of his mind he yearned to find the cauldron, to bring
it in triumph to Gwydion. Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Eilonwy and Doli had proposed
the surer plan.
"It seems to me, then," he began. But he had no sooner started to agree with Doli than Ellidyr thrust his
way to the fireside.
"Pig-boy," Ellidyr said, "you have chosen well. Return with your friends and let us make our parting
here."
"Parting?" asked Taran, puzzled.
"Do you think I would turn my back now, when the prize is nearly won?" Ellidyr said coldly. "Go your
way, pig-boy, and I shall go mine--- to the Marshes of Morva themselves. Wait for me at Caer Cadarn,"
Ellidyr added with a scornful smile. "Warm your courage beside the fire. I shall bring the cauldron there."
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Taran's eyes flashed with anger at Ellidyr's words. The thought that Ellidyr should find the cauldron was
more than he could bear.
"I shall warm my courage, Son of Pen-Llarcau," he cried, "in whatever fire you choose! Go back, the
rest of you, if that's what you want. I was a fool to listen to the thoughts of a girl!"
Eilonwy gave a furious shriek. Doli raised a hand in protest, but Taran cut him short. He was calmer now
that his first anger had passed. "This is not a game of courage," he said. "I would be twice a fool, and so
should we all, to be goaded by an idle taunt. This much, at least, I have learned from Gwydion. But there
is also this: Arawn seeks the cauldron even now. We do not dare lose the time it would take to bring
help. If he finds the cauldron before we do..."
"And if he doesn't?" put in Doli. "How do you know he knows where it is? And if he doesn't know, how
long will it take him to find out? A merry while, I'll be bound, even with all his Cauldron-Born and
Huntsmen and gwythaints, and what have you! There's a risk either way, any clodpole can see that. But if
you ask me, there's more risk than otherwise if you go popping off into the Marshes of Morva."
"And you, Taran of Caer Dallben," said Eilonwy, "you're only making excuses for some harebrained idea
of your own. You've been talking and talking and you've forgotten one thing. You're not the one to
decide anything; and neither are you, Ellidyr. Adaon commands you both, if I'm not mistaken."
Taran flushed at Eilonwy's reminder. "Forgive me, Adaon," he said, bowing his head. "I did not intend to
disobey your orders. The choice is yours."
Adaon, who had been listening silently near the fire, shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "this choice
cannot be mine. I have said nothing for or against your plan; the decision is greater than I dare make."
"But why?" cried Taran. "I don't understand," he said quickly and with concern. "Of all of us, you know
best what to do." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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