Deeper and deeper into the forest they rode, frequently looking back, dreading lest they hear another wavering cry of Huntsmen on their trail. Even the horses were weary now, and the most speed they could achieve was an anxious jog in the rare moments they were not mired in soggy underbrush.

Taran still nursed wounded pride over Ellidyr's insult. Eilonwy had loosened her hold on him once it became clear there would be no further galloping, but his stiffness told her all she needed: his back was straight as a pillar, his elbows tight at his sides, and his bitterness hung around him like an old cloak. He felt distant and closed-off, a separation that gnawed at her insides, and she glanced sideways whenever Ellidyr drifted close to them on his mare, studying the older boy's haughty profile and imagining all the ways she'd like to see him brought down a peg or two. But the prince was oblivious to her venomous stare, with a nonchalance so consistent that she knew he was ignoring her deliberately. It only made her angrier.

They picked their way down a slope covered in massive oaks, their moss-draped limbs looming out and looping to the ground like the gnarled arms of ancient giants. Doli, slumped over his saddle, sat up straight and looked around, his round face alight. "There are Fair Folk here!" he announced.

Taran glanced around. "Are you sure? How do you know?"

Doli snapped his irritated red gaze toward them. "How do I know?" he said. "How do I know? How do you know how to swallow your dinner?" He urged his pony past Adaon, who had halted at the exchange, and leaped to the ground. They all watched as he trotted first to one tree, then to another, appearing to follow some meandering trail that only he could see, muttering to himself. At last he halted before an old oak, and leaned into a dark gash in its battered trunk, where he shouted something incoherent.

Taran, glancing back at Eilonwy with an expression that suggested he feared for the dwarf's sanity, motioned her down hurriedly, and followed her as she scrambled from Melynlas's back. They ran to Doli's side; he had pulled his head from the trunk, looking furious. "No answer. Ridiculous!" he sputtered. "I can't be that far wrong!" He bent and looked along the ground, then examined his own stubby fingers, mumbling calculations. "It must be! King Eiddileg wouldn't let things run down this badly." He kicked at the tree roots savagely, as though their very existence offended him, his face growing redder by the moment.

"I'll report it!" he shouted into the hollow. "Yes, to Eiddileg himself! It's unheard of! Impossible!"

He obviously thought there was someone inside the tree, or possibly beneath it, judging by the direction of his shouts, and the strangeness of it made Eilonwy's curiosity burn bright. Maybe it was rubbish; maybe he had gone crazy…but how like Doli to be so stubborn! "I don't know what you're doing," she said, "but if you'd tell us, we might be able to help you."

Brushing past him, she leaned into the hollow, peering down. Her head blocked most of the light; what pale illumination crept in showed her nothing but the rotten heart of the oak. Below that there was blackness, a strange empty pit that extended, she somehow knew, far further down than the base of the tree - how far? Staring down into the darkness made her feel blind. A sensation like creeping ants crawled down her back and she shivered, remembering some of the stranger things they had seen in the Fair Folk realm, but it was too late to back out now. "I don't know who's down there," she shouted, with more bravado than she felt, "but we're up here, and Doli wants to talk to you. At least you can answer! Do you hear me?"

Silence, and dank, stale air. She thought it might be what the inside of a barrow sounded and looked like, and pulled her head back out with a gasp. "They're impolite, whoever they are," she declared. "It's worse than someone shutting their eyes so you can't see them!"

She began to turn away when the tree spoke, in a distant waver. "Go away."

Eilonwy yelped and flinched away from the trunk, but Doli pushed her aside, his face almost purple, and shoved his head into the hollow once more. A mostly one-sided conversation followed, none of which she could make out, so muffled was it by the old wood. It may have been in another language entirely, and she suspected, from the dwarf's gestures, it contained a number of words Coll would say were inappropriate. Doli finally popped back out, looking satisfied; he beckoned them all to follow him and trotted off through the brush.

Leading the horses, they wove among the old oaks and down a steep, bank covered in brambles and boulders. The brush tore at their clothes and hands; pebbles turned beneath their feet; the horses skidded on the treacherous ground; behind them she heard Ellidyr curse, and demand to know where they were going and why, until a quiet command from Adaon quelled him. At last they made it to a level shelf beneath the face of the embankment, their way blocked by a mass of thorny canes. Doli stood before it, fists clenched, foot tapping. "Come on!" he barked. "We're waiting!"

The canes rattled and shuddered like a living thing, and scraped over the rocks as they were pushed aside in one huge mass. Behind it, a dark crack yawned beneath the bank.

"Oh!" Eilonwy exclaimed, in a flash of sudden recognition. "It's a Fair Folk way post!"

Taran tossed her a swift, sharp glance. "How do you know that?"

The question made her stumble back mentally, examining her own perception; she stared at the opening in confusion. How did she know? For just an instant she had felt a casual familiarity, as if she'd seen one before, or perhaps several, somehow, but…no, that was nonsense. Humans rarely mingled with the Fair Folk - Doli being an exception, thanks to certain diplomatic connections - and Achren had never had any dealings with them. ""I…I don't…I thought everyone knew they had way posts every which where," she said, fumbling. "Didn't you? But leave it to good old Doli to find one!"

He looked puzzled, but there was no time to discuss it further; Doli had peered into the opening and snorted. "So, it's you, Gwystyl. I might have known."

A voice like wind through trembling reeds answered him from the darkness within. "So it's you, Doli. I wish you'd given me a little warning."

Doli shoved ahead, the brambles snagging his jacket. He jerked his arms free with a growl. "Warning! I'll give you more than a warning if you don't open up! Eiddileg will hear of this." He stomped the canes beneath his boots, fairly dancing with rage. "What good's a way post if you can't get into it when you have to? You know the rules: if Folk are in danger you're obliged to let us in…and that's what we're in right now! I could have shouted myself hoarse!"

There was a long and dramatic sigh, and the brambles moved again, the dark crack opening wider into a large portal. Within it stood a strange figure. It was no dwarf. Taller than Doli, though still relatively small-statured, it was painfully thin. Every feature was wan, pale, and drooping, from its sparse cobwebby hair to the long and knobby toes spilling from the hem of its grimy robe. It reminded Eilonwy of a dying candle, exuding both the same melting fragility and the wavering, melancholy atmosphere.

Gwystyl raised a hand, long fingers quivering like frail, dead twigs, and beckoned to Doli, though no welcome was ever less sincerely offered. His dark, mournful eyes darted anxiously beyond the dwarf and took in the rest of them; his puckered forehead wrinkled even further. "Oh, no," he moaned, "not humans. Another day, perhaps. I'm sorry, Doli, believe me, but not the humans."

Doli shook his head. "They're with me. They claim Fair Folk protection, and I'll see that they get it."

Fflewddur's horse suddenly whinnied, and Gwystyl craned his head until it looked like a pale mushroom upon a flimsy stalk, clapping his hand to his brow when he saw the animals with them. "Horses! That's out of the question," he wailed. "Bring in your humans if you must, but not horses; Doli, please, I'm simply not up to it today." He took a step from the opening, and draped over a boulder like a pile of limp rags, his long arms dangling. "Please don't do this to me. I'm not well, not at all well, really. I couldn't think of it - the snorting and stamping and big bony heads. There's no room, no room at all."

Eilonwy shifted irritably, looking from Gwystyl to Doli and back again. It was no good getting angry with fae creatures; she remembered Eiddileg, shrewd and calculating under all his ludicrous bluster, and it was just as likely that this creature put on a similar show, but it chafed at her patience to watch the game play out. You never knew what the Folk were capable of, and it was safest to let Doli handle one of his own, so she bit back the outburst that wanted to pour forth.

But one among them was not so cautious. Ellidyr shoved ahead and angrily addressed Doli. "What place is this? Where have you led us, dwarf? My horse does not leave my side. Climb into this rathole, the rest of you. I shall guard Islimach myself."

Doli, with a hot red glare, silently ordered him back with a gesture Eilonwy would have called rude, had it been directed toward anyone else. The dwarf turned back to Gwystyl, who had begun to slink backward into the darkness. "We can't leave the horses above ground, you nit. Find room or make room; that's flat!"

Gwystyl groaned, but he leaned upon the mass of brambles, apparently immune to the projectiles, and pushed. The doorway widened until the black hole in the embankment gaped. "Very well," sighed its miserable guardian, "bring them in. If you know any others, invite them, too. It doesn't matter. I only suggested—an appeal to your…generous heart, Doli. But it's all right. I don't care. It makes no difference."

Doli snorted and pushed past him, motioning for them all to follow. The gap, even fully open, was a tight squeeze for the horses, and Eilonwy heard them snorting and protesting as they were led past the thorns. They emerged into a long, low-ceilinged gallery, hidden by a mass of branches and brambles, large enough for the animals to rest.

Gwystyl mournfully gave them leave to stable the horses, sighing about the mess he was sure they would create, and led them on through a musty passageway and into a round chamber, its earthen walls lined with drying herbs, the only furnishings a dirty straw pallet and a broken table and stools. A small turf-fire burned within, the smoke curling about the low roof until escaping through some hidden draft above. Fflewddur, who had to stoop to fit into the room, coughed, dipping his head below the drifting puffs. "Very cozy," he croaked.

Gwystyl stood near the doorway, watching them all as one might watch a gang of thieves enter one's home, twisting his grimy robe in his hands. Adaon paused near him and bowed. "We thank you for your hospitality," he murmured. "We have been hard pressed."

Doli was examining their shabby surroundings in disgust. "Hospitality!" he snapped, kicking a ball of moss toward the wall, "We've seen precious little of that. Get along, Gwystyl, and fetch something to eat and drink."

Gwystyl mumbled something, and dragged himself toward the passage again. Eilonwy, watching him, saw a flicker of movement in the shadows over his shoulder. She looked harder, making out a heap of disheveled and straggly black feathers set upon a branch protruding from the wall. "Oh," she exclaimed in delight, "He has a tame crow."

Achren had kept a rookery of ravens that she occasionally sent on errands. They had been nasty creatures, but fascinating in their way, and Eilonwy had always wondered if she might enjoy them more had they not been trained to wickedness from their hatching. This creature was smaller, less intimidating; certainly less sleek and glossy, and she felt a certain sympathetic interest. She had been that, once - a neglected creature, shut up where it did not belong.

At her approach the black heap moved, and a gleaming obsidian eye appeared, regarding her appraisingly. "Aren't you lovely," she said out loud, in response to the intelligent glint in the gaze. "I've never seen a crow with feathers quite like these. They're…um…unusual." The bird cocked its head and croaked, and she grinned. "But very handsome, once you get used to them."

Taran had followed her, and the crow jerked its gaze to him. The boy reached out a cautious hand and ruffled the feathers at its throat, ran a finger under the sharp beak, and a wistful smile crossed his face. "Reminds me of that gwythaint," he murmured, glancing at her, as the bird bobbed its head happily at the attention. "You remember?"

A warm flush of pleasure, of the affectionate bond of shared memories —at that memory in particular— made her smile, and she reached up as well to tickle the bird's neck, inadvertently brushing fingers with him, twitching back awkwardly at the contact. "Of course I do."

His eyes darkened, touched with sadness. "I wonder what happened to her."

The crow, seeming to sense his somber shift, hopped to the end of the branch, reached out, and ran its sharp beak through his hair, plucking out a strand. Taran yelped, and Eilonwy giggled, turning to Gwystyl. "What's its name?"

Gwystyl jumped as though startled at being addressed, blinked at her, and gulped. "Name? Oh…uh. His name is…Kaw. Because of the noise he makes, you see." He waved a vague hand. "Something like that."

"Kaw!" Fflewddur exclaimed, joining them. "Excellent, how clever! I should never have thought of giving it a name like that." The crow turned to him and squawked, loudly and somehow derisively. Taran laughed and offered it his hand, and after a moment's suspicious examination, Kaw stepped carefully to the boy's outstretched wrist, with the demeanor of someone conferring a great honor. Despite his bedraggled condition, his downy fluff was silky and light as poplar catkins, and he deigned to accept more stroking and straightening from all of them, clicking his beak in contentment as they murmured affirmations over him.

Eilonwy sighed, secure in this tiny circle; Taran on one side, Fflewddur on the other, all of them sharing in simple delight. They were safe; their troubles, for the moment, were forgotten. She was aware that Ellidyr was complaining, that Doli was once again arguing with Gwystyl, but for just this heartbeat, just this breath, she would soak up what peace and companionship she could.

It was short-lived. Taran, overhearing Gwystyl once more expressing pointed hints about their imminent departure, turned to the bickering group. "What about the Huntsmen? If they're still tracking us…"

Gwystyl dropped into a rickety stool, his pale face going green. "Huntsmen?" he interrupted. "How on earth did you come across them? Oh, I'm sorry to hear it…if I had known, I might've…well, it's too late for that. They'll be all over the place now." He laid his head upon the table, moaning. "Oh, really, you could have shown a little more consideration."

Vexed at the dissolving of her moment of happiness, weary of his self-centered whinging, Eilonwy rounded on him. "Oh, for goodness' sake. You'd think we wanted to have them after us! It's like inviting a bee to come sting you. What do you take us for?"

The strange creature shrank away from her, and she frowned when she noticed his dark eyes dart to the spot where her pendant dangled from beneath her cloak. He seemed almost…frightened. Why would he be frightened? The Fair Folk weren't afraid of humans; their magic was too powerful, yet…

She took an experimental step toward him. Gwystyl scrambled backwards, off the stool, and it toppled over. Stopping in astonishment, she said nothing as he held up a hand as though to ward her off. "I didn't mean it that way, my dear…dear child…believe me!" A tear ran down his long nose and he sniffed. "It's just that I don't see what's to be done about it - if anything. You've got yourself into a dreadful predicament; how or why, I'm sure I can't imagine."

"We didn't go looking for them," Taran said impatiently. "Gwydion led us to attack Arawn, and…"

But Gwystyl shook his upraised hands. "Don't tell me! Whatever it was, I don't want to hear, I don't want to know! I won't be caught up in any mad schemes! Gwydion? I'm surprised he didn't know better, but it's to be expected, I suppose. There's no use complaining."

Adaon, having tended Ellidyr's wounds, came to crouch next to him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Our quest is urgent, my friend. We do not ask you to endanger yourself. I would not tell you the circumstances that brought us here, but without knowing them, you cannot realize how desperately we need your help."

Gwystyl whimpered, but made no other protest, and Taran impulsively seized the opening. "We came to seize the cauldron from Annuvin!"

The dark eyes blinked. "Cauldron?"

"Yes, the cauldron!" Doli roared, slamming his hands upon the tabletop. "You pale grub! You lightless lightning bug! The cauldron of Arawn's cauldron-born!"

"Oh," said Gwystyl, picking at his sleeves, "that cauldron. Forgive me, Doli, I was thinking of something else. When did you say you were going?"

Adaon, stepping in front of Doli hastily - a wise move, given the dwarf's expression - explained their quest in a few careful words. Gwystyl shook his head throughout, and sighed when it was finished.

"It's a shame," he whimpered. "You should never have gotten mixed up with the thing. It's too late to think about that, I'm afraid. You'll just have to make the best of it. I don't envy you, believe me, I don't. It's one of those unfortunate events."

"We're not mixed up with the cauldron," Taran protested. "It isn't in Annuvin anymore. Someone has already stolen it."

Gwystyl shrugged. "Oh yes," he said, still shaking his head, "yes, I know."

They all stared at him blankly, thunderstruck, and he clapped his hands over his mouth, evidently having said more than he meant. "What do you mean, you know?" Taran demanded. "Why didn't you…"

"Ohhh," Gwystyl groaned, and gulped anxiously, refusing to meet any of their gazes. "I know, but only in a very general way, you understand. I mean I don't really know anything at all. Just the usual unfounded rumor you might expect to hear in a beastly place like this. Of no importance. Pay no attention to it."

Doli stalked toward him and thrust his round face into Gwystyl's drooping one. "You know more about this than you let on," he growled. "Out with it."

Gwystyl crumpled to the floor, his hands over his face, moaning. He rocked to and fro. "Do go away and let me alone," he sobbed. "I'm not well; I have so many tasks to finish I shall never catch up."

Taran strode toward him angrily. "You must tell us!"

Gwystyl began to shake, his eyes rolling backward. "Great Belin," Fflewddur muttered, in exasperation.

The boy had stopped, making an obvious effort to check his anger, and he knelt to the level of the creature's eyes. "Please," he said quietly, "if you have more knowledge, do not keep it from us, or our lives are risked for no purpose."

Gwystyl flapped his grimy robe about his face, gasping. "Leave it alone! Don't bother it. Forgetting it is the best thing you can do. Just go back to wherever you came from and don't think about it."

"How can we do that?" Taran said. "Arawn won't rest until he has the cauldron again."

"Of course he won't." Gwystyl grasped at his cobwebby hair and yanked it. "He isn't resting now. That's why you should drop the search and go quietly. You'll only stir up more trouble, and there's enough of that already."

Eilonwy frowned, for despite her instinct to argue with the creature out of sheer spite, she realized he spoke a certain amount of truth, and meanwhile, they were wasting significant time. "He's right about that, really. We'd be better off getting to Caer Cadarn and joining Gwydion as soon as we can. Wasn't that the whole plan?" She glanced at Adaon, who regarded her quietly and gave a brief nod.

Gwystyl looked toward her, his eyes brightening with an eagerness so inconsistent with his behavior up until then that it made him look even more uncanny. He sat up, and ceased to wring his hands. "Yes, by all means. I only give you this advice for your own good. I'm so glad you've seen fit to follow it." He scrambled to his feet, rubbed his hands together with what, for him, constituted briskness, and dragged his long toes across the earthen floor. "Now, of course, that's settled, and you'll want to be on your way. Very wise. Unhappily, I must stay here. I envy you, really, but that's the way of it, nothing anyone can do." He had made a full circle of the chamber now, and stood by its exit expectantly. "A pleasure meeting you all. Goodbye."

Despite his sudden pleasantries, he was once again avoiding all eye contact, and Eilonwy snorted. "Goodbye!" she exclaimed. "Are you mad? If we put our noses above ground where Huntsmen are waiting, it will be goodbye indeed!" Gwystyl looked anxiously in her direction, and flinched as she took a step toward him. "Doli says it's your duty to help us," she reminded him, "but you haven't done a thing except sigh and moan. If this is the best the Fair Folk can manage, I'd rather be up a tree with my toes tied together!"

He seemed to shrink into himself further with every word, and at last threw his hands over his head again. "Please, please don't shout! I'm not up to it today, not after the horses. One of you can go and see if the Huntsmen are still there."

"I wonder who'll do that?" Doli muttered. "Good old Doli, of course! I thought I'd done with making myself invisible."

"That seems risky, anyhow," Taran pointed out. "Suppose they had only stepped away for a moment? We must have a better way of defending ourselves against them, or it's too risky to leave hiding."

Gwystyl rolled his eyes from one to the other, wide and panicked, as though he could sense the opportunity to be rid of them slipping away. "I…ah…I could…" he stammered, clearly reluctant, "I could give all of you a little something…not that it will do much good," he added, seeing Doli's frown turned upon him. "It's…it's a kind of powder I've put by. In…in case of need. Though I was saving it for emergencies."

"Emergencies!" Doli exclaimed. "What do you call this, you clot?"

Gwystyl clutched his robes. "Yes, well, I meant…ah…more for personal emergencies. But it doesn't matter about me," he went on, with a desperate gasp. "You can have it. Take it all. Go ahead. You put it on your feet - or whatever you walk on…hooves and so forth." He glanced dubiously at Gurgi's black-padded hind limbs. "It…it doesn't work too well. Hardly much sense in bothering, because it wears off. Naturally. You're walking, so it would do that. But it will hide your tracks for a while."

Taran looked hopeful. "That's what we need! Our enemies go on foot, not on horseback. Once we've got them off our trail, I think we can outrun them."

"Oh good! I'll get some! It won't take a moment!" Gwystyl turned and shuffled on his long feet, but Doli clumped across the room and grabbed his arm.

"Gwystyl, you've a skulking, sneaking look in your eyes," he growled. "You might hoodwink my friends, but not a fellow fae. You're much too anxious to see us gone. I'm beginning to wonder, if I squeezed you a little, what else might come out."

Gwystyl shuddered, rolled his eyes, and went utterly limp, collapsing in a pathetic heap of wilting wool and waxy limbs. "He's fainted!" Taran exclaimed, crouching next to them. "Pick him up, Doli, make sure he can breathe."

Doli snorted. "He'll breathe, all right. I'll make him sing like a skylark when he comes to. He knows more than he's saying, mark my words." Nevertheless, he hauled the luckless creature upright, Gwystyl's head lolling backwards over his arm, mouth agape.

"Honestly," Eilonwy snapped, "you ought to have known better than to threaten him like that. Not that I've any patience for his carrying on, but it's not as though it would make him less petrified! What on earth is he even doing out here at this waypost if he's so weak?"

Doli gave her a shrewd glance, while the others fanned the unconscious Gwystyl. "That's just it - he isn't. Eiddileg knows better than to man a waypost near Annuvin with a cowardly fool. Living so close to Annuvin has a rotten effect on all of us - muddles up our magic until we can barely think straight - and none of the Folk can stand it very long. He's held out longest of anyone, he has. So don't take all his weaseling for weakness. He's hiding something, and I mean to find out what. If he's shirked his duties or..." the dwarf shuddered, "or turned traitor, then things are worse than we know."

They all fell silent at this, looking at Gwystyl with renewed solemnity. Eilonwy thought again of their brief stint in the Fair Folk realm - the mysterious, unearthly beauty of it overlain with an alien sense of something eerie and perilous. There were, of course, creatures of fae who were openly hostile toward humans. But even the friendliest had an unpredictable and contradictory aura about them, a sense that they were only affecting mortal manners temporarily, like a garment that would be shed as soon as you had left them. Of all the entities they had met, Doli was the most human-like in his mien, and she had wondered often if this was why Eiddileg had given him the task of guiding them - either for practicality or as some sort of punishment. Certainly Doli had seemed to regard it as the latter, when first assigned, and it had taken a succession of crises for him to grudgingly admit that his makeshift party of comrades were mortals with whom a dwarf need not be ashamed to associate.

But Gwystyl was even more difficult. She could sense little from him beyond a cloud of suffocating anxiety; if there were a shrewd mind or bold heart somewhere within it, both hid themselves remarkably well. It was, no doubt, a hard thing to live so near to Annuvin. Even she could feel the dark magic suffusing this area like a poisonous mist; it must affect Gwystyl all the more, must be wearing him down all the time. She shuddered, like Doli, at the thought that any member of the Fair Folk might turn traitor, a thing she had never heard of happening. Their magic was powerful, a power that would be a terrifying thing, if the lord of death could manage to turn one of the Folk to his ends, willingly or no.

She gazed upon the drooping features with a frown. Surely not. If Gwystyl were in league with their enemies he could have simply never let them in, let the Huntsmen pick them off. He could have enspelled them here in his own waypost, quite likely, and kept them captive until he could turn them over to Arawn. No, there must be something else.

Gwystyl twitched, and opened one eye. He blinked several times, as though in hopes he'd see something different eventually, and finally gasped out, "Sorry. Not myself today. Too bad about the cauldron. One of those unfortunate things."

Doli took a firm grip upon the front of Gwystyl's robe, but before he could speak, there was a sudden explosive noise of violently flapping wings from over their shoulders. They all started, looking up at the crow, who was bobbing and bowing excitedly. "Orddu!" he squawked.

They all blinked. Fflewddur straightened up and scratched his head. "Well," he said, "can you imagine that? He didn't say 'kaw' at all. At least it didn't sound that way to me. I could have sworn he said something like 'or-do'."

The bird hopped toward his head and plucked at a spike of yellow hair. "Orwen!" he croaked, clear as daybreak, then, "Orgoch!"

Fflewddur smoothed his hair back, staring at the bird. "There, he did it again."

"How strange," Taran remarked. "It sounded like ordorwenorgoch."

"Almost as though they were words," Eilonwy mused, gazing critically. "Achren's ravens knew a few words. But they were real words, of course. Not that gibberish." She cast a glance at Gwystyl, whose face was turning a fine grayish-green. He was darting his eyes from one corner to the other, as though seeking a quick escape.

"Look at him running back and forth," Taran said. "Do you think we upset him?"

Gwystyl made a sudden lunge away from them, faster than seemed possible for one who had fainted moments before, but Doli was quicker. He seized him by the arms and backed him against a wall. "All right," the dwarf growled, "I've had enough of your games. You may not want us to know, but he does. Out with it, now, or else…" His stubby hand gripped Gwystyl's pale mushroom-stalk of a neck, and the creature wailed.

"No, no, please! Don't do that," he begged. "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. He says whatever comes into his head - all nonsense, nothing to pay attention to. He only does it to start trouble. He's…"

Doli's hand tightened and the flood of pleading halted with a gurgle and a squeak of terror. "No!" Gwystyl moaned, when he could safely do so again. Whimpering, his eyes crossing, he fumbled weakly at the dwarf's sleeves. "No squeezing, please. Listen, Doli, if…if I tell you, will you promise to go away?"

"That's better," the dwarf sniffed, relaxing his grip. "So?"

"He just…all he meant to say…" Gwystyl stammered, "was that the cauldron is in the hands of Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch. That's all."

Eilonwy glanced at her companions, noting their impatient and puzzled expressions. She had been often embarrassed over discovering her own ignorance of common knowledge, in the last year. Coll had quickly learned to suppress his amazement and dismay as he patiently undertook her lessons in various practical matters; Dallben was less patient over her incomplete and skewed grasp of history and lore, his ire with Achren's deceptive education often spilling over into a general irascibility that made her defensive and cross. So it was something of a relief, now, to see that these names meant as little to the others as they did to her, despite Gwystyl's apparent belief that they should all be impressed and terrified. "It's a shame," he continued hurriedly, "but there's certainly nothing to be done about it. It hardly seemed worth mentioning."

"But who are Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch?" Taran burst out impatiently.

"Who are they?" Gwystyl repeated, shuddering. "You had better ask what are they!"

"Very well, then, what?" Taran stepped toward Gwystyl, his hands clenched in a manner that suggested he was as eager to squeeze the hapless creature as Doli was.

Gwystyl blinked at him, and then at the rest of them, as if only just realizing the perplexity of his audience. He shrugged in despair. "I don't know! It doesn't matter! They've got the cauldron and you might as well let it rest there. Don't meddle with them; there's no earthly use in it."

Taran threw up his hands in disgust and turned around, facing the rest of them. "Whoever they are, or whatever they are, I say we find them and take the cauldron!" He flung his head back decidedly, his face flushed with excitement. "That's what we set out to do, and we should not turn back now. Where do they live?" he asked, turning back to Gwystyl, who shook his head, frowning.

"Live? They don't live. Not exactly. It's very vague. I really don't know."

Before anyone could respond, the crow flapped his wings again and squawked. "Morva!"

Doli snorted and reached toward Gwystyl's neck again, and the creature shrieked. "I mean they stay in the Marshes of Morva! But I have no idea exactly where, 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 hadn't." He wrung his hands, and seemed to shrink backward, as though he would gladly shrink into the earthen wall and disappear. Whatever these entities were, they terrified him, possibly even more than Arawn did, and Eilonwy shifted uneasily on her feet. It was obnoxiously like Taran to want to plough ahead recklessly, of course, but why weren't any of the older men gainsaying him?

She looked to Adaon. His gray eyes seemed turned inward, thoughtful and uneasy. "I have heard of the Marshes of Morva," he said. "They lie to the west of here. How far, I do not know."

No help there. She grit her teeth, as Fflewddur piped up. "I do!" the bard exclaimed. "A good day's journey, I should say. I once came upon them during my wanderings. I recall them - unpleasant stretch of country, quite terrifying. Not that it bothered me, of course - undaunted! I strode through…"

There was a loud popping sound from his back, and he flushed, and broke off, stammering. "I, er…I went around them. Dreadful, smelly, ugly-looking fens they were. But if that's where the cauldron is, then I agree with Taran: we must go there! A Fflam never hesitates!"

"A Fflam never hesitates to open his mouth," Doli snapped, casting him a quick glance of anxious irritation, "but this is a bad business. This worm is actually telling the truth, for once. Have none of you gawps heard of these—these creatures he's talking about?" He snorted at their blank shrugs. "I have. There are tales, among the folk, and none of them are pleasant. Nobody knows much about them…or if they do, they aren't telling."

Finally, someone was speaking sense! Eilonwy gripped Taran's elbow and shook him a little. "Pay attention to Doli," she admonished. "Haven't you been listening? Whatever these things are, they frighten even the Fair Folk. Do you know what it takes to do that? How can you even think about getting the cauldron away from…from whoever has it? Not even knowing whatever it is?"

His eyes sparked annoyance and he tugged his arm from her grasp, but she kept on, addressing the rest of the party hotly. "Besides, 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."

Taran scowled at her, and ran an agitated hand through his hair. "You don't understand. When he told us to meet him, he was going to plan a new search. He didn't know we would find the cauldron."

Her temper bubbled up at this, at the temerity of assuming he had any idea what Gwydion's plans were, at the exhausting, infuriating condescension of being told she didn't understand. "In the first place," she retorted, "you haven't found the cauldron."

Fflewddur, waving off the crow, who was still determinedly exploring his hair, butted in. "But we know where it is! That's just as good!"

She ignored him pointedly, stabbing a finger at Taran's chest. "In the second place, if you have got any news about it, the only wise thing is to find Gwydion and tell him what you know."

Doli released Gwystyl and stood up straight, hands balled upon his hips, crimson eyes glittering with indignation. "That's sense. We'll have enough trouble getting to Caer Cadarn without splashing around in swamps on a wild goose chase." He waved an arm around the circle of them, and pointed to her. "You all, listen to her. She's the only one, outside of myself, that has any notion of what ought to be done."

As startled as any of them at praise from this quarter - hardly won - Eilonwy sent him a look of quiet, satisfied gratitude, and he nodded his approval. Taran hesitated, and she felt his resolve teetering upon a brink, halfway between pride and practicality. "It…it may be," he said haltingly, with a searching glance at Adaon, and an apologetic one at Fflewddur, "that we would be wiser to return to Gwydion. He is the head of this quest, after all. And then King Morgant, King Smoit and their warriors could lend their strength."

He took a deep breath, as though the words had cost him much, but he was clearly seeing reason. Eilonwy sighed silently, letting the tension drain from her shoulders.

Taran looked thoughtful. "It seems to me, then…"

Another voice cut in like a lash. "Pig-boy, you have chosen well." Ellidyr stepped into the fire's ring of dim light, his head high. "Return with your friends and let us make our parting here."

They all stared at him. "Parting?" Taran repeated blankly.

The thin lips curled in a sneer. Don't do it, Eilonwy thought savagely, in all the words Coll had forbidden. You bleeding bastard, you arrogant son of a—

"Do you think I would turn my back now, when the prize is nearly won? Go your way, pig-boy, and I shall go mine—to the Marshes of Morva themselves. Wait for me at Caer Cadarn." Ellidyr's haughty glance swept each of them in turn. "Warm your courage beside Smoit's fire, all of you. I shall bring the cauldron there, myself."