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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---
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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.
Taran struggled against his bonds. Morda raised the gem. "This
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creature," said the wizard, "this half-brute serves no use. Feeble cringing
beast, be weaker still, and prey to owls and serpents."
With all his strength Taran fought to break the thongs holding him.
"You destroy us, Morda!" he shouted. "But your own evil will destroy you!"
Even as Taran cried these words, the gem flashed once again. Where
Gurgi had lain, a gray field mouse reared on its hind legs, then fled
squeaking to a corner of the chamber.
Morda turned his unlidded eyes on Taran.
Chapter 9
The Hand of Morda
"AND YOU," SAID MORDA, "your doom will not be to lose yourself in
forest or burrow. My plan fail? Here shall you stay prisoner and see my
triumph. But what shape shall I give you? A dog whining for scraps from my
table? A caged eagle eating out his heart for the freedom of the skies?"
Angharad's gem dangled from Morda's fingers. Despair choked Taran as
he stared at the ornament like a bird fascinated by a serpent. He envied the
wretched Gurgi and Fflewddur. A hawk's talons or a fox's jaws would shortly
put a merciful finish to their days; his own would wear themselves out in the
slow agony of captivity, like stone grinding against stone, until Morda was
pleased to end them.
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The wizard's taunts burned like drops of venom; but as Morda spoke,
Taran felt a furry body press against his bound wrists. Startled, he almost
cried out. His heart leaped and pounded. It was the mouse that had once been
Gurgi.
Heedless of its plight, the creature had scurried noiselessly on
tiny paws to the corner where Taran lay. Unseen by the wizard, the mouse flung
himself on Taran's bonds and with his sharp teeth began hurriedly gnawing at
the thongs.
Morda, as if undecided, toyed with the jewel. Gurgi, Taran felt, was
chewing desperately at the stubborn bonds; time pressed, and despite the
creature's brave efforts the thongs held fast. Taran strove to draw the
leather taut to aid the frantic mouse, but there was no sign of loosening, and
now the wizard raised the glittering gem.
"Hold!" Taran cried. "If my fate is to be a beast, grant me this
much: Let me choose which it must be."
Morda paused. "Choose?" His bloodless lips tightened in a scornful
smile. "What can your wishes matter to me? And yet--- perhaps it would be
fitting if you chose your own prison. Speak," he commanded. "Quickly."
"At Caer Dallben," Taran began, speaking as slowly as he dared, "I
was Assistant Pig-Keeper. In my charge was a white pig..." At his wrists one
strand parted. But Gurgi's strength had begun to ebb.
"What, then," interrupted Morda, laughing harshly. "do you crave to
be a swine? To wallow in mire and grub for acorns? Yes, pig-keeper, your
choice indeed is fitting."
"It is my only wish," said Taran, "for it may at least remind me of
a happier time."
Morda nodded. "Yes. And for that very reason, your wish will not be
granted. Clever pig-keeper," he jeered. "You have told me what you most
desire. Now I may be all the more sure you will not have it."
"Will you not give me the shape I ask?" Taran replied. Another
strand gave way as Gurgi, fighting weariness, redoubled his efforts. Suddenly
the thongs yielded. Taran's hands burst free. "Then," Taran cried, "then I
will keep my own!"
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In the instant Taran sprang to his feet. He snatched his blade from
its sheath and lunged toward the wizard who, startled, had taken a backward
pace. Before Morda could raise the gem, with a shout Taran drove his sword
full into the wizard's breast. He plucked the weapon free. But his shout
turned to a cry of horror and he stumbled back against the wall.
Morda stood unharmed. His gaze never faltered. The wizard's mocking
laughter rang through the chamber.
"Foolish pig-keeper! Had I feared your sword I would have taken it
from you!"
The wizard held Angharad's gem aloft. Taran's head spun with fresh
terror. In Morda's grasp the jewel gleamed coldly. In the sudden clarity of
his fear Taran saw the sharp facets of the crystal and the bony claw that held
it. He was aware now, for the first time, that the hand of Morda lacked a
little finger; in its place was an ugly stump of scarred and withered flesh.
"Do you seek my life?" hissed Morda. "Seek, then, pig-keeper. My
life is not prisoned in my body. No, it is far from here, beyond the reach of
death itself!
"One last power did I gain," said the wizard. "As my jewel could
shape the lives of mortal men, so could it shield my own. I have drawn out my
very life, hidden it safely where none shall ever find it. Would you slay me?
Your hope is useless as the sword you hold. Now, pig-keeper, suffer for your
defiance. Hound or eagle would be too proud a fate. Crawl in the darkness of
earth, least of all creatures, a spineless, limbless blind worm!"
Light flared in the heart of the gem. Taran's sword dropped from his
grasp and he flung his arm across his face. He staggered as though a
thunderbolt had struck him. Yet he did not fall. His body was still unchanged,
still his own.
"What blocks my spell?" cried Morda in a terrible voice. A shadow of
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