Taran Wanderer

"And if he's gained the power to turn us into animals― fish, frogs, no matter― we're at his mercy. He could slay us out of hand, if he chose. That's surely what happened to the way post guardian, to the messengers who vanished without a trace. It can happen to any of us. To Eiddileg himself! Not one of the Fair Folk can be safe from Morda. He's the worst threat ever to fall upon our realm."

Doli sank back exhausted by his own outburst, and the companions glanced fearfully at each other. "What his scheme is, I couldn't discover," Doli continued at last. "Oh, I tracked him to his hiding place easily enough. He lives in a sort of enclosure not too far from here. I'd gone invisible, needless to say. But it was making my ears buzz so much, worse than a pair of hornets' nests! In the darkness I thought I could chance turning visible― just for a moment, to escape that awful buzzing. Next thing I knew, there I was, as you see me now.

"Morda could have crushed me then and there. Instead, he mocked my plight. It amused him to see a helpless frog. Then he threw me down among the rocks. He savored my lingering agony more than the mercy of killing me out of hand. He was sure I'd perish in these dry hills, withering little by little to my death. And if by some chance I didn't― what difference could it make? How could a frog hope to prevail against a wizard? I crept away, trying to find water. I kept on until I could go no farther. Your cat found me then. If she hadn't, I can tell you it would have been the end of me.

"One thing Morda forgot," Doli added, "one tiny thing he overlooked: I could still speak. I myself didn't know it at the time. The shock of being turned into a frog quite took away my voice for a while."

"Great Belin," murmured Fflewddur, "I've heard of people having frogs in their throats, but never…Forgive me, forgive me, old boy," he added quickly, as Doli glared at him. "I didn't mean to ruffle your feelings."

"Doli, tell us what we must do," Taran cried, horror-stricken at the dwarf's account. It was not Doli's plight alone that turned his blood cold; he saw clearly the fate in store for all the Fair Folk. "Lead us to Morda. We'll try to take him prisoner, or slay him if we must."

"So we shall!" exclaimed Fflewddur, drawing his sword. "I'll not have my friends turned into frogs!"

"No, no!" shouted Gurgi. "Froggies are froggies, but friends are friends!"

"Attack Morda?" Doli replied. "Are you out of your heads? You'll end up in the same pickle as me. No, you can't risk it. Eiddileg must be warned, but before that I must finish my task. Find out more of Morda's powers and how he means to use them. There's no hope of Fair Folk standing against him unless we know better what we have to deal with. Take me back to Morda's stronghold. Somehow I'll get to the bottom of his scheme. Then carry me to a way post, so I can get word to Eiddileg and spread the alarm."

A sudden-spasm convulsed him; for an instant Doli seemed about to choke, then a racking sneeze nearly flung him out of the puddle. "Curse this dampness!" he sputtered. "Curse that black-hearted Morda! He's given me all the bad points of being a frog and none of the good!" Doli began coughing violently. "Blast it! Dow I ab losigg by voice! Bake haste! Bake haste! Pick be up. I'll show you the way. There's doe tibe to waste!"

THE COMPANIONS HURRIEDLY mounted. With Doli clinging to his saddle horn, Taran galloped where the dwarf commanded. But the forest thickened and slowed their pace, and often in the tangle of branches they were forced to dismount and go afoot. Doli had assured them the distance was not great, but his usually unfailing sense of direction had grown confused. At times the dwarf was uncertain which path to follow, and twice the companions reined up and retraced their steps.

"Dote blade be!" snapped Doli. "I cabe over this ladd crawligg odd by belly. It's dot the sabe, seeigg it frob up here."

To make matters worse, Doli began to shake and shudder. His eyes bleared; his nostrils streamed; and even as a frog he looked altogether miserable. With constant fits of sneezing and coughing, Doli's voice grew so hoarse he could barely force out a feeble, croaking whisper, which did nothing to improve the state of his disposition or the clarity of his directions to Taran.