Taran Wanderer

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!"

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 fear crossed his face. "As if I struggled against myself." His lidless eyes stared unbelieving at Taran, and his hand with its lacking finger gripped the gem more tightly.

In Taran's mind a strange thought raced. The wizard's life safely hidden? Where none would find it? Taran could not take his eyes from Morda's hand. A little finger. The coffer in the hollow tree. Slowly, terrified lest his hope betray him, Taran thrust a hand into his jacket and drew out the fragment of polished bone.

At the sight of it Morda's face seemed to crumble in decay. His jaw dropped, his lips trembled, and his voice came in a rasping whisper. "What do you hold, pig-keeper? Give it into my hands. Give it, I command you."

"It is a small thing my companions and I found," replied Taran. "How should this have worth to you, Morda? With all your power, do you covet such a trifle?"