Lloyd Alexander - Taran Wanderer

Smoit snatched up a mighty double-edged battle axe. "I'll fetch them back by the ears!" he roared. "They know my dungeons; they've been there often enough. Who rides with me?"

"I will!" cried Fflewddur, his eyes lighting up. "Great Belin, a Fflam never shuns a fight!"

"If you ask our help, Sire," Taran began, "we give it willingly. But…"

"Mount up, then, my lad!" shouted Smoit. "You'll see justice done. And I'll have peace between Gast and Goryon if I have to break their heads to gain it!"

Swinging his battle axe, Smoit bolted from the store-room bellowing orders right and left. A dozen warriors sprang to horse. Smoit leaped astride a tall, barrel-chested steed, whistled through his teeth almost loudly enough to break them, and waved his men onward; amid the shouting and confusion, Taran, bewildered, found himself atop Melynlas galloping across the courtyard and out the castle gate.

THE RED-BEARDED KING set such a pace through the valleys that it put even Llyan on her mettle to keep up; while Gurgi, with most of the wind pounded out of him, clung to the neck of his frantically galloping pony. Smoit's war horse was in a lather, and so was Melynlas before the cantrev King signaled a halt.

"To meat!" Smoit cried, swinging out of the saddle and looking as unwearied as if he had just begun a morning's trot. The companions, still catching their breath, had by no means found their appetites, but Smoit clapped his hands to the heavy bronze belt around his middle. "Hunger makes a man gloomy and saps all the spirit from a battle."

"Sire, must we battle with Lord Gast?" Taran asked with some concern, for Smoit's war band numbered only the dozen who had ridden from Caer Cadarn. "And if Lord Goryon's men have armed, we may be too few to stand against all of them."

"Battle?" Smoit retorted. "No, more's the pity. I'll have those troublemakers by the nose and into my dungeons before nightfall. They'll do as I command. I'm their king, by my beard! There's brawn enough here," he added, shaking a mighty fist, "to make them remember it."

"And yet," Taran ventured to say. "You yourself told me a king's true strength lay in the will of those he ruled."

"How's that?" cried Smoit, who had settled his bulk against a tree trunk and was about to attack the joint of meat he had pulled from his saddlebag. "Don't puzzle me with my own words! My body and bones, a king is a king!"

"I meant only that you've locked Gast and Goryon in your dungeon many times before," Taran answered. "And still they quarrel. Is there no way to keep peace between them? Or make them understand…"

"I'll reason them reasons!" bellowed Smoit, clutching his battle axe. He knitted his jutting brows. "But, true enough it is," he admitted, frowning and seeming to chew at the thought as if it were gristle in his meat, "they go surly to the dungeon and surly leave it. You've struck on something, my lad. The dungeon's useless against that pair. And, my pulse, I know why! It needs more dampness, more draught. So be it! I'll have the place well watered down tonight."

Taran was about to remark that his own thought was otherwise, but Fflewddur called out and pointed to a horseman galloping across the meadow.

"He wears the colors of Goryon," shouted Smoit, jumping to his feet, still holding the joint in one hand and the battle axe in the other. Two of the warriors quickly mounted and, drawing swords, spurred to engage the rider. But the horseman, brandishing his weapon hilt downward, cried out that he bore tidings from the cantrev lord.

"You rogue!" Smoit bellowed, dropping both meat and axe and collaring the rider to haul him bodily from the saddle. "What other mischief's afoot? Speak! Give me your news, man, or I'll have it out of you along with your gizzard!"

"Sire!" gasped the messenger, "Lord Gast attacks in strength. My Lord Goryon is hard-pressed; he has ordered more of his warriors to arm and calls on you to help him as well."

"What of the cows?" cried Smoit. "Has Gast won them back? Does Goryon still hold them?"

"Neither, Sire," answered the messenger as well as he could with Smoit shaking him between every word. "Lord Gast attacked Lord Goryon to regain his own herd and take Lord Goryon's, too. But as they fought, all the beasts frighted and ran off. The cows? Sire, both herds are gone, lost, every soul of them, and Cornillo herself!"

"Let that be the end of it!" declared Smoit, "and a good lesson for all cow-robbers. Gast and Goryon shall cry peace and I'll spare them from my dungeon."

"Sire, the fighting grows hotter," the messenger said urgently. "Neither one will leave off. Each blames the other for loss of his herd. Lord Goryon swears vengeance on Lord Gast; and Lord Gast swears vengeance on Lord Goryon."

"They've both been itching for battle," Smoit burst out. "Now they find their excuse!" He summoned one of his warriors, ordering him to take Goryon's messenger to Caer Cadarn, there to be held as hostage. "To horse, the rest of you," Smoit commanded. "My body and bones, we'll see sport after all." He gripped his axe. "Oh, there'll be heads broken today!" he cried with relish, and his battered face brightened as if he were on his way to a feast.

"The bards will sing of this," exclaimed Fflewddur, carried away by Smoit's ardor. "A Fflam in the thick of battle! The thicker the better!" The harp shuddered and a string snapped in two. "I mean," Fflewddur hastily added, "I hope we're not too badly outnumbered."

"Sire," Taran called as Smoit strode to his war horse. "If Gast and Goryon won't stop because their herds are lost, shouldn't we try to find the cows?"

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi put in. "Find cows gone with strayings! And put an end to fightings and smitings!"

But Smoit had already mounted and was shouting for the war band to follow; and Taran could do no more than gallop after him. To which stronghold Smoit was leading them, Taran did not know. As far as Smoit was concerned, Taran decided, it made little difference whether Gast or Goryon fell first into the King's hands.

In a while, however, Taran recognized the path he and Gurgi had taken from Aeddan's farm, and he judged now that Smoit would make for Goryon's stronghold. But as they pounded across an open field, the King veered sharply left and Taran glimpsed a troop of mounted warriors some distance away.

At the sight of their banners, Smoit bellowed furiously and spurred his steed to overtake the horsemen. But the riders, themselves galloping at top speed, quickly vanished into the woodland. Smoit reined up, shouting after them and shaking his huge fist.

"Has Goryon put more warriors in the fray?" roared Smoit, his face crimson. "Then Gast has done the same! Those louts wore his colors!"

"Sire," Taran began, "if we can find the cows―"

"Cows!" burst out Smoit. "There's more than cows in this, my lad. Such a brawl can spread like a spark through tinder. Those thick-skulled ruffians will set the whole of Cadiffor ablaze and next thing you know we'll all be at one another's throats! But, by my beard, they'll learn my fist smites harder than theirs! "

Smoit hesitated and his face darkened with deep concern. He scowled and tugged at his beard. "The lords of the next cantrev," he muttered. "They'll not stand idle, but strike against us when they see we're fighting each other!"

"But the cows," Taran urged. "The three of us can seek them, while you―"

"The dungeon!" cried Smoit. "I'll have Gast and Goryon in it before their squabble gets further out of hand."

Smoit clapped heels to his horse and charged forward, making no attempt to hold to any pathway, dashing at breakneck speed through bramble and thicket. With the companions and the train of warriors pelting behind, Smoit clattered over the stones of a riverbank and plunged his horse into the swift current. The King had ill chosen his fording place, for in another moment Taran found himself in water up to his saddlehorn. Sinoit, shouting impatiently, pressed on across the river. Taran saw the King rise up in his stirrups to beckon his followers and urge more haste. But an instant later the war horse lost footing and lurched sideways; steed and rider toppled with a mighty splash, and before Taran could spur Melynlas to him, Smoit had been torn loose from his mount and, like a barrel with arms and legs, was being borne quickly downstream.