Lloyd Alexander - Taran Wanderer

Dorath threw back his head and laughed. "You make much ado for a piece of iron. Your sweetling girded it to your side! Your first blade! This adds no worth. It is a fair weapon, no more. I've cast away better than that. But the look of this one suits me well enough. Give it into my hand and we are quit."

Dorath's face filled with cruel pleasure as he reached out. Sudden anger goaded Taran. Caution forgotten, he snatched the blade from its sheath and drew back a pace.

"Have a care, Dorath!" Taran cried. "Will you take my sword? It will be a costly bargain. You may not live to claim it."

"Nor you to keep it," Dorath answered, undisturbed. "We know each other's thoughts, swineherd. Am I fool enough to risk lives for a trinket? Are you fool enough to stop me?

"We can learn this easily," Dorath added. "To your grief or to mine. Wilt you try me? My Company against yours?" When Taran did not answer, Dorath continued. "My trade is to spill another's blood, not waste my own. And here the matter is easily settled. Pit one of your number against one of mine. A friendly wager, swineherd. Do you dare? The stakes? Your sword!"

Gloff had been listening all this while; his villainous face lit up and he struck his hands together. "Well spoken, Dorath! We'll see sport after all!"

"The choice is yours, swineherd," Dorath said to Taran. "Who is your champion? Will that hairy brute you call comrade stand against Gloff? They're both ill-favored enough to be well-matched. Or the harper…"

"The matter is between you and me, Dorath," Taran replied, "and none other."

"All the better," Dorath answered. "Do you take the wager, then? We two unarmed, win or lose, and the score paid. You have Dorath's word."

"Is your word as true as your claim?" Taran flung back. "I trust no bargain with you."

Dorath shrugged. "My men will withdraw beyond the trees where they'll be no help to me, if, that's what you fear. And so will yours. What say you now? Yes or no?"

"No, no!" shouted Gurgi. "Kindly master, beware!"

Taran looked long at the sword. The blade was plain, the hilt and pommel unadorned, yet even Dorath had seen the craftsmanship in its making. The day Dallben had put it in his hands shone bright in Taran's memory as the untarnished metal itself; and Eilonwy― her tart words had not hidden her blush of pride. Still, treasure it though he did, he forced himself to see the blade coldly as indeed no more than a strip of metal. Doubt rose in his heart. Win or lose, he felt unsure whether Dorath would let the companions free without a pitched battle. He nodded curtly. "So be it."

Dorath signaled to his band and Taran watched cautiously until all had made their way a good distance into the woods. At Taran's orders Fflewddur and Gurgi untethered Llyan and the two steeds and reluctantly withdrew in the opposite direction. Taran flung down his cloak and dropped Eilonwy's horn beside it. Dorath waited, a crafty glint in his eyes, as Taran slowly ungirded the scabbard and thrust the sword into the ground.

Taran stepped back. In the instant Dorath sprang upon him without warning. The force of the burly warrior's charge drove the breath from Taran's lungs and nearly felled him. Dorath grappled with him and Taran realized the man strove to seize him by the belt and hurl him to earth. Taran flung up his arms and slipped downward out of Dorath's clutches. Cursing, Dorath struck at him with a hard fist, and though Taran escaped the full weight of the blow, it glanced painfully from the side of his head. Ears ringing, Taran sought to disengage himself and regain sure footing, but Dorath pressed his attack without respite.

He dared not, Taran understood, let his heavier opponent come to grips with him, for Dorath's powerful arms could snap him in two; as the warrior plunged once more against him, Taran snatched the man's forearm and with all his strength swung Dorath head over heels to send him crashing to the ground.

But Dorath was on his feet in a flash. Taran crouched to meet the warrior's new attack. For all his weight, Dorath moved quick as a cat; he dropped to one side, spun quickly, and suddenly Taran saw the man's thick fingers gouging at his eyes. As Taran struggled to escape the blinding thrust, Dorath seized him by the hair and wrenched his head backward. The warrior's fist was raised to strike. Taran, gasping at the painful shock, flailed at the man's grinning face. Dorath's hold loosened; Taran tore himself away. For an instant Dorath seemed bewildered by the rain of blows, and Taran pressed his slight advantage, darting from one side to the other, giving Dorath no chance to gain the upper hand again.

Dorath dropped suddenly to one knee and caught at Taran with an outflung arm. Striving to tear himself away, Taran felt a sharp, stinging blow to his side. He fell backward, clutching at the hurt. Dorath rose up. He gripped a short-bladed knife drawn from his boot.

"Disarm!" Taran cried. "We fight weaponless! You betray me, Dorath!"

The warrior looked down at him. "Have you learned which of us is the fool, Lord Swineherd?"

Eilonwy's horn lay within Taran's grasp and his fingers reached for it. How long, he thought hurriedly, how long before the Fair Folk might answer his call? Could he hope to keep Dorath at bay, or, at the last, could he do no more than turn and flee? He yearned desperately to sound the notes, but with an angry shout he cast aside the battle horn, snatched up his cloak for a shield, and plunged straight against Dorath.

The warrior's knife tangled in the folds of the garment. Gaining strength from his anger, Taran ripped the blade from the hand of Dorath, who staggered under the fury of the onslaught and fell to the ground. Taran followed him, seized Dorath by the shoulders, and braced his knee against the warrior's chest.

"Cut-throat!" Taran shouted through clenched teeth. "You'd have taken my life for the sake of a bit of iron."

Dorath's fingers scrabbled in the earth. His arm shot up. A handful of dirt and stones pelted against Taran's face.

"Find me now!" cried Dorath with a mighty heave. Taran clapped hands to his smarting eyes; tears streamed down his face; and he groped for the warrior who sprang away in an instant.

Taran stumbled forward on hands and knees. Dorath's heavy boot drove into his ribs. Taran cried out, then fell doubled up and panting. He strove to rise, but even the strength of his anger could not bring him to his feet. He sank down, his face pressed against the ground.

Dorath strode to the sword and plucked it from the turf. He turned to Taran. "I spare your life, swineherd," he cried scornfully. "It means naught to me and I have no wish for it. Should we meet again, it may not go as well for you."

Taran raised his head. In Dorath's eyes he saw only cold hatred that seemed to reach out to blight or shatter all it touched. "You have won nothing," Taran whispered. "What have you gained worth more to you than to me?"

"The getting pleased me, swineherd. The taking pleases me all the more." Dorath tossed the sword in the air, caught it again, then threw back his head and burst into raw laughter. He turned on his heel and strode into the forest.

Even after his strength had come back and the pain in his side had dwindled to a dull ache, Taran sat a long while on the ground before gathering up his belongings― the torn cloak, the battle horn, the empty scabbard, and setting off to join Fflewddur and Gurgi. Dorath had gone. There was no sign of him, but the laughter still rang in Taran's ears.

UNDER FAIR SKIES and gentle weather, the companions traveled deeper into the Hill Cantrevs. Gurgi had bandaged Taran's wound and the smart of it eased more quickly than the sting of losing his sword. As for the bard, the encounter with Dorath had driven away his concern for the length of his ears; he hardly mentioned the word "rabbit," and had begun to share Taran's belief in a good ending to a hard journey. Gurgi still grumbled bitterly about the ruffians and often turned to shake an angry fist in the air. Fortunately, the companions had seen no more of the band, though Gurgi's furious grimaces might well have been enough to keep any marauders at a safe distance.