Lloyd Alexander - The Black Cauldron

A harp string snapped abruptly with a resounding twang.

"I went around them," the bard corrected himself hurriedly. "Dreadful, smelly, ugly-looking fens they were. But," he added, "if that's where the cauldron is, then I say with Taran: go there! A Fflam never hesitates!"

"A Fflam never hesitates to open his mouth," put in Doli. "Gwystyl is telling the truth for once, I'm sure of it. I've heard tales, back in Eiddileg's realm, of those― whatever you call thems. And they weren't pleasant. Nobody knows much about them. Or, if they do, they aren't telling."

"You should pay attention to Doli," interrupted Eilonwy, turning impatiently to Taran. "I don't see how you can even think about getting the cauldron away from whoever has it― and not even knowing whatever has it.

"Besides," Eilonwy went on, "Gwydion ordered us to meet him at Caer Cadarn, and if my memory hasn't got holes in it from all the nonsense I've been hearing, he didn't say a word about going off in the opposite direction."

"You don't understand," Taran retorted. "When he told us to meet him, he was going to plan a new search. He didn't know we would find the cauldron."

"In the first place," Eilonwy said, "you haven't found the cauldron."

"But we know where it is!" cried Fflewddur. "That's just as good!"

"And in the second place," Eilonwy continued, ignoring the bard, "if you've got any news about it, the only wise thing is to find Gwydion and tell him what you know."

"That's sense," put in Doli. "We'll have enough trouble getting to Caer Cadarn without splashing around in swamps on a wild goose chase. You listen to her. She's the only one, outside of myself, who has any notion of what ought to be done."

Taran hesitated. "It may be," he said, after a pause, "that we would be wiser returning to Gwydion. King Morgant and his warriors can lend us their strength."

He spoke these words with some effort; in the back of his mind he yearned to find the cauldron, to bring it in triumph to Gwydion. Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Eilonwy and Doli had proposed the surer plan.

"It seems to me, then," he began. But he had no sooner started to agree with Doli than Ellidyr thrust his way to the fireside.

"Pig-boy," Ellidyr said, "you have chosen well. Return with your friends and let us make our parting here."

"Parting?" asked Taran, puzzled.

"Do you think I would turn my back now, when the prize is nearly won?" Ellidyr said coldly. "Go your way, pig-boy, and I shall go mine― to the Marshes of Morva themselves. Wait for me at Caer Cadarn," Ellidyr added with a scornful smile. "Warm your courage beside the fire. I shall bring the cauldron there."

Taran's eyes flashed with anger at Ellidyr's words. The thought that Ellidyr should find the cauldron was more than he could bear.

"I shall warm my courage, Son of Pen-Llarcau," he cried, "in whatever fire you choose! Go back, the rest of you, if that's what you want. I was a fool to listen to the thoughts of a girl!"

Eilonwy gave a furious shriek. Doli raised a hand in protest, but Taran cut him short. He was calmer now that his first anger had passed. "This is not a game of courage," he said. "I would be twice a fool, and so should we all, to be goaded by an idle taunt. This much, at least, I have learned from Gwydion. But there is also this: Arawn seeks the cauldron even now. We do not dare lose the time it would take to bring help. If he finds the cauldron before we do…"

"And if he doesn't?" put in Doli. "How do you know he knows where it is? And if he doesn't know, how long will it take him to find out? A merry while, I'll be bound, even with all his Cauldron-Born and Huntsmen and gwythaints, and what have you! There's a risk either way, any clodpole can see that. But if you ask me, there's more risk than otherwise if you go popping off into the Marshes of Morva."

"And you, Taran of Caer Dallben," said Eilonwy, "you're only making excuses for some harebrained idea of your own. You've been talking and talking and you've forgotten one thing. You're not the one to decide anything; and neither are you, Ellidyr. Adaon commands you both, if I'm not mistaken."

Taran flushed at Eilonwy's reminder. "Forgive me, Adaon," he said, bowing his head. "I did not intend to disobey your orders. The choice is yours."

Adaon, who had been listening silently near the fire, shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "this choice cannot be mine. I have said nothing for or against your plan; the decision is greater than I dare make."

"But why?" cried Taran. "I don't understand," he said quickly and with concern. "Of all of us, you know best what to do."

Adaon turned his gray eyes toward the fire. "Perhaps you will understand one day. For now, choose your path, Taran of Caer Dallben," he said. "Wherever it may lead, I promise you my help."

Taran drew back and stood silent a moment, filled with distress and uneasiness. It was not fear touching his heart, but the wordless sorrow of dry leaves rushing desolate before the wind. Adaon continued to watch the dance of the flames.

"I shall go to the Marshes of Morva," Taran said.

Adaon nodded. "So it shall be."

No one spoke then. Even Ellidyr made no reply; he bit his lips and fingered the hilt of his sword.

"Well," said Doli at last, "I suppose I might as well go along, too. Do what I can. But it's a mistake, I warn you."

"Mistake?" cried the jubilant bard. "By no means! I wouldn't be kept away from it!"

"And I certainly won't," declared Eilonwy. "Someone has to make sure there are at least a few of us with good sense along. Marshes! Ugh! If you insist on making fools of yourselves, I wish you'd picked a drier way."

"And Gurgi will help!" shouted Gurgi, springing to his feet. "Yes, yes, with seekings and peekings!"

"Gwystyl," said Doli, with a look of resignation, "you might as well go and fetch that powder you were talking about."

While Gwystyl eagerly rummaged through the alcove, the dwarf drew a deep breath and flickered out of sight. He was back after some length of time, fully visible and looking furious, his ears trembling and rimmed with blue.

"There's five Huntsmen camped over the rise," he said. "They've settled down for the― oh, my ears― night. If that powder is any good, we can be well away before they even know we've been here."

The companions dusted their feet and the hooves of their steeds with a black substance Gwystyl distributed from a moldering sack. He seemed almost gleeful, as Taran untethered Melynlas and led the horse from behind the screen of brambles.

"Goodbye, goodbye," muttered Gwystyl. "I hate to see you waste your time, not to mention your lives. But that's the way of it, I suppose. Here today, gone tomorrow, and what's anyone to do about it? Goodbye. I hope we meet again. But not soon. Goodbye."

With that, the portal shut. Taran took a firmer grip on the bridle of Melynlas and the companions moved silently into the forest.

OUTSIDE THE WAY POST, night had already fallen; the sky was clear once more, but the chill had deepened. Adaon and Fflewddur held a hurried council on which path to follow, and agreed the company should ride westward until dawn, conceal themselves and sleep, then turn due south. As before, Eilonwy shared Melynlas with Taran, and Gurgi clung to the back of Lluagor.

Fflewddur had offered to lead the way, claiming he had never been lost and could find the Marshes with his eyes shut; after two harp strings had snapped, he reconsidered and gave up his position to Adaon. Doli, still muttering angrily about his buzzing ears, rode last, as rear guard, although he flatly refused to make himself invisible no matter what the circumstances.