Lloyd Alexander - The Black Cauldron

Ellidyr had spoken to no one since leaving the melancholy Gwystyl, and Taran had seen the cold rage in his eyes after the companions' decision to press on to the Marshes of Morva.

"I think he really would have tried to bring back the cauldron by himself," Taran said to Eilonwy. "And you know how much chance he would have had alone. That's the kind of childish thing I'd have done when I was an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

"You're still an Assistant Pig-Keeper," answered Eilonwy. "You're going to these silly swamps because of Ellidyr, and anything else you say is pure nonsense. Don't tell me it wouldn't have been wiser to find Gwydion. But no, you have to decide the other way and drag the rest of us along."

Taran did not reply. Eilonwy's words stung him― all the more because he had begun to regret his own decision. Now the companions had set off, doubts tormented him and his heart was heavy. Taran could not forget the strange tone in Adaon's voice and sought again and again to understand why he had turned from a choice rightfully his. He jogged Melynlas closer to Adaon and leaned from the saddle.

"I am troubled," he said in a low voice, "and I wonder now if we should not turn back. I fear you have kept something from me, and had I known what it was, I would have chosen otherwise."

If Adaon shared Taran's doubts, he showed no sign. In the saddle, he rode unbowed, as though he had gained new strength and the weariness of the journey could no longer touch him. On his face was a look Taran had never seen before and could not fathom. In it was pride, yet more than that; for it held, as well, a light that seemed almost joyous.

After a long pause Adaon said, "There is a destiny laid on us to do what we must do, though it is not always given to us to see it."

"I think you see many things," Taran replied quietly, "many things which you tell no one. It has long been in my mind," he went on, with much hesitation, "and now more than ever― the dream you had, the last night in Caer Dallben. You saw Ellidyr and King Morgant; to me, you foretold I would grieve. But what did you dream of yourself?"

Adaon smiled. "Is that what troubles you? Very well, I shall tell you. I saw myself in a glade; and though winter lay all around, it was warm and sunlit. Birds called and flowers sprang up from bare stones."

"Your dream was beautiful," said Eilonwy, "but I can't guess its meaning."

Taran nodded. "Yes, it is beautiful. I feared it had been unhappy and for that reason you chose not to speak of it."

Adaon said nothing more and Taran fell back into his own thoughts, still finding no reassurance. Melynlas moved ahead, surefooted despite the darkness. The stallion was able to avoid the loose stones and fallen branches that lay across the winding path, even without Taran's hands on the reins. His eyes heavy with fatigue, Taran leaned forward and patted the stallion's powerful neck.

"Follow the way, my friend," Taran murmured. "Surely you know it better than I do."

At daybreak Adaon raised his hand and signaled a halt. Throughout the night they had ridden, as it seemed to Taran, down a long series of descending slopes. They were still in the Forest of Idris, but here the ground had leveled a little. Many of the trees were yet covered with leaves; the undergrowth was thicker; the land less stark than the hills around Dark Gate. Doli, his pony snorting white mist, galloped up to report no sign of the Huntsmen on their trail.

"How long that sallow mealworm's powder lasts I couldn't guess," said the dwarf. "And I don't think it'll do us that much good anyway. If Arawn's looking for the cauldron, he's going to look hard and close. The Huntsmen must know we've come in this general direction. If enough of them keep after us, sooner or later they're bound to find us. That Gwystyl― for all the help he's been! Humph! And his crow, too. Humph! I wish we hadn't run into either of them."

Ellidyr had dismounted and was anxiously studying Islimach's left foreleg. Taran, too, swung down and went to Ellidyr's side. The horse whinnied and rolled her eyes as he approached.

"She has gone lame," Taran said. "Unless we can help her, I fear she will not be able to hold the pace."

"I need no pig-boy to tell me that," answered Ellidyr. He bent and examined the mare's hoof with a gentleness of touch which surprised Taran.

"If you lightened her burden," Taran suggested, "it might ease her for a while. Fflewddur can take you up behind him."

Ellidyr straightened, his eyes black and bitter. "Do not give me council on my own steed. Islimach can go on. And so she will."

Nevertheless, as Ellidyr turned away, Taran saw his face fill with lines of worry. "Let me look at her," Taran said. "Perhaps I can find the trouble." He knelt and reached toward Islimach's foreleg.

"Do not touch her," cried Ellidyr. "She will not abide a stranger's hands."

Islimach reared and bared her teeth. Ellidyr laughed scornfully. "Learn for yourself, pig-boy," he said. "Her hooves are sharp as knives, as you shall see."

Taran rose and grasped Islimach's bridle. For a moment, as the horse lunged, he feared she would indeed trample him. Islimach's eyes were round with terror; she whickered and struck out at him. A hoof glanced against his shoulder, but Taran did not loosen his hold. He reached up and put a hand to Islimach's long, bony head. The mare shuddered, but Taran spoke quietly and soothingly to her. She tossed her mane, the straining muscles relaxed; the reins went loose and she made no attempt to draw away.

Without stopping the flow of reassuring words, Taran raised her hoof. As he had suspected, there was a small, jagged stone wedged far back behind the shoe. He drew his knife. Islimach trembled, but Taran worked quickly and deftly. The stone came free and fell to the ground.

"This has happened even to Melynlas," Taran explained, patting the roan's flank. "There's a place deep in the hoof anyone can miss it if they don't know. It was Coll who showed me how to find it."

Ellidyr's face was livid. "You have tried to steal honor from me, pig-boy," he said through clenched teeth. "Will you now rob me of my horse?"

Taran had expected no thanks, but the angry thrust of Ellidyr's words took him aback. Ellidyr's hand was on his sword. Taran felt a surge of answering anger, a flush rising to his cheeks, but he turned away.

"Your honor is your own," Taran answered coldly, "and so is your steed. What stone is in your shoe, Prince of Pen Llarcau?"

He strode to his companions, who had taken cover in the tangle of brush. Gurgi had already opened the wallet and was proudly distributing its contents. "Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried gleefully, "crunchings and munchings for all! Thanks to generous, kindhearted Gurgi! He will not let brave warriors suffer bellies filled only with howlings and growlings!"

Ellidyr remained behind, patting Islimach's neck and murmuring in the roan's ear. Since he made no move to join the companions at their meal, Taran called out to him. But the Prince of Pen-Llarcau only gave him a bitter glance and remained with Islimach.

"That foul-tempered nag is the only thing he cares about," muttered the bard, "and as far as I can see, the only thing that cares about him. They're two of a kind, if you ask me."

Adaon, sitting a little apart from the others, called Taran to him. "I commend your patience," he said. "The black beast spurs Ellidyr cruelly."

"I think he'll feel better once we find the cauldron," Taran said. "There will be glory enough for all to share."

Adaon smiled gravely. "Is there not glory enough in living the days given to us? You should know there is adventure in simply being among those we love and the things we love, and beauty, too.

"But I would speak to you of another matter," Adaon went on. His handsome face, usually tranquil, was clouded. "I have few possessions, for I count them of little importance. But these few I treasure: Lluagor, my packets of healing herbs, and this," he said, touching the clasp at his throat, "the brooch I wear, a precious gift from Arianllyn, my betrothed. Should any ill befall me, they are yours. I have watched you closely, Taran of Caer Dallben. In all my journeys I have met no one else to whom I would rather entrust them."