Lloyd Alexander - The Black Cauldron

"Do not speak of ill befalling you," Taran cried. "We are companions and protect one another against dangers. Besides, Adaon, your friendship is gift enough for me."

"Nevertheless," Adaon replied, "we cannot know all the future holds. Will you accept them?"

Taran nodded.

"It is well," Adaon said. "Now my heart is lighter."

After the meal it was decided they would rest until midday. Ellidyr made no comment when Adaon ordered him to stand the first watch. Taran rolled up in his cloak under the protection of a bush. Exhausted by the journey, and by his own doubts and fears, he slept heavily.

The sun was high when he opened his eyes. He sat up with a start, realizing his turn at guard had almost passed. Around him, the companions still slept.

"Ellidyr," he called, "why didn't you wake me?" He rose hurriedly to his feet. There was no sign of Ellidyr or Islimach.

Taran hastily roused the others. He ran a little distance into the trees, then circled back. "He's gone!" Taran cried. "He's gone after the cauldron alone. He said he would and now he's done it!"

"Stolen a march on us, has he?" grumbled Doli. "Well, we'll catch up to him, and if we don't― that's his concern. He doesn't know where he's going and, for the matter of that, neither do we."

"Good riddance to him," said Fflewddur. "If we have any kind of luck at all, we may not see him again."

For the first time Taran saw deep alarm in Adaon's face. "We must overtake him quickly," Adaon said. "Ellidyr's pride and ambition swallow him up. I fear to think what might happen should the cauldron come into his hands."

They set off with all possible haste. Adaon soon found Ellidyr's trail leading southward. "I was hoping he might have got disgusted with the whole business and gone home," said Fflewddur, "but there's no doubt of it, he's heading for Morva."

Despite their speed, the companions saw no sign of Ellidyr himself. They pressed on, urging the last strength from the laboring horses, until they were obliged to halt for breath. A cold wind had risen, swirling the leaves in great circles above their heads.

"I do not know if we can overtake him," Adaon said. "He rides as swiftly as we, and he is nearly a quarter day's journey ahead of us."

His heart pounding, Taran flung himself from Melynlas and slumped to the ground. He cradled his head in his hands. From a distance came the shrill call of a bird, the first birdsong he had heard since leaving Caer Dallben.

"That is not the true speech of a bird," Adaon cried, springing to his feet. "The Huntsmen have found us."

Without awaiting Adaon's order, the dwarf raced in the direction of the Huntsmen's signal. As Taran watched, Doli vanished before his eyes. Adaon drew his sword. "This time we must stand against them," he said. "We can run from them no longer." Quickly he commanded Taran, Eilonwy, and Gurgi to ready their bows, while he and the bard mounted their horses.

Within moments the dwarf was back again. "Five Huntsmen!" he cried. "Go on, the rest of you. I'll play them the same trick."

"No," said Adaon. "I do not trust it to work again. Hurry, follow me."

He led them through a clearing and halted at the far side. "Here we make our stand," Adaon said to Taran. "As soon as they come in sight, Fflewddur, Doli, and I will charge them from the flank. When they turn to give battle, loose your arrows."

Adaon swung around to face the clearing. In another instant the Huntsmen burst from cover. They had no sooner taken a stride forward than Adaon, with a great cry, urged his horse across the ground. Doli and the bard galloped beside him. Even as Taran drew his bow, Adaon was in the midst of the Huntsmen, striking left and right with his blade. The dwarf had pulled the stubby axe from his belt and chopped furiously at his enemies. Surprised by the fierce attack, the Huntsmen spun about to engage the riders.

Taran loosed his arrow, and heard the shafts of Eilonwy and Gurgi whistle past him. The flight of all three went wild, snatched by the wind and skittering among the dry bushes. Shouting madly, Gurgi fitted another arrow to his bow. Three Huntsmen pressed toward Fflewddur and the dwarf, forcing them into a thicket. Adaon's sword flashed and rang against the weapons of his assailants.

Now Taran dared not loose another shaft for fear of hitting one of the companions. "We are fighting uselessly," he cried, and flung his bow to the ground. He unsheathed his sword and ran to Adaon's aid. One of the Huntsmen shifted his attack to Taran, who struck out at him with all his strength. His blow glanced from the jacket of animal skins, but the Huntsman lost his footing and dropped to earth. Taran stepped forward. He had forgotten the vicious daggers of the Huntsmen until he saw the man raise himself and snatch at his belt.

Taran froze with horror. In front of him, he saw the snarling face with its crimson brand, the arm uplifted to throw the blade. Suddenly Lluagor was between him and the Huntsman. Adaon rose in the saddle and swept down with his sword. As the Huntsman toppled, the knife flew glittering through the air.

Adaon gasped and dropped his weapon. He slumped over Lluagor's mane, clutching the dagger in his breast.

With a cry of anguish, Taran caught him as he was about to fall.

"Fflewddur! Doli!" Taran shouted. "To us! Adaon is wounded!"

FFLEWDDUR'S HORSE REAREDas the Huntsmen turned their attack against him. The death of one of their band had roused the enemy to even greater violence and frenzy.

"Take him to safety!" cried the bard. With a mighty leap his steed cleared the bushes and streaked into the forest. The dwarf on his pony followed. With a shout of rage, the remaining Huntsmen pursued them.

Taran seized Lluagor's bridle and, while Adaon clung to the horse's mane, raced toward the edge of the clearing. Eilonwy ran to meet them. Between them, they kept Adaon from falling and tore their way into the undergrowth. Gurgi, leading Melynlas, hurried after them.

They ran blindly, stumbling through brambles and harsh nets of dead vines. The wind had risen, cold and biting as a winter gale, but the forest opened a little, and as the ground dipped, they found themselves in a protected hollow in a glade of alders.

From the back of Lluagor, Adaon raised his head and gestured for them to stop. His face was gray and drawn, his black hair damp on his brow. "Put me down," he murmured. "Leave me. I can go no farther. How do the bard and Doli fare?"

"They have led the Huntsmen away from us," Taran answered quickly. "We are safe here for a while. I know Doli can throw them off our trail, and Fflewddur will help him. They'll join us again somehow, I'm sure. Rest now. I'll fetch your medicines from the saddlebags."

Carefully, they lifted Adaon from his steed and carried him to a hillock. While Eilonwy brought the leather water flask, Taran and Gurgi unharnessed Lluagor and set the saddle under Adaon's head. The wind howled above the trees, but this sheltered spot, by contrast, seemed warm. The driven clouds broke away; the sun turned the branches to gold.

Adaon raised himself. His gray eyes scanned the glade and he nodded briefly. "Yes, this is a fair place. I shall rest here."

"We shall heal your wound," Taran replied, hastily opening a packet of herbs. "You'll soon be comfortable, and if we must move, we can make a litter from branches and sling it between our horses."

"I am comfortable enough," Adaon said. "The pain has gone and it is pleasant here, as warm as spring."

At Adaon's words, Taran's heart filled with terror. The quiet glade, the sun on the alders seemed suddenly menacing. "Adaon!" he cried in alarm. "This is what you dreamed!"

"It is much like it," Adaon answered quietly.