Lloyd Alexander - The Black Cauldron

Ellidyr bowed his head. "For that I am truly sorry. I would make up the ill I have done all of you."

"Would you have said the same if the cauldron were still in your hands?" Taran asked quietly.

Ellidyr hesitated. "I shall speak the truth― I do not know. The black beast you saw is a harsh master; its claws are sharp. Yet I did not feel them until now.

"But I tell you this," Ellidyr continued, trying to lift himself, "I stole the cauldron out of pride, not evil. I swear to you, on whatever honor remains to me, I would not have used it. Yes, I would have taken your glory for my own. But I, too, would have borne the Crochan to Gwydion and offered it for destruction. Believe this much of me."

Taran nodded. "I believe you, Prince of Pen-Llarcau. And now perhaps even more than you believe it yourself."

A wind had risen, moaning through the trees and shaking the tent. The curtain blew back. Taran saw the warriors forming in ranks behind the cauldron.

ELLIDYR!" TARAN CRIED. "Have you strength enough to break your bonds and free the rest of us?"

Ellidyr rolled on his side and strained desperately against the tight cords. The bard and Taran tried to aid him, but at last Ellidyr fell back, exhausted and gasping with the pain of his efforts.

"Too much of my strength is gone," he murmured. "I fear Morgant has given me my death wound. I can do no more."

The curtain blew open again. An instant later Taran was flung full length and roughly spun around. He kicked wildly with his bound legs and tried to right himself.

"Stop struggling, you clot!" a voice shouted in his ear.

"Doli!" Taran's heart leaped. "Is it you?"

"Clever question!" snapped the voice. "Stop trying to fight me! Things are hard enough without your squirming! Whoever tied these knots, I wish he had them about his neck!"

Taran felt firm hands drawing at the thongs. "Doli! How did you come here?"

"Don't bother me with silly chatter," growled the dwarf. Taran felt a knee jabbing into the small of his back as Doli took a better grip on the bonds. "Can't you see I'm busy?" muttered the dwarf. "No, of course you can't, but that doesn't matter. Drat! If I hadn't lost my axe I'd be through this in no time! Oh, my ears! I've never stayed invisible so long at one go! Hornets! Wasps!"

Suddenly the thongs parted. Taran sat up and began as best he could to unbind his legs. In another moment Doli himself flashed into sight and set about freeing the bard. The stout dwarf was grimy, muddy, and his ears were tinged bright blue. Doli stopped his exertions to clap his hands to his head. "Enough invisibility is enough!" he cried. "No need for it here. Not yet. Bumblebees! A whole hive of them in my ears!"

"How did you ever find us?" cried Eilonwy, as the dwarf ripped away her bonds.

"If you must know," the dwarf snapped impatiently, "I didn't find you. Not at first. I found Ellidyr. Saw him come up from the river a little before Morgant reached him. I was on my way to Caer Cadarn, after I shook off the Huntsmen, to get help from Gwydion. I didn't dare waste time chasing through the Marshes after you. Ellidyr had the cauldron. And your horses, too. That got my suspicions up. So I went invisible and followed him on foot. As soon as I understood what had happened, I turned back to look for you. My pony had run off― dratted beast, we never liked each other― and you got here ahead of me."

The dwarf knelt and untied Gurgi, who had begun to show some signs of life, but hesitated when he came to Ellidyr. "What about this one?" Doli asked. "I have an idea he's better off as he is," he added gruffly. "I know what he tried to do."

Ellidyr raised his head.

Taran met his glance and gestured quickly to Doli. "Free him," Taran ordered.

Doli paused, doubtful. Taran repeated his words. The dwarf shook his head, then shrugged. "If you say so," he muttered, setting to work on Ellidyr's bonds.

While Eilonwy chafed Gurgi's wrists, the bard hurried to the tent flap and cautiously peered out. Taran searched vainly for weapons.

"I can see Morgant," Fflewddur called. "He's on his way here. Well, he shall have a surprise."

"We are unarmed!" Taran cried. "They far outnumber us and can slay us at their pleasure!"

"Rip up the back of the tent!" Doli exclaimed. "Make a run for it through the forest!"

"And leave the Crochan in Morgant's hands?" replied Taran. "No, that we dare not do!"

Ellidyr had risen to his feet. "I had not strength enough to break my own bonds," he said, "but I can still serve you."

Before Taran could stop him, Ellidyr plunged from the tent. The guards shouted the alarm. Taran saw Morgant fall back in astonishment, then draw his sword.

"Slay him!" Morgant commanded. "Slay him! Keep him from the cauldron!"

With the bard and Doli at his heels, Taran raced from the tent and flung himself against King Morgant, fighting furiously to wrest the sword from the war lord's hands. With a savage snarl, Morgant caught him by the throat and tossed him to the ground, then turned to pursue Ellidyr. The horsemen had broken ranks and hastened to close upon the running figure.

Taran scrambled to his feet. Ahead, he saw Ellidyr grappling fiercely with one of the warriors. Fighting as he had never fought before, the Prince of Pen-Llarcau, Taran knew, was calling on all the strength remaining to him. Ellidyr threw the warrior down, but faltered and cried out as the man's sword thrust deep into his side. Clutching the wound, Ellidyr stumbled ahead.

"No! No!" Taran shouted. "Ellidyr! Save yourself!"

A few paces from the cauldron, struggling madly, Ellidyr broke free of the warriors. Then, with a cry, he flung himself into the Crochan's gaping mouth.

The Crochan shuddered like a living thing. In horror and dismay, Taran cried out again to Ellidyr. He fought his way toward the cauldron, but in another instant a sharp clap, louder than thunder, rang above the clearing. The leafless trees trembled to their roots; the branches writhed as if in agony. Then, while echoes ripped the air and a whirlwind screamed overhead, the cauldron split and shattered. The jagged shards fell away from the lifeless form of Ellidyr.

A war horse burst from the thicket. Astride it rode King Smoit, a naked sword in his fist, a shout of battle on his lips. Behind the red-bearded King streamed mounted warriors, who plunged against the men of Morgant. In the press of combat, Taran glimpsed a white steed galloping to the charge.

"Gwydion!" Taran shouted and struggled to reach his side. He caught sight of Coll, then; the stout old warrior had drawn his sword and struck mightily about him. Gwystyl, with Kaw clinging to his shoulder, dashed into the fray.

Bellowing with rage, King Smoit drove straight for Morgant, who raised his sword and lashed viciously at the rearing steed. Smoit leaped to the ground. Two of Morgant's warriors threw themselves in front of him to defend their lord, but Smoit cut them down with powerful blows and strode past.

Eyes unhooded and blazing, his teeth bared, Morgant fought savagely amid the shattered pieces of the cauldron, as though he sought defiantly to claim them. His sword had broken under the force of Smoit's attack, yet he slashed and thrust again and again with the jagged blade, the grimace of hatred and arrogance frozen upon his features, his hand still clutching the bloodstained weapon even as he fell.

Morgant's riders had been slain or captured as Gwydion's voice rose in command to cease the combat. Taran stumbled to Ellidyr's side and tried to raise him. He bowed his head in grief. "The black beast is gone from you, Prince of Pen-Llarcau," he murmured.

A high-pitched whinny behind him made Taran turn. It was Islimach who had broken her tether and now stood over the body of her master. The roan lifted her lean, bony head, tossed her mane, spun about, and galloped from the clearing.