Lloyd Alexander - The Black Cauldron

"I chose you," Gwydion said, not unkindly, "more for your sword than for your harp."

"How's that?" asked Fflewddur. His brow wrinkled in disappointment. "Oh, I see," he added, brightening. "Yes, well, I don't deny a certain reputation along those lines. A Fflam is always valiant! I've slashed my way through thousands"― he glanced uneasily at the harp― "well, ah, shall we say numerous enemies."

"I hope you will all be as eager to accomplish your tasks once they are set out," said Gwydion, drawing a sheet of parchment from his jacket and spreading it on the table.

"We meet at Caer Dallben not only for safety," he went on. "Dallben is the most powerful enchanter in Prydain, and here we are under his protection. Caer Dallben is the one place Arawn dares not attack, but it is also the most suitable to begin our journey to Annuvin." With a finger he traced a direction northwest from the little farm. "Great Avren is shallow at this season," he said, "and may be crossed without difficulty. Once across, it is an easy progress through Cantrev Cadiffor, realm of King Smoit, to the Forest of Idris lying south of Annuvin. From there, we can go quickly to Dark Gate."

Taran caught his breath. Like all the company, he had heard of Dark Gate, the twin mountains guarding the southern approach to the Land of Death. Though not as mighty as Mount Dragon at the north of Annuvin, Dark Gate was treacherous, with its sharp crags and hidden drops.

"It is a difficult passage," Gwydion continued, "but the least guarded, as Coll Son of Collfrewr will tell you."

Coll rose to his feet. The old warrior, with his shining bald head and huge hands, looked as if he would prefer battle to discoursing in council. Nevertheless, he grinned broadly at the company and began to speak.

"We are going, as you might say, through Arawn's back door. The cauldron stands on a platform in the Hall of Warriors, which is just beyond Dark Gate, as I well remember. The entrance to the Hall is guarded, but there is a rear portal, heavily bolted. One man might open it to others if, like Doli, he could move unseen."

"I told you I wouldn't like it," Doli muttered to Taran. "This business of turning invisible! Gift? A curse! Look where it leads. Humph!" The dwarf snorted irritably but made no further protest.

"It is a bold plan," Gwydion said, "but with bold companions it can succeed. At Dark Gate, we shall divide into three bands. The first shall number Doli of the Fair Folk, Coll Son of Collfrewr, Fflewddur Fflam Son of Godo, and myself. With us will be six of King Morgant's strongest and most valiant warriors. Doli, invisible, will enter first to draw the bolts and to tell us how Arawn's guards are posted. Then we shall breach the portal and seize the cauldron.

"At the same time, on my signal, the second band of King Morgant and his horsemen will attack Dark Gate, seemingly in great strength, to sow confusion and to draw away as many of Arawn's forces as possible."

King Morgant nodded and for the first time spoke. His voice, though ice-edged, was measured and courteous. "I rejoice that we at last decide to strike directly against Arawn. I myself would have undertaken to do so long before this, but I was bound to await the command of Lord Gwydion.

"But now I say this," continued Morgant. "While your plan is sound, the path you choose is not suitable for quick retreat should Arawn pursue you."

"There is no shorter way to Caer Dallben," Gwydion answered, "and here is where the cauldron must be brought. We must accept the risk. However, if we are too sharply pressed, we shall take refuge at Caer Cadarn, stronghold of King Smoit. To this end, I ask King Smoit to stand ready with all his warriors near the Forest of Idris."

"What?" roared Smoit. "Keep me from Annuvin?" He struck the table with his fist. "Do you leave me sucking my thumbs? Let Morgant, that black-bearded, cold-blooded, slippery-scaled pike play rear guard!"

Morgant gave no sign of having heard Smoit's outburst.

Gwydion shook his head. "Our success depends on surprise and swift movement, not numbers. You, Smoit, must be our firm support should our plans go awry. Your task is no less important.

"The third band will await us near Dark Gate, to guard our pack animals, secure our retreat, and to serve as the need demands; they will be Adaon Son of Taliesin, Taran of Caer Dallben, and Ellidyr Son of Pen-Llarcau."

Ellidyr's voice rose quickly and angrily. "Why must I be held back? Am I no better than a pig-boy? He is untried, a green apple!"

"Untried!" Taran shouted, springing to his feet. "I have stood against the Cauldron-Born with Gwydion himself. Have you been better tried, Prince Patchcloak?"

Ellidyr's hand flew to his sword. "I am a son of Pen-Llarcau and swallow no insults from…"

"Silence!" commanded Gwydion. "In this venture the courage of an Assistant Pig-Keeper weighs as much as that of a prince. I warn you, Ellidyr, curb your temper or leave this council.

"And you," Gwydion added, turning to Taran, "you have repaid anger with a childish insult. I had thought better of you. Moreover, both of you shall obey Adaon in my absence."

Taran flushed and sat down. Ellidyr, too, took his place again, his face dark and brooding.

"Let us end our meeting," said Gwydion. "I shall speak with each of you later and at more length. Now I have matters to discuss with Coll. At dawn tomorrow be ready to ride for Annuvin."

As the company began leaving the chamber, Taran stepped beside Ellidyr and held out his hand. "In this task we must not be enemies."

"Speak for yourself," Ellidyr answered. "I have no wish to serve with an insolent pig-boy. I am a king's son. Whose son are you? So you have stood against the Cauldron-Born," he scoffed. "And with Gwydion? You lost no chance to make that known."

"You boast of your name," Taran replied. "I take pride in my comrades."

"Your friendship with Gwydion is no shield to me," said Ellidyr. "Let him favor you all he chooses. But hear me well, in my company you will take your own part."

"I shall take my own part," Taran said, his anger rising. "See that you take yours as boldly as you speak."

Adaon had come up beside them. "Gently, friends," he laughed. "I had thought the battle was against Arawn, not among ourselves." He spoke quietly, but his voice held a tone of command as he turned his glance from Taran to Ellidyr. "We hold each other's lives in our open hands, not in clenched fists."

Taran bowed his head. Ellidyr, drawing his mended cloak about him, stalked from the chamber without a word. As Taran was about to follow Adaon, Dallben called him back.

"You are an excellent pair of hotbloods," the enchanter remarked. "I have been trying to decide which of you is the more muddled. It is not easy," he yawned. "I shall have to meditate on it."

"Ellidyr spoke the truth," Taran said bitterly. "Whose son am I? I have no name but the one you gave me. Ellidyr is a prince―"

"Prince he may be," said Dallben, "yet perhaps not so fortunate as you. He is the youngest son of old Pen-Llarcau in the northern lands; his elder brothers have inherited what little there was of family fortune, and even that is gone. Ellidyr has only his name and his sword, though I admit he uses them both with something less than wisdom.

"However," Dallben went on, "these things have a way of righting themselves. Oh, before I forget…"

His robe flapping around his spindly legs, Dallben made his way to a huge chest, unlocked it with an ancient key, and raised the lid. He bent and rummaged inside. "I confess to a certain number of regrets and misgivings," he said, "which could not possibly interest you, so I shall not burden you with them. On the other hand, here is something I am sure will interest you. And burden you, too, for the matter of that."