Lloyd Alexander - The Black Cauldron

Dallben straightened and turned. In his hands he held a sword.

Taran's heart leaped. He grasped the weapon eagerly, his hands trembling so that he nearly dropped it. Scabbard and hilt bore no ornament; the craftsmanship lay in its proportion and balance. Though of great age, its metal shone clear and untarnished, and its very plainness had the beauty of true nobility. Taran bowed low before Dallben and stammered thanks.

Dallben shook his head. "Whether you should thank me or not," he said, "remains to be seen. Use it wisely," he added. "I only hope you will have cause to use it not at all."

"What are its powers?" Taran asked, his eyes sparkling. "Tell me now, so that…"

"It's powers?" Dallben answered with a sad smile. "My dear boy, this is a bit of metal hammered into a rather unattractive shape; it could better have been a pruning hook or a plow iron. Its powers? Like all weapons, only those held by him who wields it. What yours may be, I can in no wise say.

"We shall make our farewells now," Dallben said, putting a hand on Taran's shoulder.

Taran saw, for the first time, how ancient was the enchanter's face, and how careworn.

"I prefer to see none of you before you leave," Dallben went on. "Such partings are one thing I would spare myself. Besides, later your head will be filled with other concerns and you will forget anything I might tell you. Be off and see if you can persuade the Princess Eilonwy to gird you with that sword. Now that you have it," he sighed, "I suppose you might just as well observe the formalities."

EILONWY WAS PUTTING AWAYearthen bowls and dishes when Taran hurried into the scullery. "Look!" he cried. "Dallben gave me this! Gird it on me― I mean, if you please. Say you will. I want you to be the one to do it."

Eilonwy turned to him in surprise. "Yes, of course," she said, blushing, "if you really…"

"I do!" cried Taran. "After all," he added, "you're the only girl in Caer Dallben."

"So that's it!" Eilonwy retorted. "I knew there was something wrong when you started being so polite. Very well, Taran of Caer Dallben, if that's your only reason you can go find someone else and I don't care how long it takes you, but the longer the better!" She tossed her head and began furiously drying a bowl.

"Now what's wrong?" asked Taran, puzzled. "I said 'please,' didn't I? Do gird it on me," he urged. "I promise to tell you what happened at the council."

"I don't want to know," answered Eilonwy. "I couldn't be less interested― what happened? Oh, here, give me that thing."

Deftly she buckled the leather belt around Taran's waist. "Don't think I'm going through all the ceremonies and speeches about being brave and invincible," said Eilonwy. "To begin with, I don't think they apply to Assistant Pig-Keepers, and besides I don't know them. There," she said, stepping back. "I must admit," she added, "it does look rather well on you."

Taran drew the blade and held it aloft. "Yes," he cried, "this is a weapon for a man and a warrior!"

"Enough of that!" cried Eilonwy, stamping her foot impatiently. "What about the council?"

"We're setting out for Annuvin," Taran whispered excitedly. "At dawn. To wrest the cauldron from Arawn himself. The cauldron he uses to…"

"Why didn't you say so right away?" Eilonwy cried. "I won't have half enough time to get my things ready. How long will we be gone? I must ask Dallben for a sword, too. Do you think I'll need…"

"No, no," Taran interrupted. "You don't understand. This is a task for warriors. We can't be burdened with a girl. When I said 'we' I meant…"

"What?" shrieked Eilonwy. "And all this while you let me think that― Taran of Caer Dallben, you make me angrier than anyone I've ever met. Warrior indeed! I don't care if you have a hundred swords! Underneath it all you're an Assistant Pig-Keeper and if Gwydion's willing to take you, there's no reason he shouldn't take me! Oh, get out of my scullery!" With a cry, Eilonwy seized a dish.

Taran hunched his shoulders and fled, while earthenware shattered behind him.

AT FIRST LIGHTthe warriors made ready to depart. Taran hurriedly saddled the gray, silver-maned Melynlas, colt of Gwydion's own steed Melyngar. Gurgi, miserable as a wet owl at being left behind, helped load the saddlebags. Dallben had changed his mind about not seeing anyone and stood silent and thoughtful in the cottage doorway, with Eilonwy beside him.

"I'm not speaking to you!" she cried to Taran. "The way you acted. That's like asking someone to a feast, then making them wash the dishes! But― farewell, anyway. That," she added, "doesn't count as speaking."

Gwydion leading, the horsemen moved through the swirling mist. Taran rose in his saddle, turned, and waved proudly. The white cottage and the three figures grew smaller. Field and orchard fell away, as Melynlas cantered into the trees. The forest closed behind Taran and he could see Caer Dallben no more.

With a whinny of alarm, Melynlas suddenly reared. As Ellidyr had ridden up behind Taran, his steed had reached out her long neck and given the stallion a spiteful nip. Taran clutched at the reins and nearly fell.

"Keep your distance from Islimach," said Ellidyr with a raw laugh. "She bites. We are much alike, Islimach and I."

Taran was about to reply angrily when Adaon, who had seen what happened, drew his bay mare to Ellidyr's side. "You are right, Son of Pen-Llarcau," Adaon said. "Your horse carries a difficult burden. And so do you."

"What burden do I carry?" cried Ellidyr, bristling.

"Last night I dreamed of us all," Adaon said, thoughtfully fingering the iron clasp at his throat. "You I saw with a black beast on your shoulders. Beware, Ellidyr, lest it swallow you up," he added, the gentleness of his tone softening the harshness of his council.

"Spare me from pig-boys and dreamers!" Ellidyr retorted, and with a shout urged Islimach farther up the column.

"And I?" Taran asked. "What did your dream tell of me?"

"You," answered Adaon, after a moment's hesitation, "you were filled with grief."

"What cause have I to grieve?" asked Taran, surprised. "I am proud to serve Lord Gwydion, and there is a chance to win much honor, more than by washing pigs and weeding gardens!"

"I have marched in many a battle host," Adaon answered quietly, "but I have also planted seeds and reaped the harvest with my own hands. And I have learned there is greater honor in a field well plowed than in a field steeped in blood."

The column had begun to move more rapidly and they quickened their steeds' gaits. Adaon rode easily and skillfully; head high, an open smile on his face, he seemed to be drinking in the sights and sounds of the morning. While Fflewddur, Doli, and Coll kept pace with Gwydion, and Ellidyr followed sullenly behind King Morgant's troop, Taran kept to Adaon's side along the leaf-strewn path.

As they spoke together to ease the rigors of their journey, Taran soon realized there was little Adaon had not seen or done. He had sailed far beyond the Isle of Mona, even to the northern sea; he had worked at the potter's wheel, cast nets with the fisherfolk, woven cloth at the looms of the cottagers; and, like Taran, labored over the glowing forge. Of forest lore he had studied deeply, and Taran listened in wonder as Adaon told the ways and natures of woodland creatures, of bold badgers and cautious dormice and geese winging under the moon.

"There is much to be known," said Adaon, "and above all much to be loved, be it the turn of the seasons or the shape of a river pebble. Indeed, the more we find to love, the more we add to the measure of our hearts."

Adaon's face was bright in the early rays of the sun, but a trace of longing had come into his voice. When Taran asked him what was amiss, he did not answer immediately, as though he wished to hold his own thoughts.