Lloyd Alexander: The Black Cauldron

"Take heed, all of you," Gwydion went on. "The Huntsmen of Annuvin are abroad."

"I have faced the Cauldron-Born," Taran boldly cried. "These warriors can be no more terrible."

"Do you believe so?" Gwydion replied with a grim smile. "I dread them as much. They are ruthless as the Cauldron-Born, their strength even greater. They go afoot, yet they are swift, with much endurance. Fatigue, hunger, and thirst mean little to them."

"The Cauldron-Born are deathless," Taran said. "If these are mortal men, they can be slain."

"They are mortal," Gwydion answered, "though I scorn to call them men. They are the basest of warriors who have betrayed their comrades; murderers who have killed for the joy of it. To indulge their own cruelty they have willingly chosen Arawn's realm and have sworn allegiance to him with a blood oath even they cannot break.

"Yes," Gwydion added, "they can be slain. But Arawn has forged them into a brotherhood of killers and given them a terrible power. They rove in small bands, and within those companies the death of one man only adds to the strength of all the rest.

"Shun them," Gwydion warned. "Do not give battle if it is possible to avoid it. For the more you strike down, the more the others gain in strength. Even as their number dwindles, their power grows.

"Conceal yourselves now," he ordered, "and sleep. Out (Our?) attack must be tonight."

Restless, Taran could barely force himself to close his eyes. When he did, it was in light, uneasy slumber. He woke with a start, groping for his sword. Adaon, already awake, cautioned him to silence. The moon rode high, cold and glittering. The warriors of King Morgant's train moved like shadows. There was a faint jingle of harness, the whisper of a blade drawn from its sheath.

Doli, having turned himself invisible, had departed toward Dark Gate. Taran found the bard strapping his beloved harp more securely to his shoulders. "I doubt I'll really need it," Fflewddur admitted. "On the other hand, you never know what you'll be called on to do. A Fflam is always prepared!"

Beside him, Coll had just donned a close-fitting, conical helmet. The sight of the stouthearted old warrior, and the cap hardly seeming enough to protect his bald head, filled Taran suddenly with sadness. He threw his arms around Coll and wished him good fortune.

"Well, my boy," said Coll, winking, "never fear. We'll be back before you know it. Then, off to Caer Dallben and the task is done."

King Morgant, cloaked heavily in black, halted at Taran's side. "It would have done me honor to count you among my men," he said. "Gwydion has told me a little of you, and I have seen you for myself. I am a warrior and recognize good mettle."

This was the first time Morgant had ever spoken directly to him, and Taran was so taken aback with surprise and pleasure that he could not even stammer out an answer before the war leader strode away to his horse.

Taran caught sight of Gwydion astride Melyngar and ran to him. "Let me go with you," he pleaded again. "If I was man enough to sit with you in council and to come this far, I am man enough to ride with your warriors."

"Do you love danger so much?" asked Gwydion. "Before you are a man," he added gently, "you will learn to hate it. Yes, and fear it, too, even as I do." He reached down and clasped Taran's hand. "Keep a bold heart. Your courage will be tested enough."

Disappointed, Taran turned away. The riders vanished beyond the trees and the grove seemed empty and desolate. Melynlas, tethered among the other steeds, whinnied plaintively.

"This night will be long," Adaon said, looking intently past the shadows at the brooding heights of Dark Gate. "You, Taran, shall stand first watch; Ellidyr second, until the moon is down."

"So you shall have more time for dreaming," Ellidyr said with a scornful laugh.

"You will find no quarrel with my dreams tonight," replied Adaon good-naturedly, "for I will share the watch with both of you. Sleep, Ellidyr," he added, "or if you will not sleep, at least keep silent."

Ellidyr angrily wrapped himself in his cloak and threw himself on the ground near Islimach. The roan whickered and bent her neck, nuzzling her master.

The night was chill. Frost had begun to sparkle on the dry sedge and a cloud trailed across the moon. Adaon drew his sword and stepped to the edge of the trees. The white light caught his eyes, turning them brilliant as starshine. He was silent, head raised, alert as a wild creature of the forest.

"Do you think they've gone into Annuvin yet?" Taran whispered.

"They should soon be there," Adaon answered.

"I wish Gwydion had let me go with him," Taran said with a certain bitterness. "Or with Morgant."

"Do not wish that," Adaon said quickly. His face held a look of concern.

"Why not?" asked Taran, puzzled. "I would have been proud to follow Morgant. Next to Gwydion, he is the greatest war lord in Prydain."

"He is a brave and powerful man," Adaon agreed, "but I am uneasy for him. In my dream, the night before we left, warriors rode a slow circle around him and Morgant's sword was broken and weeping blood."

"Perhaps there is no meaning in it," Taran suggested, as much to reassure himself as Adaon. "Does it always happen― that your dreams are always true?"

Adaon smiled. "There is truth in all things, if you understand them well."

"You never told me what you dreamed of the others," Taran said. "Of Coll or good old Doli― or yourself, for the matter of that."

Adaon did not reply, but turned again and looked toward Dark Gate.

Unsheathing his sword, Taran moved worriedly to the edge of the grove.

THE NIGHT PASSED HEAVILY, and it was nearly time for Ellidyr's turn at guard, when Taran heard a rustling in the shrub. He raised his head abruptly. The sound stopped. He was unsure now that he had really heard it. He held his breath and waited, poised and tense.

Adaon, whose ears were as keen as his eyes, had also noticed it and was at Taran's side in an instant.

There was, it seemed to Taran, a flicker of light. A branch cracked nearby. With a shout, Taran swung up his blade and leaped toward it. A golden beam flashed in his eyes and a squeal of indignation struck his ears.

"Put down that sword!" Eilonwy cried. "Every time I see you, you're waving it around or pointing it at somebody."

Taran fell back dumbfounded. As he did, a dark figure bounded past Ellidyr, who sprang to his feet, his blade unsheathed and whistling through the air.

"Help! Help!" howled Gurgi. "Angry lord will harm Gurgi's poor tender head with slashings and gashings!" He scuttled halfway up a pine tree, and from the safety of his perch shook a fist at the astonished Ellidyr.

Taran pulled Eilonwy into the protection of the grove. Her hair was disheveled, her robe torn and mud-stained. "What have you done?" he cried. "Do you want us all killed? Put out that light!" He seized the glowing sphere and fumbled vainly with it.

"Oh, you'll never learn how to use my bauble," Eilonwy said with impatience. She took back the golden ball, cupped it in her hand, and the light vanished.

Adaon, recognizing the girl, put his hand anxiously on her shoulder. "Princess, Princess, you should not have followed us."

"Of course she shouldn't," Taran put in angrily. "She must return immediately. She's a foolish, scatterbrained…"

"She is uncalled and unwanted here," said Ellidyr, striding up. He turned to Adaon. "For once the pig-boy shows sense. Send the little fool back to her pots."

Taran spun around. "Hold your tongue! I have swallowed your insults to me for the sake of our quest, but you will not speak ill of another."

Ellidyr's sword leaped up. Taran raised his own. Adaon stepped between them and held out his hands. "Enough, enough," he ordered. "Are you so eager to shed blood?"