The Black Cauldron Read online

  "Orwen!" croaked Kaw. "Orgoch!"

  "There," said Fflewddur, looking at the bird with fascination. "He did it again."

  "It's strange," agreed Taran. "It sounded like ordorwenorgoch! And look at him, running back and forth on his perch. Do you think we've upset him?"

  "He acts as if he wants to tell us something," began Eilonwy.

  Gwystyl's face, meanwhile, had turned the color of ancient cheese.

  "You may not want us to know," said Doli, roughly seizing the terrified Gwystyl, "but he does. This time, Gwystyl, I really mean to squeeze you."

  "No, no, Doli, please don't do that," wailed Gwystyl. "Don't give him another thought. He does odd things; I've tried to teach him better habits, but it doesn't do any good."

  A flood of Gwystyl's pleading and moaning followed, but the dwarf paid it no heed, and began to carry out his threat.

  "No," squealed Gwystyl. "No squeezing. Not today. Listen to me, Doli," he added, his eyes crossing and uncrossing frantically, "if I tell you, will you promise to go away?"

  Doli nodded and relaxed his grip.

  "All Kaw meant to say," Gwystyl went on hurriedly, "is that the cauldron is in the hands of Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch. That's all. It's a shame, but there's certainly nothing to be done about it. It hardly seemed worth mentioning."

  "Who are Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch?" Taran asked. His excitement and impatience were getting the better of him, too, and he was sorely tempted to aid Doli in squeezing Gwystyl.

  "Who are they?" murmured Gwystyl. "You had better ask what are they?"

  "Very well," cried Taran, "what are they?"

  "I don't know," replied Gwystyl. "It's hard to say. It doesn't matter; they've got the cauldron and you might as well let it rest there." He shuddered violently. "Don't meddle with them; there's no earthly use in it."

  "Whoever they are, or whatever they are," cried Taran, turning to the rest of the company, "I say find them and take the cauldron. That's what we set out to do, and we should not turn back now. Where do they live?" he asked Gwystyl.

  "Live?" asked Gwystyl with a frown. "They don't live. Not exactly. It's all very vague. I really don't know."

  Kaw flapped his wings again. "Morva!" he croaked.

  "I mean," Gwystyl moaned, as the angry Doli reached for him again, "they stay in the Marshes of Morva. Exactly where, I have no idea, no idea at all. That's the trouble. You'll never find them. And if you do, which you won't, you'll wish you never had." Gwystyl wrung his bony hands, and his trembling features indeed held a look of deepest dread.

  "I have heard of the Marshes of Morva, " Adaon said. "They lie to the west of here. How far, I do not know."

  "I do!" interrupted Fflewddur. "A good day's journey, I should say. I once came upon them during my wanderings. I recall them quite clearly. Unpleasant stretch of country and quite terrifying. Not that it bothered me, of course. Undaunted, I strode through ..."

  A harp string snapped abruptly with a resounding twang.

  "I went around them," the bard corrected himself hurriedly. "Dreadful, smelly, ugly-looking fens they were. But," he added, "if that's where the cauldron is, then I say with Taran: go there! A Fflam never hesitates!"

  "A Fflam never hesitates to open his mouth," put in Doli. "Gwystyl is telling the truth for once, I'm sure of it. I've heard tales, back in Eiddileg's realm, of those--- whatever you call thems. And they weren't pleasant. Nobody knows much about them. Or, if they do, they aren't telling."

  "You should pay attention to Doli," interrupted Eilonwy, turning impatiently to Taran. "I don't see how you can even think about getting the cauldron away from whoever has it--- and not even knowing whatever has it.

  "Besides," Eilonwy went on, "Gwydion ordered us to meet him at Caer Cadarn, and if my memory hasn't got holes in it from all the nonsense I've been hearing, he didn't say a word about going off in the opposite direction."

  "You don't understand," Taran retorted. "When he told us to meet him, he was going to plan a new search. He didn't know we would find the cauldron."

  "In the first place," Eilonwy said, "you haven't found the cauldron."

  "But we know where it is!" cried Fflewddur. "That's just as good!"

  "And in the second place," Eilonwy continued, ignoring the bard, "if you've got any news about it, the only wise thing is to find Gwydion and tell him what you know."

  "That's sense," put in Doli. "We'll have enough trouble getting to Caer Cadarn without splashing around in swamps on a wild goose chase. You listen to her. She's the only one, outside of myself, who has any notion of what ought to be done."

  Taran hesitated. "It may be," he said, after a pause, "that we would be wiser returning to Gwydion. King Morgant and his warriors can lend us their strength."

  He spoke these words with some effort; in the back of his mind he yearned to find the cauldron, to bring it in triumph to Gwydion. Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Eilonwy and Doli had proposed the surer plan.

  "It seems to me, then," he began. But he had no sooner started to agree with Doli than Ellidyr thrust his way to the fireside.

  "Pig-boy," Ellidyr said, "you have chosen well. Return with your friends and let us make our parting here."

  "Parting?" asked Taran, puzzled.

  "Do you think I would turn my back now, when the prize is nearly won?" Ellidyr said coldly. "Go your way, pig-boy, and I shall go mine--- to the Marshes of Morva themselves. Wait for me at Caer Cadarn," Ellidyr added with a scornful smile. "Warm your courage beside the fire. I shall bring the cauldron there."

  Taran's eyes flashed with anger at Ellidyr's words. The thought that Ellidyr should find the cauldron was more than he could bear.

  "I shall warm my courage, Son of Pen-Llarcau," he cried, "in whatever fire you choose! Go back, the rest of you, if that's what you want. I was a fool to listen to the thoughts of a girl!"

  Eilonwy gave a furious shriek. Doli raised a hand in protest, but Taran cut him short. He was calmer now that his first anger had passed. "This is not a game of courage," he said. "I would be twice a fool, and so should we all, to be goaded by an idle taunt. This much, at least, I have learned from Gwydion. But there is also this: Arawn seeks the cauldron even now. We do not dare lose the time it would take to bring help. If he finds the cauldron before we do..."

  "And if he doesn't?" put in Doli. "How do you know he knows where it is? And if he doesn't know, how long will it take him to find out? A merry while, I'll be bound, even with all his Cauldron-Born and Huntsmen and gwythaints, and what have you! There's a risk either way, any clodpole can see that. But if you ask me, there's more risk than otherwise if you go popping off into the Marshes of Morva."

  "And you, Taran of Caer Dallben," said Eilonwy, "you're only making excuses for some harebrained idea of your own. You've been talking and talking and you've forgotten one thing. You're not the one to decide anything; and neither are you, Ellidyr. Adaon commands you both, if I'm not mistaken."

  Taran flushed at Eilonwy's reminder. "Forgive me, Adaon," he said, bowing his head. "I did not intend to disobey your orders. The choice is yours."

  Adaon, who had been listening silently near the fire, shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "this choice cannot be mine. I have said nothing for or against your plan; the decision is greater than I dare make."

  "But why?" cried Taran. "I don't understand," he said quickly and with concern. "Of all of us, you know best what to do."

  Adaon turned his gray eyes toward the fire. "Perhaps you will understand one day. For now, choose your path, Taran of Caer Dallben," he said. "Wherever it may lead, I promise you my help."

  Taran drew back and stood silent a moment, filled with distress and uneasiness. It was not fear touching his heart, but the wordless sorrow of dry leaves rushing desolate before the wind. Adaon continued to watch the dance of the flames.

  "I shall go to the Marshes of Morva," Taran said.

  Adaon nodded. "So it shall be."

  No one spoke then. Even Ellid
yr made no reply; he bit his lips and fingered the hilt of his sword.

  "Well," said Doli at last, "I suppose I might as well go along, too. Do what I can. But it's a mistake, I warn you."

  "Mistake?" cried the jubilant bard. "By no means! I wouldn't be kept away from it!"

  "And I certainly won't," declared Eilonwy. "Someone has to make sure there are at least a few of us with good sense along. Marshes! Ugh! If you insist on making fools of yourselves, I wish you'd picked a drier way."

  "And Gurgi will help!" shouted Gurgi, springing to his feet. "Yes, yes, with seekings and peekings!"

  "Gwystyl," said Doli, with a look of resignation, "you might as well go and fetch that powder you were talking about."

  While Gwystyl eagerly rummaged through the alcove, the dwarf drew a deep breath and flickered out of sight. He was back after some length of time, fully visible and looking furious, his ears trembling and rimmed with blue.

  "There's five Huntsmen camped over the rise," he said. "They've settled down for the--- oh, my ears--- night. If that powder is any good, we can be well away before they even know we've been here."

  The companions dusted their feet and the hooves of their steeds with a black substance Gwystyl distributed from a moldering sack. He seemed almost gleeful, as Taran untethered Melynlas and led the horse from behind the screen of brambles.

  "Goodbye, goodbye," muttered Gwystyl. "I hate to see you waste your time, not to mention your lives. But that's the way of it, I suppose. Here today, gone tomorrow, and what's anyone to do about it? Goodbye. I hope we meet again. But not soon. Goodbye."

  With that, the portal shut. Taran took a firmer grip on the bridle of Melynlas and the companions moved silently into the forest.

  *¤*nihua*¤*

  Chapter 8

  A Stone in the Shoe

  OUTSIDE THE WAY POST

  , night had already fallen; the sky was clear once more, but the chill had deepened. Adaon and Fflewddur held a hurried council on which path to follow, and agreed the company should ride westward until dawn, conceal themselves and sleep, then turn due south. As before, Eilonwy shared Melynlas with Taran, and Gurgi clung to the back of Lluagor. Fflewddur had offered to lead the way, claiming he had never been lost and could find the Marshes with his eyes shut; after two harp strings had snapped, he reconsidered and gave up his position to Adaon. Doli, still muttering angrily about his buzzing ears, rode last, as rear guard, although he flatly refused to make himself invisible no matter what the circumstances.

  Ellidyr had spoken to no one since leaving the melancholy Gwystyl, and Taran had seen the cold rage in his eyes after the companions' decision to press on to the Marshes of Morva.

  "I think he really would have tried to bring back the cauldron by himself," Taran said to Eilonwy. "And you know how much chance he would have had alone. That's the kind of childish thing I'd have done when I was an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

  "You're still an Assistant Pig-Keeper," answered Eilonwy. "You're going to these silly swamps because of Ellidyr, and anything else you say is pure nonsense. Don't tell me it wouldn't have been wiser to find Gwydion. But no, you have to decide the other way and drag the rest of us along."

  Taran did not reply. Eilonwy's words stung him--- all the more because he had begun to regret his own decision. Now the companions had set off, doubts tormented him and his heart was heavy. Taran could not forget the strange tone in Adaon's voice and sought again and again to understand why he had turned from a choice rightfully his. He jogged Melynlas closer to Adaon and leaned from the saddle.

  "I am troubled," he said in a low voice, "and I wonder now if we should not turn back. I fear you have kept something from me, and had I known what it was, I would have chosen otherwise."

  If Adaon shared Taran's doubts, he showed no sign. In the saddle, he rode unbowed, as though he had gained new strength and the weariness of the journey could no longer touch him. On his face was a look Taran had never seen before and could not fathom. In it was pride, yet more than that; for it held, as well, a light that seemed almost joyous.

  After a long pause Adaon said, "There is a destiny laid on us to do what we must do, though it is not always given to us to see it."

  "I think you see many things," Taran replied quietly, "many things which you tell no one. It has long been in my mind," he went on, with much hesitation, "and now more than ever--- the dream you had, the last night in Caer Dallben. You saw Ellidyr and King Morgant; to me, you foretold I would grieve. But what did you dream of yourself?"

  Adaon smiled. "Is that what troubles you? Very well, I shall tell you. I saw myself in a glade; and though winter lay all around, it was warm and sunlit. Birds called and flowers sprang up from bare stones."

  "Your dream was beautiful," said Eilonwy, "but I can't guess its meaning."

  Taran nodded. "Yes, it is beautiful. I feared it had been unhappy and for that reason you chose not to speak of it."

  Adaon said nothing more and Taran fell back into his own thoughts, still finding no reassurance. Melynlas moved ahead, surefooted despite the darkness. The stallion was able to avoid the loose stones and fallen branches that lay across the winding path, even without Taran's hands on the reins. His eyes heavy with fatigue, Taran leaned forward and patted the stallion's powerful neck.

  "Follow the way, my friend," Taran murmured. "Surely you know it better than I do."

  At daybreak Adaon raised his hand and signaled a halt. Throughout the night they had ridden, as it seemed to Taran, down a long series of descending slopes. They were still in the Forest of Idris, but here the ground had leveled a little. Many of the trees were yet covered with leaves; the undergrowth was thicker; the land less stark than the hills around Dark Gate. Doli, his pony snorting white mist, galloped up to report no sign of the Huntsmen on their trail.

  "How long that sallow mealworm's powder lasts I couldn't guess," said the dwarf. "And I don't think it'll do us that much good anyway. If Arawn's looking for the cauldron, he's going to look hard and close. The Huntsmen must know we've come in this general direction. If enough of them keep after us, sooner or later they're bound to find us. That Gwystyl--- for all the help he's been! Humph! And his crow, too. Humph! I wish we hadn't run into either of them."

  Ellidyr had dismounted and was anxiously studying Islimach's left foreleg. Taran, too, swung down and went to Ellidyr's side. The horse whinnied and rolled her eyes as he approached.

  "She has gone lame," Taran said. "Unless we can help her, I fear she will not be able to hold the pace."

  "I need no pig-boy to tell me that," answered Ellidyr. He bent and examined the mare's hoof with a gentleness of touch which surprised Taran.

  "If you lightened her burden," Taran suggested, "it might ease her for a while. Fflewddur can take you up behind him."

  Ellidyr straightened, his eyes black and bitter. "Do not give me council on my own steed. Islimach can go on. And so she will."

  Nevertheless, as Ellidyr turned away, Taran saw his face fill with lines of worry. "Let me look at her," Taran said. "Perhaps I can find the trouble." He knelt and reached toward Islimach's foreleg.

  "Do not touch her," cried Ellidyr. "She will not abide a stranger's hands."

  Islimach reared and bared her teeth. Ellidyr laughed scornfully. "Learn for yourself, pig-boy," he said. "Her hooves are sharp as knives, as you shall see."

  Taran rose and grasped Islimach's bridle. For a moment, as the horse lunged, he feared she would indeed trample him. Islimach's eyes were round with terror; she whickered and struck out at him. A hoof glanced against his shoulder, but Taran did not loosen his hold. He reached up and put a hand to Islimach's long, bony head. The mare shuddered, but Taran spoke quietly and soothingly to her. She tossed her mane, the straining muscles relaxed; the reins went loose and she made no attempt to draw away.

  Without stopping the flow of reassuring words, Taran raised her hoof. As he had suspected, there was a small, jagged stone wedged far back behind the shoe. He drew his knife. Is
limach trembled, but Taran worked quickly and deftly. The stone came free and fell to the ground.

  "This has happened even to Melynlas," Taran explained, patting the roan's flank. "There's a place deep in the hoof anyone can miss it if they don't know. It was Coll who showed me how to find it."

  Ellidyr's face was livid. "You have tried to steal honor from me, pig-boy," he said through clenched teeth. "Will you now rob me of my horse?"

  Taran had expected no thanks, but the angry thrust of Ellidyr's words took him aback. Ellidyr's hand was on his sword. Taran felt a surge of answering anger, a flush rising to his cheeks, but he turned away.

  "Your honor is your own," Taran answered coldly, "and so is your steed. What stone is in your shoe, Prince of Pen Llarcau?"

  He strode to his companions, who had taken cover in the tangle of brush. Gurgi had already opened the wallet and was proudly distributing its contents. "Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried gleefully, "crunchings and munchings for all! Thanks to generous, kindhearted Gurgi! He will not let brave warriors suffer bellies filled only with howlings and growlings!"

  Ellidyr remained behind, patting Islimach's neck and murmuring in the roan's ear. Since he made no move to join the companions at their meal, Taran called out to him. But the Prince of Pen-Llarcau only gave him a bitter glance and remained with Islimach.

  "That foul-tempered nag is the only thing he cares about," muttered the bard, "and as far as I can see, the only thing that cares about him. They're two of a kind, if you ask me."

  Adaon, sitting a little apart from the others, called Taran to him. "I commend your patience," he said. "The black beast spurs Ellidyr cruelly."

  "I think he'll feel better once we find the cauldron," Taran said. "There will be glory enough for all to share."

  Adaon smiled gravely. "Is there not glory enough in living the days given to us? You should know there is adventure in simply being among those we love and the things we love, and beauty, too.

  "But I would speak to you of another matter," Adaon went on. His handsome face, usually tranquil, was clouded. "I have few possessions, for I count them of little importance. But these few I treasure: Lluagor, my packets of healing herbs, and this," he said, touching the clasp at his throat, "the brooch I wear, a precious gift from Arianllyn, my betrothed. Should any ill befall me, they are yours. I have watched you closely, Taran of Caer Dallben. In all my journeys I have met no one else to whom I would rather entrust them."