The Black Cauldron: Chapters 3–4

As Ellidyr had ridden up behind Taran, his steed had reached out her long neck and given the stallion a spiteful nip.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

“My heart will be lighter when our task is done,” Adaon said at last. “Arianllyn, my betrothed, waits for me in the northern domains, and the sooner Arawn’s cauldron is destroyed, the sooner may I return to her.”

All were in good spirits save Doli, who hated riding horseback and gruffly declared he could go faster afoot.

Ellidyr remained aloof from them, stretched on the ground at the hooves of his roan.

Once familiar oaks and alders appeared strange to Taran; their dead leaves clung to the tangled branches and the black trunks jutted like charred bones.

The horses jostled; the riders struggled knee against knee.

With his free hand Ellidyr seized the bridle of Melynlas to force the stallion back.

One of Morgant’s warriors, hearing the clamor, had given the alarm. A moment later Gwydion, followed by King Morgant, strode back along the trail. Behind them hurried the agitated Fflewddur and the dwarf.

“I think, too,” Morgant continued, “that a number of my own warriors should be dispatched to guard our retreat. In exchange I offer these three,” he said, gesturing toward Taran, Adaon, and Ellidyr, “a place among my horsemen when I attack. If I read their faces well, they would prefer it to waiting in reserve.”

Ahead rose the baleful crags of Dark Gate, its twin slopes blazing crimson in the dying sun.

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

“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."

“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."

“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."

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.

Beside him, Coll had just donned a close-fitting, conical helmet.

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.

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.

He held his breath and waited, poised and tense.

Taran swung up his blade and leaped toward it. A golden beam flashed in his eyes and a squeal of indignation struck his ears.

“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.

“Oh, you’ll never learn how to use my bauble,” Eilonwy said with impatience.

“Must I hear reproof from a pig-boy?” retorted Ellidyr. “Must I let a scullery maid cost me my head?”

“Yes, yes, with whiffings and sniffings! Gurgi does not let gentle Princess go alone, oh, no! And loyal Gurgi does not leave friends behind,” he added reproachfully to Taran.

“Since you have come this far,” Adaon said, “you may await Gwydion. Although how he will deal with you two runaways may not be to your liking. Your journey,” he added, smiling at the bedraggled Princess, “seems to have been more difficult than ours. Rest now and take refreshment.”

Adaon went to the stock of provisions, while Ellidyr strode off to his guard post. Taran sat down wearily on a boulder, his sword across his knees.