The dwarf knelt and untied Gurgi, who had begun to show some signs of life, but hesitated when he came to Ellidyr. 'What about this one?' Doli asked. 'I have an idea he's better off as he is,' he added gruffly. 'I know what he tried to do.'
Ellidyr raised his head.
Taran met his glance and gestured quickly to Doli. 'Free him,' Taran ordered.
Doli paused, doubtful. Taran repeated his words. The dwarf shook his head, then shrugged. 'If you say so,' he muttered, setting to work on Ellidyr's bonds.
While Eilonwy chafed Gurgi's wrists, the bard hurried to the tent flap and cautiously peered out. Taran searched vainly for weapons.
'I can see Morgant,' Fflewddur called. 'He's on his way here. Well, he shall have a surprise.'
'We are unarmed!' Taran cried. 'They far outnumber us and can slay us at their pleasure!'
'Rip up the back of the tent!' Doli exclaimed. 'Make a run for it through the forest!'
'And leave the Crochan in Morgant's hands?' replied Taran. 'No, that we dare not do!'
Ellidyr had risen to his feet. 'I had not strength enough to break my own bonds,' he said, 'but I can still serve you.'
Before Taran could stop him, Ellidyr plunged from the tent. The guards shouted the alarm. Taran saw Morgant fall back in astonishment, then draw his sword.
'Slay him!' Morgant commanded. 'Slay him! Keep him from the cauldron!'
With the bard and Doli at his heels, Taran raced from the tent and flung himself against King Morgant, fighting furiously to wrest the sword from the war lord's hands. With a savage snarl, Morgant caught him by the throat and tossed him to the ground, then turned to pursue Ellidyr. The horsemen had broken ranks and hastened to close upon the running figure.
Taran scrambled to his feet. Ahead, he saw Ellidyr grappling fiercely with one of the warriors. Fighting as he had never fought before, the Prince of Pen-Llarcau, Taran knew, was calling on all the strength remaining to him. Ellidyr threw the warrior down, but faltered and cried out as the man's sword thrust deep into his side. Clutching the wound, Ellidyr stumbled ahead.
'No! No!' Taran shouted. 'Ellidyr! Save yourself!'
A few paces from the cauldron, struggling madly, Ellidyr broke free of the warriors. Then, with a cry, he flung himself into the Crochan's gaping mouth.
The Crochan shuddered like a living thing. In horror and dismay, Taran cried out again to Ellidyr. He fought his way toward the cauldron, but in another instant a sharp clap, louder than thunder, rang above the clearing. The leafless trees trembled to their roots; the branches writhed as if in agony. Then, while echoes ripped the air and a whirlwind screamed overhead, the cauldron split and shattered. The jagged shards fell away from the lifeless form of Ellidyr.
A war horse burst from the thicket. Astride it rode King Smoit, a naked sword in his fist, a shout of battle on his lips. Behind the red-bearded King streamed mounted warriors, who plunged against the men of Morgant. In the press of combat, Taran glimpsed a white steed galloping to the charge.
'Gwydion!' Taran shouted and struggled to reach his side. He caught sight of Coll, then; the stout old warrior had drawn his sword and struck mightily about him. Gwystyl, with Kaw clinging to his shoulder, dashed into the fray.
Bellowing with rage, King Smoit drove straight for Morgant, who raised his sword and lashed viciously at the rearing steed. Smoit leaped to the ground. Two of Morgant's warriors threw themselves in front of him to defend their lord, but Smoit cut them down with powerful blows and strode past.
Eyes unhooded and blazing, his teeth bared, Morgant fought savagely amid the shattered pieces of the cauldron, as though he sought defiantly to claim them. His sword had broken under the force of Smoit's attack, yet he slashed and thrust again and again with the jagged blade, the grimace of hatred and arrogance frozen upon his features, his hand still clutching the bloodstained weapon even as he fell.
Morgant's riders had been slain or captured as Gwydion's voice rose in command to cease the combat. Taran stumbled to Ellidyr's side and tried to raise him. He bowed his head in grief. 'The black beast is gone from you, Prince of Pen-Llarcau,' he murmured.
A high-pitched whinny behind him made Taran turn. It was Islimach who had broken her tether and now stood over the body of her master. The roan lifted her lean, bony head, tossed her mane, spun about, and galloped from the clearing.
Taran, understanding the frenzied look in the roan's eyes, cried out and ran after her. Islimach plunged through the undergrowth. Taran strove to overtake her and seize the hanging bridle, but the roan sped onward to the ravine. She did not check her speed even at the brink. Islimach made a mighty leap, hung poised in the air a moment, then plummeted to the rocks below. Taran covered his face with his hands and turned away.
IN THE CLEARING the bodies of King Morgant and Ellidyr lay side by side, and the remainder of King Smoit's horsemen rode in a slow, mournful circle around them. Alone and apart, Gwydion leaned heavily on the black sword Dyrnwyn, his shaggy head bent, his weathered face filled with sorrow. Taran drew near and stood silently.
At length Gwydion spoke. 'Fflewddur has told me all that befell you. My heart is grieved that Coll and I found you only now. Yet, without King Smoit and his warriors, I fear we might not have prevailed. He grew impatient and came seeking us. Had I been able to send him word, I would have summoned him long before this. I am grateful to him for his impatience.
'And to you, too, Assistant Pig-Keeper,' he added. 'The Crochan is destroyed, and with it Arawn's power to add to the number of his Cauldron-Born. It is one of the gravest defeats Arawn has ever suffered. But I know the price you paid.'
'It is Ellidyr who paid the final price,' Taran said slowly. 'The last honor belongs to him.' He spoke then of Islimach. 'He has lost all else, even his steed.'
'Or perhaps gained all,' Gwydion answered. 'And his honor shall be certain. We shall raise a barrow to his memory. Islimach, too, shall rest with him, for they are both now at peace. Smoit's dead shall also sleep in honor, and a barrow be raised above Morgant King of Madoc.'
'Morgant?' Taran asked, turning a puzzled glance to Gwydion. 'How can there be honor for such a man?'
'It is easy to judge evil unmixed,' replied Gwydion. 'But, alas, in most of us good and bad are closely woven as the threads on a loom; greater wisdom than mine is needed for the judging.
'King Morgant served the Sons of Don long and well,' he went on. 'Until the thirst for power parched his throat, he was a fearless and noble lord. In battle he saved my life more than once. These things are part of him and cannot be put aside or forgotten.
'And so shall I honor Morgant,' Gwydion said, 'for what he used to be, and Ellidyr Prince of Pen-Llarcau for what he became.'
NEAR THE TENTS of Morgant, Taran found the companions again. Under Eilonwy's care, Gurgi had recovered from the guard's blow and looked only a little shaken.
'Poor tender head is filled with breakings and achings,' Gurgi said, with a wan smile at Taran. 'He is sad not to fight at side of kindly master. He would have struck down wicked warriors, oh, yes!'
'There's been more than enough fighting,' Eilonwy said. 'I found your sword again,' she added, handing the weapon to Taran. 'But sometimes I wish Dallben hadn't given it to you in the first place. It's bound to lead to trouble.'
'Oh, I should think our troubles are over,' put in Fflewddur, cradling his injured arm. 'The beastly old kettle is smashed to bits, thanks to Ellidyr,' he went on sadly. 'The bards shall sing of our deeds? and of his.'
'I don't care about that,' grumbled Doli, rubbing his ears, which had only now begun to return to their natural color. 'I just don't want anyone, not even Gwydion, dreaming up another scheme to have me turn invisible.'
'Good old Doli,' Taran said. 'The more you grumble, the more pleased you are with yourself.'
'Good old Doli,' replied the dwarf. 'Humph!'
Taran caught sight of Coll and King Smoit resting beneath an oak. Coll had taken off his close-fitting helmet
