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 AWAY earthen 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.
Chapter 3
Adaon
AT FIRST LIGHT the 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.
'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.'
By day's end, they had become fast friends. At nightfall, when Taran rejoined Gwydion and his companions, Adaon camped with them. They had already crossed Great Avren and were well on their way to the borders of King Smoit's realm. Gwydion was satisfied with their progress, though he warned them the most difficult and dangerous portion of their journey was to come.
All were in good spirits save Doli, who hated riding horseback and gruffly declared he could go faster afoot. As the companions rested in a protected grove, Fflewddur offered his harp to Adaon and urged him to play. Adaon, sitting comfortably with his back against a tree, put the instrument to his shoulder. For a moment he was thoughtful, his head bowed, then his hands gently touched the strings.
The voice of the harp and Adaon's voice twined one with the other in harmonies Taran never before had heard. The tall man's face was raised toward the stars and his gray eyes seemed to see far beyond them. The forest had fallen silent; the night sounds were stilled.
The song of Adaon was not a warrior's lay but one of peacefulness and deep joy, and as Taran listened, its echoes rang again and again in his heart. He longed for the music to continue, but Adaon stopped, almost abruptly, and with a grave smile handed the harp back to Fflewddur.
The companions wrapped themselves in their cloaks and slept. Ellidyr remained aloof from them, stretched on the ground at the hooves of his roan. Taran, his head pillowed on his saddle, his hand on his new sword, was
