pool and, with a curse, sent the water spurting from the basin.
'It holds nothing!' Dorath burst out, his face twisting in rage.
Taran gasped and stumbled forward. Dorath drew his sword.
'My meal is ended, swineherd,' Dorath cried.
He struck heavily and the force of his onslaught sent Taran reeling from the cave. Gurgi yelled in fury and clutched at the warrior, who seized him with a powerful grasp and dashed him against the rocky wall. Snarling, Dorath sprang after Taran.
Scrambling to his feet, Taran brought up his blade to meet the warrior's attack. Dorath spat and lunged again, driving Taran toward the slope. As the warrior bore closer upon him, Taran lost his footing, stumbled backward, and dropped to one knee.
With a mocking laugh Dorath raised his weapon, and Taran saw the blade that once had been his own glint sharply as Dorath swung it down with all his strength. Taran saw his death upon him and flung up his sword in a last attempt to ward against the blow.
The blades met with a grating, ringing clash. Taran's weapon shuddered in his hand, the shock threw him to earth. Yet his blade held. The sword of Dorath shattered on it.
Cursing, Dorath flung the useless hilt at Taran's face, turned and ran to the cover of pines along the shore. Hearing her master's whistle, Dorath's sorrel mare broke from the trees. Taran sprang to pursue the fleeing warrior.
'Help, help!' Gurgi's voice cried from the cave. 'Kindly master! Oh, help wounded Gurgi!'
Hearing this Taran halted even as Dorath leaped astride his mount and galloped away. Taran raced to the cave. Within, Gurgi moaned and tried to sit up. Taran knelt quickly and saw the creature's forehead was heavily gashed, but that Gurgi's pain came more from terror than from his hurts. He carried him from the cave and propped him against a boulder.
Taran did not return to the Mirror of Llunet. Already he had seen it empty, its spattered water spread over the stones, holding only the muddy print of Dorath's boot. He sank down beside Gurgi and put his head in his hands. For long he. did not move or speak.
'Come,' he said at last, helping Gurgi to his feet. 'Come. We have far to journey.'
A light glowed in Annlaw's hut. The night was nearly spent, yet Taran saw the potter still bent over his wheel.
Annlaw rose to his feet as Taran slowly crossed the threshold. Neither spoke for some while. The potter anxiously studied Taran's face, and said at last, 'Have you looked into the Mirror, Wanderer?'
Taran nodded. 'For a few moments. But none shall look in it again. It is destroyed.' He told of Dorath and the happenings at the Lake of Llunet. When Taran had done, the potter sadly shook his head.
'You saw nothing then?' said Annlaw.
'I learned what I sought to learn,' Taran replied.
'I will not question you, Wanderer,' said Annlaw. 'But if it is in your heart to tell me, I will listen.'
'I saw myself,' Taran answered. 'In the time I watched, I saw strength? and frailty. Pride and vanity, courage and fear. Of wisdom, a little. Of folly, much. Of intentions, many good ones; but many more left undone. In this, alas, I saw myself a man like any other.
'But this, too, I saw,' he went on. 'Alike as men may seem, each is different as flakes of snow, no two the same. You told me you had no need to seek the Mirror, knowing you were Annlaw Clay-Shaper. Now I know who I am: myself and none other. I am Taran.'
Annlaw did not reply immediately. Then he said, 'If you have learned this you have learned the deepest secret the Mirror could tell you. Perhaps it was truly enchanted after all.'
'There was no enchantment,' Taran answered. He smiled. 'It was a pool of water, the most beautiful I have seen. But a pool of water, no more than that.
'At first,' he went on, 'I thought Orddu had sent a fool on a fool's errand. She did not. She meant me to see what the Mirror showed me. Any stream, any river would have given me the same reflection, but I would not have understood it then as I understand it now.
'As for my parentage,' he added, 'it makes little difference. True kinship has naught to do with blood ties, however strong they be. I think we are all kin, brothers and sisters one to the other, all children of all parents. And the birthright I once sought, I seek it no longer. The folk of the Free Commots taught me well, that manhood is not given but earned. Even King Smoit in Cantrev Cadiffor told me this, but I did not heed him.
'Llonio said life was a net for luck; to Hevydd the Smith life was a forge; and to Dwyvach the Weaver-Woman a loom. They spoke truly, for it is all of these. But you,' Taran said, his eyes meeting the potter's, 'you have shown me life is one thing more. It is clay to be shaped, as raw clay on a potter's wheel.'
Annlaw nodded. 'And you, Wanderer, how will you shape your clay?'
'I cannot stay in Merin,' Taran replied, 'much as I love it. Caer Dallben waits for me, as it has always waited. My life is there, and gladly I return to it, for I have been too long away.'
They sat silently then: Taran, Gurgi, and Annlaw Clay-Shaper. As dawn lightened, Taran clasped the potter's hand and bade him farewell.
'Good journey to you, Wanderer,' called Annlaw, as Taran swung astride Melynlas. 'Do not forget us, for we shall not forget you.'
'I have the sword I fashioned,' Taran proudly cried, 'the cloak I wove, and the bowl I shaped. And the friendship of those in the fairest land of Prydain. No man can find greater treasure.'
Melynlas pawed the ground, impatient, and Taran gave the stallion rein.
Thus Taran rode from Merin with Gurgi at his side.
And as he did, it seemed he could hear voices calling to him. 'Remember us! Remember us!' He turned once; but Merin was far behind and out of sight. From the hills a wind had risen, driving the scattered leaves before it, bearing homeward to Caer Dallben. Taran followed it.
