Taran caught his breath. 'Even you would not be so pitiless.'
'Would we not?' answered Orddu, smiling. 'Pity, dear gosling? as you know it, at least? simply doesn't enter into the question as far as we're concerned. However,' she went on, turning to Orwen, 'that won't answer either. We already have quite enough memories.'
'Hear me then,' cried Taran, drawing himself to his full height. He clenched his hands to keep them from trembling. 'It is true I own little to treasure, not even my name. Is there nothing you will have of me? This I offer you,' he went on quickly in a low voice. He felt his brow dampen. Though he had taken this decision at Caer Dallben and weighed it carefully, with the moment upon him, he nearly, faltered and longed to turn from it.
'Whatever thing of value I may find in all my life to come,' Taran said, 'the greatest treasure that may come into my hands? I pledge it to you now. It shall be yours, and you shall claim it when you please.'
Orddu did not answer, only looked at him curiously. The other enchantresses were silent. Even Gurgi had ceased his whimpering. The shapes on the loom seemed to writhe before Taran's eyes as he waited for Orddu to speak.
The enchantress smiled. 'Does your quest mean so much that you will spend what you have not yet gained?'
'Or may never gain,' croaked Orgoch.
'No more can I offer,' Taran cried. 'You cannot refuse me.'
'The kind of bargain you propose,' said Orddu in a pleasant but matter-of-fact tone, 'is a chancy thing at best, and really satisfies no one. Nothing is all that certain, and very often we've found the poor sparrow who makes such a pledge never lives long enough to fulfill it. When he does, there is always the risk of his turning? well, shall we say? a little stubborn? It usually ends with unhappy feelings all around. Once, we might have accepted. But sad experience made us put a stop to it altogether. No, my fledgling, it won't do. We're sorry; that is, sorry as much as we can feel sorrow for anything.'
Taran's voice caught in his throat. For an instant the features of the enchantress shifted; he could not be sure whether it was Orddu, Orwen, or Orgoch whom he faced. It was as though there had risen in front of him a wall of ice which force could not breach nor pleading melt. Despair choked him. He bowed his head and turned away.
'But my dear gosling,' Orddu called cheerily, 'that's not to say there aren't others to answer your question.'
'Of course there are,' added Orwen, 'and the finding takes no more than the looking.'
'Who, then?' Taran asked urgently, seizing on this new hope.
'I recall a brown-and-orange ousel that comes once a year to sharpen his beak on Mount Kilgwyry,' said Orwen. 'He knows all that has ever happened. If you're patient you might wait and ask him.'
'Oh, Orwen,' Orddu interrupted with some impatience, 'sometimes I do believe you dwell too much in the past. Mount Kilgwyry has been worn down long ago with his pecking and the little darling has flown elsewhere.
'You're so right, dear Orddu,' replied Orwen. 'It had slipped my mind for a moment. But what of the salmon of Lake Llew? I've never met a wiser fish.'
'Gone,' muttered Orgoch, sucking a tooth. 'Long gone.'
'In any case, ousels and fishes are flighty and slippery,' Orddu said. 'Something more reliable would serve better. You might, for example, try the Mirror of Llunet.'
'The Mirror of Llunet?' Taran repeated. 'I have never heard it spoken of. What is it? Where…'
'Best yet,' Orgoch broke in, 'he could stay with us. And the gurgi, too.'
'Do try to control yourself, dear Orgoch, when I'm explaining something,' Orddu remarked, then turned back to Taran. 'Yes, perhaps if you looked into it, the Mirror of Llunet would show you something of interest.'
'But where,' Taran began again.
'Too far,' grumbled Orgoch. 'Stay, by all means.'
'In the Llawgadarn Mountains,' replied Orddu, taking him by the arm, 'if it hasn't been moved. But come along, my gosling. Orgoch is growing restless. I know she'd enjoy having you here, and with two disappointments in the same day I shouldn't want to account for her behavior.'
'But how may I find it?' Taran could do no more than stammer his question before he was outside the cottage, with Gurgi trembling at his side.
'Don't tarry in the Marshes,' Orddu called, while from within the cottage Taran heard loud and angry noises. 'Else you may regret your foolish boldness? or bold foolishness, whichever. Farewell, my robin.'
The crooked door closed tightly, even as Taran cried out for Orddu to wait.
'Flee!' Gurgi yelped. 'Flee, kindly master, while Gurgi's poor tender head is still on his shoulders!'
Despite the creature's frantic tugging at his arm, Taran stood staring at the door. His thoughts were confused, a strange heaviness had settled upon him.
'Why did she mock my bravery?' he said, frowning. 'Courage to scratch for worms? That task would be far easier than seeking the Mirror of Llunet.'
'Hasten!' Gurgi pleaded. 'Gurgi has his fill of questings. Now he is ready for returnings to safe and happy Caer Dallben, yes, yes! Oh, do not make useless peekings and seekings!'
Taran hesitated a moment longer. Of the Llawgadarn Mountains he knew only that they rose far to the east. With nothing to guide his search the journey might indeed prove useless. Gurgi looked imploringly at him. Taran patted the creature's shoulder, then turned and strode to Melynlas.
'The Mirror of Llunet is the only hope Orddu has given me,' Taran said. 'I must find it.'
While Gurgi hastily mounted his pony, Taran swung astride Melynlas. He glanced once again at the cottage, his heart suddenly uneasy. 'Given me?' he murmured. 'Does Orddu give anything for nothing?'
Chapter 2
Cantrev Cadiffor
THE TWO COMPANIONS LEFT the Marshes of Morva, pressing southeastward to the Valley Cantrevs along the Ystrad River, for Taran had decided to break his journey at Caer Cadarn, fortress of King Smoit, and ask the red- bearded King to refit them with gear sturdier than what they had brought from Caer Dallben. 'From there,' Taran told Gurgi, 'we can only search as the moment guides us. My poor tender head is full of questions,' he sighed, with a wry and regretful smile, 'but of plans, alas, none at all.'
With the Marshes many days behind, the two companions crossed the borders of Cadiffor, Smoit's realm and largest of the Valley Cantrevs. The countryside had long since changed from gray moors to green meadows and pleasantly wooded lands with farmholds nestled in the clearings. Though Gurgi eyed the dells longingly, sniffing the smoke of cookfires wafting from the cottage chimneys, Taran did not turn from the path he had chosen. By keeping a brisk pace, another three days of travel would bring them to Caer Cadarn. A little before sundown, seeing the clouds growing heavy and dark, Taran halted to find shelter in a pine grove.
He had scarcely dismounted, and Gurgi had only begun to unlash the saddlebags; when a band of horsemen cantered into the grove. Taran spun around and drew his blade. Gurgi, yelping in alarm, scurried to his master's side.
There were five riders, well-mounted and armed, their rough-bearded faces sun-blackened, their bearing that of men long used to the saddle. The colors they wore were not those of the House of Smoit, and Taran guessed the horsemen to be warriors in the service of one of Smoit's liegemen.
'Put up your blade,' commanded the leading rider, nevertheless drawing his own, reining up before the wayfarers and glancing scornfully at them. 'Who are you? Who do you serve?'
'They're outlaws,' cried another. 'Strike them down.'
'They look more like scarecrows than outlaws,' replied the leader. 'I take them for a pair of churls who have run away from their master.'
Taran lowered his sword but did not sheathe it. 'I am Taran Assistant Pig-Keeper…'
'Where then are your pigs?' cried the first rider with a coarse laugh. 'And why are you not at keeping them?' He gestured with a thumb toward Gurgi. 'Or will you tell me this? this sorry thing is one of your charges?'
'He is no piggy!' indignantly retorted Gurgi. 'No piggy at all! He is Gurgi, bold and clever to serve kindly master!'
