long shadows of sunset gave us such height that any man could mistake our size.'
'The oak-tree cudgel,' Lord Goryon began.
'The farmer bore a stout oaken staff,' Taran said. 'His arm was strong, his blows quick, as two of your men had good reason to know. He smote with such a mighty hand, small wonder they felt a tree had fallen on them.'
Lord Goryon said nothing for a moment, but sucked a tooth and rubbed his bristling beard. 'What of the monster? A raving, ferocious creature they saw with their own eyes?'
'The monster stands before you,' Taran answered, pointing to Gurgi. 'He has long been my companion. I know him to be gentle, but the fiercest foe when roused.'
'He is Gurgi! Yes, yes!' Gurgi shouted. 'Bold, clever, and fierce to fight for kindly master!' With this he bared his teeth, shook his hairy arms, and yelled so frightfully that Goryon and his henchmen drew backward a pace.
The face of the cantrev lord had begun to furrow in deep perplexity. He shifted his bulk from one foot to another and glared at Taran. 'Shadows!' he growled. 'You mean to shadow the bravery of those who serve me. Another insult…'
'If your warriors believed they had seen what they claimed,' Taran said, 'and fought accordingly, their bravery is no less. Indeed,' he added, half under his breath, 'it is every bit as great as their truthfulness.'
'These are no more than words,' interrupted the Master of Horse. 'Show me deeds. There is no creature on four hooves that I cannot ride, save this one. You, churl, will you dare to mount?'
For answer, Taran swung quickly into the saddle. Melynlas whinnied, pawed the ground, then stood calmly. Lord Goryon choked with amazement, and the Master of Horse stared in disbelief. A surprised murmur rose from Goryon's henchmen, but Taran heard a rough laugh as one of them called, 'So ho, Goryon! A lout rides a steed a lord has not mastered, and takes your horse and honor both!'
Taran thought he had seen a faint flicker of relief in Goryon's bruised face, as though he were not altogether displeased to avoid riding Melynlas, but at the henchman's words the cantrev lord's features began to darken furiously.
'Not so!' Taran hastily cried out to the circle of men. 'Would you have your liege lord ride a pig-keeper's nag? Is that fitting to his honor?' He turned now to Goryon, for a bold thought had come to him. 'And yet, my lord, were you to take him as a gift from me…'
'What?' shouted Goryon at the top of his voice, his face turning livid. 'Insults! Impertinence! Insolence! How dare you! I take no gifts from pig-keepers! Nor will I lower myself to mount the beast again.' He flung up an arm. 'Begone! Out of my sight? your nag, your monster, and his pony along with you!'
Goryon snapped his jaws shut and said no more. Gurgi's pony was led from the stable, and under the eyes of the cantrev lord and his henchmen the two companions passed unhindered through the gate.
Taran rode slowly, head high, with all the assurance he could muster. But once out of sight of the stronghold, the companions clapped heels into their horses' flanks and galloped for dear life.
'OH, WISDOM THAT WINS horses from prideful lord!' Gurgi cried, when they had ridden far enough to be safe from any change of heart on the part of Goryon. 'Even Gurgi could not have been so clever. Oh, he wishes to be wise as kindly master, but his poor tender head has no skill in such thinkings!'
'My wisdom?' Taran laughed. 'Barely enough to make up for losing Melynlas in the first place.' He scanned the valley anxiously. Night was falling and he had hoped by this time to have come upon a farmhold where they might shelter, for the encounter with Goryon's border-band had given him no wish to learn what others might be roving the hills. But he saw neither cottage nor hut, and so pressed on through the purpling dusk.
Lights flared in a clearing ahead, and Taran reined Melynlas to a halt near a stronghold much like Lord Goryon's. But here torches blazed at every corner of the palisade, from sockets set high on either side of the gate, even at the rooftree of the Great Hall, as if in token of feasting and revelry within.
'Dare we stop here?' Taran said. 'If this cantrev lord shows us Goryon's courtesy, we'd sleep sounder in a gwythaint's nest.' Nevertheless, the hope of a comfortable bed and the torches' inviting glow made his weariness weigh all the heavier. He hesitated a moment, then urged Melynlas closer to the gate.
To the men in the watchtower Taran called out that here were wayfarers journeying to Caer Cadarn and known to King Smoit. He was relieved when the portal creaked open and the guards beckoned the pair to enter. The Chief Steward was summoned, and he led Taran and Gurgi to the Great Hall.
'Beg hospitality of my Lord Gast,' the Steward told them, 'and he will grant what he deems fitting.'
As he followed the Steward, Taran's spirits rose at the thought of a warm meal and a comfortable couch. Loud voices, laughter, and the merry notes of a harp came from the Hall. Stepping through the doorway Taran saw crowded tables on either side of a low-ceilinged room. At the far end, flanked by his henchmen and their ladies, sat a richly garbed war lord, a drinking horn in one fist and most of a joint of meat in the other.
Taran and Gurgi bowed deeply. Before they could draw closer, the harper standing in the middle of the Hall turned, cried out in surprise, and ran to them. Taran, whose hand was being shaken half off his arm, found himself blinking with happy astonishment at the long pointed nose and spiky yellow hair of his old companion, Fflewddur Fflam.
'Well met, the two of you,' cried the bard, pulling them to the high table. 'I've missed you ever since we parted. Did you not stay at Caer Dallben? When we sailed from Mona,' Fflewddur hurriedly explained, 'I really meant to leave off wandering and settle down in my own realm. Then I said to myself, Fflewddur old fellow, spring's only once a year. And here it is. And here am I. But what of yourselves? First, food and drink, and your tidings later.'
Fflewddur had brought the companions to stand before Lord Gast, and Taran saw a heavy-featured warrior with a beard the color of muddy flax. A handsome collarpiece dangled from his neck; rings glittered on fingers stout enough to crack walnuts; and bands of beaten silver circled his arms. The cantrev lord's raiment was costly and well-cut, but Taran saw it bore the spots and spatters not only of this feast but of many others long past.
The bard, with a sweep of his harp, named the companions to Lord Gast. 'These are two who sought the Black Cauldron from Arawn of Annuvin and fought at the side of Gwydion Prince of Don. Let your hospitality match their boldness.'
'And so it shall!' Gast loudly cried. 'No wayfarer can fault the hospitality of Gast the Generous!' He made place for the companions at his table and, sweeping aside the empty bowls and dishes before him, clapped his hands and bawled for the Steward. When the servitor arrived, Lord Gast commanded him to bring such an array of food and drink that Taran could hardly imagine himself eating half of it. Gurgi, hungry as always, smacked his lips in gleeful anticipation.
As the Steward left, Lord Gast took up a tale, whose matter Taran found difficult to follow, concerning the costliness of his food and his openhandedness toward travelers. Taran listened courteously through it all, surprised and delighted at his good luck in finding Gast's stronghold. Feeling more at ease, thanks to the presence of Fflewddur, Taran at last ventured to speak of his meeting with Lord Goryon.
'Goryon!' snorted Gast. 'Arrogant boor! Crude lout! Braggart and boaster! To boast of what?' He snatched up a drinking horn. 'See this?' he cried. 'The name of Gast carved upon it and the letters worked in gold! See this cup! This bowl! These ornament my common table. My storehouse holds even finer, as you shall see. Goryon! Horseflesh is all he knows, and little enough of that!'
Fflewddur, meanwhile, had raised the harp to his shoulder and began to strike up a tune. 'It's a small thing I composed myself,' he explained. 'Though I must say it's been cheered and praised by thousands…'
No sooner were the words past his lips than the harp bent like an overdrawn bow and a string broke with a loud twang. 'Drat the thing!' muttered the bard. 'Will it give me no peace? I swear it's getting worse. The slightest bit of color added to the facts and it costs me a string. Yes, as I meant to say, I know full half-a-dozen who deemed the song? ah? rather well done.' With deftness born of long, sad practice, Fflewddur knotted up the broken string.
Taran, glancing around the Hall this while, was surprised to realize the plates and drinking horns of the guests were more than half-empty and, in fact, showed no sign of ever having been full. His perplexity grew when the Steward returned to set the food-laden tray before Lord Gast, who planted his elbows on either side of it.
'Eat your fill,' cried Gast to Taran and Gurgi, pushing a small hunch of gravy-spotted bread toward them and keeping the rest for himself. 'Gast the Generous is ever openhanded! A sad fault that may turn me into a pauper, but it's my mature to be free with all my goods; I can't fight against it!'
'Generous?' Taran murmured under his breath to Fflewddur, while Gurgi, swallowing the skimpy fare, looked
