impatient for dawn and eager to resume the journey. Yet, as he dropped into slumber, he recalled Adaon's dream and felt a shadow like the flutter of a dark wing.
NEXT DAY THE COMPANIONS crossed the River Ystrad and began bearing northward. With much loud grumbling at being kept from the quest, King Smoit obeyed Gwydion and turned away from the column, riding toward Caer Cadarn to ready his warriors. Later, the pace of the column slowed as the pleasant meadows wrinkled into hills. Shortly after midday the horsemen entered the Forest of Idris. Here, the brown, withered grasses were sharp as thorns. Once familiar oaks and alders appeared strange to Taran; their dead leaves clung to the tangled branches and the black trunks jutted like charred bones.
At length the forest broke away to reveal sheer faces of jagged cliffs. Gwydion signaled the company forward. Taran's throat tightened. For a cold instant he shrank from urging Melynlas up the stony slope. He knew, without a word from Gwydion, that the Dark Gate of Annuvin was not far distant.
Narrow trails rising above deep gorges now forced the company to go in single file. Taran, Adaon, and Ellidyr had been jogging at the end of the column, but Ellidyr kicked his heels against Islimach's flanks and thrust his way past Taran.
'Your place is at the rear, pig-boy!' he called.
'And your place is where you earn it,' cried Taran, giving Melynlas rein to strive ahead.
The horses jostled; the riders struggled knee against knee. Islimach reared and neighed wildly. With his free hand Ellidyr seized the bridle of Melynlas to force the stallion back. Taran tried to turn his mount's head but Melynlas, in a shower of pebbles, slipped from the trail to the steep slope. Taran, flung out of the saddle, clutched at the rocks to break his fall.
Melynlas, more surefooted than his master, regained his balance on a ledge below the trail. Taran, sprawled flat against the stones, tried vainly to clamber back to the path. Adaon dismounted instantly, ran to the edge of the slope, and attempted to grasp Taran's hands. Ellidyr, too, dismounted. He brushed Adaon aside, leaped down, and seized Taran under the arms. With a powerful heave, he lofted Taran like a sack of meal to the safety of the trail. Picking his way toward Melynlas, Ellidyr put his shoulder beneath the saddle girth and strained mightily. With all his strength, little by little, he raised Melynlas until the stallion was able to clamber from the ledge.
'You fool!' Taran threw back at Ellidyr, racing to Melynlas and anxiously examining the steed. 'Has your pride crowded all the wits out of your head?' Melynlas, he saw with relief, was unharmed. Despite himself, he glanced at Ellidyr in amazement and not without a certain admiration. 'I have never seen such a feat of strength,' Taran admitted.
Ellidyr, for the first time, seemed confused and frightened. 'I did not mean for you to fall,' he began. Then he threw back his head and, with a mocking smile, added, 'My concern is for your steed, not your skin.'
'I, too, admire your strength, Ellidyr,' Adaon said sharply. 'But it is to your shame you proved it thus. The black beast rides in the saddle with you. I see it even now.'
One of Morgant's warriors, hearing the clamor, had given the alarm. A moment later Gwydion, followed by King Morgant, strode back along the trail. Behind them hurried the agitated Fflewddur and the dwarf.
'Your pig-boy had no better sense than to force his way ahead of me,' Ellidyr said to Gwydion. 'Had I not pulled him and his steed back …'
'Is this true?' Gwydion asked, glancing at Taran and his torn clothing.
Taran, about to answer, shut his lips tightly and nodded his head. He saw the look of surprise on Ellidyr's angry face.
'We have no lives to waste,' Gwydion said, 'yet you have risked two. I cannot spare a man or I would send you back to Caer Dallben this instant. But I shall, if this happens again. And you, too, Ellidyr, or any of this company.'
King Morgant stepped forward. 'This proves what I had feared, Lord Gwydion. Our way is difficult, even unburdened with the cauldron. Once we gain it, I urge you again not to return to Caer Dallben. It would be wiser to take the cauldron north, into my realm.
'I think, too,' Morgant continued, 'that a number of my own warriors should be dispatched to guard our retreat. In exchange I offer these three,' he said, gesturing toward Taran, Adaon, and Ellidyr, 'a place among my horsemen when I attack. If I read their faces well, they would prefer it to waiting in reserve.'
'Yes!' cried Taran, gripping his sword. 'Let us join the attack!'
Gwydion shook his head. 'The plan shall be as I set it. Mount quickly, we have already lost much time.'
King Morgant's eyes flickered. 'It shall be as you command, Lord Gwydion.'
'What happened?' whispered Fflewddur to Taran. 'Don't tell me Ellidyr wasn't to blame somehow. He's a trouble-maker, I can see it. I can't imagine what Gwydion was thinking of when he brought him along.'
'The blame is as much mine,' said Taran. 'I behaved no better than he did. I should have held my tongue. With Ellidyr,' he added, 'that's not easy to do.'
'Yes,' the bard sighed, glancing at his harp. 'I have a rather similar difficulty.'
THROUHGOUT THE DAY the company went with greatest caution, for flights of gwythaints, Arawn's fearsome messenger birds, were now seen against the clouds. Shortly before dusk, the trail led downward toward a shallow basin set with scrub and pines. There, Gwydion halted. Ahead rose the baleful crags of Dark Gate, its twin slopes blazing crimson in the dying sun.
Thus far the company had encountered no Cauldron-Born. Taran deemed this lucky, but Gwydion frowned uneasily.
'I fear the Cauldron-Born more when they cannot be seen,' Gwydion said, after calling the warriors around him. 'I would almost believe they had deserted Annuvin. But Doli brings news I wish I might spare you.'
'Had me turn invisible and run ahead, that's what he did,' Doli furiously muttered to Taran. 'When we go into Annuvin, I'll have to do it again. Humph! My ears already feel like a swarm of bees!'
'Take heed, all of you,' Gwydion went on. 'The Huntsmen of Annuvin are abroad.'
'I have faced the Cauldron-Born,' Taran boldly cried. 'These warriors can be no more terrible.'
'Do you believe so?' Gwydion replied with a grim smile. 'I dread them as much. They are ruthless as the Cauldron-Born, their strength even greater. They go afoot, yet they are swift, with much endurance. Fatigue, hunger, and thirst mean little to them.'
'The Cauldron-Born are deathless,' Taran said. 'If these are mortal men, they can be slain.'
'They are mortal,' Gwydion answered, 'though I scorn to call them men. They are the basest of warriors who have betrayed their comrades; murderers who have killed for the joy of it. To indulge their own cruelty they have willingly chosen Arawn's realm and have sworn allegiance to him with a blood oath even they cannot break.
'Yes,' Gwydion added, 'they can be slain. But Arawn has forged them into a brotherhood of killers and given them a terrible power. They rove in small bands, and within those companies the death of one man only adds to the strength of all the rest.
'Shun them,' Gwydion warned. 'Do not give battle if it is possible to avoid it. For the more you strike down, the more the others gain in strength. Even as their number dwindles, their power grows.
'Conceal yourselves now,' he ordered, 'and sleep. Out (Our?) attack must be tonight.'
Restless, Taran could barely force himself to close his eyes. When he did, it was in light, uneasy slumber. He woke with a start, groping for his sword. Adaon, already awake, cautioned him to silence. The moon rode high, cold and glittering. The warriors of King Morgant's train moved like shadows. There was a faint jingle of harness, the whisper of a blade drawn from its sheath.
Doli, having turned himself invisible, had departed toward Dark Gate. Taran found the bard strapping his beloved harp more securely to his shoulders. 'I doubt I'll really need it,' Fflewddur admitted. 'On the other hand, you never know what you'll be called on to do. A Fflam is always prepared!'
Beside him, Coll had just donned a close-fitting, conical helmet. The sight of the stouthearted old warrior, and the cap hardly seeming enough to protect his bald head, filled Taran suddenly with sadness. He threw his arms around Coll and wished him good fortune.
'Well, my boy,' said Coll, winking, 'never fear. We'll be back before you know it. Then, off to Caer Dallben and the task is done.'
