Ellidyr sprang to his feet and looked across the water. “How, then!” he shouted wrathfully. “Have you cheated me once more?” His face darkened with rage. “Do I risk my life again so that a pig-boy may rob me of my prize?” His eyes were frenzied and he made to seize Taran by the throat.

  Taran struck away his hand. “I have never cheated you, Son of Pen-Llarcau!” he cried. “Your prize? Risk your life? We have lost life and shed blood for the cauldron. Yes, a heavy price has been paid, heavier than you know, Prince of Pen-Llarcau.”

  Ellidyr seemed to strangle on his rage. He stood without moving, his face working and twitching. But he soon forced himself to seem again cold and haughty, though his hands still trembled.

  “So, pig-boy,” he said in a low, rasping voice, “you have found the cauldron after all. Yet, indeed, it would seem to belong more to the river than to you. Who but a pig-boy would leave it stranded thus? Did you not have wits enough or strength enough to smash it, that you must bear it with you?”

  “The Crochan cannot be destroyed unless a man give up his life in it,” Taran answered. “We have wits enough to know it must be put safely in Dallben’s hands.”

  “Would you be a hero, pig-boy?” asked Ellidyr. “Why do you not climb into it yourself? Surely you are bold enough. Or are you a coward at heart, when the test is put upon you?”

  Taran disregarded Ellidyr’s taunt. “We need your help,” he said urgently. “Our strength fails us. Help us bring the Crochan to Caer Dallben. Or at least aid us to move it to the riverbank.”

  “Help you?” Ellidyr threw back his head and laughed wildly. “Help you? So that a pig-boy may strut before Gwydion and boast of his deeds? And a Prince of Pen-Llarcau play the churl? No, you shall have no help from me! I warned you to take your own part! Do it now, pig-boy!”

  Eilonwy screamed and pointed to the sky. “Gwythaints!”

  A flight of three gwythaints soared high above the trees. Racing with the wind-driven clouds, the gigantic birds sped closer. Taran and Eilonwy caught up Fflewddur between them and stumbled into the bushes. Gurgi, almost witless with fear, pulled on the horses’ bridles, leading them to the safety of the trees. While Ellidyr followed, the gwythaints swooped downward, the wind rattling in their flashing feathers.

  With harsh and fearsome shrieking, the gwythaints circled around the cauldron, blotting out the sun with their black wings. One of the ferocious birds came to rest on the Crochan and for an instant remained poised there, beating its wings. The gwythaints made no attempt to attack the companions, but circled once again, then drove skyward. They veered north and the mountains quickly hid them.

  Pale and shaking, Taran stepped from the bushes. “They have found what they were seeking,” he said. “Arawn will soon know the Crochan waits to be plucked from our hands.” He turned to Ellidyr. “Help us,” he asked again, “I beg you. We dare not lose a moment.”

  Ellidyr shrugged and strode down the riverbank into the shallows where he looked closely at the half-sunken Crochan. “It can be moved,” he said when he returned. “But not by you, pig-boy. You will need the strength of Islimach added to your own steeds—and you will need mine.”

  “Lend us your strength, then,” Taran pleaded. “Let us raise the Crochan and be gone from here before more of Arawn’s servants reach it.”

  “Perhaps I shall; perhaps I shall not,” answered Ellidyr with a strange look in his eyes. “Did you pay a price to gain the cauldron? Very well, you shall pay another one.

  “Hear me, pig-boy,” he went on. “If I help you bear the cauldron to Caer Dallben, it shall be on my own conditions.”

  “This is no time for conditions,” cried Eilonwy. “We don’t want to listen to your conditions, Ellidyr. We’ll find our own way to get the Crochan out. Or we’ll stay here with it and one of us can go back and bring Gwydion.”

  “Stay here and be slain,” Ellidyr replied. “No, it must be done now, and done as I say or not at all.”

  He turned to Taran. “These are my conditions,” he said. “The Crochan is mine, and you shall be under my command. It is I who found it, not you, pig-boy. It is I who fought for it and won it. So you shall say to Gwydion and the others. And you shall all swear the most binding oath.”

  “No, we shall not!” cried Eilonwy. “You ask us to lie so that you may steal the Crochan and steal our own efforts with it! You are mad, Ellidyr!”

  “Not mad, scullery maid,” said Ellidyr, his eyes blazing, “but weary to my death. Do you hear me? All my life have I been forced into the second rank. I have been put aside, slighted. Honor? It has been denied me at every turn. But this time I shall not let the prize slip from my fingers.”

  “Adaon saw a black beast on your shoulders,” Taran said quietly. “And I, too, have seen it. I see it now, Ellidyr.”

  “I care nothing for your black beast!” shouted Ellidyr. “I care for my honor.”

  “Do you think,” Taran said, “I care nothing for mine?”

  “What is the honor of a pig-boy?” laughed Ellidyr, “compared to the honor of a prince?”

  “I have paid for my honor,” answered Taran, his voice rising, “more dearly than you would pay for yours. Do you ask me now to cast it away?”

  “You, pig-boy, dared reproach me for seeking glory,” said Ellidyr. “Yet you yourself cling to it with your dirty hands. I shall not tarry here. My terms or nothing. Make your choice.”

  Taran stood silent. Eilonwy seized Ellidyr by the jacket. “How dare you ask such a price?”

  Ellidyr drew away. “Let the pig-boy decide. It is up to him whether he will pay it.”

  “If I swear this,” Taran said, turning to the companions, “you must swear along with me. Once given, I will not break an oath, and it would be even more to my shame if I broke this one. Before I can decide, I must know whether you, too, will bind yourselves. On this we must all agree.”

  No one spoke. At length, Fflewddur murmured, “I put the decision in your hands and abide by what you do.”

  Gurgi nodded his head solemnly.

  “I shall not lie!” Eilonwy cried, “not for this traitor and deserter.”

  “It is not for him,” Taran said quietly, “but for the sake of our quest.”

  “It isn’t right,” Eilonwy began, tears starting in her eyes.

  “We do not speak of rightness,” Taran answered. “We speak of a task to be finished.”

  Eilonwy looked away. “Fflewddur has said the choice is yours,” she murmured at last. “I must say the same.”

  For a long moment Taran did not speak. All the anguish he had felt when Adaon’s brooch had left his hands returned to him. And he recalled Eilonwy’s words in his blackest despair, the girl’s voice telling him that nothing could take away what he had done. Yet this was the very price Ellidyr demanded.

  Taran bowed his head. “The cauldron, Ellidyr, is yours,” he said slowly. “We are at your command, and all things shall be as you say. Thus we swear.”

  Heavy-hearted and silent, the companions followed Ellidyr’s orders and once again lashed ropes around the sunken Crochan. Ellidyr hitched the three horses side by side, then attached the lines to them. While Fflewddur held the bridles with his uninjured hand, the companions waded into the shallows.

  Ellidyr, standing up to his knees in the rushing water, commanded Taran, Eilonwy, and Gurgi to post themselves on either side of the Crochan and keep it from slipping back against the boulders. He signaled an order to the waiting bard, then bent to his own task.

  As he had done with Melynlas long before, Ellidyr thrust his shoulders as far below the cauldron as the rocks allowed. His body tensed; the veins rose to bursting on his streaming forehead. Still the cauldron did not yield. Beside him, Taran and Eilonwy heaved vainly at the sling.

  Gasping for breath, Ellidyr turned once more to the Crochan. The sling creaked against the boulders; the ropes strained. Ellidyr’s shoulders were cut and bleeding, his face deathly white. He choked out another command to the companions; his muscles trembled in a final effort.

  With a cry, he pitched forward into the water, stumbling to gain his balance. Then he gave an exultant shout. The cauldron had lifted free.

  Desperately the companions labored to bring the Crochan to shore. Ellidyr seized one end of the sling and thrust ahead. The cauldron skidded to dry, firm ground.

  On the riverbank they quickly roped the sling between Melynlas and Lluagor. Ellidyr hitched up Islimach as the leading horse, to guide the others and bear a share of the weight.

  Until then Ellidyr’s eyes had burned with triumph, but now his face changed.

  “My cauldron has been won back from the river,” he said, with a curious glance at Taran. “But I think perhaps I was too hasty. You met my terms too quickly,” he added. “Tell me, what is in your mind, pig-boy?” Rage filled him again. “I know well enough! Once more you would try to cheat me!”

  “You have my oath,” Taran began.

  “What is the oath of a pig-boy?” Ellidyr said. “You gave it; you will break it!”

  “Speak for yourself,” Eilonwy said angrily. “That’s what you would do, Prince of Pen-Llarcau. But we are not like you.”

  “The cauldron needed all of us to raise it,” Ellidyr continued, lowering his voice. “But does it now need all of us to carry it? A few would serve,” he added. “Yes, yes—only a few. Perhaps only one, if he were strong enough.

  “Was my price too low?” he went on, spinning around to face Taran.

  “Ellidyr,” Taran cried, “you are truly mad.”

  “Yes!” laughed Ellidyr. “Mad to believe your word alone! The price must be silence, utter silence!” His hand moved to his sword. “Yes, pig-boy, I knew in time we should have to face one another.”

  He lunged forward, his sword out and raised. Before Taran could draw his own blade, Ellidyr swung viciously and pressed to the attack. Taran stumbled down the riverbank and leaped to a boulder, feverishly grasping for his weapon. Ellidyr strode into the water while the companions raced to stop him.

  As Ellidyr swung his blade again, Taran lost his footing and toppled from the boulder. He tried to rise, but the stones slipped from under him and he stumbled backward. He threw up his hands. The current was clutching at him and he fell. The sharp edge of a rock loomed up, and he knew no more.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Loss

  It was night when Taran came to his senses. He found himself propped against a log, a cloak wrapped around him. His head throbbed; his body ached. Eilonwy was bending over him anxiously. Taran blinked his eyes and tried to sit up. For some moments his memory held only a mingling of sights and sounds, of rushing water, a stone, a shout; his head still whirled. A yellow light shone in his eyes. He realized, as his mind gradually cleared, that the girl had lit the golden sphere and had set it on the log. Beside him, a small fire blazed. Crouched next to it, the bard and Gurgi fed twigs to the flames.

  “I’m glad you decided to wake up,” Eilonwy said, trying to appear cheerful, as Fflewddur and Gurgi came to kneel beside Taran. “You swallowed so much of the river we were afraid we’d never be able to pump it out of you, and that rap on your head didn’t help matters.”

  “The Crochan!” Taran gasped. “Ellidyr!” He looked around him. “This fire,” he murmured, “we dare not show a light—Arawn’s warriors …”

  “It was either build a fire or let you freeze to death,” said the bard, “so of course we decided on the first. At this point,” he added with a wry grin, “I doubt it can make too much difference. Since the cauldron is out of our hands, I don’t believe Arawn will have quite the same interest in us. Happily, I might say.”

  “Where is the Crochan?” Taran asked. Despite his spinning head, he raised himself from the log.

  “It is with Ellidyr,” said Eilonwy.

  “And if you ask where he is,” put in the bard, “we can answer you very quickly: we do not know.”

  “Wicked prince goes off with wicked pot,” Gurgi added. “Yes, yes, with ridings and stridings!”

  “Good riddance to them,” agreed Fflewddur. “I don’t know which is worse, the Crochan or Ellidyr. Now, at least, they’re both together.”

  “You let him go?” Taran cried in alarm. He put his hands to his head. “You let him steal the Crochan?”

  “Let is hardly the word, my friend,” the bard answered ruefully.

  “You seem to have forgotten,” Eilonwy added. “Ellidyr was trying to kill you. It’s a good thing you fell into the river, because I can tell you the goings-on weren’t very pleasant on the shore.

  “It was terrible, as a matter of fact,” the girl went on. “We’d all started after Ellidyr—by that time you were already floating down the river like a twig in a—well, like a twig in a river. We tried to save you, but Ellidyr turned on us.

  “I’m certain he meant to kill us,” Eilonwy said. “You should have seen his face, and his eyes. He was furious. Worse than that. Fflewddur tried to stand against him …”

  “That villain has the strength of ten!” said the bard. “I could barely draw my sword—it’s clumsy when you have a broken arm, you understand. But I faced him! A dreadful clash of weapons! You’ve never seen the prowess of an outraged Fflam! Another moment and I should have had him at my mercy—in a manner of speaking,” the bard added quickly. “He knocked me sprawling.”

  “And Gurgi fought, too! Yes, yes, with smitings and bitings!”

  “Poor Gurgi,” said Eilonwy, “he did his best. But Ellidyr picked him up and tossed him against a tree. When I tried to draw my bow, he snatched it away and snapped it in his hands.”

  “He chased us into the woods, after that,” Fflewddur said. “I’ve never seen a man in such a frenzy. Shouting at the top of his voice, calling us robbers and oath-breakers, and that we were trying to keep him in second place, that’s all he’s able to say or think now, if you choose to call that thinking.”

  Taran shook his head sadly. “I fear the black beast has swallowed him up as Adaon warned,” he said. “I pity Ellidyr from the bottom of my heart.”

  “I should pity him more,” muttered Fflewddur, “if he hadn’t tried to slice off my head.”

  “For long, I hated him,” Taran said, “but in the little while I bore Adaon’s brooch, I believe I saw him more clearly. His heart is unhappy and tormented. Nor shall I forget what he said to me: that I taunted him for seeking glory yet clung to it myself.” Taran spread his hands in front of him. “With dirty hands,” he said heavily.

  “Pay no heed to what Ellidyr says,” Eilonwy cried. “After what he made us do, he has no right to blame anyone for anything.”

  “And yet,” Taran said softly, almost to himself, “he spoke the truth.”

  “Did he?” said Eilonwy. “It was only too true, for his own honor he would have slain us all.”

  “We managed to escape from him,” Fflewddur continued. “That is, he finally stopped pursuing us. When we came back, the horses, the Crochan, and Ellidyr were gone. After that we followed down the river looking for you. You hadn’t gone far. But I’m still amazed that anyone can swallow so much water in such a short distance.”

  “We must find him!” Taran cried. “We dare not let him keep the Crochan! You should have left me and gone after him.” He tried to climb to his feet. “Come now, there is no time to lose!”

  Fflewddur shook his head “I’m afraid there’s no use in it, as our friend Gwystyl might say. There’s not a sign of him anywhere. We have no idea where he planned to go or what he had in mind to do. He has too long a start on us. And, though I hate to admit it, I don’t believe any one of us, or all of us together, could do very much against him.” The bard glanced at his broken arm. “We’re hardly in the best way to deal with the Crochan or Ellidyr, even if we found them.”

  Taran stared silently into the fire. “You, too, speak the truth, my friend,” he said with great gloom. “You have all done more than I could ever ask. Alas, much better than I. Yes, it would be useless now to seek Ellidyr, as useless as our quest has been. We have forfeited all for nothing—Adaon’s brooch, our honor, and now the Crochan itself. We shall return to Caer Dallben empty-handed. Perhaps Ellidyr was right,” he murmured. “It is not fitting for a pig-boy to seek the same honor as a prince.”

  “Pig-boy!” Eilonwy cried indignantly. “Don’t ever speak of yourself that way, Taran of Caer Dallben. No matter what has happened, you’re not a pig-boy; you’re an Assistant Pig-Keeper! That’s honor in itself! Not that they don’t mean the same thing, when you come right down to it,” she said, “but one is proud and the other isn’t. Since you have a choice, take the proud one!”

  Taran said nothing for a time, then raised his head to Eilonwy. “Adaon once told me there is more honor in a field well plowed than in a field steeped in blood.” As he spoke, his heart seemed to lighten. “I see now that what he said was true above all. I do not begrudge Ellidyr his prize. I, too, shall seek honor. But I shall seek it where I know it will be found.”

  The companions passed the night in the forest and next morning turned southward across gentler land. They saw neither Huntsmen nor gwythaints, and they made little attempt at concealment; for, as the bard had said, the forces of Arawn sought the Crochan and not a pitiful band of stragglers. Unburdened, they moved more easily, though without Lluagor and Melynlas their pace on foot was slow and painful. Taran trudged silently, his head bowed against the bitter wind. Dead leaves drove against his face, but he paid them no heed, filled as he was with the distress of his own thoughts.

  Some while after midday Taran caught sight of movement among the trees covering a hill crest. Foreseeing danger, he urged the companions to hurry across the open meadow and find cover in a thicket. But before they could reach it, a party of horsemen appeared at the rise and galloped toward them. Taran and the bard drew their swords, Gurgi nocked an arrow into his bowstring, and the weary band made ready to defend themselves as best they could.