Read Online The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain) by Lloyd Alexander - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lloyd Alexander
Ads: Link
don’t see how you can even think about getting the cauldron away from whoever has it—and not even knowing whatever has it.
“Besides,” Eilonwy went on, “Gwydion ordered us to meet him at Caer Cadarn, and if my memory hasn’t got holes in it from all the nonsense I’ve been hearing, he didn’t say a word about going off in the opposite direction.”
“You don’t understand,” Taran retorted. “When he told us to meet him, he was going to plan a new search. He didn’t know we would find the cauldron.”
“In the first place,” Eilonwy said, “you haven’t found the cauldron.”
“But we know where it is!” cried Fflewddur. “That’s just as good!”
“And in the second place,” Eilonwy continued, ignoring the bard, “if you’ve got any news about it, the only wise thing is to find Gwydion and tell him what you know.”
“That’s sense,” put in Doli. “We’ll have enough trouble getting
to Caer Cadarn without splashing around in swamps on a wild goose chase. You listen to her. She’s the only one, outside of myself, who has any notion of what ought to be done.”
Taran hesitated. “It may be,” he said, after a pause, “that we would be wiser returning to Gwydion. King Morgant and his warriors can lend us their strength.”
He spoke these words with some effort; in the back of his mind he yearned to find the cauldron, to bring it in triumph to Gwydion. Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Eilonwy and Doli had proposed the surer plan.
“It seems to me, then,” he began. But he had no sooner started to agree with Doli than Ellidyr thrust his way to the fireside.
“Pig-boy,” Ellidyr said, “you have chosen well. Return with your friends and let us make our parting here.”
“Parting?” asked Taran, puzzled.
“Do you think I would turn my back now, when the prize is nearly won?” Ellidyr said coldly. “Go your way, pig-boy, and I shall go mine—to the Marshes of Morva themselves. Wait for me at Caer Cadarn,” Ellidyr added with a scornful smile. “Warm your courage beside the fire. I shall bring the cauldron there.”
Taran’s eyes flashed with anger at Ellidyr’s words. The thought that Ellidyr should find the cauldron was more than he could bear.
“I shall warm my courage, Son of Pen-Llarcau,” he cried, “in whatever fire you choose! Go back, the rest of you, if that’s what you want. I was a fool to listen to the thoughts of a girl!”
Eilonwy gave a furious shriek. Doli raised a hand in protest, but Taran cut him short. He was calmer now that his first anger had passed. “This is not a game of courage,” he said. “I would be twice a fool, and so should we all, to be goaded by an idle taunt.
This much, at least, I have learned from Gwydion. But there is also this: Arawn seeks the cauldron even now. We do not dare lose the time it would take to bring help. If he finds the cauldron before we do …”
“And if he doesn’t?” put in Doli. “How do you know he knows where it is? And if he doesn’t know, how long will it take him to find out? A merry while, I’ll be bound, even with all his Cauldron-Born and Huntsmen and gwythaints, and what have you! There’s a risk either way, any clodpole can see that. But if you ask me, there’s more risk than otherwise if you go popping off into the Marshes of Morva.”
“And you, Taran of Caer Dallben,” said Eilonwy, “you’re only making excuses for some harebrained idea of your own. You’ve been talking and talking and you’ve forgotten one thing. You’re not the one to decide anything; and neither are you, Ellidyr. Adaon commands you both, if I’m not mistaken.”
Taran flushed at Eilonwy’s reminder. “Forgive me, Adaon,” he said, bowing his head. “I did not intend to disobey your orders. The choice is yours.”
Adaon, who had been listening silently near the fire, shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, “this choice cannot be mine. I have said nothing for or against
“Besides,” Eilonwy went on, “Gwydion ordered us to meet him at Caer Cadarn, and if my memory hasn’t got holes in it from all the nonsense I’ve been hearing, he didn’t say a word about going off in the opposite direction.”
“You don’t understand,” Taran retorted. “When he told us to meet him, he was going to plan a new search. He didn’t know we would find the cauldron.”
“In the first place,” Eilonwy said, “you haven’t found the cauldron.”
“But we know where it is!” cried Fflewddur. “That’s just as good!”
“And in the second place,” Eilonwy continued, ignoring the bard, “if you’ve got any news about it, the only wise thing is to find Gwydion and tell him what you know.”
“That’s sense,” put in Doli. “We’ll have enough trouble getting
to Caer Cadarn without splashing around in swamps on a wild goose chase. You listen to her. She’s the only one, outside of myself, who has any notion of what ought to be done.”
Taran hesitated. “It may be,” he said, after a pause, “that we would be wiser returning to Gwydion. King Morgant and his warriors can lend us their strength.”
He spoke these words with some effort; in the back of his mind he yearned to find the cauldron, to bring it in triumph to Gwydion. Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Eilonwy and Doli had proposed the surer plan.
“It seems to me, then,” he began. But he had no sooner started to agree with Doli than Ellidyr thrust his way to the fireside.
“Pig-boy,” Ellidyr said, “you have chosen well. Return with your friends and let us make our parting here.”
“Parting?” asked Taran, puzzled.
“Do you think I would turn my back now, when the prize is nearly won?” Ellidyr said coldly. “Go your way, pig-boy, and I shall go mine—to the Marshes of Morva themselves. Wait for me at Caer Cadarn,” Ellidyr added with a scornful smile. “Warm your courage beside the fire. I shall bring the cauldron there.”
Taran’s eyes flashed with anger at Ellidyr’s words. The thought that Ellidyr should find the cauldron was more than he could bear.
“I shall warm my courage, Son of Pen-Llarcau,” he cried, “in whatever fire you choose! Go back, the rest of you, if that’s what you want. I was a fool to listen to the thoughts of a girl!”
Eilonwy gave a furious shriek. Doli raised a hand in protest, but Taran cut him short. He was calmer now that his first anger had passed. “This is not a game of courage,” he said. “I would be twice a fool, and so should we all, to be goaded by an idle taunt.
This much, at least, I have learned from Gwydion. But there is also this: Arawn seeks the cauldron even now. We do not dare lose the time it would take to bring help. If he finds the cauldron before we do …”
“And if he doesn’t?” put in Doli. “How do you know he knows where it is? And if he doesn’t know, how long will it take him to find out? A merry while, I’ll be bound, even with all his Cauldron-Born and Huntsmen and gwythaints, and what have you! There’s a risk either way, any clodpole can see that. But if you ask me, there’s more risk than otherwise if you go popping off into the Marshes of Morva.”
“And you, Taran of Caer Dallben,” said Eilonwy, “you’re only making excuses for some harebrained idea of your own. You’ve been talking and talking and you’ve forgotten one thing. You’re not the one to decide anything; and neither are you, Ellidyr. Adaon commands you both, if I’m not mistaken.”
Taran flushed at Eilonwy’s reminder. “Forgive me, Adaon,” he said, bowing his head. “I did not intend to disobey your orders. The choice is yours.”
Adaon, who had been listening silently near the fire, shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, “this choice cannot be mine. I have said nothing for or against
Similar Books
