Free The Black Cauldron by Lloyd Alexander Page A

firmer grip on the bridle of Melynlas and the companions moved silently into the forest.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
    A Stone in the Shoe
     
    OUTSIDE THE WAY POST, night had already fallen; the sky was clear once more, but the chill had deepened. Adaon and Fflewddur held a hurried council on which path to follow, and agreed the company should ride westward until dawn, conceal themselves and sleep, then turn due south. As before, Eilonwy shared Melynlas with Taran, and Gurgi clung to the back of Lluagor. Fflewddur had offered to lead the way, claiming he had never been lost and could find the Marshes with his eyes shut; after two harp strings had snapped, he reconsidered and gave up his position to Adaon. Doli, still muttering angrily about his buzzing ears, rode last, as rear guard, although he flatly refused to make himself invisible no matter what the circumstances.
    Ellidyr had spoken to no one since leaving the melancholy Gwystyl, and Taran had seen the cold rage in his eyes after the companions' decision to press on to the Marshes of Morva.
    “I think he really would have tried to bring back the cauldron by himself,” Taran said to Eilonwy. “And you know how much chance he would have had alone. That's the kind of childish thing I'd have done when I was an Assistant Pig-Keeper.”
    “You're still an Assistant Pig-Keeper,” answered Eilonwy. “You're going to these silly swamps because of Ellidyr, and anything else you say is pure nonsense. Don't tell me it wouldn't have been wiser to find Gwydion. But no, you have to decide the other way and drag the rest of us along.”
    Taran did not reply. Eilonwy's words stung him--- all the more because he had begun to regret his own decision. Now the companions had set off, doubts tormented him and his heart was heavy. Taran could not forget the strange tone in Adaon's voice and sought again and again to understand why he had turned from a choice rightfully his. He jogged Melynlas closer to Adaon and leaned from the saddle.
    “I am troubled,” he said in a low voice, “and I wonder now if we should not turn back. I fear you have kept something from me, and had I known what it was, I would have chosen otherwise.”
    If Adaon shared Taran's doubts, he showed no sign. In the saddle, he rode unbowed, as though he had gained new strength and the weariness of the journey could no longer touch him. On his face was a look Taran had never seen before and could not fathom. In it was pride, yet more than that; for it held, as well, a light that seemed almost joyous.
    After a long pause Adaon said, “There is a destiny laid on us to do what we must do, though it is not always given to us to see it.”
    “I think you see many things,” Taran replied quietly, “many things which you tell no one. It has long been in my mind,” he went on, with much hesitation, “and now more than ever--- the dream you had, the last night in Caer Dallben. You saw Ellidyr and King Morgant; to me, you foretold I would grieve. But what did you dream of yourself?”
    Adaon smiled. “Is that what troubles you? Very well, I shall tell you. I saw myself in a glade; and though winter lay all around, it was warm and sunlit. Birds called and flowers sprang up from bare stones.”
    “Your dream was beautiful,” said Eilonwy, “but I can't guess its meaning.”
    Taran nodded. “Yes, it is beautiful. I feared it had been unhappy and for that reason you chose not to speak of it.”
    Adaon said nothing more and Taran fell back into his own thoughts, still finding no reassurance. Melynlas moved ahead, surefooted despite the darkness. The stallion was able to avoid the loose stones and fallen branches that lay across the winding path, even without Taran's hands on the reins. His eyes heavy with fatigue, Taran leaned forward and patted the stallion's powerful neck.
    “Follow the way, my friend,” Taran murmured. “Surely you know it better than I do.”
    At daybreak Adaon raised his hand and signaled a