Free The Black Cauldron by Lloyd Alexander Page B

halt. Throughout the night they had ridden, as it seemed to Taran, down a long series of descending slopes. They were still in the Forest of Idris, but here the ground had leveled a little. Many of the trees were yet covered with leaves; the undergrowth was thicker; the land less stark than the hills around Dark Gate. Doli, his pony snorting white mist, galloped up to report no sign of the Huntsmen on their trail.
    “How long that sallow mealworm's powder lasts I couldn't guess,” said the dwarf. “And I don't think it'll do us that much good anyway. If Arawn's looking for the cauldron, he's going to look hard and close. The Huntsmen must know we've come in this general direction. If enough of them keep after us, sooner or later they're bound to find us. That Gwystyl--- for all the help he's been! Humph! And his crow, too. Humph! I wish we hadn't run into either of them.”
    Ellidyr had dismounted and was anxiously studying Islimach's left foreleg. Taran, too, swung down and went to Ellidyr's side. The horse whinnied and rolled her eyes as he approached.
    “She has gone lame,” Taran said. “Unless we can help her, I fear she will not be able to hold the pace.”
    “I need no pig-boy to tell me that,” answered Ellidyr. He bent and examined the mare's hoof with a gentleness of touch which surprised Taran.
    “If you lightened her burden,” Taran suggested, “it might ease her for a while. Fflewddur can take you up behind him.”
    Ellidyr straightened, his eyes black and bitter. “Do not give me council on my own steed. Islimach can go on. And so she will.”
    Nevertheless, as Ellidyr turned away, Taran saw his face fill with lines of worry. “Let me look at her,” Taran said. “Perhaps I can find the trouble.” He knelt and reached toward Islimach's foreleg.
    “Do not touch her,” cried Ellidyr. “She will not abide a stranger's hands.”
    Islimach reared and bared her teeth. Ellidyr laughed scornfully. “Learn for yourself, pig-boy,” he said. “Her hooves are sharp as knives, as you shall see.”
    Taran rose and grasped Islimach's bridle. For a moment, as the horse lunged, he feared she would indeed trample him. Islimach's eyes were round with terror; she whickered and struck out at him. A hoof glanced against his shoulder, but Taran did not loosen his hold. He reached up and put a hand to Islimach's long, bony head. The mare shuddered, but Taran spoke quietly and soothingly to her. She tossed her mane, the straining muscles relaxed; the reins went loose and she made no attempt to draw away.
    Without stopping the flow of reassuring words, Taran raised her hoof. As he had suspected, there was a small, jagged stone wedged far back behind the shoe. He drew his knife. Islimach trembled, but Taran worked quickly and deftly. The stone came free and fell to the ground.
    “This has happened even to Melynlas,” Taran explained, patting the roan's flank. “There's a place deep in the hoof anyone can miss it if they don't know. It was Coll who showed me how to find it.”
    Ellidyr's face was livid. “You have tried to steal honor from me, pig-boy,” he said through clenched teeth. “Will you now rob me of my horse?”
    Taran had expected no thanks, but the angry thrust of Ellidyr's words took him aback. Ellidyr's hand was on his sword. Taran felt a surge of answering anger, a flush rising to his cheeks, but he turned away.
    “Your honor is your own,” Taran answered coldly, “and so is your steed. What stone is in your shoe, Prince of Pen Llarcau?”
    He strode to his companions, who had taken cover in the tangle of brush. Gurgi had already opened the wallet and was proudly distributing its contents. “Yes, yes!” Gurgi cried gleefully, “crunchings and munchings for all! Thanks to generous, kindhearted Gurgi! He will not let brave warriors suffer bellies filled only with howlings and growlings!”
    Ellidyr remained behind, patting Islimach's neck and murmuring in the roan's ear. Since he made no move