"Lie still?" cried the bard. "Not now, of all times! We must fish that vile pot out of the river!"
Taran shook his head. "The three of us will try to raise it. With a broken arm even a Fflam wouldn't be much help."
"By no means!" cried Fflewddur. "A Fflam is always helpful!" He struggled to raise himself from the ground, winced, and fell back again. Gasping with the pain of his exertion, he looked dolefully at his injury.
Taran uncoiled the ropes and, with Gurgi and Eilonwy following, made his way to the shallows. The Crochan lay half submerged in the water. The current eddied around its gaping mouth and the cauldron seemed to be muttering defiance. The sling, Taran saw, was undamaged, but the cauldron was caught firmly between the boulders. He looped a rope and cast it over a jutting leg, directing Gurgi and Eilonwy to pull when he signaled.
He waded into the river, bent, and tried to thrust his shoulder under the cauldron. Gurgi and Eilonwy hauled with all their strength. The Crochan did not move.
Soaked to the skin, his hands numb, Taran wrestled vainly with the cauldron. Breathless, he staggered back to shore where he attached ropes to Lluagor and Melynlas.
Once again Taran returned to the icy stream. He shouted to Eilonwy, who led the horses away from the river. The ropes tightened; the steeds labored; Taran heaved and tugged at the immovable cauldron. The bard had managed to regain his feet and lent what effort he could. Gurgi and Eilonwy took their places in the water beside Taran, but the Crochan resisted the force of all their muscles.
In despair Taran signaled for them to stop. Heavy-hearted, the companions returned to shore.
"We shall camp here for the rest of the day," Taran said. "Tomorrow, when we have our strength back, we can try again. There may be some other way of getting it out, I don't know. It is tightly wedged and everything we do seems to make it worse."
He looked toward the river, where the cauldron crouched like a glowering beast of prey.
"It is a thing of evil," Taran said, "and has brought nothing but evil. Now, at the last, I fear it has defeated us."
He turned away. Behind him the bushes rustled. Taran spun around, his hand on his sword.
A figure stepped from the edge of the forest.
Chapter 17
The Choice
IT WAS ELLIDYR. With Islimach following, he strode to the riverbank. Dry mud caked his tawny hair and grimed his face. His cheeks and hands had been cruelly slashed; his bloodstained jacket was half ripped from his shoulders, and he wore no cloak. Dark-ringed, his eyes glittered feverishly. Ellidyr halted before the speechless companions, threw back his head, and glanced scornfully at them.
"Well met," he said in a hoarse voice, "brave company of scarecrows." His lips drew back in a taut, bitter grin. "The pig-boy, the scullery maid― I do not see the dreamer."
"What do you here?" Taran cried, facing him angrily. "You dare speak of Adaon? He is slain and lies beneath his burial mound. You have betrayed us, Son of Pen-Llarcau! Where were you when the Huntsmen set upon us? When another sword would have turned the balance? The price was Adaon's life, a better man than you shall ever be!"
Ellidyr did not reply, but moved stiffly past Taran and squatted down near the pile of saddlebags. "Give me food," he said sharply. "Roots and rain water have been my meat and drink."
"Evil traitor!" shouted Gurgi, leaping to his feet. "There are no crunchings and munchings for wicked villain, no, no!"
"Hold your tongue," said Ellidyr, "or you shall hold your head."
"Give him food, as he asks," Taran ordered.
Muttering furiously, Gurgi obeyed and opened the wallet.
"And just because we're feeding you," cried Eilonwy, "don't think you're welcome to it!"
"The scullery maid is not pleased to see me," said Ellidyr. "She shows temper."
"Can't say I really blame her," rejoined Fflewddur. "And I don't see that you should expect anything else. You've done us a bad turn. Would you have us hold a festival?"
"The harp-scraper is still with you, at least," Ellidyr said, seizing the food from Gurgi. "But I see he is a bird with the wing down."
"Birds again," murmured the bard with a shudder. "Shall I never be allowed to forget Orddu?"
"Why do you seek us?" Taran demanded. "You were content to leave us once. What brings you here now?"
"Seek you?" Ellidyr laughed harshly. "I seek the Marshes of Morva."
"Well, you're a long way from them," Eilonwy cried. "But if you're in a hurry to get there― as I hope you are― I'll be glad to give you directions. And while you're there, I suggest you find Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch. They'll be happier to see you than we are."
Ellidyr wolfed down his food and settled himself against the saddlebags. "That is better," he said. "Now there is a bit more life in me."
"Enough to take you wherever you happen to be going," snapped Eilonwy.
"And wherever you happen to be going," replied Ellidyr, "I wish you the joy of your journey. You shall find Huntsmen enough to satisfy you."
"What," cried Taran, "are the Huntsmen still abroad?"
"Yes, pig-boy," Ellidyr answered. "All Annuvin is astir. The Huntsmen I have outrun, a noble game of hare and hounds. The gwythaints have had their sport of me," he added with a contemptuous laugh, "though it cost them two of their number. But enough remain to offer you good hunting, if that is your pleasure."
"I hope you didn't lead them to us," Eilonwy began.
"I led them nowhere," said Ellidyr, "least of all to you, since I did not know you were here. When the gwythaints and I parted company, I assure you I gave little heed to the path I chose."
"You can still choose your path," said Eilonwy, "so long as it leads you from us. And I hope you follow it as swiftly as you did when you sneaked away."
"Sneaked away?" laughed Ellidyr. "A Son of Pen-Llarcau does not sneak. You were too slow-footed for me. There were matters of urgency to attend to."
"Your own glory!" Taran replied sharply. "You thought of nothing else. At least, Ellidyr, speak the truth."
"It is true enough I meant to go to the Marshes of Morva," Ellidyr said with a bitter smile. "And true enough I did not find them. Though I should, had the Huntsmen not barred my way.
"From the scullery maid's words," Ellidyr went on, "I gather you have been to Morva."
Taran nodded. "Yes, we have been there. Now we return to Caer Dallben."
Ellidyr laughed again. "And you, too, have failed. But, since your journey was the longer, I ask you which of us wasted more of his labor and pains?"
"Failed?" cried Taran. "We did not fail! The cauldron is ours! There it lies," he added, pointing past the riverbank to the black hump of the Crochan.
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?"