Taran nodded and unthinkingly raised the horn to his lips.
“Not now, you clot!” shouted Doli. “Keep it in your head. I told you there was only one summons. Save it. Don’t waste it. Someday, your life may hang on that call.”
Taran stared in wonder at the horn. “Eilonwy herself knew nothing of this. You’ve done me a priceless favor, Doli.”
“Favor?” snorted the dwarf. “No favor at all. The horn serves whoever happens to have it—in this case, you. I’ve done nothing but show you how to gain a little more use from something already yours. Favor? Humph! It’s only common courtesy. But guard it well. Squander it like a fool at the first whiff of danger and you’ll regret it when you really are in trouble.”
“Ahem,” Fflewddur whispered to Taran. “My own counsel to you is: Trust your wits, your sword, or your legs. Enchantment is enchantment, and if you’d been through what I’ve been through, you’d want no part of it.” He frowned uneasily at the battle horn and turned away. “I’ll never be the same, that’s sure!” he muttered, nervously patting his ears. “Great Belin, they still feel twice as long as before!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dorath
After eating, the companions stretched themselves on the turf and slept solidly the rest of the day and all that night. In the morning Doli took his leave of them. Kaw, at Doli’s request, had already begun flying to the Fair Folk realm with tidings that all was well; from there, the crow would rejoin Taran.
“I’d go with you if I could,” the dwarf said to Taran. “The thought of an Assistant Pig-Keeper blundering his way through the Llawgadarn Mountains makes my hair stand on end. But I dare not. Eiddileg must have the jewel safely. And who’s to bring it to him? Good old Doli! Humph!”
“It saddens me to part with you,” Taran said, “but you’ve helped me more than I could hope. The Lake of Llunet bears the same name as the Mirror and perhaps will lead me to it.”
“Farewell, then,” said Doli. “You’ve kept us all from being frogs or worse and restored a treasure to us. You’ll not regret it. We Fair Folk have long memories.”
The dwarf clasped hands with the travelers, and pulled his leather cap tighter on his head. Doli waved one last time, and Taran watched the dwarf’s stumpy figure trudging steadily across a broad meadow, growing smaller in the distance until he vanished into the skirting woods and Taran saw him no more.
Through the day the companions bore northeastward again. Taran would have been glad for Doli’s guidance and keenly missed the gruff dwarf, but his spirits had never been higher; he rode eagerly, lightheartedly; the battle horn swinging from his shoulder gave him fresh courage and confidence.
“Eilonwy’s gift is more precious even than I thought,” he told Fflewddur. “I’m grateful to Doli for telling me its power. And more than that, for telling me of the Lake of Llunet. It’s a strange thing, Fflewddur,” Taran went on, “but somehow I feel closer to the end of my quest. I believe more than ever that I’ll find what I’m looking for.”
“Eh? How’s that?” Fflewddur answered, blinking as if he had just come awake. Though Gurgi had put all thoughts of Morda behind him, the bard seemed still shaken by his ordeal, and often lapsed into thoughtful silence when he would morosely finger his ears as though expecting them to lengthen at any moment. “Dreadful experience!” he muttered now. “A Fflam into a rabbit! What were you saying? The quest? Yes, of course.”
“Smell with whiffings!” interrupted Gurgi. “Someone cooks tasty crunchings and munchings!”
“You’re right,” Fflewddur agreed, sniffing the air. “Oh, blast! There goes my nose twitching again!”
Taran reined Melynlas to a walk. Llyan, too, had caught the scent; her ears forward, she licked hungrily at her whiskers.
“Shall we see who it is?” asked Fflewddur. “I wouldn’t say no to a hot meal—so long as it isn’t rabbit!”
Taran nodded and the companions rode cautiously through the glade. He had meant to catch a first glimpse of the strangers without himself being seen; but he had gone no more than a few paces when two roughly bearded men rose from the shadows of the bushes. Taran started. The two, evidently posted as guards, quickly drew their swords. One of the men whistled a bird call and stared sharply at the companions, but made no attempt to hinder them.
In the clearing Taran saw some dozen men sprawled around a cook fire, where collops of meat hung sizzling on a spit. Though armed heavily as warriors, the men wore neither the badge nor colors of any cantrev lord. Some were chewing at their food, some sharpening their blades or waxing their bowstrings. Closest to the fire, stretched at his ease, a heavy-faced man leaned on one elbow and toyed with a long dagger, which he tossed and twirled, catching it first by the hilt, then by the point. He wore a horsehide jacket whose sleeves had been ripped out; his muddy boots were thick-soled and studded with iron nails. His yellowish hair fell below his shoulders; his cold blue eyes seemed to measure the three companions with an unhurried glance.
“Welcome, lordships,” he drawled as Taran dismounted. “What lucky wind blows you to the camp of Dorath?”
“I am no lord,” replied Taran. “I am Taran Assistant Pig-Keeper …”
“No lord?” Dorath interrupted in mock surprise, a half-smile on his mouth. “If you hadn’t told me, I’d never have guessed.”
“These are my comrades,” Taran went on, vexed that he had let Dorath make sport of him. “Gurgi. Fflewddur Fflam—he wanders as a bard of the harp, but in his own land he is a king.”
“And Dorath is king wherever he rides,” answered the yellow-haired man, laughing. “Now, Lord Swineherd, will you share humble fare?” With his dagger he gestured toward the roasting collops. “Eat your fill. Dorath’s Company never goes short of commons. Then we’ll want to know more about three such as you.”
“The harper rides a strange steed, Dorath,” called a man with a badly scarred face. “I wager my mare could stand against the beast, no matter, for she’s an evil-tempered brute and a killer born. Would it not be a merry watch? What say you, Dorath? Will you have the cat show us some sport?”
“Hold your tongue, Gloff,” Dorath answered, carefully eyeing Llyan. “You’re a fool and always were.” He pulled the meat from the spit and thrust it toward the companions. Fflewddur, having assured himself the roast was not rabbit, ate with a good will; Gurgi, as usual, needed no urging to finish his meal; and Taran was glad to swallow his own share, washed down with a mouthful of harsh-tasting wine Dorath poured from a leather flask. The sun was dropping quickly. One of the band flung more branches on the fire. Dorath stuck his dagger into the ground before him and looked up sharply at Taran.
“And so, Lord,” said Dorath, “have you no traveler’s tales to pass the time for my friends and me? Where do you come from? Where do you go? And why? The Hill Cantrevs are dangerous unless a man knows what he’s about.”
Taran did not answer immediately; Dorath’s tone and the look of the men around the fire made Taran guard his words. “We journey northward—through the Llawgadarn Mountains.”
Dorath grinned at him. “And where then?” he asked. “Or do you call my questions discourteous?”
“To the Lake of Llunet,” Taran answered with some reluctance.
“I’ve heard of treasure in those parts,” put in the man called Gloff. “Is that what they seek?”
“Is it indeed?” Dorath said to Taran. “Treasure?” He laughed loudly. “Small wonder you’re a miser with your words!”
Taran shook his head. “If I find what I seek, it will be more to me than gold.”
“So?” Dorath bent close to him. “But what would such a treasure be, Lord? Jewels? Fine-fashioned ornaments?”
“Neither,” Taran answered. He hesitated, then said, “I seek my parents.”
Dorath was quiet a moment. The grin did not leave his face, but when he spoke again his voice was cold. “When Dorath asks a question, he wants a truthful answer, Lord Swineherd.”
Taran flushed angrily.
“I have given you one. Say I have not and you call me liar.”
There was a sudden silence between the two. Dorath had half-risen, his heavy face darkened. Taran’s hand moved to the pommel of his sword. But in that instant a merry burst of music rose from Fflewddur’s harp and the bard called out, “Gently, friends! Hear a gay tune to settle our supper!”
He leaned the beautifully curved harp against his shoulder and as his fingers danced over the strings the men around the fire clapped their hands and urged him on. Dorath settled back on the turf, but he glanced at the bard and spat into the fire.
“Have done, harper,” Dorath said after a time. “Your tune jangles from that crooked pot. We’ll take our rest. You’ll stay with us and in the morning my Company will guide you to the Lake of Llunet.”
Taran glanced at Fflewddur and caught the bard’s quick frown. He rose to his feet. “We thank you for your courtesy,” he said to Dorath, “but time presses and we mean to travel during the night.”
“Ah, yes—so we do,” Fflewddur put in, while Gurgi vigorously agreed. “As for the Lake—yes, well—we wouldn’t think of putting you to the trouble. It’s a long journey, far beyond your cantrev.”
“Prydain is my cantrev,” Dorath answered. “Have you not heard of Dorath’s Company? We serve any who pay us to serve: a weak lord who craves a strong war band, or three wayfarers who need protection against the dangers of their journey. The many dangers, harper,” he grimly added. “Llunet is no more than a step and a jump for my men; and I know how the land lies. Will you go safely? I ask only a little part of the treasure you seek, a small reward to your humble servants.”
“We thank you,” Taran said again. “It is already past nightfall and we must find our path.”
“How then!” cried Dorath in a great show of indignation. “Do you scorn my poor hospitality? You wound my feelings, lord. Is it beneath you to sleep beside the likes of us? Ah, ah, swineherd, do not insult my men. They might take it amiss.”
Indeed, as Dorath spoke, an ugly grumble rose from the band, and Taran saw some of the warriors finger their swords. He stood uncertain, though well aware of the bard’s discomfort. Dorath watched him closely. Two of the men had drifted quietly to the horse lines, and Taran could imagine that in the shadows they were easing their weapons from their sheaths.
“So be it,” Taran said, looking Dorath squarely between the eyes. “We welcome your hospitality for the night, and tomorrow we take leave of you.”
Dorath grinned. “There will be time to speak of that again. Sleep well.”
“Sleep well?” muttered Fflewddur as they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and uneasily stretched out on the ground. “Great Belin, I’ll not sleep a wink. I never liked the Hill Cantrevs and this is one reason more for liking them less.” He glanced around him. Dorath had flung himself down near the fire; undoubtedly following his leader’s order, the man named Gloff lay close by the companions. “I know of such roaming war bands,” Fflewddur went on in a hushed voice. “Ruffians and looters, all of them. The cantrev lord who hires their swords to fight his neighbor soon finds them at his own throat. Dorath protect us from dangers? The worst danger is Dorath himself!”
“He’s sure we’re after treasure,” Taran whispered. “It’s in his mind and he’ll not believe otherwise. Lucky it is, in a way,” he added ruefully. “As long as he thinks we can lead him to gold or jewels he won’t kill us out of hand.”
“Perhaps so, perhaps not,” answered Fflewddur. “He may not cut our throats, but he might just as well decide to—ah—shall we say persuade us to tell him where the treasure is, and I fear he’d do considerably more than tweak our toes.”
“I’m not sure,” Taran replied. “If he meant to torture us, I think he’d have tried before this. He’s put us in a tight corner and we dare not let him travel with us. Still, I don’t believe Dorath is all that sure of himself. We’re only three against a dozen, but don’t forget Llyan. If it comes to a fight, Dorath has an excellent chance of killing us all. Yet I think he’s shrewd enough to see it would cost him too dearly, perhaps most of his band and himself as well. I doubt he’ll risk it unless he has to.”
“I hope you’re right,” sighed the bard. “I’d rather not stay to find out. I’d sooner spend the night in a nest of serpents. We must get free of these villains! But how?”
Taran frowned and bit his lip. “Eilonwy’s horn,” he began.
“Yes, yes!” whispered Gurgi. “Oh, yes, magic horn of tootings and hootings! Help comes with rescuings! Sound it, wise master!”
“Eilonwy’s horn,” Taran said slowly. “Yes, that was first in my thoughts. Must I use it now? It’s a precious gift, too precious to waste. If all else fails …” He shook his head. “Before I sound it let us try with our own strength. Sleep now,” he urged. “Rest as much as you can. Before first light Gurgi can go silently to the horse lines and cut the tethers of all Dorath’s steeds while Fflewddur and I try to stun the guards. Frighten the mounts, scatter them all in directions. Then …”
“We ride for dear life!” put in Fflewddur. He nodded. “Good. It’s our best chance. Without blowing that horn of yours, I daresay it’s our only chance. Dorath!” he added, cradling his harp fondly in his arms. “My tunes jangle indeed! My harp a crooked pot! That ruffian has neither ears nor eyes! A Fflam is forbearing, but when he insults my harp Dorath goes too far. Though, alas,” Fflewddur admitted, “I’ve heard the same opinion from a few others.”
While Gurgi and Fflewddur drowsed fitfully, Taran stayed wakeful and uneasy. The campfire burned to embers. He heard the heavy breathing of Dorath’s men. Gloff sprawled motionless, snoring atrociously. For a little time Taran closed his eyes. Had he chosen wrongly by not sounding the battle horn? He knew, painfully, that three lives hung in the balance. Doli had warned him not to squander the gift. But was the gamble too great? Should the gift be spent now, when its need was clearest? These thoughts pressed upon him heavier than the moonless night.
As the black sky began to show the first pale traces of gray, Taran silently roused Gurgi and the bard. Cautiously they made their way to the tethered steeds. Taran’s heart leaped with hope. The two guards were sleeping soundly, their swords across their knees. He turned, meaning to help Gurgi cut the lines. The dark bole of an oak tree loomed, and he clung to the safety of its shadow.
A booted leg thrust out to bar Taran’s way. Dorath was leaning against the tree, a dagger in his hand.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Wager
“What, are you so impatient to be gone, Lord Swineherd?” said Dorath, an edge of mockery in his tone. The dagger twirled in his hands and he clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Without a farewell? Without a word of thanks?” He shook his head. “This is grave discourtesy to me and to my men. Their feelings are tender. I fear you’ve deeply wounded them.”
The men of Dorath’s Company had begun to stir. In a moment of panic Taran glanced at Fflewddur and Gurgi. Gloff had climbed to his feet and held his sword lightly, almost carelessly. Taran knew the man could bring up the blade in a flash before his own weapon left its sheath. Taran’s eyes darted to the horse lines. Another of Dorath’s band had drifted close by the steeds, where he stood idly paring his nails with the point of a hunting knife. Taran gestured for the companions to make no move.
Dorath straightened. His eyes were cold. “Truly, do you mean to part with us? Even warned of the dangers in the hills?” He shrugged. “Never say Dorath forces hospitality on unwilling guests. Go, if that’s in your head. Seek your treasure and a speedy journey to you.”
“We meant you no discourtesy,” Taran answered. “Bear us no ill will, for we bear you none. Farewell to you and your Company.”
Much relieved, he beckoned Gurgi and the bard and turned away.
Dorath’s hand gripped his shoulder. “How then!” Dorath cried, “will you go your way without settling the small matter between us?”
Taran halted, surprised, as Dorath went on.
The warriors laughed harshly. Dorath’s heavy face had twisted into a leering humility, which Taran found all the more fearsome by its falsity, and the man cried out in an accusing, begging tone, “You have eaten our meat and drunk our wine. All night you slept safely under our protection. Is this worth nothing to you?”
Taran stared at him in astonishment and sudden alarm. Dorath’s men had come to gather near their leader. Gurgi edged closer to Taran. “Protection!” Fflewddur muttered under his breath. “Who’ll protect us from Dorath? Protection? Great Belin, I’d call it robbery!”
“And there is more, Lord Swineherd,” Dorath quickly continued. “The matter of payment for guiding you to the Lake of Llunet. It is no light journey for my Company; the paths are long and harsh …”
Taran faced the man squarely. “You have given us food, drink, and shelter,” he said, his thoughts racing to seek escape from Dorath’s trap. “We will pay their worth. As for your protection on our journey, we neither ask it nor want it.”
“My men are willing, waiting, and ready to guide you,” replied Dorath. “It is you who breaks the bargain.”
“I struck no bargain with you, Dorath,” Taran answered.
Dorath’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not? But you will keep it nonetheless.”
The two watched each other in silence for a moment. The warriors stirred restlessly. From Dorath’s expression Taran could not judge whether the man indeed meant to risk battle. If he did, Taran realized coldly the companions had little chance to escape unharmed. At last he said, “What do you want from us?”
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