The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain) Read Online Free Page B

all,” Adaon said, thoughtfully fingering the iron clasp at his throat. “You I saw with a black beast on your shoulders. Beware, Ellidyr, lest it swallow you up,” he added, the gentleness of his tone softening the harshness of his counsel.
    “Spare me from pig-boys and dreamers!” Ellidyr retorted, and with a shout urged Islimach farther up the column.
    “And I?” Taran asked. “What did your dream tell of me?”
    “You,” answered Adaon, after a moment’s hesitation, “you were filled with grief.”
    “What cause have I to grieve?” asked Taran, surprised. “I am proud to serve Lord Gwydion, and there is a chance to win much honor, more than by washing pigs and weeding gardens!”
    “I have marched in many a battle host,” Adaon answered quietly, “but I have also planted seeds and reaped the harvest with my own hands. And I have learned there is greater honor in a field well plowed than in a field steeped in blood.”
    The column had begun to move more rapidly and they quickened their steeds’ gaits. Adaon rode easily and skillfully; head high, an open smile on his face, he seemed to be drinking in the sights and sounds of the morning. While Fflewddur, Doli, and Coll kept pace with Gwydion, and Ellidyr followed sullenly behind King Morgant’s troop, Taran kept to Adaon’s side along the leaf-strewn path.
    As they spoke together to ease the rigors of their journey, Taran soon realized there was little Adaon had not seen or done. He had
sailed far beyond the Isle of Mona, even to the northern sea; he had worked at the potter’s wheel, cast nets with the fisherfolk, woven cloth at the looms of the cottagers; and, like Taran, labored over the glowing forge. Of forest lore he had studied deeply, and Taran listened in wonder as Adaon told the ways and natures of woodland creatures, of bold badgers and cautious dormice and geese winging under the moon.
    “There is much to be known,” said Adaon, “and above all much to be loved, be it the turn of the seasons or the shape of a river pebble. Indeed, the more we find to love, the more we add to the measure of our hearts.”
    Adaon’s face was bright in the early rays of the sun, but a trace of longing had come into his voice. When Taran asked him what was amiss, he did not answer immediately, as though he wished to hold his own thoughts.
    “My heart will be lighter when our task is done,” Adaon said at last. “Arianllyn, my betrothed, waits for me in the northern domains, and the sooner Arawn’s cauldron is destroyed, the sooner may I return to her.”
    By day’s end, they had become fast friends. At nightfall, when Taran rejoined Gwydion and his companions, Adaon camped with them. They had already crossed Great Avren and were well on their way to the borders of King Smoit’s realm. Gwydion was satisfied with their progress, though he warned them the most difficult and dangerous portion of their journey was to come.
    All were in good spirits save Doli, who hated riding horseback and gruffly declared he could go faster afoot. As the companions rested in a protected grove, Fflewddur offered his harp to Adaon and urged him to play. Adaon, sitting comfortably with his back against a tree, put the instrument to his shoulder. For a moment
he was thoughtful, his head bowed, then his hands gently touched the strings.
    The voice of the harp and Adaon’s voice twined one with the other in harmonies Taran never before had heard. The tall man’s face was raised toward the stars and his gray eyes seemed to see far beyond them. The forest had fallen silent; the night sounds were stilled.
    The song of Adaon was not a warrior’s lay but one of peacefulness and deep joy, and as Taran listened, its echoes rang again and again in his heart. He longed for the music to continue, but Adaon stopped, almost abruptly, and with a grave smile handed the harp back to Fflewddur.
    The companions wrapped themselves in their cloaks and slept. Ellidyr remained aloof from them,