The Black Cauldron Read Online Free PDF

the saddle, clutched at the rocks to break his fall.
    Melynlas, more surefooted than his master, regained his balance on a ledge below the trail. Taran, sprawled flat against the stones, tried vainly to clamber back to the path. Adaon dismounted instantly, ran to the edge of the slope, and attempted to grasp Taran's hands. Ellidyr, too, dismounted. He brushed Adaon aside, leaped down, and seized Taran under the arms. With a powerful heave, he lofted Taran like a sack of meal to the safety of the trail. Picking his way toward Melynlas, Ellidyr put his shoulder beneath the saddle girth and strained mightily. With all his strength, little by little, he raised Melynlas until the stallion was able to clamber from the ledge.
    “You fool!” Taran threw back at Ellidyr, racing to Melynlas and anxiously examining the steed. “Has your pride crowded all the wits out of your head?” Melynlas, he saw with relief, was unharmed. Despite himself, he glanced at Ellidyr in amazement and not without a certain admiration. “I have never seen such a feat of strength,” Taran admitted.
    Ellidyr, for the first time, seemed confused and frightened. “I did not mean for you to fall,” he began. Then he threw back his head and, with a mocking smile, added, “My concern is for your steed, not your skin.”
    “I, too, admire your strength, Ellidyr,” Adaon said sharply. “But it is to your shame you proved it thus. The black beast rides in the saddle with you. I see it even now.”
    One of Morgant's warriors, hearing the clamor, had given the alarm. A moment later Gwydion, followed by King Morgant, strode back along the trail. Behind them hurried the agitated Fflewddur and the dwarf.
    “Your pig-boy had no better sense than to force his way ahead of me,” Ellidyr said to Gwydion. “Had I not pulled him and his steed back ...”
    “Is this true?” Gwydion asked, glancing at Taran and his torn clothing.
    Taran, about to answer, shut his lips tightly and nodded his head. He saw the look of surprise on Ellidyr's angry face.
    “We have no lives to waste,” Gwydion said, “yet you have risked two. I cannot spare a man or I would send you back to Caer Dallben this instant. But I shall, if this happens again. And you, too, Ellidyr, or any of this company.”
    King Morgant stepped forward. "This proves what I had feared, Lord Gwydion. Our way is difficult, even unburdened with the cauldron. Once we gain it, I urge you again not to return to Caer Dallben. It would be wiser to take the cauldron north, into my realm.
    “I think, too,” Morgant continued, “that a number of my own warriors should be dispatched to guard our retreat. In exchange I offer these three,” he said, gesturing toward Taran, Adaon, and Ellidyr, “a place among my horsemen when I attack. If I read their faces well, they would prefer it to waiting in reserve.”
    “Yes!” cried Taran, gripping his sword. “Let us join the attack!”
    Gwydion shook his head. “The plan shall be as I set it. Mount quickly, we have already lost much time.”
    King Morgant's eyes flickered. “It shall be as you command, Lord Gwydion.”
    “What happened?” whispered Fflewddur to Taran. “Don't tell me Ellidyr wasn't to blame somehow. He's a trouble-maker, I can see it. I can't imagine what Gwydion was thinking of when he brought him along.”
    “The blame is as much mine,” said Taran. “I behaved no better than he did. I should have held my tongue. With Ellidyr,” he added, “that's not easy to do.”
    “Yes,” the bard sighed, glancing at his harp. “I have a rather similar difficulty.”
     
    THROUHGOUT THE DAY
    the company went with greatest caution, for flights of gwythaints, Arawn's fearsome messenger birds, were now seen against the clouds. Shortly before dusk, the trail led downward toward a shallow basin set with scrub and pines. There, Gwydion halted. Ahead rose the baleful crags of Dark Gate, its twin slopes blazing crimson in the dying sun. Thus far the company