Taran Wanderer

"No matter. Even without the secrets my harvest will not fail this year," Aeddan said. "All save one of my fields lies fallow; but in this one have I spent all my toil." He looked proudly at Taran. "When my wife and I could no longer pull the plow ourselves, I broke the earth with my own hands and sowed it grain by grain." The farmer laughed. "Yes, and weeded it blade by blade, as niggling as a granddam with her favorite patch of herbs. It will not fail. Indeed, it must not," he added, frowning. "This season our livelihood hangs on it."

Little more was said then, and when the meager meal ended, Taran gladly stretched his aching bones besides the hearth, while Gurgi curled up next to him. Weariness overcame even his despair for Melynlas, and with the patter of rain on the thatch and the hiss of the dying embers Taran soon fell asleep.

The companions woke before first light, but Taran found Aeddan already working in his field. The rain had stopped, leaving the earth fresh and moist. Taran knelt and took up a handful. Aeddan had spoken the truth. The soil had been tilled with utmost pains, and Taran watched the farmer with growing respect and admiration. The farm could indeed yield richly, and Taran stood a moment looking toward the fallow ground, barren for lack of hands to labor it. With a sigh he turned quickly away, his thoughts once more on Melynlas.

How he might regain the silver-maned stallion Taran could not foresee, but he had determined to make his way to the stronghold of Lord Goryon where, in Aeddan's judgment, the warriors had surely taken the animal. Though more than ever anxious over his beloved steed, Taran worked through the morning beside Aeddan. The farm couple had kept scarcely a morsel of the evening's fare for themselves, and Taran saw no other means to repay them. By midday, however, he dared delay no longer, and made ready to take his leave.

Alarca had come to the door of the hut. Like her husband, the woman had asked nothing beyond what little Taran had chosen to tell of his quest, but now she said, "Will you still follow your own path? Have you turned from home and kinsmen? What mother's heart longs for her son as I long for mine?"

"Alas, none that I know," Taran answered, folding Amren's jacket and gently putting it in her hands. "And none that knows me."

"You have been well taught in the ways of farming," Aeddan said. "If you seek a place of welcome, you have already found one."

"Whatever other welcomes I find, may they be as openhearted as yours," Taran replied, and it was not without regret that he and Gurgi said farewell.

Chapter 3 Goryon and Gast

AEDDAN HAD POINT OUT the shortest path to Lord Goryon's stronghold, and the two wayfarers reached it by midafternoon. It was not a castle, Taran saw, but a large huddle of buildings circled by a barricade of wooden stakes lashed with osier and chinked up with hard-packed earth. The gate of heavy palings stood open, and there was much going and coming of horsemen, of warriors on foot, of herdsmen driving in their cows from pasture.

Though Gurgi was far from eager, Taran led on, keeping as bold a face as he could, and amid the busy crowd the two entered the stronghold unnoticed and unchallenged. Without difficulty Taran found the stables, which were larger, cleaner, and in better repair than the rest of the buildings; and strode quickly to a young boy raking straw, calling out in a firm voice, "Tell me, friend, is there not a gray stallion here that Lord Goryon's warriors captured? A handsome steed, they say, and a rare one."

"Gray stallion?" cried the stable boy. "Gray dragon, rather! The beast half-kicked his stall down and gave me a bite I'll not forget. Lord Goryon will have broken bones before the day ends."

"How then?" Taran hurriedly asked. "What has he done with the steed?"

"What has the steed done with him!" answered the boy, grinning. "Thrown him the most of a dozen times already! The Master of Horse himself cannot sit three moments on the creature's back, but Goryon tries to ride it even now. Goryon the Valorous he is called," the boy chuckled; then added behind his hand, "though to my mind he has little stomach for this task. But his henchmen egg him on, and so Goryon means to break the beast to his will even if he must first break its back."

"Master, master," Gurgi whispered frantically, "hasten to King Smoit for helpings!"

Taran's face had paled at the boy's words. Caer Cadarn was too far; Smoit's help would come too late. "Where is the steed?" he asked, hiding his concern. "This would be a sight worth the seeing."

The stable boy pointed his rake toward a long, low-roofed building. "In the training field behind the Great Hall. But take heed," he added, rubbing his shoulder, "keep your distance, or the beast will give you worse than he gave me."