Taran Wanderer

"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 shoulders 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, lords. 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."