Taran Wanderer

"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 in all 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 forebearing, 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 12 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.