Taran Wanderer

Dorath straightened. His eyes were cold. "Truly, do you mean to part with us? Even warned of the dangers in the hills?" He shrugged. "Never say Dorath forces hospitality on unwilling guests. Go, if that's in your head. Seek your treasure and a speedy journey to you."

"We meant you no discourtesy," Taran answered. "Bear us no ill will, for we bear you none. Farewell to you and your Company."

Much relieved, he beckoned Gurgi and the bard and turned away.

Dorath's hand gripped his shoulder. "How then!" Dorath cried, "will you go your way without settling the small matter between us?"

Taran halted, surprised, as Dorath went on.

"Why, there is payment to be reckoned, Lord Swineherd. Will you cheat me of my fee? We are poor men, Lord; too poor to give where we do not receive."

The warriors laughed harshly. Dorath's heavy face had twisted into a leering humility, which Taran found all the more fearsome by its falsity, and the man cried out in an accusing, begging tone, "You have eaten our meat and drunk our wine. All night you slept safely under our protection. Is this worth nothing to you?"

Taran stared at him in astonishment and sudden alarm. Dorath's men had come to gather near their leader. Gurgi edged closer to Taran. "Protection!" Fflewddur muttered under his breath. "Who'll protect us from Dorath? Protection? Great Belin, I'd call it robbery!"

"And there is more, Lord Swineherd," Dorath quickly continued. "The matter of payment for guiding you to the Lake of Llunet. It is no light journey for my Company; the paths are long and harsh…"

Taran faced the man squarely. "You have given us food, drink, and shelter," he said, his thoughts racing to seek escape from Dorath's trap. "We will pay their worth. As for your protection on our journey, we neither ask it nor want it."

"My men are willing, waiting, and ready to guide you," replied Dorath. "It is you who breaks the bargain."

"I struck no bargain with you, Dorath," Taran answered.

Dorath's eyes narrowed. "Did you not? But you will keep it nonetheless."

The two watched each other in silence for a moment. The warriors stirred restlessly. From Dorath's expression Taran could not judge whether the man indeed meant to risk battle. If he did, Taran realized coldly the companions had little chance to escape unharmed. At last he said, "What do you want from us?"

Dorath grinned. "Now you speak wisely. Small scores are quickly settled. We are humble men, Lord. We ask little, far less than what our fee should be. But, for the sake of the friendship between us, Dorath will be generous. What shall you give me?" His eyes went to Taran's belt. "You carry a fair blade," he said. "It will be mine."

Taran's hand clenched on the pommel. "That you shall not have," he answered quickly. "I offer you bridles and harness from our gear, and even these we can ill afford. Dallben my master gave me this blade, the first that was truly mine and the first of my manhood. The one I love girded it on me with her own hands. No, Dorath, I do not bargain with my sword."

Dorath threw back his head and laughed. "You make much ado for a piece of iron. Your sweetling girded it to your side! Your first blade! This adds no worth. It is a fair weapon, no more. I've cast away better than that. But the look of this one suits me well enough. Give it into my hand and we are quit."

Dorath's face filled with cruel pleasure as he reached out. Sudden anger goaded Taran. Caution forgotten, he snatched the blade from its sheath and drew back a pace.

"Have a care, Dorath!" Taran cried. "Will you take my sword? It will be a costly bargain. You may not live to claim it."

"Nor you to keep it," Dorath answered, undisturbed. "We know each other's thoughts, swineherd. Am I fool enough to risk lives for a trinket? Are you fool enough to stop me?

"We can learn this easily," Dorath added. "To your grief or to mine. Wilt you try me? My Company against yours?" When Taran did not answer, Dorath continued. "My trade is to spill another's blood, not waste my own. And here the matter is easily settled. Pit one of your number against one of mine. A friendly wager, swineherd. Do you dare? The stakes? Your sword!"

Gloff had been listening all this while; his villainous face lit up and he struck his hands together. "Well spoken, Dorath! We'll see sport after all!"

"The choice is yours, swineherd," Dorath said to Taran. "Who is your champion? Will that hairy brute you call comrade stand against Gloff? They're both ill-favored enough to be well-matched. Or the harper…"

"The matter is between you and me, Dorath," Taran replied, "and none other."

"All the better," Dorath answered. "Do you take the wager, then? We two unarmed, win or lose, and the score paid. You have Dorath's word."

"Is your word as true as your claim?" Taran flung back. "I trust no bargain with you."

Dorath shrugged. "My men will withdraw beyond the trees where they'll be no help to me, if, that's what you fear. And so will yours. What say you now? Yes or no?"