Taran Wanderer

A wind had risen, screaming through the valley, lashing at the companions and nearly tearing them from the ledge. Once more they struggled to bear Craddoc to the upward passage, and once more fell back as the gale battered them. The early twilight had begun deepening and shadows filled the gorge. The face of the cliff wavered before Taran's eyes. His legs trembled as he forced himself again to lift the herdsman.

"Leave me," Craddoc murmured hoarsely. "Leave me. You waste your own strength."

"Leave you?" Taran burst out. "What son forsakes his own flesh and blood?"

Hearing this, Craddoc smiled for an instant, then his face drew taut in anguish. "Save yourselves," he whispered.

"You are my father," Taran replied. "I stay."

"No!" the herdsman cried out with all his strength. "Do as I ask, and go from here. Heed me now, or it will be too late. The duty of kinship? You owe me none. No bond of blood holds you."

"How then?" Taran gasped, staring wildly at the herdsman. His head spun and he clutched at the ledge. "How then? Do you tell me I am not your son?"

Craddoc looked at him a moment, his eyes unwavering. "Never have I been false to any man. Save once. To you."

"A lie?" Taran stammered in dismay. "Did you lie to me then― or do you lie to me now?"

"Half-truth is worse than lie," Craddoc answered brokenly. "Hear me. Hear this part of the truth. Yes, long past, as he journeyed through Prydain, Dallben sheltered with me. But of what he sought he never spoke."

"The child," Taran cried. "There was none?"

"There was," Craddoc answered. "A son. Our first born, even as I told you. He did not live beyond the day of his birth. His mother died with him," he murmured. "And you― I needed your strength to keep what remained to me. I saw no other way. Even as I spoke the lie, I was ashamed, then more ashamed to speak the truth. When your companion left, I could only hope that you would follow with him, and gave you freedom so to do. You chose to stay.

"But this, as well, is true," Craddoc said hurriedly. "At first I leaned upon you as on my crutch, because you served my need, but no father came to love a son more dearly."

Taran's head sank to his breast. He could not speak, and his tears blinded him.

Craddoc, who had half-raised himself, fell back to the stones of the ledge: "Go from here," he murmured.

Taran's hand dropped to his side. His fingers touched the rim of the battle horn. With a sudden cry he straightened. Eilonwy's horn! Unthinking, he had slung it about his shoulder when he had run from the cottage. Hastily he drew it from beneath his cloak. The summons to the Fair Folk, the call he had treasured! It alone could save Craddoc. He stumbled to his feet. The ledge seemed to sway beneath him. The notes Doli had taught him blurred in his mind and he strove desperately to recall them. Suddenly they rang once more in his memory.

He raised the horn to his lips. The notes sprang loud and clear and even before the signal faded, the wind caught them and seemed to fling the call through all the valley, where it returned in echo after echo. Then whirling shadows engulfed him and Taran dropped to the ledge.

How long they clung there he did not know; whether moments or hours, he was only dimly aware of strong hands bearing him up, of a rope lashed about his waist. He glimpsed vaguely, as between the flickering of a dark flame, the broad faces of dwarfish mountaineers, whose number he could not judge.

When next he opened his eyes he was in the cottage, the fire blazing, Gurgi beside him. Taran started up. Pain seared his chest, which he saw had been carefully bandaged.

"The signal!" he murmured feebly. "It was answered…"

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried. "Fair Folk save us with mighty haulings and heavings! They bind up kindly master's hurtful wounds and leave healing herbs for all that is needful!"

"The summons," Taran began. "Good old Doli. He warned me not to waste it. For Craddoc's sake, I'm glad I kept it as long as I did. Craddoc― where is he? How does he fare?" He stopped suddenly.

Gurgi was looking at him silently. The creature's face wrinkled miserably and tears stood in his eyes as he bowed his shaggy head.

Taran fell back. His own cry of anguish rang in his ears. Beyond that was only darkness.

Chapter 16 Taran Wanderer

FEVER CAME, SWEEPING over him, a blazing forest through which he staggered endlessly; tossing on the straw pallet, he knew neither day nor night. Often there were dream faces half-glimpsed, half-recognized, of Eilonwy, of his companions, of all whom he had loved; yet they slipped away from him, shifting and changing like wind-driven clouds, or were swallowed by nightmares that made him cry out in terror. Later, he seemed to see Fflewddur, but the bard had turned gaunt, hollow-eyed, his yellow hair matted on his forehead, his mouth pinched and his long nose thin as a blade. His garments hung ragged and stained. Kaw perched on his shoulder and croaked, "Taran, Taran!"