Taran Wanderer

The men spoke hurriedly among themselves, at last agreeing that Llassar would keep watch with Taran, while Drudwas stood guard over the cattle along with Gurgi who, fearful though he was, refused to be any farther from Taran's side. By the time all plans were set and the Commot men posted among the trees just beyond the sheepfold, a full moon had risen above thin clouds. The cold light sharpened the edges of the shadows and the outlines of brush and branches. In the fold Taran and Llassar crouched amid the restless flock.

For a time neither spoke. In the bright moonlight the face of Llassar seemed to Taran more boyish than before; he saw the youth was afraid and making all effort to hide it. Though uneasy himself, he grinned assuringly at Llassar. Drudwas,had been right. The boy was young, untried. And yet― Taran smiled, knowing that he himself, at Llassar's age, would have claimed the same right.

"Your plan is good, Wanderer," Llassar said at last in a hushed voice, speaking, Taran knew, more to ease his own disquiet than anything else. "Better than we should have done. It cannot fail."

"All plans can fail," Taran said, almost harshly. He fell silent then. Fears had begun stirring in him like leaves in a chill wind. Sweat drenched his body under the fleece jacket. He had come to Isav unknown, unproven, yet the men of the Commot had willingly heeded him and willingly put their fate in his hands. They had accepted his plan when another might have served better; should it fail, though all their lives could be forfeit, the blame would be his alone. He gripped the hilt of his sword and strained his eyes to peer into the darkness. There was no movement, and even the shadows seemed frozen.

"You are called Wanderer," Llassar went on quietly, with some shyness. "To my mind, one who wanders must as well be one who seeks. Is this true?"

Taran shook his head. "I sought once to be a smith and once to be a weaver. And once a potter. But that is over. Now, perhaps I must wander without seeking."

"If you seek nothing," Llassar said with a friendly laugh, "then you have little chance of finding it. Our life is not easy here," he went on. "It is not willingness that lacks, but knowledge. The Sons of Don have long held Prydain against the Lord of Annuvin, and for their protection we are grateful; yet the secrets Arawn Death-Lord stole from us― to regain them, my father says, would give us stouter shield and sword than even the battle hosts of Prince Gwydion himself. But for all that, Isav is my home and I am well-content in it." Llassar grinned. "I do not envy you, Wanderer."

Taran did not answer for a time. Then he murmured, "No, it is I who envy you."

They said no more, listening alertly to every sound as the night wore away and the moon, fading behind thickening clouds, lost shape and its light spread like pale mist. In a while Llassar blew out his breath in relief. "They will not come," he said. "They will pass us by."

Even as he spoke, the darkness shattered in fragments that turned into the figures of armed warriors. Taran sprang to his feet as the gate burst open.

Taran sounded his battle horn, then flung himself upon the warrior who cried out in surprise and stumbled backward. Llassar had leaped up at the same instant as Taran, and the shepherd plunged against the press of the attackers at the gate, thrusting with his spear. Taran struck out blindly, struggling not only against the raiders but against the sudden terror that his plan had failed, that the outlaws had come too silently, too swiftly. In another moment, above the frantic bleating of the frightened animals, a great shout burst from the Commot men as they rose from the cover of the trees, and from the huts came the clash of iron upon iron.

At the sheepfold the outlaws hesitated. Llassar's opponent had fallen. Taran glimpsed the boy spring past him and strike again with his spear. The attack wavered at the gate, as the raiders turned their weapons against the men of Isav. But one warrior, growling like a wild beast, long knife upraised, raced into the pen as if to wreak all the destruction he could, and Taran grappled with the man who spun about and slashed at him. It was Gloff.

The warrior recognized him; Gloff's first astonishment changed to an ugly grin almost of pleasure and eagerness, as he shifted the knife in his hand. Gloff lunged and Taran flung up his weapon to ward against the blow. But the warrior leaped forward, his free hand clawing at Taran's eyes, and his blade flickered as its point drove swiftly in a killing stroke. A figure plunged between them. It was Llassar. Taran shouted a warning as the boy strove to catch the blow on his spear shaft. Snarling, Gloff turned his attack and struck viciously at Llassar. The shepherd fell. With a cry of rage Taran raised his sword. Suddenly, Drudwas was beside him. Gloff shrieked as the blade of the husbandman chopped downward.