Taran Wanderer

Under the onslaught of the Commot folk Dorath's warriors fell back. Amid the turmoil of racing men Taran found himself borne away from the fold. Daring a backward glance he could glimpse neither Drudwas nor Llassar; in fury, he pressed onward. Torches flared, and he saw that the women and girls of Isav had joined their men, flailing with hoes, rakes, and pitchforks at the raiders. Taran cast about for Gurgi and shouted his name, but his voice was drowned in the tumult.

A fierce bellowing had risen from the cattle pen as a dark shape burst through the bars. Taran gasped in astonishment to see a furious black bull heaving and plunging among the raiders. On its back clung Gurgi, yelling at the top of his voice, kicking his heels against the powerful animal's flanks, turning its charge against the terrified remainder of Dorath's band.

"They flee!" shouted one of the Commot men.

Taran pressed ahead. The raiders, who had left their mounts at the fringe of trees, now hastened to gain them, caught between the Commot folk and the slashing horns of the enraged bull. Taran glimpsed Dorath astride the sorrel mare and ran to overtake him. But Dorath spurred the steed and galloped into the wood.

Taran turned and raced to the stables, whistling for Melynlas. One of the Commot men caught at his arm and cried, "The day is ours, Wanderer!" Only then did Taran realize the sounds of the fray had ceased. Dorath himself had vanished. Taran hurried to the sheepfold where the wife of Drudwas knelt, her arms about her son.

"Llassar!" Taran cried in dismay, dropping beside the shepherd. The boy's eyes opened and he strove to grin at Taran.

"His wound is not deep," said Drudwas. "He will live to tend his flock."

"And so I will," Llassar said to Taran, "and thanks to you, I'll have a flock to tend."

Taran put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "And to you," he answered, "to you I owe much more than sheep."

"Full half the band will plunder no longer," said Drudwas, "neither Commot Isav nor any Commot. The rest are scattered, and it will be long before their wounds heal. You have well served us, Wanderer, you and your companion. You came among us strangers. We count you strangers no longer, but friends."

Chapter 21 The Mirror

ALTHOUGH THE FOLK OF ISAV urged him to linger, Taran took leave of them and rode slowly back to Merin. The defeat of Dorath's Company held no savor, for his thoughts still turned restlessly; his questions still found no answers; and he was more downhearted than ever. To Annlaw he said little of his deeds in Isav, and it was Gurgi, bursting with pride, who told what had befallen them.

"Yes, yes!" cried Gurgi. "Wicked robbers fled with yellings! Oh, they feared kindly master. And feared bold Gurgi, too! And great bull with stampings and trampings, sharp horns with jabbings and stabbings!"

"You should be well-content, Wanderer," Annlaw said to Taran, who had remained silent all the while. "You've saved honest folk their lives and homes."

"Drudwas told me I was no stranger, but a friend. For that I am glad," Taran answered. "I only wish," he added, "that I weren't a stranger to myself. What use am I?" he burst out. "To myself, to anyone? None that I can see."

"The folk of Isav would gainsay you," the potter answered. "And there might be others who would welcome a stout blade and a bold heart."

"A hired sword?" Taran replied bitterly. "And follow the same way as Dorath?" He shook his head. "When I was a child I dreamed of adventure, glory, of honor in feats of arms. I think now that these things are shadows."

"If you see them as shadows then you see them for what they are," Annlaw agreed. "Many have pursued honor, and in the pursuit lost more of it than ever they could gain. But I did not mean a hired sword…" He stopped abruptly and was thoughtful a moment. "To see them for what they are," he murmured, returning to his first words. "Perhaps― perhaps…" The potter looked closely at Taran.

"The Commot lore tells how one may see himself for what he is. Whether it be true or no more than an old wives' tale I will not judge," the potter went on slowly. "But the lore says that he who would know himself need only gaze in the Mirror of Llunet."

Though Annlaw had spoken quietly, Taran heard the potter's words like a thunderclap.

"The Mirror of Llunet?" Taran cried. Since leaving Craddoc's valley he had put away all thought of the Mirror, hidden and forgotten it, and the days had covered it as dead leaves on a burial mound. "The Mirror," he repeated in a stifled voice, "the goal of my quest from the beginning. I had given up searching. Now do I find it when I seek it least of all?"

"Your quest?" Annlaw said, perplexed. He had risen and was watching Taran with concern. "Of this you have told me nothing, Wanderer."

"I would have no pride in the telling," Taran replied.