The High King

"Long did I ponder these things," Dallben continued. "At last, I left Caer Dallben to seek this future king and to hasten his coming. For many years I searched, yet all whom I questioned well knew their station, whether shepherd or war leader, cantrev lord or Commot farmer.

"The seasons turned; kings rose and fell, wars turned to peace, and peace to war. Indeed, on a certain time, as many years ago as you yourself have years, a grievous war was upon the land, and I despaired of my quest and turned my steps once more toward Caer Dallben. On that day I chanced to pass a field where a battle had raged. Many lay slain, noble as well as humble folk; even the women and children had not been spared.

"From the forest nearby I heard a piercing cry. An infant had been hidden among the trees, as though his mother had sought, at the last, to keep him safe. From his wrappings I could judge nothing of his parentage and only sensed with certainty that both mother and father lay upon that field of the slain.

"Here, surely, was one of no station in life, an unknown babe of unknown kin. I bore the child with me to Caer Dallben. The name I gave him was Taran.

"I could not have told you of your parentage, even had I wished to," Dallben continued, "for I knew it no more than you did. My secret hope I shared only with two others: Lord Gwydion and Coll. As you grew to manhood, so our hopes grew, though never could we be certain you were the child born to be High King.

"Until now, my boy," said Dallben, "you were always a great 'perhaps.' "

"What was written has come to pass," Gwydion said. "And now in truth we must say fare­well."

The chamber was silent. Llyan, sensing the bard's distress, nuzzled him gently. The companions did not move. It was Glew who stepped forward and spoke first.

"I've been carrying this with me ever since I was so shabbily hustled away from Mona," he said, drawing from his jacket a small blue crystal which he pressed into Taran's hand. "It reminded me of my cavern and those grand days when I was a giant. But for some reason I don't want to be reminded of them any longer. Since I don't want it― here, take it as a small remembrance of me."

"He's still hardly the most generous spirit in the world," muttered Fflewddur, "but I've no doubt it's the first time he's ever given anybody anything. Great Belin, I swear the little fellow's actually grown' another inch!"

Doli had taken the handsomely crafted axe from his belt. "You'll need this," he told Taran, "and it should serve you well in many tasks. It's Fair Folk quality, my lad, and you'll not blunt it easily."

"It can serve me no better than did its owner," Taran replied, clasping the dwarf's hand, "and its metal cannot be as true as your own heart. Good old Doli…"

"Humph!" The dwarf snorted furiously. "Good old Doli! I've heard that somewhere before."

Kaw, on Doli's shoulder, bobbed up and down while Taran gently ran a finger over the crow's sleek feathers.

"Farewell," Kaw croaked. "Taran! Farewell!"

"Farewell to you," Taran answered, smiling. "If I have despaired of teaching you good manners, I have rejoiced in your bad ones. You are a rogue and a scamp, and a very, eagle among crows."

Llyan had padded up to rub her head affectionately against Taran's arm, which she did so vigorously that the enormous cat nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Bear my friend good company," Taran said, stroking Llyan's ears. "Cheer him with your purring when his spirits are low, as I wish you might cheer me. Stray not far from him, for even such a bold bard as Fflewddur Fflam is no stranger to loneliness."

Fflewddur himself had drawn near, and in his hand held the harp string he had taken from the fire. The heat of the flame had caused the string to curl and twine in a curious pattern that seemed without beginning or end, constantly changing as from one melody to another even as Taran looked at it.

"I'm afraid it's all that's left of the old pot," Fflewddur said, offering the string to Taran. "Truthfully, I'm just as well pleased. It was forever jangling and going out of tune…" He paused, glanced behind him nervously, and cleared his throat. "Ah­― what I meant to say was that I shall miss those snapping strings."

"No more than I shall miss them," Taran said. "Remember me as well and fondly as I remember you."

"Have no fear!" cried the bard. "There's still songs to be sung and tales to be told. A Fflam never forgets!"

"Alas, alas!" wailed Gurgi. "Poor Gurgi has nothing to give kindly master for fond rememberings. Woe and misery! Even wallet of crunchings and munchings now is empty!"

The tearful creature suddenly clapped his hands together.

"Yes, yes! Forgetful Gurgi has one gift. Here, here it is. From burning treasure house of wicked Death-Lord, bold Gurgi seized it with catchings and snatchings. But his poor tender head was so filled with fearful spinnings that he forgot!"