If the haughty prince was surprised to see them, he showed nothing of it. He looked wearied to the bone, his clothes hanging in blood-crusted tatters from his frame, every inch of him begrimed as if he had crawled through mire on his very face. Yet the scornful gaze he cast upon them could have come from a king wrapped in golden cloth looking upon the lowliest wretches in the land.

"Well met," he rasped, "brave company of scarecrows.The pig-boy, the scullery maid—I do not see the dreamer."

Taran stalked toward him with clenched fists. "You…you!" he sputtered. "What do you here? You dare speak of Adaon? He is slain and lies beneath his burial mound."

Ellidyr made no move or change of expression as Taran halted in his very face, infuriated, and continued, "You have betrayed us, Son of Pen-Llarcau! Where were you when the Huntsmen set upon us? When another sword would have turned the balance? The price was Adaon's life, a better man than you shall ever be!"

The two of them stood eye-to-eye, Taran seething, Ellidyr staring stonily. At last he broke their standoff and stepped around Taran, knocking into him roughly on the way past. He strode to their pile of saddlebags and threw himself upon the ground. "Give me food," he demanded. "Roots and rain water have been my meat and drink."

"Well, that's odd," Eilonwy snapped. "We've eaten quite well. It's almost as though there's an advantage to not deserting your company."

Gurgi growled agreement. "Evil traitor!" he shouted, leaping to his feet. "There are no crunchings and munchings for wicked villain, no, no!"

Ellidyr tossed a stick at him lazily, drawling, "Hold your tongue, mongrel, or you shall hold your head."

Taran shook his head at Gurgi. "Give him food, as he asks."

Gurgi cast him a heartbreaking look of betrayal, but obeyed, opening his wallet. It was too much to bear. "He didn't ask," Eilonwy pointed out angrily. "He ordered, and I don't see any of us wearing the livery of Penn-Llarcau! Just because we're feeding you," she added, to Ellidyr, "don't think you're welcome to it. I hope it chokes you."

The prince's cracked lips spread in a grin as he seized the food offered. "The scullery maid is not pleased to see me," he observed, without deigning to look at her. "She shows temper."

"Can't say I really blame her," Fflewddur retorted, "and I don't see that you should expect anything else. You've done us a bad turn. Would you have us hold a festival?"

"The harp-scraper is still with you, at least," Ellidyr continued, as though no one else had spoken. "But I see he is a bird with the wing down."

Fflewddur muttered something and subsided. Taran glared, his jaw tight. "Why do you seek us? You were content to leave us once. What brings you here now?"

Ellidyr laughed, without humor. "Seek you? Why would I? I seek the Marshes of Morva."

Eilonwy huffed, as a little thrill of triumph warmed her for an instant. "Well, you're a long way from them, but if you're in a hurry to get there—as I hope you are— I'll be glad to give you directions. And while you're there, I suggest you find Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch. They'll be happier to see you than we are." With any luck he'd leave the place a toad, if at all.

Ellidyr continued to ignore her, devoured the food and settled his back against the saddlebags. "That is better," he sighed. "Now there is a bit more life in me."

"Enough to take you wherever you happen to be going, I hope," snapped Eilonwy.

He finally looked directly at her, his eyes glinting angrily, belying his calm mockery. "And wherever you happen to be going, I wish you the joy of your journey. You shall find Huntsmen enough to satisfy you."

"What?" Taran exclaimed. "Are the Huntsmen still abroad?" Eilonwy suppressed a groan. How many of the creatures were there?

Ellidyr snorted. "Yes, pig-boy. All Annuvin is astir. The Huntsmen I have outrun, a noble game of hare and hounds. The gwythaints have had their sport of me," he added with a contemptuous laugh, "though it cost them two of their number. But enough remain to offer you good hunting, if that is your pleasure."

Taran paled, and Eilonwy's heart stuttered in fear. "I hope you didn't lead them to us," she said.

"I led them nowhere," said Ellidyr, "least of all to you, since I did not know you were here. When the gwythaints and I parted company, I assure you I gave little heed to the path I chose."

His manner was as repellant as ever, his dangerous encounters having had no humbling effect in the least. When the rest of them had endured so much heartache, and given so much for one another! It made her blood boil. "You can still choose your path," Eilonwy retorted, "so long as it leads you from us. And I hope you follow it as swiftly as you did when you sneaked away."

"Sneaked away?" Ellidyr laughed scornfully. "A Son of Pen-Llarcau does not sneak. You were too slow-footed for me. There were matters of urgency to attend to."

Taran scoffed. "Yes, your own glory! You thought of nothing else. At least, Ellidyr, speak the truth."

The prince looked frustrated for a betraying instant, and then covered it with a twisted, mocking smile. "It is true enough I meant to go to the Marshes of Morva, and true enough I did not find them. Though I should," he insisted, "had the Huntsmen not barred my way."

Eilonwy snorted at this, and Ellidyr gave her a hard stare, then looked away. "From the scullery maid's words," he said pointedly, "I gather you have been to Morva."

"Yes, we have been there," said Taran. "Now we return to Caer Dallben."

Ellidyr laughed. "So you, too, have failed. But, since your journey was the longer, I ask you which of us wasted more of his labor and pains?"

Taran laughed this time, bitterly triumphant. "We didn't fail! The cauldron is ours!" He pointed to the river. "There it lies."

Ellidyr started up from his reclining, and caught sight of the black mound of the Crochan half-submerged in the water. With an oath he sprang to his feet and ran toward the water's edge. The prince's white face turned crimson with fury as he stopped at the riverbank and stared at the cauldron. "How, then," he shouted, in a voice on the edge of frenzy. "Have you cheated me once more? Do I risk my life again so that a pig-boy may rob me of my prize?" He whirled, seeing Taran approach from the side, and lunged for his throat.

Taran, fortunately wary, dodged, flinging Ellidyr's hand aside. "I have never cheated you, Son of Pen-Llarcau! Your prize? Risk your life? We have lost life and shed blood for the cauldron. A heavy price has been paid—heavier than you know!"

Eilonwy ran to stand behind him, with some instinctive sense of protecting his back. "If you hadn't thought we were beneath your company," she put in, "you could have shared in the prize! It's your own fault you've been deprived of it—but as usual, you blame everyone else."

Ellidyr stood frozen, his eyes ablaze with hatred, his face contorted and spasming. With great effort he seemed to wrestle his anger under control, and once again assumed a haughty calm. But his hands were trembling.

"So," he rasped, "pig-boy. You have found the cauldron after all." He glared at the sunken Crochan. "Yet, indeed, it would seem to belong more to the river than to you. Who but a pig-boy would leave it stranded thus? Did you not have wits enough or strength enough to smash it, that you must bear it with you?"

"It's nothing to do with strength," Taran growled. "From Orddu we learned that the Crochan cannot be destroyed unless a man give up his life in it. We have wits enough to know it must be put safely in Dallben's hands."

Ellidyr looked surprised at this for just a moment, and then his heavy-lidded eyes shut halfway in a taunting expression. It was an amazing thing, Eilonwy thought; she would not have supposed it possible that he could make her want to slap him even more.

"I see no great dilemma," he scoffed. "Would you be a hero, pig-boy? Why do you not climb into it yourself? Surely you are bold enough." His mocking smile was back, calculating and cold. "Or are you a coward at heart, when the test is put upon you?"

Eilonwy lunged at him for this, but Taran grabbed her arm and held her back, though she felt his reluctance warring with his better judgement. "This is no time for childish squabbles," he said through gritted teeth. "We need your help. Our strength fails us. Help us bring the Crochan to Caer Dallben. Or at least aid us to move it to the riverbank."

Ellidyr gave him one wild, incredulous look, and then threw back his head in horrible laughter. "Help you?" he screeched. "So that a pigboy may strut before Gwydion and boast of his deeds? And a Prince of Pen-Llarcau play the churl?" He stalked up until they were nose to nose, and his shouting sprayed Taran with anger. "No, you shall have no help from me! I warned you to take your own part! Do it now, pig-boy!"

Eilowny took a breath to return his anger with her own, but a movement against the sky behind him caught her eye. Black figures wheeled against the gray clouds—like giant ravens, but their necks were too long , their wings the wrong shape. She screamed in horrified recognition. "Gwythaints!"

In an instant they were scattering, Taran grabbing her arm and yanking her toward Fflewddur; they supported him as they ran for the brush. Ellidyr dove for the trees. Taran darted back to help Gurgi as the creature, gibbering with terror, gathered their horses by the bridle and scrambled to the nearest cover.

The great black birds descended, shrieking harshly. They circled around the cauldron in a deadly dance of ebony feathers. One of them came to rest on the edge of its mouth and for an instant remained poised there, beating its wings.

Eilonwy crouched with her face to her knees as the gwythaints shrieked and squawked, the discordant rasping of their voices almost worse than the horrible sight of them. It was impossible that the birds were unaware of their presence—they had made too much noise, and the cover was not dense enough to cover them completely. Any second one of those razor-sharped claws might sink into her shoulders. She shrank inside her clothes, trying to make herself small.

Yet they did not attack. For several long and horrible moments, they hovered over the river. Then they rose into the sky once more and veered north, swallowed by the mountains. All knew where they were going.

When they had disappeared from view, Taran stepped from the bushes. "They have found what they were seeking," he said shakily. "Arawn will soon know the Crochan waits to be plucked from our hands." He turned to Ellidyr. "Help us," he asked again, "I beg you. We dare not lose a moment."

Ellidyr shrugged, feigning nonchalance. He strode down the riverbank and waded into the shallows, where he looked closely at the half-sunken Crochan. "It can be moved," he declared. "But not by you, pig-boy. You will need the strength of Islimach added to your own steeds— and you will need mine."

"Lend us your strength, then," Taran pleaded. "Let us raise the Crochan and be gone from here before more of Arawn's servants reach it."

Ellidyr paused, looking at them all strangely, as though they were far away. "Perhaps I shall; perhaps I shall not," he murmured. "Did you pay a price to gain the cauldron? Very well. You shall pay yet another one."

He strode close to Taran. "Hear me, pig-boy. If I help you bear the cauldron to Caer Dallben, it shall be on my own conditions."

Oh, for goodness' sake. As if the arrogance, the rudeness, the neverending repetition of his favorite epithet wasn't enough to endure! "This is no time for conditions," Eilonwy shouted. "We don't want to listen to your conditions, you insufferable nit—particularly when you can't even use our names! We'll find our own way to get the Crochan out. Or we'll stay here with it and one of us can go back and bring Gwydion."

"Stay here and be slain," Ellidyr retorted—a sting all the sharper for being, she knew, entirely correct. "No, it must be done now, and done as I say or not at all."

He paused, obviously savoring his upper hand, smirking to himself. "These are my conditions," he said finally. "The Crochan is mine, and you shall be under my command. It is I who found it, not you, pig-boy. It is I who fought for it and won it. So you shall say to Gwydion and the others. And you shall all swear the most binding oath."

The outrageous words piled one upon another, unbelievable, like a tower of bricks ready to topple. They all glanced at each other in astonishment at the brazen insolence of it. "No!" Eilonwy burst out, incensed. "We shall not! You ask us to lie so that you may steal the Crochan and steal our own efforts with it! You are mad, Ellidyr!"

The prince turned his blazing eyes upon her. "Not mad, scullery maid, but weary to my death. Do you hear me? All my life have I been forced into the second rank. I have been put aside, slighted." He paced the riverbank in agitation. "Honor? It has been denied me at every turn. But this time I shall not let the prize slip from my fingers."

"Adaon saw a black beast on your shoulders," Taran murmured. "And I, too, have seen it. I see it now, Ellidyr."

"I care nothing for your black beast!"shouted Ellidyr, turning crimson again. "I care for my honor."

"Do you think I care nothing for mine?" Taran shot back.

"The honor of a pig-boy?" Ellidyr spat scornfully. "What is that compared to the honor of a prince?"

"What honor? Honor that's stolen? Won by lies and threats?" Eilonwy demanded. "That is no honor at all, just nonsense. You're a fraud and a liar. You can't make something true just by saying it is, and expecting us to play along."

"Hold your tongue, scullery maid," Ellidyr snarled. "This is a matter for the men here to decide."

Rage flooded her like a river of fire, and the tips of the brush around them sparked and smoldered, but only Fflewddur noticed, and placed a calming, warning hand upon her shoulder. "Steady, love," he whispered, "it won't help." She gulped down the words that twisted in her throat, that wanted to wrap the face of the man in front of her in flames. Would it be so wrong? Could nothing be done? I'm tired of being kept from doing anything!

Taran had drawn himself up, his voice rising as he stared Ellidyr in the face. "I have paid for my honor more dearly than you would pay for yours. Do you ask me now to cast it away?"

"You, pig-boy, dared reproach me for seeking glory," Ellidyr sneered. "Yet you yourself cling to it with your dirty hands." He stepped back, and spread his hands wide in a final resolution. "I shall not tarry here. My terms or nothing. Make your choice."

Eilonwy darted around Taran, seized Ellidyr by the jacket and jostled him angrily. "How dare you ask such a price?"

For all his weariness, she could sense the power in his frame as he jerked away. "Let the pig-boy decide. It is up to him whether he will pay it." Ellidyr's face twisted mockingly down at her. "Or does he dance to your bidding, scullery maid?"

Eilonwy flew at his face, her fingers curling instinctively into claws, but he shook her off, turned and stalked back to the riverbank, where he stood waiting for the decision. She was left with naught but her rage and humiliation for comrades, and they could do nothing, in this moment, but consume her.

Taran stood silent for long moments, but in the obscuring cloud of her own anger she could read nothing of his feelings. He looked around at all of them and spoke low. "If I swear this, you must swear along with me. Once given, I will not break an oath, and it would be even more to my shame if I broke this one. Before I can decide, I must know whether you, too, will bind yourselves. On this we must all agree."

Eilonwy stared at him in dismay. Surely he was not agreeing to this outrage…asking them to agree! Fuming, she clamped her mouth shut, glared at Taran, at Fflewddur. Neither met her eyes.

Finally, Fflewddur rubbed his forehead with a sigh. "It's a nasty business, lad. But I put the decision in your hands. I shall abide by what you do."

Gurgi nodded silently, but Eilonwy cried out as though she'd been struck. How could they all? "I won't! Taran of Caer Dallben, how can you ask it of us? I shall not lie! Not for this traitor and deserter."

He flinched as though each word struck him a blow, and the pain in his eyes crushed her breath. "It's not for him," he pleaded, "but for the sake of our quest. Eilonwy, it's the only way."

Her throat clenched; her eyes welled hot. "It isn't right," she gasped, voice breaking like a snapped twig. Taran took her by the shoulders and made her look him in the face.

"We do not speak of rightness," he said quietly. "We speak of a task to be finished. Remember what the cauldron is."

What the cauldron was? It was death. It was suffering. It was the gloom and despair that had hung over them since the moment they'd laid eyes upon it. It was the grief of loss, the false promise of a profane resurrection, the betrayal and terror of being attacked by loved ones who no longer knew you. Eilonwy glanced at Fflewddur, who stood, still pale, his eyes downcast.

The cauldron was evil. They must do what they must. But it tore her heart, and she could not look Taran in the face as she choked out, "Fflewddur has said the choice is yours. I must say the same."

For a long moment Taran did not speak, and she felt the wash of anguish that swept him as though it were hers. Not a full day ago, she had told him the honor of gaining the cauldron was something no one could take from him. Yet here it was, happening. She would never forgive Ellidyr for it.

Taran turned and called to the prince. "The cauldron is yours," he said slowly. "We are at your command, and all things shall be as you say. Thus we swear."

Ellidyr nodded once, stiffly, as though all were at rights, and he had received no more than his due. He wasted no time in gloating over his triumph —though Eilonwy had no doubt he'd take full advantage of the opportunity later—but set to task immediately, giving orders to lash the cauldron with ropes and bring the horses closer. The animals were hitched together, Fflewddur at their heads, and their lines attached to the cauldron.

The rest surrounded the cauldron once more, posting on either side of it to guide it between the boulders. Ellidyr bent, thrusting his shoulder as far beneath the cauldron as he could, and shouted to Fflewddur.

The horses pulled and the ropes went taut. Ellidyr tensed, straining at the cauldron; Taran and Eilonwy heaved upon the ropes with all their strength. Nothing happened.

Ellidyr called for a rest and they caught their breath before bending to task again. Eilonwy, laboring at the opposite side of the Crochan, could not see Ellidyr when he bent down, but she heard his gasps and strained groans. He sounded like a dying man, and she wondered sourly whether he could position himself over the mouth of the cauldron, so that if he should suddenly burst his heart, he might conveniently fall in while still breathing, and end this farce for all of them.

Another rest, and a final push. The ropes creaked and whined; they all groaned, straining with the effort, and suddenly it seemed that the very ground shifted. They tumbled forward as the cauldron lifted free of its trap.

Ellidyr, with a cry of triumph, hauled at the ropes, shouting at the horses. The cauldron scraped over the pebbles and mud upon the bank, streaming water from its mouth.

On the riverbank they quickly roped the sling between Melynlas and Lluagor. Ellidyr hitched up Islimach as the leading horse, to guide the others and bear a share of the weight. He worked without pause, almost feverishly in his eagerness, but when the horses were properly balanced he suddenly grew still. When he turned to look at them all, his face was strangely flushed, his eyes burning with a fierce and unnatural light.

"My cauldron has been won back from the river," he said. "But…I think perhaps I was too hasty." He took a few threatening steps toward Taran. "You met my terms too quickly. Tell me, what is in your mind, pig-boy?"

Taran looked at him blankly, and Ellidyr suddenly shouted in rage. "I know well enough! Once more you would try to cheat me!"

Taran raised his hands in bewilderment. "You have my oath, Ellidyr."

"What is the oath of a pig-boy?" Ellidyr spat. "You gave it; you will break it!"

Oh, it was unendurable! Nothing would ever be enough for this wretch! No lie could make him what he wanted to be, but he would see them all destroyed before he faced the truth. "Speak for yourself," Eilonwy retorted. "You think that because it's what you would do! Prince of Pen-Llarcau." She infused the title with the same sneering scorn he employed in "pig-boy" and was gratified to see him flush dark. "But we are not like you."

He turned away swiftly, ignoring the barb. "The cauldron needed all of us to raise it," he muttered. "But does it now need all of us to carry it? A few would serve, yes—only a few. Perhaps only one, if he were strong enough."

He spun and looked upon Taran wildly. "Was my price too low?"

Taran blanched. "You are truly mad."

The prince laughed, a high and horrible sound. "Mad to believe your word alone! The price must be silence, utter silence! Yes, pig-boy, I knew in time we should have to face one another."

Eilonwy watched in horror as he whipped out his sword and lunged. Taran, too dumbfounded to respond quickly, stumbled back and into the river, where he scrambled to a boulder, scrabbling for his sword. Ellidyr pressed to attack with an insane relentless fury.

Fflewddur rushed toward them both, attempting vainly to draw his sword with his left hand. Eilonwy charged with her dagger; Gurgi came running with a large branch as a club, but it was all happening too fast. Taran, dodging the wild-swinging blade, lost his balance and tumbled from the boulder with a splash. He struggled to get to his feet, beset by both the treacherous footing, and the onslaught of the furious prince. Reaching the riverbank, Eilonwy bent to raise a heavy stone, and flung it at Ellidyr's head. Too heavy; it fell low and caught him between the shoulder blades, knocking the sword from his hand. But just as he stumbled, she saw Taran fall, and not rise again. The current pulled his limp body into the middle of the river, carrying him swiftly downstream as surely as the cold wind snatched the scream from her lips.