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Princess. "Indeed, I was sure, when the Wanderer and I first met, that he had
a pretty maiden in his thoughts."
"Humph!" Eilonwy sniffed. "I'm not sure if he did then, and even
less sure if he does now."
Dwyvach chuckled. "If you are not, then no one else can be. Time
will tell which of us is right. But meanwhile, child," she added, unfolding a
cloak she held in her withered hands and setting it about Eilonwy's shoulders,
"take this as a gift from a crone to a maiden, and know there is not so much
difference between the two. For even a tottering granddam keeps a portion of
girlish heart, and the youngest maiden a thread of old woman's wisdom."
Taran had now come to the cottage door. He warmly greeted the
Weaver-Woman and admired the cloak she had given Eilonwy. "Hevydd and the
Commot smiths labor to make arms for us," he said. "But warriors need warmth
as much as weapons. Alas, we have no garments like this."
"Do you think a weaver-woman less hardy than a metalsmith?" Dwyvach
replied. "As you wove patiently at my loom, now my loom will weave the more
quickly for you. And in every Commot, shuttles will fly for the sake of Taran
Wanderer."
Heartened by the Weaver-Woman's promise, the companions departed
from Gwenith. A short distance from the Commot, Taran caught sight of a small
band of horsemen riding toward him at a quick pace. Leading them was a tall
youth who shouted Taran's name and raised a hand in greeting.
With a glad cry Taran urged Melynlas to meet the riders. "Llassar!"
Taran called, reining up beside the young man. "I did not think you and I
would meet so far from your sheepfold in Commot Isav."
"Your news travels ahead of you, Wanderer," Llassar replied. "But I
feared you would deem our Commot too small and pass it by. It was I," he
added, with shy hesitation that could not altogether conceal his boyish
pride,"it was l who led our folk to find you."
"The size of Isav is no measure of its courage," Taran said, "and I
need and welcome all of you. But where is your father?" he asked, glancing at
the band of riders. "Where is Drudwas? He would not let his son journey so far
without him."
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Llassar's face fell. "The winter took him from us. I grieve for him,
but honor his memory by doing what he himself would have done."
"And what of your mother?" Taran asked, as he and Llassar trotted
back to join the companions. "Was it her wish, too, that you leave home and
flock?"
"Others will tend my flock," the young shepherd answered. "My mother
knows what a child must do and what a man must do. I am a man," he added
stoutly, "and have been one since you and I stood against Dorath and his
ruffians that night in the sheepfold."
"Yes, yes!" cried Gurgi. "And fearless Gurgi stood against them,
too!"
"I'm sure all of you did," Eilonwy remarked sourly, "while I was
curtsying and having my hair washed on Mona. I don't know who Dorath is, but
if I should ever meet him, I promise you I'll make up for lost time."
Taran shook his head. "Count yourself lucky you don't know him. I
know him all too well, to may sorrow."
"He has not troubled us since that night," said Llassar. "Nor will
he likely trouble us again. I have heard he has left the Commot lands and
roves westward. He has put his sword in the service of the Death-Lord, it is
said. Perhaps it may be so. But if Dorath serves anyone, it is himself."
"Your service freely given counts more for us than any the Lord of
Annuvin could hire," Taran said to Llassar."Prince Gwydion will be grateful to
you."
"To you, rather," said Llassar. "Our pride is not in fighting but in
farming; in the work of our hands, not our blades. Never have we sought war.
We come now to the banner of the White Pig because it is the banner of our
friend, Taran Wanderer."
The weather worsened as the companions continued through the valley,
and the growing host of Commot men forced them to travel at a slower pace. The
days were too short for the work to be done, but Taran rode grimly on. Beside
him galloped Coll, uncomplaining and ever cheerful. His broad face, reddened
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and roughened by cold and wind, was nearly hidden by the collar of a great
fleece-lined, jacket. A sword belt of heavy iron links bound his girth, and at
his back hung a round shield of ox hide. He had found a helmet of beaten
metal, but deemed it did not sit as comfortably on his bald crown as had his
old leather cap.
Taran was grateful for Coll's wisdom and gladly sought his counsel.
It was Coll who gave him the thought, as the marshaling camps grew crowded, to
send smaller, swifter bands directly to Caer Dathyl rather than march from one
Commot to the next with a force becoming ever more cumbersome. Llassar,
Hevydd, and Llonio would not leave Taran's vanguard and stayed ever close at
hand; but when Taran wrapped himself in a cloak and stretched on the frozen
ground for rare moments of sleep, it was Coll who stood watch over him.
"You are the oaken staff I lean on," Taran said. "More than that."
He laughed. "You are the whole sturdy tree, and a true warrior."
Coll, instead of beaming, looked wryly at him. "Do you mean to honor
me?" he asked. "Then say, rather, I am a true grower of turnips and a gatherer
of apples. No warrior whatever, save that I am needed thus for a while. My
garden longs for me as much as I long for it," Coll added. "I left it unready
for winter, and for that I will pay a sorry reckoning at spring planting."
Taran nodded. "We shall dig and weed together, true grower of
turnips--- and true friend."
The watch fires flickered in the night. The horses stirred in their
lines. About them, a mass of deep shadows, dark against darkness, lay sleeping
warriors. The chill wind cut at Taran's face. He was suddenly weary to the
marrow of his bones. He turned to Coll.
"My heart, too, will be easier," he said, "when I am once more an
Assistant Pig-Keeper."
Word reached Taran that King Smoit had raised a strong host among
the cantrev lords and was now turning northward. The companions learned, too,
that certain of Arawn's liegemen had sent war parties across Ystrad to harass
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