The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain, #2)

by Lloyd Alexander

Though of great age, its metal shone clear and untarnished, and its very plainness had the beauty of true nobility.

“Its powers?” Dallben answered with a sad smile. “My dear boy, this is a bit of metal hammered into a rather unattractive shape; it could better have been a pruning hook or a plow iron. Its powers? Like all weapons, only those held by him who wields it. What yours may be, I can in no wise say.

“I have marched in many a battle host,” Adaon answered quietly, “but I have also planted seeds and reaped the harvest with my own hands. And I have learned there is greater honor in a field well plowed than in a field steeped in blood.”

“There is much to be known,” said Adaon, “and above all much to be loved, be it the turn of the seasons or the shape of a river pebble. Indeed, the more we find to love, the more we add to the measure of our hearts.”

Later, the pace of the column slowed as the pleasant meadows wrinkled into hills.

They rove in small bands, and within those companies the death of one man only adds to the strength of all the rest.

Even as their number dwindles, their power grows.

But the truth of the matter is, it’s rather tasteless. That’s often the trouble with magical things. They’re never quite what you’d expect.

“It is easy to judge evil unmixed,” replied Gwydion. “But, alas, in most of us good and bad are closely woven as the threads on a loom; greater wisdom than mine is needed for the judging.

“King Morgant served the Sons of Don long and well,” he went on. “Until the thirst for power parched his throat, he was a fearless and noble lord. In battle he saved my life more than once. These things are part of him and cannot be put aside or forgotten.

“And so shall I honor Morgant,” Gwydion said, “for what he used to be, and Ellidyr Prince of Pen-...