The High King

Is there worse evil than that which goes in the mask of good?

Evil cannot be conquered by wishing.

A crown is a pitiless master, harsher than the staff of a pig-keeper; while a staff bears up, a crown weighs down, beyond the strength of any man to wear it lightly.

Are these signs of hope, or do we deceive ourselves by wishing them to be?

“Long ago I yearned to be a hero without knowing, in truth, what a hero was. Now, perhaps, I understand it a little better. A grower of turnips or a shaper of clay, a Commot farmer or a king — every man is a hero if he strives more for others than for himself alone. Once,” he added, “you told me that the seeking counts more than the finding. So, too, must the striving count more than the gain.

“Once, I hoped for a glorious destiny,” Taran went on, smiling at his own memory. “That dream has vanished with my childhood; and though a pleasant dream it was fit only for a child. I am well content as an Assistant Pig-Keeper.”

“How then?” Taran asked. “Could The Book of Three deceive you?”

“No, it could not.” Dallben said. “The book is thus called because it tells all three parts of our lives: the past, the present, and the future. But it could as well be called a book of ‘if.’ If you had failed at your tasks; if you had followed an evil path; if you had been slain; if you had not chosen as you did — a thousand ‘ifs,’ my boy, and many times a thousand. The Book of Three can say no more than ‘if’ until at the end, of all things that might have been, one alone becomes what really is. For the deeds of a man, not the words of a prophecy, are what shape his destiny.”

A crown is more discomfort than adornment. If you have learned that, you have already learned much.

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.

“Dyrnwyn is yours,” Gwydion said, “as it was meant to be.”

“Yet Arawn is slain,” Taran replied. “Evil is conquered and the blade’s work done.”

“Evil conquered?” said Gwydion. “You have learned much, but learn this last and hardest of lessons. You have conquered only the enchantments of evil. That was the easiest of your tasks, only a beginning, not an ending. Do you believe evil itself so quickly overcome? Not so long as men still hate and slay each other, when greed and anger goad them. Against these even a flaming sword cannot prevail, but only that portion of good in all men’s hearts whose flame can never be quenched.

This much have I learned: A man’s life weighs more than glory, and a price paid in blood is a heavy reckoning.

“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.”