The Black Cauldron

THE FOLLOWING PAGES are intended, hopefully, to do somewhat more than continue the Chronicles of Prydain. "What happens next?" is always an urgent question, and this volume attempts to answer it, at least partially. Nevertheless, The Black Cauldron should stand as a chronicle in its own right. Certain matters previously hinted at are here revealed more fully; and, while extending the story, I have also tried to deepen it.

If a darker thread runs through the high spirits, it is because the happenings are of serious import not only to the Land of Prydain but to Taran, the Assistant Pig-Keeper, himself. Although an imaginary world, Prydain is essentially not too different from our real one, where humor and heartbreak, joy and sadness are closely interwoven. The choices and decisions that face a frequently baffled Assistant Pig-Keeper are no easier than the ones we ourselves must make. Even in a fantasy realm, growing up is accomplished not without cost.

Readers venturing into this kingdom for the first time should also be warned that the landscape, at first glance, may seem like Wales, and the inhabitants may evoke heroes of ancient Welsh legend. These were the roots and inspiration. But the rest is a work of imagination, similar only in spirit, not in detail.

Readers who have already journeyed with Taran are assured― and this without giving away any surprises― that Gurgi, despite shakings and quakings and fears for his poor tender head, insisted on joining this new adventure, as did the impetuous Fflewddur Fflam and the disgruntled Doli of the Fair Folk. As for the Princess Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad― there can be no question!

I have been happy to learn that Taran, in spite of his faults, has gained some steadfast companions beyond the borders of Prydain: Beverly Bond, whose courage never faltered; Zay Borman, who rashly visited the Marshes of Morva during a thunderstorm; Carl Brandt, who was sure Prydain existed even before it was discovered; Ann Durell, from the very beginning; Max Jacobson, my severe friend and best critic; Evaline Ness of clearest vision; Louise Waller, who helped weed dandelions. And Evan and Reed, Kris and Mike, Fleur, Suzy, and Barbara, Peter, Liz and Susie, Michael, Mark, Gary, and Diana. And their respective parents. To them, these pages are affectionately offered.

-L.A.