Free The Castle of Llyr by Lloyd Alexander

about her! It may be calming for me, but who can tell what it might do to a mountain cat!”
    Llyan now voiced a strange, pleading yowl. But, seeing Fflewddur about to sling the harp on his shoulder once again, her tone changed and sharpened. She growled menacingly.
    â€œFflewddur!” Taran whispered. “Play on!”
    â€œYou can’t think she enjoys it,” replied the bard. “I should find that hard to believe. Why, even human beings have been known to say hard words about my music. You can’t expect a mountain cat to like it any better.” Nevertheless, he plucked the strings once more.
    This time, there was no doubt in Taran’s mind that Llyan was fascinated by the harp. The great body of the cat slackened, her muscles seemed to uncoil, and Llyan blinked peacefully. To make certain, Taran asked Fflewddur to stop. As soon as the bard did so, Llyan turned restless. Her tail lashed and her whiskers trembled with what could only be vexation. As soon as the bard played
again, Llyan put her head to one side, ears forward, and gazed fondly at him.
    â€œYes, yes!” Gurgi cried. “Do not leave off hummings and strummings!”
    â€œBelieve me,” the bard answered fervently, “I haven’t the slightest intention.”
    Llyan folded her paws under her deep, speckled chest and began making a sound like a swarm of droning bees. Her mouth curved in a smile and the tip of her tail moved gently to the music.
    â€œThat’s the answer!” cried Fflewddur, springing to his feet. “Fly, friends, while she’s quiet!” No sooner had he risen than Llyan, too, jumped up, furious, and the bard sank back, playing for dear life.
    â€œYour music calms her,” Taran cried in alarm, “but she still won’t let us go.”
    â€œNot exactly,” said the bard, passing his fingers rapidly across the strings. “I doubt if the rest of you will have any trouble. Alas,” he added ruefully, “I fear I’m the one she wants to keep!”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    The Harp of Fflewddur
    â€œF ly from here!” urged the bard, never ceasing to pluck his harp strings. “Begone! I’ve no idea how long she’ll want to listen—or how long I can keep playing!”
    â€œThere must be another way,” Taran cried. “We can’t leave you.”
    â€œI like it no more than you do,” replied the bard. “But this is your chance. You must take it now.”
    Taran hesitated. Fflewddur’s face was grim and drawn, and he seemed already weary.
    â€œBegone!” Fflewddur repeated. “I’ll play as long as I can. By then, if she’s decided not to gobble me, she may go out hunting. Don’t worry. If the harp fails, I’ll think of something else.”
    Sick at heart, Taran turned away. Llyan lay on her side across the threshold, one paw outstretched, the other gently curled against her tawny body. Her neck arched and her huge head turned toward Fflewddur. The fierce creature seemed altogether comfortable and peaceful. With yellow eyes half-closed, she watched only the bard as Taran stealthily moved to join Gurgi and Prince Rhun. Taran’s sword remained with the other weapons beneath her paw, and he dared not attempt to snatch it away, fearful as he was of breaking the spell of Fflewddur’s harp.

    The fallen stones at the corner of the hut gave a narrow passage into the clearing. Taran motioned hurriedly for the Prince to go through. Gurgi followed on tiptoe, eyes wide with fright; he clutched his jaws in both hands to keep his teeth from chattering.
    Taran still hung back, and turned once more to the bard, who gestured frantically.
    â€œOut, out!” commanded Fflewddur. “I shall find you as soon as I can. Did I not promise you a new song? You shall hear it from my own lips. Until then—farewell!”
    Fflewddur’s tone and glance left no room for question. Taran flung himself past the