Free The Castle of Llyr by Lloyd Alexander Page B

said about putting me in command, I wasn’t really leading. No more than I am now. I understand. I’m under your orders. Whatever’s to be done, you are the one to decide.”
    â€œThere are others who can finish the task,” Taran said. “As for us …”
    â€œSee with lookings!” burst out Gurgi, who had been crouching near a fallen ash tree. “See, coming with chasings and racings!” He waved his arms excitedly and pointed to a low ridge. Taran made out a figure running at top speed.
    His harp bouncing at his shoulder, his cloak rolled up and clutched under one arm, and his lanky legs pumping for all they were worth, the bard dashed down the slope. He flung himself to the ground and mopped his streaming face.

    â€œGreat Belin!” Fflewddur gasped. “I’m glad to see all of you again.” From his cloak he drew out the lost swords and handed them to the companions. “And I think we shall all be glad to see these.”
    â€œAre you wounded?” Taran asked. “How did you escape? How did you find us?”
    Still puffing, the bard raised a hand. “Give me a moment to catch my breath, for I lost it somewhere along the way. Wounded? Well, yes, in a manner of speaking,” he added, glancing at his blistered fingers. “But I had no trouble finding you. Rhun must have carried off all the ashes in Glew’s fireplace. I could hardly miss the trail.
    â€œAs for Llyan,” Fflewddur went on, “the bards will sing of that, you can be sure. I must have played, sung, whistled, and hummed everything I ever knew, and twice over. I was sure I’d have to keep plucking and strumming for the rest of my life, however short that might be. Recall my plight!” he cried, leaping to his feet. “Alone with a ferocious monster. Bard against beast! Beast against bard!”
    â€œYou slew her,” Taran exclaimed. “A bold stroke—though a pity, for she was beautiful in her way.”
    â€œAh—well, the truth of it is,” Fflewddur said hastily, for the harp strings had tensed as though they might all break at once, “she finally went to sleep. I snatched up our swords and ran for dear life.”
    Fflewddur sank back to the turf and immediately began munching the food Gurgi had offered him.
    â€œBut I shouldn’t vouch for Llyan’s temper when she wakens,” the bard continued. “She’s bound to come after me. These mountain
cats are trackers born; and since Llyan’s ten times bigger than an ordinary creature, she’s surely ten times more cunning. She’ll not give up easily. I have the feeling her patience is as long as her tail. But I’m surprised you’ve not gone farther. I thought you’d be well on your way to join the search.”
    Taran shook his head. He told the bard of the decision to return to Dinas Rhydnant.
    â€œI suppose it’s the best thing to do,” Fflewddur reluctantly agreed. “Especially now, when Llyan may be prowling.”
    Taran scanned the hills for the easiest and safest path to follow. He caught his breath. A dark shape sped high above. It veered, circled, then dove directly toward him.
    â€œIt’s Kaw!” Taran ran ahead and held out his arm. The crow dropped swiftly and lighted on Taran’s outstretched wrist. The bird showed signs of grueling flight; his feathers were askew and he looked like a bundle of rags, but he clacked his beak and jabbered excitedly.
    â€œEilonwy!” Kaw croaked. “Eilonwy!”

CHAPTER NINE
    The Luck of Rhun
    â€œH e’s found her!” Taran shouted, as the companions pressed around the frantic crow. “Where has Magg taken her?”
    â€œAlaw!” croaked Kaw. “Alaw!”
    â€œThe river!” Taran exclaimed. “How far is it?”
    â€œClose! Close!” replied Kaw.
    â€œNo question of going back to Dinas Rhydnant now,” cried Prince Rhun.