The Castle of Llyr: Chapters 6–10

In rage and vengeance the haughty Queen would slay any of the companions who fell into her hands.

When at last he dropped into fitful slumber it was as though he slept beneath a millstone.

In astonishment, Taran slackened the reins and let the horse canter freely toward the sound. In another few moments he glimpsed a pale shape beyond the foliage.

The conical thatched roof, he now saw, had fallen away in many places.

His curiosity getting the better of his prudence, he loped across the clearing and thrust his head into the doorway, at last venturing inside with Rhun.

His curiosity getting the better of his prudence, he loped across the clearing and thrust his head into the doorway, at last venturing inside with Rhun.

“Look, look!” he called, holding up a sheaf of tattered parchment.

Only at the bottom of the pile did Taran find pages in good repair. These had been carefully bound in leather to make a small tome, and their surface was clear and unmarked.

He went back to puzzling over the parchments. “Between the mice and the weather,” he went on, “there’s not much to make out of this scrawl. There seems to be no beginning or ending, but as far as I can tell, these are recipes for potions.”

Curling tufts sprouted from the tips of her ears, and shaggy handfuls of fur curved at her powerful jaws. Her long whiskers twitched; her baleful yellow eyes darted from one companion to another.

The giant cat swung her great head toward Taran and moved lithely across the ground.

“Glad to hear you say that,” replied Fflewddur in a choked voice. “I’ll remember it while I’m being gobbled up. It will be a consolation to me.”

“It always calms me,” explained Fflewddur, putting the instrument against his shoulder and passing his hands over the harp strings. “I don’t know whether it will stir up any ideas; but when I’m playing, at least things don’t seem quite so dismal.”

“Believe me,” the bard answered fervently, “I haven’t the slightest intention.”

Llyan lay on her side across the threshold, one paw outstretched, the other gently curled against her tawny body.

His face was pale and drawn beneath its coating of soot, yet he tried valiantly to assume his usual cheerful grin.

“If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t be in this plight. And I’m afraid you’re right. It’s my fault things turned out as they did. I can only ask your forgiveness. I’m not the cleverest person in the world,” Rhun added, smiling sadly.

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.

Kaw, circling in great loops above the companions, had grown more agitated and began a raucous croaking.

“He’s wandered off again!” Taran shouted furiously. “Feckless dolt! Where has he gone?”

Ungainly though it was, and looking more like a bundle of kindling wood, the raft was soon ready.

Taken by surprise, Llyan fell back on her haunches and turned to face the crow.

Dancing in front of her like a large black hornet, Kaw jabbered impudently as though daring the beast to catch him, flapped his wings in her face, and sped away once more.

Taran tightened his grasp on the foundering Prince and fought his way to the surface.

“Whether we can burrow through all that dirt is, to say the least of it, highly doubtful. Even a mole would have trouble, though I’m willing to give it a try. A Fflam is undaunted! But,” he added, “without a light to guide us, we shall spend the rest of our days looking for the right spot to dig.”

“I cannot do it,” Taran murmured. “I fear it is not given to an Assistant Pig-Keeper to command such a thing of beauty and enchantment.”

Taran groped toward Fflewddur and put the sphere into his hand. “You know the lore of the bards and the ways of enchantments,” he urged. “Perhaps it will obey you. Try, Fflewddur. Our lives depend on it.”

“But,” he added dolefully, “I’m coming rapidly to believe this pit will be our grave, without even a decent mound to mark the spot. A Fflam is cheerful—but this is a disheartening situation, no matter how you look at it.”

Along the shadowy walls, huge outcroppings sprang like hawthorn blossoms and glittered in the bauble’s golden rays.

White tendrils of crystal curled along jagged walls gleaming with rivulets of water.

White tendrils of crystal curled along jagged walls gleaming with rivulets of water.

While Prince Rhun rested on one of the tablelike stones, and Gurgi delved into his wallet for food, Taran and Fflewddur spoke hastily between themselves.

No further sound came from the reaches of the cavern, and Taran warily beckoned the companions forward.

The air was heavy, stagnant as swamp water, and chilled them to the bone.

The stone was white, smooth, and somewhat pointed at the top, crusted here and there with patches of lichen, and stood nearly as tall as Taran himself.