'Indeed,' agreed the bard. 'I shouldn't have liked to be in her place. Yet he must have grown fond enough of her to give her a name. Here, he's written it down. Llyan. Apart from feeding her those dreadful messes, I expect he didn't treat her badly. She might even have been company for him, living alone as he did.
'At last it happened,' Fflewddur went on. 'You can see by his writing how excited Glew must have been. Llyan began to grow. Glees mentions he was obliged to make a new cage for her. And still another. How pleased he must have been. I can easily imagine the little fellow chuckling and brewing away for all he was worth.'
Fflewddur turned to the last page. 'And so it ends,' he said, 'where the mice have eaten the parchment. They've done away with Glew's last recipe. As for Glew and Llyan? they've vanished along with it.'
Taran was silent looking at the empty boots and overturned cookpots. 'Glew certainly is gone,' he said thoughtfully, 'but I have a feeling he didn't go far.'
'How's that?' asked the bard. 'Oh, I take your meaning,' he said, shuddering. 'Yes, it does look rather? shall I say, sudden? As I see Glew, he was a neat and orderly sort. He would hardly go off leaving his hut as it is now. Without his boots at that. Poor little fellow,' he sighed. 'It only proves the dangers of meddling. For all his pains, Glew must have got himself gobbled up. And if you ask me, the wisest thing for us is to leave immediately!'
Taran nodded and rose to his feet. As he did, terrified whinnyings and the sound of galloping hooves filled the air. 'The horses!' he cried, racing to the door.
Before he could reach it, the door burst from its hinges. Taran clutched at his sword and stumbled back into the hut as a huge shape leaped at him.
Chapter 7
The Lair of Llyan
TARAN'S BLADE WENT spinning from his grasp and he threw himself to the ground to escape the onslaught. In a powerful spring, the creature passed over his head. The great beast screamed with fury as the companions scattered in terror to all parts of the hut.
Amid the confusion of tumbling stools and benches, and as the dry leaves rose in a whirlwind, Taran saw that Fflewddur had jumped to a tabletop and, in so doing, had plunged into the spiderweb which now covered him from head to foot. Prince Rhun, having tried vainly to climb up the chimney, crouched in the ashes of the hearth. Gurgi had made himself as small as he could and had pressed into a corner, where he squealed and yelled, 'Help, oh, help! Save Gurgi's poor tender head from pawings and clawings!'
'It's Llyan!' cried Taran.
'You can be sure it is!' Fflewddur shouted. 'Now that I see her, I quite believe Glew was gobbled up and digested long ago.'
A long, wavering growl rose from the creature's throat and she hesitated a moment as if undecided where to attack. Taran, sitting up on the ground, saw for the first time what the ferocious animal looked like.
Though Glew had written of Llyan's growth, Taran had never imagined a mountain cat so big. The animal stood as tall as a horse but leaner and longer; her tail alone, thicker than Taran's arm, seemed to take up much of the room in the hut. Heavily and sleekly furred, the cat's body was golden-tawny, flecked with black and orange. Her belly was white with black splotches. 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. Judging from the white points of her teeth, glittering as her lips drew back in a snarl, Taran was certain Llyan could gulp down anything that suited her fancy.
The giant cat swung her great head toward Taran and moved lithely across the ground. As she did, Fflewddur unsheathed his sword; cobwebs and all, he jumped from the table, shouted at the top of his voice, and brandished the weapon. In an instant Llyan spun around. The lash of her tail sent Taran headlong once more; even before Fflewddur could strike, Llyan's heavy paw flickered through the air. Its motion was too rapid for Taran's eyes to follow; he saw only the astonished bard's weapon fly up and clatter into the doorway, whip Fflewddur himself went head over heels.
With a snort and what seemed a shrug of her rippling shoulders, Llyan turned again to Taran. She crouched, thrust out her neck, and her whiskers trembled as she padded closer to him. Taran, not daring to move a muscle, held his breath. Llyan circled him, making snuffling noises. From the corner of his eye, Taran glimpsed the bard trying to climb to his feet, and warned Fflewddur to stay still.
'She's more curious than angry,' Taran whispered. 'Otherwise, she would have clawed us to pieces by now. Don't move. She may go away.'
'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.'
'I don't think she's hungry,' said Taran. 'If she's been out hunting during the night, she must have eaten her fill.'
'So much the worse for us,' said Fflewddur. 'She'll keep us here until her appetite comes back. I'm sure this is the first time she's been lucky enough to have four dinners ready and waiting in her lair.' He sighed and shook his head. 'In my own realm I was always putting out scraps for birds and other creatures, but I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be putting
At last, Llyan settled herself across the doorway. She moistened a huge paw with her tongue and began passing it over her ear. Engrossed in her task, she seemed to have forgotten the companions were there. Despite his fear, Taran could not help staring at her in fascination. Power filled even Llyan's gentlest movements; beneath the golden fur, glowing in the sunlight from the open door, he could guess at her mighty muscles. Llyan, he was certain, could be swift as Melynlas. But he knew also she could be deadly; and, though she did not appear ill- disposed toward the companions, her mood might change at any instant. Taran cast about desperately for a way to freedom, or at least a means of regaining their weapons.
'Fflewddur,' he whispered, 'make a little noise, not too much but enough so that Llyan will look at you.'
'How's that?' asked the bard, puzzled. 'Look at me? She'll do that soon enough. I'm thankful she hasn't yet got around to it.' However, he scraped his boots across the floor. Llyan immediately pricked up her ears and turned her eyes on the bard.
Crouching, Taran moved silently toward Llyan, his hand outstretched. His fingers cautiously reached for his sword which lay close to Llyan's paws. Quick as lightning, the mountain cat struck at him and he fell back. Had her claws been unsheathed, Taran realized with a sinking feeling, Llyan would have gained his head in addition to his weapon.
'No chance, my friend,' said Fflewddur. 'She's faster than any of us.'
'We can be hindered no longer!' Taran cried. 'Time is precious!'
'Oh, indeed it is,' the bard answered, 'and gets more precious the less of it we have. I'm beginning to envy Princess Eilonwy. Magg may be a foul, villainous spider and all such as that, but when it comes to teeth and claws? I should vastly prefer going against him instead of Llyan. No, no,' he sighed, 'I'm quite content to stretch my last moments as far as they'll reach.'
Taran in despair pressed his hands against his forehead. 'Prince Rhun,' he called softly after a moment, as Llyan began passing a paw over her whiskers, 'stand up quietly. See if you can make your way to that broken corner of the hut. If so, climb out and run for your life.'
The Prince of Mona nodded, but no sooner had he risen to his feet than Llyan growled a warning. Prince Rhun blinked and quickly sat down again. Llyan glared at the companions.
'Great Belin!' whispered Fflewddur. 'Don't rouse her up any more. It will only bring on her appetite. She's not going to let us out of here, that's one thing sure.'
'But we must escape,' Taran urged. 'What if we all rushed upon her once? One of us at least might get past.'
Fflewddur shook his head. 'After she'd settled with the rest of us,' he answered, 'she'd have no trouble catching up with that lone survivor. Let me think, let me think.' Frowning, he reached behind him and unslung his harp. Llyan, still growling, watched intently, but made no further move.
'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
