The Silver Hand (23 page)

“That is better,” I prompted. “Go on—what else?”

“They are wearing arm rings and bracelets—gold and silver. One man has a gold arm ring, and a gold brooch on his cloak. He has the look of a champion; he alone wears a torc, but it is silver, not gold. They all wear the blue on their sword arms—the image of a bird, maybe a hawk or eagle—I cannot tell from here. I think they have traveled far. They appear weary and ill at ease, and their faces are gaunt.”

“Splendid!” I told him. “You have something of the bard in you, Rhoedd.”

“It will be difficult to take them all at once,” Llew said. “We must have five spears between us, so Rhoedd and I ought to be able to stop three before they reach their weapons.”

“And the other three?” I asked.

“We will have to fight them outmanned,” Llew conceded. “Still, if we strike quickly we may overcome them.”

“If we waited until nightfall,” Rhoedd said, “we might stand a better chance. We could attack them while they slept.”

“But they will have their weapons ready to hand then,” Llew pointed out. “No warrior sleeps unarmed in strange country. Besides, they will probably post a watch for the night. I say we go now.”

He and Rhoedd fell to discussing how best to make the first moves of their attack. As I listened to their talk, I felt increasingly troubled; not from fear—more a feeling of wrongdoing.

“Tegid, take this,” said Llew, pressing a knife into my hand. “If any should try to escape—”

I dropped the knife as if it burned my palm. “We cannot do this,” I told him. “It is not right.”

“I do not think any will come this way,” Rhoedd reassured me. “It is just for your own defense.”

“That is not what he means,” Llew said. “What is it, Tegid?”

“We must not attack unarmed men. It is a thing Meldron would do, and it is vile.”

“Well, what would you do, Tegid Tathal?” Llew asked.

“Welcome them.”

“Welcome them,” mused Llew dryly. “Well, Tegid, that is certainly something Meldron would never do.”

“Lord Bard,” Rhoedd began, “if we welcome them and they are spies, we will be dead before the sun sets.”

“But, Rhoedd my friend, if we attack them and they are men of peace, we will be murderers.”

“What do you suggest?” Llew asked.

“Let us receive them as strangers to our hearth.” So saying, I gripped my staff and stood.

Llew rose quickly and laid his hand on my arm. “I will go first,” he said and stepped slightly ahead of me so that I could follow him without stumbling or fumbling awkwardly and thereby demeaning myself before the strangers.

Together we three moved out from the cover of the trees and strode boldly to the stranger's camp. “Greetings, friends!” Llew called. “Peace to you, and to your lord, whoever he may be.”

Our sudden appearance surprised them. I heard the clatter of dashed utensils and the shuffle of feet as the strangers scrambled for weapons and whirled to confront us—then silence for the space of three heartbeats while they determined how to receive us.

“Greetings,” replied one of the strangers slowly. “You have come upon us by stealth.”

“That is true,” Llew replied. “Forgive us if we have caused you distress. Yet, if your intentions are peaceful, it will be well with you here. If strife is your aim, you will find warmer welcome elsewhere. If nothing prevents you, I would know the name of your lord and what brings you to this place.”

“We accept your welcome gladly,” replied the stranger. “We bear no ill will, friend, and hope to pass through these lands without giving offense to any who live here. Indeed, we would esteem it an honor if you would tell us who is the lord of this place, so that we may greet him as best befits his rank.”

Llew made no answer, but I spoke up, saying, “You speak with some skill, friend. How is it, then, that you have neglected to answer the question put to you? Or perhaps you have a reason for concealing the name of your lord.”

“I did not answer,” the stranger replied ruefully, “because that name above all others has become bitter to me. I conceal it for the purpose of forgetting it. I am telling you the truth when I say I wish I had never heard it.”

It came to me then who these men were, and why they had come.

“Put aside your hurt and woe,” I said. “Though you may not know it, the Swift Sure Hand has brought you here. If you would honor the lord of this place, it is he who has greeted you and even now stands before you, extending his hand in peace.”

“This place is unknown to me, and we did not expect anyone to receive us, much less to welcome us. If my speech or conduct offended you, I beg your pardon, lord. Such was never my intent.”

“I see that you are a man to speak your mind,” Llew replied easily. “Yet I perceive no insult in either word or manner. And I tell you again, you are welcome here. We are camped beyond the ridge; it is a rough hearth, but its freedom is yours. Come, take your rest.”

The strangers agreed, and we started up the track. Llew bade Rhoedd lead the way, and the six strangers followed, leading their horses. Llew and I came last.

“Why did you tell them I was the lord of this place?” Llew demanded as soon as the others were far enough ahead not to overhear.

“Because you are.”

“What will they do when they learn I am lord of nothing more than a wide place beaneath the trees?”

“Do you not know who they are?”

“No.” He paused to consider what he had seen and heard. “Do you know?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Their coming has been foretold.”

“Well, are you going to tell me? Or will I grow old wondering?”

“They are the Ravens.”

“The ravens? What ravens?”

“
Happy shall be Caledon,”
I said, repeating the words of the Banfáith's prophecy, “
the Flight of Ravens will flock to her many-shadowed glens, and raven-song shall be her song.”

“Six warriors,” Llew observed sourly. “Not much of a flock, is it?”

“It will grow,” I told him. “You will see.”

“I will tell you what I see,” Llew replied, accusation sharpening his tone. He stopped walking and turned me to face him. “You are determined to bring about this prophecy one way or another. You know that it cannot be, and yet you stubbornly persist in making me the center of it.”

“No more stubbornly than you persist in denying it,” I remarked. “The prophecy was given to you. The Chief Bard's awen was given to you.”

“Yes!” The word was a vehement hiss. “And this was given to me too!”

I did not need eyes to see that he was shaking his stump at me.

“I did not come here to be king of anything. I came to take Simon back,” he snapped, “and as soon as I can think of a way to do it, that is what I am going to do. And that is
all
I am going to do.”

He turned away abruptly and started climbing the slope. From somewhere high above, I heard the ragged squawk of a raven. At once my inner vision awoke. Into my mind came the image of a raven perched upon the back of a throne made of stag antlers—the image from my vision. And with the first raven, I saw others—many others, a flock, circling the throne, circling, soaring. Even as I watched, more ravens gathered in the way that ravens will—the first drawing more to their numbers, and yet more, until an immense cloud filled the sky, their black wings flashing in the sunlight, their black eyes deadly and bright.

“Llew!” I called after him. “Let us settle this now and be done with it.”

I heard his footsteps halt, and then begin again as he retraced his steps to me. “How?”

“Are you willing?”

“I am willing,” he declared. “What do you suggest?”

“The warriors who have come to us,” I began, “we will let them be the test.”

“How so?”

“I tell you they are the Flight of Ravens whose coming has been foretold to us.”

“The prophecy again—”

“Yes, the prophecy again. The prophecy is the path. Gofannon, the cylenchar, and now the Ravens—these are the lights along the way. By them we know the path is true.”

He did not reply, so I pressed him. “If the prophecy can be proved true, will you put aside your doubt and follow the path set before you?”

Llew took his time considering. “It is a hard thing,” he said at last.

“Harder than a one-handed man becoming king?”

“No harder than that, I suppose.”

“Then why do you worry?”

“Very well,” he agreed, reluctance dragging down his voice like a weight. “Let us put this prophecy to the test once and for all. Tell me now who you believe these men are.”

I replied without hesitation, trusting to the insight that had come to me. “They are Rhewtani.”

“Perfect.” Llew spat the word. “Just what we need.”

“But they are not spies or traitors. They are honorable men. Indeed, they have placed honor above their lives. For, when their false lord made disgraceful alliance with Meldron, they chose to live as outcasts rather than serve the traitor.”

“They have abandoned their lord. That does not sound very trustworthy to me.”

“Do not say they have abandoned their lord,” I replied. “Say rather that they are seeking a lord worthy of their loyalty.”

“Rhewtani,” Llew mused. “Most interesting. But that is not enough. What else?”

“You will find that the one who addressed you is the battle chief, and those with him are the best of the Rhewtani war band. If you tell them who you are, and what you mean to do in this place, they will pledge themselves to you.”

“Better . . .” Llew replied, and I could sense him warming to the challenge. “Something more—but it has to be something difficult.”

“Would anything less satisfy you?” I said and paused to think, holding the image of the ravens in my mind. “By this,” I said at last, “you will know the path is true: they are the Ravens.”

“You told me that already.”

“Yes, but they have not heard it. And it is their true name,” I explained. “When you ask of them they will tell you: ‘We are the Ravens.' Now then, do you agree?”

Llew drew a deep breath, and I knew he was squaring himself to the test. “I agree. Let it be as you say.”

17
G
LORIOUS
S
CHEMES

T
he strangers were making a picket for their horses among the trees when we joined them at the camp. Llew waited until they had finished and invited them to sit with us. The six ranged themselves on the ground around the fire ring.

“I see you are men used to better lodgings,” Llew said. “Yet it may be that a sky-roof shared with honorable men is more to your liking then a king's hall and the company of traitors.”

“That is the pith of it,” replied the foremost warrior. “We would live as outcasts rather than sit at meat with false lords and wicked schemers.”

“We are not unlike, then,” Llew assured him swiftly. “We, too, have abandoned hearth and kin rather than suffer injustice or further the shameful aims of evildoers.”

The warriors shifted uneasily. Their leader hesitated, and then asked, “Do you know us, lord?”

“I do know you,” Llew replied with conviction. “I believe you are Rhewtani warriors.”

“That is true,” replied the warrior chief. “We are the Ravens of Rhewtani!”

“Clanna na cù!”
Llew murmured.

I heard a slap, and knew the man had smacked his arm with his open hand. “This was once a mark of honor—”

They all wear the blue on their sword arms, Rhoedd had said, the image of a bird . . .

“—but it has become hateful to us. It is a mark of disgrace.” The warrior slapped the tattoo again, his voice grew sharp with bitterness. “We would cut it out if we could.”

“No,” Llew told him, “let it remain a mark of honor. For you have given up rank and esteem rather than serve a faithless king. Meldron may have stolen the respect of your king, but you did not allow him to steal your honor as well. For that, you are welcome here.”

At Meldron's name, the strangers murmured in amazement.

“Who are you, lord, that you know these things?” asked their chief, mystified.

“I am called Llew. And the man with me is Tegid ap Tathal, Chief Bard of Prydain.”

The warriors exclaimed at this revelation. Their leader said, “But we have heard of you!”

“We have heard you were dead!” added another.

“Not so dead as some would wish,” Llew replied.

“It is also said you were the king of Prydain,” the warrior asserted, making his words a challenge.

“I was—” Llew admitted. “But no more. Meldron has made certain that I can no longer press that claim.”

“What do you here, lord?” another asked.

“We came seeking refuge and will stay to build a fortress,” replied Llew and quickly explained about making alliance with the Galanae in the south.

“Then you will require men to help you,” the Rhewtani champion stated firmly. “We will stay, if you will have us.”

The man's words amounted to a pledge. And as he spoke my inner vision quickened. There was a rustling of clothing as the warriors rose one by one to address us. “I am Drustwn,” said a low, solemn voice. I saw a thick-necked man of somber mien, self-possessed and confident.

“I am Emyr Lydaw,” said another, and in my mind's eye I saw a fair-haired man with a huge cooper carynx slung over his shoulder on a wide brown leather strap.

“I am Niall,” said the third in a light voice. I saw a dark warrior with quick, clever eyes and a mouth ready to laugh.

“I am Garanaw,” the fourth man said in a voice to strike sparks from steel; a man of restless vitality, wide-shouldered and strong, with reddish-brown hair and beard.