The Silver Hand (32 page)

“I do not balk, Tegid,” he replied, bristling. “I just think that all this talk about the stones is ill-advised.”

“How so?”

“We have enough to worry about without bringing the Singing Stones into it. Anyway, Meldron probably takes them with him wherever he goes—you said so yourself. It is a waste of time and nothing will come of it.”

“Then why do you fear finding them?”

“Did I say I feared them?” he snapped. “Go ahead—look all you want if it will make you happy.”

“Llew,” I said, trying to soothe him. “It must be done. This will not be over until we have regained the Stones of Song and—”

“Tegid, this will not be over until Simon is back where he came from!”

He stormed away then, and stayed away from me the rest of the day. That night, as the campfires leapt high and bright, I sang “Pwyll, Prince of Prydain
,”
a worthy tale. Scatha and her daughter slept in one of the ships, and we slept under the heaven's light. We rose before dawn, and as the sun began its journey across the blue sky-vault, we began our voyage south to Prydain.

Maffar, Fairest of Seasons, blessed us with calm seas and steady winds. Our ships flew like gulls, skimming the glassy green seas. We camped in coves along the coast at night, and sailed through the long day following. We observed deserted habitations and unplowed fields along the coast, and occasionally someone would glimpse the flickering form of a wolf loping over the hills. Hawks, foxes, wildfowl, and other creatures were sighted, but of human occupants we had no sign.

Prydain remained a wasteland. Meldron, instead of doing all in his power to revive the noble land of our people, had only deepened the desolation wrought by Nudd and the Coranyid. For he had spread devastation to the places hateful Nudd had never reached; now Llogres and Caledon bled beneath his cruel rapacity.

I wondered at this. Indeed, I had considered it long and often. Why had wicked Nudd attacked only Prydain? Why had Caledon and Llogres escaped untouched? Was Prydain somehow more vulnerable than the other two realms?

Perhaps the reason was something to do with the Phantarch and the Song. Or perhaps some other explanation remained to be discovered.

Nevertheless, the desolate land left me desolate as well. I felt the emptiness of all those empty hearths, and all those abandoned habitations. I felt the weight of sorrow for all Prydain's dead: unmourned, unburied, and unknown, save to the Dagda alone. As our voyage neared its end, I lapsed into a dolor as bleak as any I have known. The waste, the cruelty, the predation, anguish, and distress could not be faced except through misery.

Scatha, in her sorrow, longed for some small comfort from me. But I could say nothing to her. How could I ease her loss when all of Prydain cried out to me for a healing word and I knew none to give? Before such terrible travail I stood mute. There was nothing I could say which would redeem the ruin, or lessen the loss.

Sorrow and be sad, deep grief is granted Albion in triple measure,
the Banfáith had said. Ah, Gwenllian, your word was ever true.

24
V
ALE OF
M
ISERY

L
et me do this,” Cynan said. “I welcome it.”

Llew was about to object yet again, but Bran spoke up. “The risk is great, but Cynan is right, it is just the sort of plan that will work.”

“And if it fails?” Llew asked.

Bran shrugged. Cynan said, “Then you can attack the caer. But if it succeeds, we will have saved many lives.”

Llew turned to me. “What do you think, Tegid?”

“Why take by force what we might achieve by stealth?” I turned to Cynan. “But do not go alone; take Rhoedd with you.”

“Very well,” Llew relented, “since there is no one preventing you, you may as well go. We will await you here. If there is trouble, get out. You know the signal.”

“I know, I know,” Cynan assured him. “We have talked until even the horses know the signal. All will be well, brother. If the stones are there, I will find them.”

Cynan and Rhoedd armed themselves, and we bade farewell. Llew and Bran watched from hiding as the two made their way up to Caer Modornn. Inner sight was denied me, so I leaned on my staff and waited. The day was warm, the air still. I smelled the potent earth scent of leaf mold, rotting wood, and damp soil. We had hidden ourselves in the shrubby seclusion of the river below Caer Modornn—near enough to see without being seen—ten men only; the rest were camped a short distance away, well out of sight.

“They are at the gates,” Bran reported in a little while. “The guards have challenged them. There are men on the wall.”

“Cynan is talking to them,” Llew said. “That is a good sign. He can talk the legs off a table.”

“The gates are opening,” Bran added. “There are men coming out—three . . . no, four men. That one—do you see him?” Bran asked Llew. “The dark one speaking to Cynan now—”

“I see him,” Llew answered.

“That is Glessi. He is a Rhewtani chieftain—that is, he was once. He seems to have found a home with Meldron. I am not surprised; he was always slippery as an oiled snake.”

“What is happening now?” I asked.

“They are still talking,” Llew answered. “The one called Glessi seems to be thinking it over. He crosses his arms over his chest . . . he scratches his beard. He is making up his mind. Cynan is talking—I wish I could hear what he is saying.” He paused and then added, “But whatever it is, it seems to be working. They are going into the caer. There!”

I heard a light slap of a hand on a shoulder or arm. “He has done it!” Llew said. “He is in.”

“Now we wait,” Bran replied. “I will take the first watch.”

Llew rose and led me back to the riverbank to sit with the Ravens. We settled among the hawthorn and willow scrub. Some dozed, others talked quietly. I sank once more into the dull reverie that had held me since coming ashore in Prydain six days ago.

A somber journey south along the western coast had brought us to Muir Glain, the wide, silver sweeping estuary of ruined Sycharth where Meldryn Mawr had maintained his shipyards. In the time since I had last visited the place, thickets of briar and birch had grown where ships' hulls had been fashioned of strong oak. Nettlebeds flourished where wood chips once drifted deep as snow.

We sailed into the estuary and up the river as far as we could, and then anchored the ships where the water became too shallow. We established camp in a wooded glade and left the main body of our war band there. Taking forty with us, we moved deeper into the Vale of Modornn the next morning, leaving the rest behind to guard the ships.

Scatha was not of a heart to travel with us, so she remained behind to look after Goewyn, whose injuries required care. All that first day, and five days more, we followed the gleaming river north through the broad glen. When we came near the settlement, we left thirty men within hailing distance and then advanced to our position below the caer.

Meldron had determined to build his stronghold on the site of the old wooden caer which served northern Prydain. Caer Modornn was only ever used in times of war; it had never been a settlement. And, though I had once counseled Meldron against occupying it, I could see now why he insisted. A king interested in restoring Prydain would have been better served by a southern fortress open to the commerce of the sea.

But Meldron had loftier ambitions. The Great Hound of Havoc meant to have the whole Island of the Mighty. And Caer Modornn sat in a convenient position for a war band raiding into Llogres and Caledon. Oh, if I had known his intent—if I had known how deep was his treachery, and how great his greed, I would have destroyed him as one exterminates a vicious dog.

How many warriors slept in turf houses now because of him? How many women wept for their men at night? If I had known what he had hidden in his heart, I would have slain him gladly. But, whether gladly or with profound regret, I should have killed him before he defiled the land with his corruption.

From our hiding place we had watched the caer and discussed our best approach to the problem of finding the Singing Stones. Cynan had argued for a simple but audacious deception: marching up to the gates and demanding the hospitality due to wandering warriors.

“They do not know me,” he had said. “I will go alone with Rhoedd. They will not take alarm at but two warriors at their gates. We are no threat to them.”

“I do not like it,” Llew had objected, thinking it foolhardy and reckless.

“But that is precisely why it will work, brother. They will never suspect our true purpose,” Cynan had said. After more discussion, he had won his way. And now we waited.

The day faded slowly. I felt the cool night breath on my skin and heard the nightsong begin in the branches and undergrowth around me as dusk deepened to evening. Then I heard the light tread of footsteps and sat up.

“There is no sign,” Bran said softly.

“I will take the next watch,” said Llew. I heard the slight rustle of his clothing as he rose and started away.

Bran took Llew's place beside me and night thickened around us. “It will be dark soon,” Bran said after a while. It came into my mind that he was looking at me, and it seemed to me that I felt the subtle shift of his eyes as his glance touched my face.

“Yes?” I asked. “What is it you are wanting to ask?”

He chuckled dryly. “You know I am staring at you,” he said. “But how is it that you know?”

“Sometimes I imagine what is happening and I may be wrong,” I told him. “But sometimes I see things in here”—I touched my forehead with a fingertip—“and I see more than I could have imagined.”

“As you did at Ynys Sci?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, and told him about meeting Gofannon in the sacred grove. “Since then,” I said, “it seems that when sight is required, sight is granted. But it comes and goes as it will; I cannot command it.”

We passed the early evening talking together. Niall came with bread and dried meat from our provisions. We ate and talked some more, and then Bran called Alun Tringad to take the next watch. I slept, but lightly, and the watchers alternated through the night.

I awakened to Emyr's urgent whisper. “The gate is open,” he said. I rose at once. Bran was already on his feet.

“Wake the others—and tell Llew to join us,” Bran told him. He hurried to the lookout place, and I followed. I heard the creak and snap of small twigs as Bran bent back the branches for a better look.

“What do you see?”

“The gate is—” he began, then said, “Someone is moving. They are coming this way.”

“Is it Cynan?”

“I cannot see—it is too dark and he is too far away. But it must be. He is coming this way.” He paused, then said, “No, it is Rhoedd, I think.”

We waited, and but a few moments later heard rapid footsteps. “Here! This way!” whispered Bran sharply. “Where is Cynan?”

Rhoedd's voice answered him. “Lord Cynan will follow soon. He sent me ahead to open the gate and rouse everyone. We may have to move quickly when he comes.”

“Why?” Llew asked, taking his place beside me. “What is he doing?”

“We found the place where the stones are kept. There is no guard, but there is a door and it is chained. He is going to break down the door and get them.”

“He is mad! He will never be able to carry them alone,” Llew said. “Someone will have to go up and help him.”

There came a shout from the direction of the caer. A hound began barking with some ferocity, and more quickly took up the cry. And then we heard the night-shattering roar of the carynx.

“Well,” grumbled Llew, “that has torn it!” I heard the whisper of his sword as he drew it. “We are in for it now. Get ready.”

“Look!” said Bran. “Someone is coming. It is Cynan. He is free!”

But a moment later I heard the sound of footsteps pounding down the hill towards us. “Run for it!” he called as he came nearer. “They are after me!”

He did not say more, nor did he need to. For, even as he spoke, a great clamor issued from the direction of the caer: dogs barking, men shouting, weapons clattering.

“This way!” shouted Bran.

A hand seized my arm. “Follow me!” Llew said.

We ran to the river and plunged headlong into it. One way or another we floundered across and gathered on the far side. “They will search the thickets first,” Bran said. “If we stay on this side we might lose them.”

“Go north,” I said.

“Our men are south,” Rhoedd pointed out.

“Unless we want a battle on our hands, it would be better to lead them away from our men,” I explained. “We can return by another way.”

“We must get free first,” said Alun. “Let us go while we can!”

“Where are the stones?” asked Llew.

“They were not there,” Cynan said, catching his breath. “Meldron must have taken them with him.”

“Are you certain?”

“Why do you think I smashed the box?” Cynan puffed.

“You smashed the box?”

“Of course,” replied Cynan. “I had to make sure.”

“Come on!” urged Bran. “Talk later!”

While the searchers beat the thickets behind us on the opposite side of the bank, we slipped into the brushy undergrowth and pushed our way north. At first it seemed as if we would elude them easily, but some of the searchers came across the river where the dogs picked up the scent and raised a howl.

Then it was a matter of outrunning them. Over rocks and under low trees we raced, branches whipping our faces and snatching our sleeves and cloaks. Bran led the way, setting a punishing pace, the sound of pursuit loud in our ears. Stumbling, falling, tripping over every root and rock, I blundered on. Llew and Garanaw ran beside me, hauling me upright when I fell, keeping me on my feet—all but carrying me along.