The Silver Hand

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  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.

  Gradually, the sounds behind us diminished as we outpaced our pursuers. When we came to a fording place, Bran led us back across the Modornn, and we continued our flight on the other side. We crossed the river twice more for good measure, and dawn found us far north of the stronghold. We stopped to listen, and heard nothing.

  “I think they have turned back,” Cynan said. “We can rest now.”

  But Bran would not hear of it. “Not yet,” he said and led us to a high heathered cliff rising to the east some distance away; there we could watch the glen while we rested. We sat in the heather or lay on the rocks and waited for strength to return.

  “Well,” said Llew after a while, “must we pull it
out of you? What happened back there?”

  Cynan roused himself, “I wish you could have seen me,” he said. “I was brilliant.” He called to Rhoedd, “I was brilliant, was I not?”

  “That you were, lord,” Rhoedd replied. “Truly.”

  “Tell us your feat,” prodded Alun Tringad, “so that we can properly appreciate this brilliance of yours.”

  “And then,” put in Drustwn, “we can laud your achievement properly.”

  “Not that you need our help,” added Emyr. “You seem more than able yourself.”

  Cynan drew himself up. “Listen to this,” he said, “and prepare to be amazed.”

  “Get on with it!” cried Llew.

  “Rhoedd and I went up to the caer together,” he began. “We walk easy—two wayfaring warriors, who knows the difference, hey?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Alun, “we know all that. We saw you. Tell us what happened when you got inside.”

  “Rhoedd and I went up to the caer together,” Cynan repeated firmly. “And here am I, thinking what I might say to the gate men to get us inside the fortress. We are walking along and I am thinking—”

  “We know this!” complained Alun. “They opened the gates and let you in. Then what happened?”

  Cynan ignored him. “We are walking along and I am thinking. I say to Rhoedd, ‘You know, Rhoedd, these men are used to lies. I suspect they are lied to from first to last by Meldron and his brood.’

  “‘A most astute observation, Lord Cynan,’ says Rhoedd to me. ‘Most astute.’”

  The Ravens groaned, but Cynan ignored them and continued, “‘Therefore,’ say I to Rhoedd, ‘I will tell them the truth. I will tell them exactly what has happened to Meldron, and they will be so astonished they will ask us to come in and join them at table, just so that they can hear the tale.’ So that is what I did.

  “‘We are walking to the gate, see, and we are close now, and they spy us. ‘Halt!’ they call out from the wall. ‘Who are you? What is your business here?’ And so I tell them: ‘I am Cynan ap Cynfarch and I have just come from Ynys Sci. I have word of your Lord Meldron.’”

  “What did the gateman say?” asked Garanaw. The Ravens were warming to the tale.

  “What does the gateman say?” Cynan chuckled. “He says, ‘Our Lord Meldron?’ So I say, ‘Man, are you telling me there is another Lord Meldron in this worlds-realm?’ Did I not say it just like that, Rhoedd?”

  “Just like that, lord,” Rhoedd affirmed. “Word for word.”

  “Well, our man had to think about it for a moment, and then he calls for men—to help him think, I imagine. And we stand there bold as day, moving not so much as a hair. Then the gate opens and four of them come out to us. There is one with a great spreading mustache—”

  “Glessi is his name,” offered Bran.

  “That is true,” Cynan agreed. “Our Glessi frowns and smacks his chest and, ‘What is this about Meldron?’ he says, and ‘Who are you anyway?’ Not fettered by manners is our man. So I tell him I bring tidings from his lord, and he had no other choice than to welcome me properly. ‘What do you want?’ he says.

  “‘What do I want?’ say I. ‘I want a cool drink and a hot meal and a place at the hearth for my bed—that is what I want.’ He frowns some more—our Glessi is a powerful frowner—and he says, ‘Well, if you have come from Meldron, I suppose you had best come in.’ And what do we do then, Rhoedd?”

  “We march in, proud as you please,” Rhoedd answered brightly, relishing his part in the tale.

  “Then what happened?” Llew asked.

  “Well, they fetch the cups quick enough, and we drink and talk a while. ‘What is it like in Sci?’ they ask, and so I tell them: ‘The weather is fine; the air is pleasant.’ They say to me, ‘Glad we are to hear it. But what of Meldron?’ I say to them: ‘Friends,’ I say, ‘you are fortunate indeed to be where you are, and not where your lord is tonight.’

  “‘How so?’ they ask.

  “‘I tell you the truth,’ I say, ‘it is not good with Meldron in Sci. He has been attacked. Six of his ships have been wrecked and two stolen. Long he will be repairing even one of them to take him off that island.’”

  “What do they say to that?” asked Niall.

  “What do they say? They say, ‘Terrible! Most unfortunate!’ What do I say? I say to them, ‘Aye, terrible it is. We escaped with our lives and came as soon as we could.’” Cynan laughed, and the Ravens laughed with him. “They thanked us for telling them, did they not, Rhoedd?”

  “That they did, Lord Cynan. That they did.”

  “Well, we eat our supper then, and drink some more—I make certain the cups keep moving, see—and all the time I am watching what they do and where they go. I tell them I have to pee, and Rhoedd and I go outside. We walk around a little, but it is dark by this time and I do not see very much. But I do see a storehouse near the hall, and it has a door that is chained. When I go back, I pull Glessi aside and say, ‘Meldron must have much treasure to fill so large a storehouse.’”

  “You said that?” asked Bran.

  “I did,” declared Cynan. “And our Glessi is careless in his cups; he makes bold to boast. ‘Treasure!’ he cries. ‘It is nothing less than the Song Stones of Albion. Most rare and powerful, they are, and most valuable. Their foremost virtue is invincibility in battle.’ He tells me this, and more besides. Well, I have only to wait until they are asleep; then Rhoedd and I leave the hearth, slip out to the storehouse and get ourselves inside. And there is the box: wooden it is and bound with iron bands and chains.”

  “What did you do?” asked Drustwn.

  “Tell him, Rhoedd.”

  “Lord Cynan sent me to open the gate. He said, ‘Rhoedd, I fear I must make a great noise. We must be ready to fly.’ So I went to the gate and opened it and came to rouse you.”

  “I watch him from the door,” Cynan continued. “And when he has the gate open, I take up the box. It is heavy, yes—but I am thinking it is not as heavy as it should be. I get it up in my arms and I take it outside and I heave it up high and hurl it against the water trough in the yard. Oh! The noise!”

  “And then?” Llew demanded. “What did you see?”

  “I see that the box has not broken. I must throw it again. So up it comes and down it goes, and—crash!—the box smashes into pieces. And here am I, on hands and knees, pawing through the splinters. And what do I find?”

  “What do you find?” said Alun impatiently. “Get on with it, man.”

  But Cynan was not to be rushed. “I am looking for the Singing Stones. I am looking, but I am not seeing them. What am I seeing?”

  “Cynan!” cried Llew. “Spit it out!”

  “I am seeing sand,” Cynan announced. “Nothing but clay and sand from the river bank—that is what I am seeing! The stones were not in the box. Here! See for yourself.” I heard a movement and the light patter of sand poured upon stone.

  “This is what was in the box?” Llew asked.

  “Nothing else,” Cynan assured him.

  Llew took my hand and stretched it out, palm up. He filled my hand with a dry, gravelly substance. I lifted it to my face, sniffed it. It smelled of wood and soil. I shook it from my hand and touched a fingertip to my tongue: mud.

  “That is my tale,” Cynan concluded. “I would that it had a better end to it, but there it is.”

  “Perhaps they are hidden somewhere else,” suggested Bran.

  “No,” I told him. “We will not find the stones at Caer Modornn. Let us return to the ships and go home.”

  “We cannot go back the way we came,” said Llew. “We will have to go around the caer to the west.”

  “All the better,” I said. “We will spy out the land and see how Prydain fares under Meldron’s reign.”

  We bent our way west, away from the river and, once we were out of sight of the caer, we turned south and soon came to a settlement— although it was in truth no more than a handful of miserable mud-and-twig huts beside the turgid trickl
e of a shallow stream. Yet more than seventy people lived in the close-cluster of stinking hovels— Mertani clansmen whose king and nobles had been conquered and killed. Seventy ill-clothed and underfed wretches. In the guise of offering them sustenance, Meldron had made them slaves.

  A starving dog barked as we entered the holding, alerting the inhabitants who emerged from the huts as we came near. At the yapping of the dog, my inner vision kindled, and I saw the place we had come to. Half-naked children, barefoot and big-eyed, lurked behind their slump-shouldered parents. Everyone wore the grim, hollow look of people whose lives have become a burden they can no longer bear.

  Cynan addressed the chief of the holding, a man named Ognw, who told how they were forced to work the fields but were denied the proceeds of their labor. “Meldron takes it all,” he complained, the people muttering darkly behind him. “He gives us the leavings. Nothing more.”

  “Yet you can hunt in the woods,” Bran pointed out. “There is no need to go hungry.”

  “Oh, aye, we are allowed to hunt,” Ognw replied bitterly, “but we have no spears or knives.”

  “Why?” asked Cynan.

  “Weapons are forbidden to us,” the chief muttered. “Have you ever tried to bring down a stag with nothing but your two bare hands? Or a wild pig?”

  “We get no meat,” one of the onlookers volunteered. “We get only moldy grain and sour curds.”

  A man with one eye described how the king sent warriors to seize the harvest even as it was gathered. “They say we will be given all the grain we need for the asking,” the man said, scoffing. “We ask-—oh, yes, we ask. But we receive spit.” He spat on the ground.

  “Two of our kinsmen went to the king for meat,” Ognw added. “Three days later their bodies were brought to us for burial. They told us our kinsmen had been attacked by a wild animal.”

  “There was no wild animal,” the one-eyed man said, “only Meldron.”

  “Meldron takes everything for himself,” a woman told us. “He takes it all, and gives nothing back.”

  We left them and continued our circuit of the land. The nearer to Caer Modornn we came, the closer together the settlements became. At each holding we saw the same appalling hardship and squalor, and heard a similar tale of distress: the king’s demands, the king’s desires, the king’s deceits fueled their suffering. Meldron had turned the wide, generous Vale of Modornn into the Vale of Misery. The people groaned under the weight of their affliction.