“If and if and if,” I observed. “It seems to me you were fortunate beyond reason.”
“This is what I am thinking too,” Rhoedd admitted. “I never did see the man who led me to the trail. I know I never would have found it for myself.”
“No,” I answered, “nor will you see the one who led you, unless he reveals himself. For it was the guardian of the hidden glen.”
Cynan and his men were fascinated, and we talked of this—and all that had happened in Albion—far into the night. Dawn’s greeters had already begun chirping when we turned yawning to our beds.
Upon rising the next day, Cynan said, “You are welcome to return with us. There is a place for you at Dun Cruach.”
“I thank you, Cynan Machae,” I replied, “but it is for us to remain here.”
“Here? Why, there is nothing here.” Cynan turned to Llew. “You are injured. You need food and rest. You will find both at Dun Cruach.”
“Again, we thank you,” Llew replied. “But it is as Tegid says: we mean to stay.”
“What will you do if Meldron discovers you?” Cynan asked pointedly. “You are injured. You cannot even hold a sword. Return with us. We can protect you.”
Llew did not take offense. He turned aside Cynan’s blunt but well-meaning concern with a gentle reply. “It is not for you to protect me, brother. Rather it is for us to protect one another.”
“How so?” demanded Cynan. Llew’s refusal rankled somewhat but roused his curiosity more.
“Listen,” Llew said, speaking low so that all drew near him to hear. I could imagine Cynan and the others straining after his words. “Tegid has had a vision—a vision of this place. He has seen a great fortress rising out of the water of the lake. It is an island—”
“An island?” one of his listeners wondered.
“Quiet! Let him finish,” said Cynan.
“That is true,” Llew confessed, “there is no island—yet. It is to be an island made by men. It is an island made of many crannogs, a stronghold of many fortresses: Dinas Dwr is its name. And it will be a refuge and a haven for all of Albion.”
“You have seen this?” The question was for me; I felt Cynan’s hand on my arm.
“I have seen it, yes,” I replied, resisting the urge to say more. Llew had begun; better to let him finish as he would. “It is as Llew has told you.”
“Dinas Dwr,” Cynan mused. “Dinas Dwr—yes, it is a good name.”
“With a fortress in the north,” Llew proceeded, “the south would be more secure. We would be like two swordbrothers fighting back to back, each covering the other’s weakness, each protecting the other, shield to shoulder, shoulder to shield.”
The warriors saw the wisdom of this. Llew had made it live for them in his simple image, and they voiced their approval of the plan. “Meldron will look to attack where we are weakest,” Cynan conceded. “I am a wonderful fighter, truly—but even I cannot defend two places at once.”
“We will defend the north,” offered Llew. “What say you, brother?”
“Well,” allowed Cynan, “it is a worthy plan.”
“Support me in this, Cynan,” Llew said with quiet fervor; there was no pleading in his voice. “Together we can make this vision live.”
Cynan was silent for a moment. And then he was on his feet, shouting in his zeal. “It shall be!” he cried. “Earth and stars bear witness, I pledge you all a man can pledge to aid you in this mighty work!”
I stood and raised my hands in declamation, left hand above my head, palm outward, my right hand shoulder high, gripping my staff. “The Golden King in his kingdom will strike his foot against the Rock of Contention,” I proclaimed, in the words of the Banfáith’s prophecy. “The Wyrm of fiery breath will claim the throne of Prydain; Llogres will be without a lord. But happy shall be Caledon!”
The warriors acclaimed this solemnly and backed their lord’s pledge with oaths of their own. Then everyone began talking at once, their voices keen with excitement; and I heard in the sound of their elation a vision assuming solid shape, faith taking flesh.
I listened to their eager talk for a time, then rose and, taking my staff, withdrew to the surrounding forest. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, to understand what Cynan had told us: the Cruin defeated, and the Dorathi; Llogres had already fallen to them. Meldron and the Rhewtani, that was a deadly alliance.
I pondered this but could not hold it in my mind. I heard the branches moving in the treetops and smelled rain on the wind. I could not see the sky, but I knew it was clear and the sun burned bright. It would rain before evening, yet for those gathered around our crude hearth the future held no clouds.
I listened to the voices of the men, ardent in friendship over their plans: the fellowship of honorable men was a most potent force. The alliance of Llew and Cynan, born of trust and respect, would be formidable. And anyone seeking to break it by treachery would find it a deadly alliance too.
Clearly, the Swift Sure Hand was moving mightily; powers long dormant in the land were stirring again; guides and kindly spirits were gathering around us, ancient forces befriending us in unexpected ways.
Happy shall be Caledon . . . So be it!
16
A FLIGHT OF RAVENS
I will return as soon as may be,” Cynan promised. “And I will bring men, tools, and provisions enough to establish a fortress like no other in Caledon!”
“I would settle for a change of clothing and a handful of thatch to keep the rain off my head,” Llew told him. “All the same, I will see neither if you do not leave!”
Even as he spoke, the rain which had besieged us for two days stopped. The horses jerked their heads, making their tack jingle in their eagerness to be away once more.
“Very well, we are going. But I am leaving Rhoedd behind—and weapons enough for all of you.”
“We can look after ourselves,” Llew protested mildly. “We do not need a servant. If you meet Meldron on the trail, you will need Rhoedd’s spear.”
“Nevertheless, he is yours to command,” Cynan insisted. “Do not be stubborn about this.”
“Very well, I accept,” Llew replied and bade Cynan farewell. The others were already waiting on the trail; I heard them shout as Cynan took his place at their head, and then the drumming of the horses’ hooves as they wheeled their mounts and disappeared among the trees.
“Well,” said Llew, returning to where I stood leaning on my staff, “we have a horse and a warrior to command. Our war band is begun.”
“Scoff if you will,” I told him. “Great kings have begun with less.”
“Since you say it, I will believe it,” he replied, with a lightness of voice I had not heard in a very long time. “For myself, I am content with Rhoedd here. And between you and me, Tegid, he looks like one tough nut. I am certain he is contrary enough for ten men.”
Rhoedd laughed at this. “Cynan warned you!” he said cheerfully. “Did he also tell you about my foul temper?”
Thus began the close companionship of the forest hearth which we were to enjoy through the season of warmth. Rhoedd became a boon and blessing to us: tirelessly resourceful and shrewdly ingenious, he aided us in everything and increased the bare comforts of our camp.
Most days Llew and Rhoedd hunted and fished in the early mornings and spent the rest of the day gathering the roots and other edible plants that were our food. We bathed in the lake in the early evening and ate our meals by the fireside at night. Then I would take my harp and sing, sending silvery song aloft on the fragrant smoke of our oak-fired hearth. In this way, then, we filled the days waiting for Cynan’s promised return.
One day Rhoedd appeared breathless at the lakeside where I was drawing fresh water. He and Llew had left to hunt but a short while earlier. I answered his call and turned to await him as he came running to me.
“What has happened? Is Llew hurt?”
“Lord Llew is unharmed,” Rhoedd answered. “He sent me to bring you. We have seen men on the riv
er trail below the ridge.”
“How many?”
“Six—maybe more. They were too far away to be certain. They will arrive before midday. Llew is watching the track.”
I retrieved my staff, and Rhoedd led me up the slope to the ridgetop—pausing at our camp to gather the extra spears and shields Cynan had left us. We hastened along the ridgeway west for a time, and then down a long, steep path where we joined Llew, crouched behind a cluster of rocks partway down the slope.
“They are almost upon us,” Llew said. “I think Rhoedd and I can take them, but we will need you to help us, Tegid. We must make certain they do not leave this glen.”
“Meldron’s spies? Is that what you are thinking?”
“Who else? Cynan warned us they were searching out the land.”
We discussed ambush tactics and made a plan by which we might subdue the invaders. “There is a place east of here, where the glen narrows,” said Llew. “The rocks come right down to the river’s edge. Their horses would be no use to them.”
“And further east?” inquired Rhoedd.
“Further east, the valley opens to a wide plain.”
“Then our best chance will be at the narrow,” Rhoedd agreed.
We hastened back up to the ridgetop and east along the trackway until we found the place. We took up a position overlooking the river trail below, and then sat back to wait. The day passed midday, and we did not see or hear any sign of approaching visitors. Llew grew impatient.
“What is taking them so long? What are they doing?”
“Perhaps they have turned off the trail,” I suggested. “Perhaps they are watering their horses.”
Llew sent Rhoedd down for a closer look, charging him to take care that no one should see him. Waiting for Rhoedd to return was no less maddening than waiting for the invaders. Llew marked the time by tapping the butt of a spear on a rock—the sound, I thought, of bone rapping against bone.
The tapping stopped. “What can be keeping him?” he blurted at last.
“Listen!”
A moment later, we heard Rhoedd on the trail; he crouched before us, breathing hard. “I have been down to the valley,” he told us when he could speak. “I found them. They are making camp.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
“Do you know them?”
“They are not of any tribe or clan known to me. I do not think they are from the north at all.” He paused, softening his disdain for our benefit. “They looked like southern men to me.”
“Meldron . . .” Llew muttered. “How many did you see?”
Rhoedd answered, “There are six.”
“If they are Llwyddi,” I said, “we may know them. I might speak to them.”
“Why?” wondered Llew. “After what they did to the learned brotherhood—what could you possibly have to say to them?”
I turned to Rhoedd. “Take us to the place where you saw them.”
Though the track was rough and arduous, we managed some speed with stealth. We crept as close as we dared. “Tell me what you see,” I said, touching Rhoedd’s shoulder.
“Six men—with horses,” Rhoedd said. “It is as I have already told you.”
“Describe it!” I urged. “Details!”
Rhoedd must have looked to Llew for explanation because Llew said. “Do as he says; and tell him what you see.”
“Well, there are six men,” replied Rhoedd slowly. “They have six horses with them—three red roans, a yellow, a gray, and a black. They are good horses. The men are—well, they are men—”
“Are they dark or fair? What are they wearing?”
“They are dark, mostly; dark, and unshaven—hair and beards plaited. They are wearing long cloaks, though it is warm. They do not carry weapons, but I see bundled spears and wrapped swords on the horses. At least three men have shields.”
“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 ruefu
lly, “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.”