The Silver Hand by Stephen Lawhead Page B

our clothes, replacing then with fresh garments, so that when we had finished we did not have to face our filthy rags again. As we dried ourselves, Llew abruptly asked, “Why did the Coranyid attack only Prydain?”
    The question caught me unawares. It was true that Lord Nudd and his vile war band had, in their unrestrained frenzy of hate, destroyed nearly every settlement in Prydain. Yet this Cruin stronghold—near to Sycharth though it was—had escaped destruction. Why only Prydain? Why not Llogres? Why did Lord Nudd concentrate his wrath on Prydain, alone, while Llogres—judging from Blár Cadlys— stood unmolested?
    â€œYour question is astute,” I replied at last. “I cannot answer.”
    â€œBut you knew the Cruin would be here,” he persisted. “You knew, Tegid. You never doubted it.”
    â€œI did not stop to consider. I only thought to escape—and this was the nearest refuge,” I told him.
    Llew pursued. “That may be so. And yet you assumed the Coranyid had not destroyed the Cruin. That is not like you, Tegid.”
    We dressed quickly, pulling on the clean clothes we had been given, and making our way back to the hall. The fire had been kindled on the hearth, and chairs had been placed around it. Calbha was seated, and some of his advisers and members of his war band had joined him—perhaps twenty men in all. A dark-haired woman sat beside him, and his warriors stood nearby with cups in their hands, talking loudly.
    â€œWho is this woman with Calbha?” Llew asked.
    â€œIt is Eneid,” I answered. “She is the queen.”
    Lord Calbha and his wife had been head-to-head in conversation when we entered. At our approach they stopped their talk; the queen straightened and regarded us with interest. We came to where they sat. I greeted the queen, who inclined her head and said, “My husband tells me you have traveled from Prydain on foot, and slept in thickets and fens. I hope you will find the hospitality of Blár Cadlys more to your liking.”
    â€œThank you, lady,” I replied. “Already we are more comfortable here than we have been at our own hearth.”
    The queen rose then, saying, “You will be hungry. Sit with my husband. He is eager to discuss with you. While you talk, I will attend to more agreeable matters elsewhere.”
    She offered me her chair and waved Llew to the empty seat nearby; then she took her leave of us.
    â€œYou are the first guests we have had in a very long time,” the king said. “My wife will deem it an insult if you do not eat and drink your fill at every meal. For myself, I would be happy to hear word of what passes in the lands beyond Modorrn.”
    â€œAsk what you will, lord. I will tell you all I may.”
    â€œTell me this, then,” Calbha said as we took our places next to him, “have you escaped from Meldryn Mawr’s hostage pit?”
    Calbha was direct—to the point of rudeness. Yet he had promised us the freedom and comfort of his hearth. I saw no ill intent in him, or in his brusque manner, and decided to answer him forthrightly, matching his directness with my own. “Yes. We have escaped from the captive pit at Sycharth and have come to you for help.”
    My free admission caused a small sensation among Calbha’s men. He silenced the talk with an upraised hand. “A bard and a champion in the captive pit?” he mused. “It is not like Meldryn Mawr to waste the abilities of such skilled men needlessly. Your crimes must be great indeed.”
    â€œWe have committed no crime, lord,” I replied, “save one only: displeasing one who has wrongfully proclaimed himself king.”
    If my first reply struck sparks, these words lit a flame. The king’s advisers and warriors began clamoring as one. “Tell us!” they cried.
    â€œWhat does this mean? A new king? Who is it? Tell us!”
    Lord Calbha leaned