Free The Silver Hand by Stephen Lawhead

his chest and watched until we had gained deep water and raised sail.
    â€œHe was good to us,” Llew said, settling himself beside me at the tiller. “I would like to repay his kindness one day.”
    â€œWell, now that you have your boat, where will you go?” I asked, turning my eyes to the sea spreading bright before us. “The sea is calm; the wind is fair. Meldron is far behind us. Where will you go?”
    â€œTo Ynys Sci,” he replied without hesitation. “There we will receive a welcome worthy of us.”
    So we sailed for Sci—fairest of Albion’s scattered isles—hastening over the whale-track to our safe haven. Our boat was not fast, but it would have sailed itself, I think. We had only to keep the sails full and the prow divided the sparkling water. We traveled secure in the knowledge that Meldron could not follow us—there were no boats left in Sycharth. Once out of sight of Muir Glain, we felt bold to go ashore where and when we would to make camp and find water and fodder for the horses.
    In all, it was an agreeable voyage-—save for the fact that the land we passed was empty and forsaken. Prydain was a wilderness. We saw no sign of anyone, and it caused me to wonder whether we would find Sci inhabited when we arrived.
    When, after our days on the broad-swelling sea, we sighted the rocky headland Sci, I stood at the prow and scanned the cliffs above the bay. “There!” I shouted, pointing to the slender smoke plume rising from the kitchens behind Scatha’s hall. “Nudd has not carried them away after all!”
    â€œGood,” replied Llew. That was all he said, but I could tell he was much relieved. During his long sojourn on the island, he had given his heart to the place. “So far as I have one,” he once told me, “Ynys Sci is my home.”
    But he had another reason for wanting to come to Sci. The island was well beyond Meldron’s reach; it would be long before the usurper could venture here in search of us. Yet, remote as it was, Sci held commerce with all of Albion: the sons of noblemen and champions came from every realm to Scatha’s Isle to learn the warrior’s art. Through them we would discover how matters stood in Caledon and Llogres.
    These thoughts were on my mind as we sailed into the shallow, sand-rimmed bay. Our arrival had been seen, and we were greeted by Boru, chief instructor in Scatha’s school. He rode down to the beach from the clifftop caer to greet us.
    â€œTegid!” he cried, when he saw me standing at the prow. He lashed his horse into the swirling surf, leapt from the saddle, and waded out to meet us. “Tegid. It is good to see you. Welcome!” I threw him the rope, which he wrapped around his hands, and began walking backward to the beach. “And who is with you, Tegid?”
    â€œBoru!” Llew said, leaping from the boat. “Do you not know me?”
    The lanky warrior halted at the voice and stared. “Llyd?” he said. “Can it be?”
    â€œLlyd it is—or was,” I answered. “He is Llew now. Much has happened since we were last with you.”
    â€œGreetings, brother!” Llew splashed towards him, extending his hands in the kinsman’s welcome.
    â€œLlew, is it?” Boru laughed, dropping the rope and gripping Llew’s arm tightly. “So you have won a proper name at last. Tell me about it!”
    â€œIn time, in time,” Llew said. “Tegid is bursting to tell you everything.”
    Boru helped secure the boat and unship the horses, which we rode bareback across the beach and up the narrow, winding track to the caer. Scatha’s caer has neither wall nor gate—her renown as a warrior is all the fortress she requires. Thus we rode directly to the hall entrance and dismounted.
    â€œSmell the air, Tegid!” said Llew, drawing a deep breath. He turned his face to the sky. “And look—ahh, the