The Silver Hand Read Free

and sustenance from its beauty. I saw them live in the song, and I thought: Tonight I grasp Ollathir’s staff, and I am worthy. I am worthy to be the bard of a great people. But who is worthy to be our king?
    Gazing upon the faces of all those gathered on the slopes of the Cnoc Righ, I wondered who among them could wear the torc Meldryn Mawr had left behind. Who could wear the oak-leaf crown? There were good men among us, fine and strong, chieftains who could lead in battle—but a king is more than a war leader.
    Who is worthy to be king? I thought. Ollathir, my teacher and my guide, what would you have me do? Speak to me, old friend, as you did in former times. Give your filidh benefit of your sage wisdom. I wait on your word, Wise Counselor. Instruct me in the way that I should go . . .
    But Ollathir was dead, like so many of Prydain’s proud sons, his voice but an echo fading in the memory. Alas, his awen had passed out of this worlds-realm, and I must find my way alone. Very well , I thought, turning to my task at last. I am a bard, and I can do all that a true bard can do.
    I placed a fold of my cloak over my head and raised my staff high. “Son of Tegvan, son of Teithi, son of Talaryant, a bard and the son of bards, I am Tegid Tathal. Listen to me!”
    I spoke boldly, knowing there were some who would rather I remained silent. “Most mournful of men am I, for the lord who upheld me has been wickedly killed. Meldryn Mawr is dead. And I see nothing before me but death and darkness. Our shining son is stolen from us. Our king lies stiff and cold in his turf house, and treachery sits in the place of honor.
    â€œIt is the Day of Strife! Let all men look to the edge of the sword for their protection. The Paradise War is begun; the sound of warfare will be heard in the land as Ludd and Nudd battle one another for the kingship of Albion.”
    â€œDoomsayer!” Meldron shouted, thrusting his way through the crowd. He had dressed himself in his father’s clothing—siarc, breecs, and buskins of crimson edged in gold. He wore Meldryn Mawr’s gold knife and belt of gold discs fine as fish scales. And, as if this were not enough, he had bound back his tawny hair that everyone might see the king’s golden torc around his throat.
    My words had found their mark. Meldron was angry. His jaw bulged and his eyes glinted like chips of flint in the torchlight. Siawn Hy, Meldron’s champion, sleekly dark and smooth-faced, followed at his lord’s right hand.
    â€œTegid is confused. Pay him no heed,” Meldron cried. “He does not know what he is saying.”
    The Llwyddi murmured uncertainly, and Meldron rounded on me. “Why are you doing this, bard? Why must you persist in frightening everyone? We have enough to do without listening to all this careless talk of yours.”
    â€œI see that you are busy indeed,” I replied, facing him squarely. >“Busy stealing Meldryn Mawr’s belt and torc. But do not think that by wearing your father’s clothing you will take his place.”
    â€œNo one talks to the king this way, bard!” snapped Siawn Hy, thrusting himself closer. “Watch your tongue, or lose it.”
    â€œHe is no bard,” Meldron said. “He is nothing but a doomsayer!” The prince laughed abruptly and loudly, waving me aside with a flick of his hand. “Go your way, Tegid Tathal. I have had a bellyful of your meddling. Neither you nor your spiteful tongue are wanted here. We do not need you anymore.”
    Siawn Hy smiled thinly. “It seems you are no longer useful to the king, bard. Perhaps your service would receive greater esteem elsewhere.”
    Anger leapt like a flame within me. “Meldron is not the king,” I reminded them. “I alone hold the kingship; it is mine to give as I choose.”
    â€œAnd I hold the Singing Stones!” Meldron bawled. “No man can stand against me now.”
    His boast