The Silver Hand Read Free Page B

at Meldron’s order. The people did not understand what was happening, but clearly they did not like it.
    â€œLlew!” I cried, sweeping the spears aside with the butt of my staff. “Hail, Llew!” I raised my staff and called to the crowd. “The champion has returned! Hail him, everyone!”
    The Llwyddi cried out with a mighty voice. Llew turned his eyes to the people gathered all around, torches held high, peering expectantly at him. It came to me that Llew did not know what his appearance meant to those looking on: Meldryn’s champion emerging from the Hero Mound. A dead king had gone into the dark portal, a living man had come out—mysteriously, inexplicably, yet in full sight of all: an Otherworld hero declaring his equality with the king we had just buried.
    Before Meldron could react, I raised my hands for silence and said, “The king is dead, brother, but you are alive. You are back among your people, and that is cause for celebration.”
    The people greeted this with loud approval. Meldron’s frown deepened as he sensed his moment slipping away. He had exaggerated his support and underestimated the people’s regard for Llew.
    Still he sought to recapture the advantage. “What do you mean, coming here like this?” he demanded.
    â€œI have come to honor the king,” replied Llew slowly. His eyes flicked from the prince to Siawn Hy. Something passed between Siawn and Llew that I did not understand. But I saw Siawn bristling with anger, and Llew’s face harden once more as resolve returned. “And to do something I should have done long ago.”
    â€œYou speak of honor,” Meldron sneered, “but you steal it from the dead.”
    â€œLlew was the king’s champion,” I declared—thinking it prudent to remind everyone that Meldryn Mawr had chosen Llew for this honor; it was the king’s final act, the one which had caused his death. “Who would deny the king’s champion the right to pay homage to his lord?”
    â€œYou are not in authority here, bard!” Meldron said, his voice vengeful and brimming with spite. “You and your kind may have deceived my father with your sly words and cunning ways. Do not think to deceive me.”
    â€œWhy speak of deception, Meldron?” I asked. “You are surrounded by wise advisers,” I told him, watching Siawn twitching with malice. “Could it be that you do not trust them?”
    â€œI trust the blade in my hand,” the prince spat. “I trust my war band. Better the company of warriors than the empty words of a bard.”
    Having pressed the matter too far, Meldron did not know how to retreat with dignity. Rather than embrace Llew, which would have increased his own support—for clearly, the people esteemed Llew greatly—he chose to mock and revile.
    The prince turned to all those gathered close about. “Llew has returned! We have nothing to fear, now that my father’s champion is once more among us.” He spoke with undisguised contempt. He slowly raised an accusing finger and pointed at Llew. “Yet I cannot help thinking,” he continued, “that if Llew had honored the king as highly as he claims, Meldryn Mawr would yet walk among us. How is it that the king lies dead and his champion lives?”
    What the prince hoped to accomplish by this rash speech, I knew well enough: to poison the people’s good feelings toward Llew. Apparently, he thought that casting doubt upon Llew’s loyalty and ability would aid him. But, instead of sowing doubt, all he managed was confusion.
    The people looked at one another in bewilderment. “What is Meldron saying? It was Llew who saved us from the Coranyid!” Several even protested outright: “Paladyr killed the king! Paladyr it was—not Llew!” they shouted.
    Yes , I thought, Paladyr killed the king . And where is Paladyr now?
    But I held my tongue. If