His boast brought a murmur of approval from many standing near. It became clear to me how he had managed to gull his followers and to work Liew’s inspired achievement to his own advantage. He had claimed the gathered fragments of the song-bearing stones and had made of them a talisman of power.

“Your courage is misplaced,” I told them. “The Song of Albion is not a weapon.”

Siawn’s sword flicked out, the blade a streak in the

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shimmering torchlight. He leaned close and pressed the point against my throai. “We have other weapons,” he hissed, his breath hot inmy face.

His threat was rash and reckless. The people surged around us, uncertain which way to go. Attacking a bard before his people could only bring disaster. But Meldron, with his heavy-handed authority-backed by Siawn Hy and the Wolf Pack-had them cowed. They did not know whom to believe any mere, or whom to trust.

I regarded Siawn By with icy contempt. “Kill me now,” I taunted. “For Meldron will never be king.”

Siawn forced the swordpoint deeper. I could feel his strength gathering behind the point. The blade bit into my flesh. I gripped my staff and made ready to strike.

A voice cried out from the crowd. “Look!”

Another shouted. “The cairn!”

Siawn’s eyes shifted to the gravemound. Surprise replaced malice and the blade faltered.

I glanced towards the hilltop. In the torchlight I saw something move inside the cairn. A trick of fickle light, I thought; a flicker of flame, the smokeswirl from the upraised torches. I made to turn away but saw it again… something tp there… moving in the darkness…

As we strained forward, all saw the form of a man emerging from the cairn.

A woman cried: “Ii is the king!”

“The king!” the people gasped. “The king lives!”

A tremor of fear and wonder shivered through the host.

In truth, I thought it was the king returned to life. But the thought vanished at once. It was not Meidryn Mawr struggling back to life.

The man stepped from the gravemound, straightened, and began striding down the Hill of Kings towards us. I caught the golden glint of the champion’s ring on his finger.

“LIew!” I shouted. “It is Liew! Llew has returned!”

The name of Llew rippled through the gathered

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throng. “Liew… it is Liew… Do you see him? Llew!”

Truly, the Otherworld traveller had returned. The Liwyddi melted before him, forming a shining path as he passed among them. He looked neither right nor left, but advanced with resolute steps down the hillside.

I watched him, and saw how the sight of him both astonished and heartened the people: they hailed him, hands stretched to touch him, torches were lofted before him. “Llew! Llew!” they shouted; how easily his name leapt to the tongue.