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is de Danann. Your only loyalty is to the Fomor blood that's running in
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your veins!"
An astonished murmur ran through the assembled de Dananns, including
the contingent of the High-King's warriors.
"Lies!" Bres shouted over it. "Of course you would say that to justify
your crimes, to shake the loyalty of those who would keep their bonds
to me."
"We are here to break those bonds," the Dagda said. "We're going to
free all de Dananns from your tyranny and restore the rightful one to
kingship. Nuada!"
The old king stepped forward from the rest. He stopped and fixed his
gaze challengingly on Bres. All the eyes in the gathering went to him.
Morrigan watched him with a special intensity.
"Nuada!" fires laughed loudly at the idea. "He can never be king again.
The laws we have all sworn by make that so. Or do you deny them now?"
"There is no need to, Bres," Nuada said. He lifted the hand, until now
kept down within his cloak. He swept it up high so all could see that
the living hand had been restored to him.
"My own hand is mine again!" he proclaimed. "I am whole!" He turned and
waved it, clenched and unclenched it so that the de Dananns could be
certain it was no trick.
A shout of unbridled joy rose from Nuada's people. Bres stared, caught
offguard by this unexpected move. He had seen no way that their
challenge of him might be made a serious one. But now...
He signaled Streng to him, saying urgently under the cover of the
cheering: "This could get beyond our control. I think we should destroy
Nuada and his party now!"
"No!" Streng told him emphatically. "Balor wants no use of force except
as a last resort. If we attack Nuada, we confirm
244
THE RIDERS OF THE SIDHE
his kingship and deny yours. You must keep him from making the
challenge good."
"You're a fool to hesitate in using our power," Bres told him. "But
I'll try it, if Balor wishes." He raised his voice and again shouted
over the crowd, "Hold! Hold!"
Slowly the cheering died away. Nuada lowered the hand and turned back
to face his rival.
"The kingship is stil! mine," Bres said. "That was given me by law, and
by law I hold it."
Findgoll pushed out of the group behind Nuada to answer that:
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"Only in death does Nuada relinquish the kingship. That is our law."
"There's no reason why those of us loyal to de Danann principles should
listen to a treasonous, little druid," Bres answered cuttingly. "And
even if that ridiculous claim were true, you seem to overlook the fact
that I hold the kingship now because Nuada passed it to me. I've no
intention of passing it back to him. It stays mine."
"There are many here who think Nuada is the true king," Findgoll said.
Voices of agreement rose in the crowd at that.
"They are misguided or mad," Bres countered, looking sharply around.
"But the warriors of the High-King are loyal to me. They will ensure
that I keep my rightful place."
"Do you really think so, Bres?" the Dagda asked, smiling grimly. "Look
around. How many of them would turn on you if Nuada's claim were proven
stronger than yours? How many are already uncertain?"
Bres turned to his companies, searching the faces. He saw the growing
confusion there. Morrigan especially, he noted, eyed him with a
particular interest, her hand gripping her sword hilt.
Bres cast a look askance at Streng. The Fomor captain shook his head.
The High-King would have to try to regain control himself.
"Nuada is a useless old man, his mind soaked with ale," he harshly
accused. "These other traitors are using him as a tool to force us into
war. That would destroy us. I've kept us at peace. I've saved your
lives."
"You'll not use that He on us any longer, Bres," Nuada said. "You've
drained and bullied us long enough."
THE ANSWERER 245
"Have I? Well, you still have to prove that my claim to the throne is
not as strong as Nuada's. And that you cannot do!"
"I can do it, Bres," a voice called from the gates.
All eyes went to it. There, .on a horse that glowed white in the
morning sun, sat a warrior.
He was dressed in a tunic of the finest linen, its hem embroidered in
silver threads. Across his shoulders lay a rich, green cloak fastened
with a brooch of shining gold. Another ornament held his streaming mane
of pale blonde hair behind his neck. His face was stern, the features
bold, cast in sharp planes by the tow, slanting light. And at his side
was fastened a sword whose scabbard and hilt dazzled the eye with their
jewels.
Bres stared narrowly at him, trying to see him clearly in that glow. A
disquiet flicked about his mind. That voice had been familiar!
"Who are you?" he demanded.
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"My name is Lugh," the warrior simply answered.
The Dagda and his friends exchanged glances of astonishment at this.
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