Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (41 page)

"Perhaps. But it is me they are after. The Ui Garrchon might end their siege if we are gone."

"And maybe they won't."

The rest of them watched the exchange intently, silent. "We have to try. You are the Kingmaker and I'm a king's son," Nath said.

Yseult had to admire the courage of the little brother she barely knew — and she knew her mother too was proud, despite herself.

The queen turned to Brigid, still reluctant, but Yseult could feel her resistance dwindling, while her hatred for the traitors who had killed her husband grew. "How big of a party do you think we could conceal with our combined powers?"

* * * *

Yseult to Cador, greetings.

I fear the news I have is not good. We were in Druim Dara less than a month when the Ui Garrchon attacked and burned down the church, and now we are under siege. The priests and their families have taken refuge with us. My mother and Nath will attempt to get out tonight with a party of warriors, and I will give this letter into her hands. I do not know if their escape will be successful, do not know if this letter will ever reach you — but that is the fate of all correspondence, is it not?

Yseult put down her pen. Should she tell Cador about her pregnancy or not? Given the present circumstances, there was now more to consider than her own fears of how he would react.
If
her mother made it through to Dun Ailinne, and her letter made it to Britain and her husband, Cador would have two deaths to mourn rather than just one if she were to die in the siege — or some other battle in this war of succession.

She wanted to tell him, but at the same time it seemed unfair. If she made it out of this conflict alive, she would write again, tell him of her pregnancy then, reassure him that her chances of surviving childbirth were excellent.

My husband, I would like to assure you that all will be well, but I have no visions telling me how this will end. I wish more than you can know that we had not parted as we did. Be assured that my fondness for you is undiminished. I will do all in my power to return to you and hope that you will welcome me back.

I hope this finds you well. Despite distance and war I remain

Your affectionate wife Yseult

Yseult raised the thin sheet of wood and blew on the ink to dry it. To her surprise, she thought she felt tears starting at the back of her eyes. But she knew from experience that pregnancy made a woman ridiculously emotional at times — it would pass.

* * * *

They could not send too many warriors with the Kingmaker and her son for fear that Brigid would not be able to maintain the illusion long enough to get them safely away, even with the help of Yseult and others. Brigid's power of changing was the strongest Yseult had ever seen, with perhaps the exception of Brangwyn, but the more people she had to mask, the more difficult it would be. Thus it was only a small group of eight dark-cloaked figures that Yseult and Brigid accompanied to the gate of the rath that night.

Yseult bent down to Nath and gave him a hard hug. "Take care of yourself, and bring Illann back to us soon."

Her little brother hugged her back. "I will, I promise."

"Thank you."

"You take care of yourself too," her mother said.

"I will do my best." She gave her mother a wooden box containing the letter she had written to Cador. "Once you are in Dun Ailinne, please see that this is sent to my husband."

"Of course."

They embraced. "Farewell. May all the gods of our tribe protect you."

"And you."

Yseult turned to Brigid. "Shall we create some trouble now?"

The high priestess nodded. "See what you can find. I will wait on creating the illusion until you are ready."

Yseult sent her mind out beyond the walls of Druim Dara, searching. Soon she found something that would do: a pack of wolves nearby in the woods to the south. Using her power of calling, she sent them what she hoped would be feelings of disquiet. They did not have long to wait. A series of eerie howls rent the sky, followed by the sounds of warriors yelling to each other. "Protect the horses!" "Secure the perimeter of the camp!" "Are the wolves coming nearer?"

When voices began fading into the distance and chaos was growing in the besieging army, it was Brigid's turn. Two men pulled opened the thick doors, but through Brigid's power of changing it looked as if the gate was still closed. The noise of the search for the wolves was enough to cover the creak of the opening gate. Yseult watched her mother's party walk through what seemed to be heavy wood, an eerie sight, although she knew it was an illusion. But even before the party left Druim Dara, their figures grew darker and darker, becoming one with the night. A short time later, they heard the hoot of an owl to indicate they were through, and the doors were closed again behind them.

In her mind, Yseult accompanied the small party's progress, joining her own powers now with those of Brigid to make her mother and the rest appear invisible to the enemy warband. She saw them dodge the occasional running warrior, saw them skirt the guards still posted at the edges of the camp, despite the threat from the wolves. Finally they were past the last guard and into the woods beyond.

Yseult heaved a sigh of relief and leaned back against the oaken doors. But her job was not yet done. She reached out to the pen where the horses were held, and, one by one, she found eight mounts best suited to the task at hand. While Brigid continued to cloak the refugees in darkness, Yseult put panic into the minds of the horses, urging them to break out, jump the makeshift fence, and make as much terrified noise as possible while doing it.

The outcry told her she'd been successful. "The wolves are attacking the horses!" "See where they are coming from!" "We have to keep them from taking down our mounts!"

While the warriors of the Ui Garrchon and Ui Bairrche were busy seeking the wolves responsible for the stampeding horses, Yseult led the mounts that had broken free to the small group of dark clad figures who were hurrying through the woods on foot, cloaked in blackness.

She could feel eight-year-old Nath laugh out loud as a fine boned pony, darker than the night around them, galloped up to him. Yseult the Wise hushed her son, but there was no need — they were far enough away and the chaos great enough in the camp that no one would have heard.

They were safe.

Mounted, the refugees were soon too far away for Brigid and Yseult to use their power of changing to hide them. Exhausted, Yseult leaned against the wood and earth ramparts. She felt as if she could sleep for a week.

* * * *

Yseult the Wise and her party arrived safely in Dun Ailinne in the early morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise. Colorful tents were everywhere on the plain around the hill-fort, temporary lodgings for the sub-kings who had come to the council to elect the next king of the Laigin. Yseult wondered if Findchad was here as well, or if he was participating personally in the siege of Druim Dara. He belonged to the kinship group eligible to be elected king. If confronted, he would claim no knowledge of an attack on the site of the sacred fire.

She would have to hide Nath away somewhere safe — safer than a hill-fort or a holy site. Yseult the Wise could only hope that her daughter was still unharmed behind the walls of Druim Dara. This was not her fight. Yseult the Fair hadn't lived in Eriu for two decades now.

Perhaps it was time for the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann and Feadh Ree to retreat to the underground dwellings of the sidhe. Their era was over, their gods no longer respected.

For the first time in many years, she thought about her sister-in-law Nemain, who had left her husband to join others of the Feadh Ree in the sacred hills, taking refuge from the wars of the Gael. Yseult the Wise wasn't even sure where Nemain was now — but she knew if she sent to the king of the Tuatha Dé Danann at Oe Cualann, she could find out. She also knew that if she decided to follow those of her tribe who'd found shelter beyond the gates to the Otherworld, she was giving up all influence she'd ever had on the life of Eriu. But she wasn't sure if she cared anymore.

* * * *

After Yseult the Wise informed Illann of the attack on Druim Dara, she gave him her daughter's letter. "Could you see that this is sent to Cador of Dumnonia?"

Illann nodded shortly and passed the box along to his steward. "See that this gets to Dumnonia." Then he turned to the warrior at his shoulder. "Take a party to Naas and inform my brother that Druim Dara is under siege. We need to go to their aid."

As the warriors of Dun Ailinne began to discuss who would ride for Naas, the steward went in search of someone to take the small packet along on their next trip to the port.

He caught the cook as she was building up the fire in the main round house. "Will you be sending anyone to Inber Da Glas anytime soon?"

She nodded. "Illann has requested mussels again. Although why he insists on such a thing this time of year is beyond me."

The steward grimaced. Anyone with any sense knew that mussels were a winter food. But princes were not always known for their sense.

He handed her the flat wooden box. "Have the servant take this along and find a ship headed for the land of the Bretain. It is intended for Cador of Dumnonia, the husband of Yseult the Fair. But mind you do not pay too much for the transport — it is only a small box, after all."

"Of course." The cook took the box and laid it aside, concentrating on fanning the flames.

After Illann and his guests and warriors had broken their fast, the cook remembered the box and went to retrieve it from where it lay next to the fire pit. Luckily, it was still undamaged. She picked it up, dusted it off, and went in search of the servant who would be going to port on the morrow.

"I have another task for you when you go to Inber Da Glas," she told the young man, handing him the box containing the missive. "This is intended for Cador of Dumnonia. You need to find a ship heading for the island of the Bretain who will take it along. But do not let yourself be cheated — it is only a small packet."

The next day, the servant almost forgot the box; it was only the sight of the cook hurrying between the bake house and the main hall that reminded him. And then once he reached Inber Da Glas, there was no merchant ship there bound for anywhere on the island of the Bretain, let alone Dumnonia.

"Can you hold onto it until a ship arrives that is to cross the Erainn Sea?" the servant said anxiously to the port master he normally did business with. "It is for the husband of Yseult the Fair, Cador of Dumnonia."

"Yseult the Fair, you say? Tell me, is she as beautiful as the tales say? Does she deserve the name?"

The servant shrugged. "She is beautiful, certainly, but she is no longer young. She has hair of the palest blond I have ever seen, and her eyes are only a touch darker than this silver." He gestured at the ring money he'd shaved off to pay the transport for the box. "But given the way she looks even now, at her age, with a grown son already a king among the Bretain — twenty years ago she must have been a woman to take a man's breath away, and his wits as well. I suspect there really is something to the legends."

The port master smiled and pocketed the silver. "I will find a ship to take the letter before the summer is out, I promise."

It was half a cycle of the moon before a merchant ship from Gaul arrived with a cargo of wine and garlic and olive oil, intending to trade for Erainn hunting hounds, which were coveted everywhere in the known world, as far as the port master could judge. Sometimes he wondered why the known world was so incapable of breeding their own dogs; on the other hand, it was certainly good for business that they were not up to the task.

The sleek hounds were barking in protest at being loaded onto the curraghs to take them to a deep-bodied trading ship when the port master approached the merchant with the slim wooden box. "This is intended for Cador of Dumnonia, the husband of Yseult the Fair. I hope you will be able to convey it to someone willing to take it the rest of the way? I'm sure the courier would be well rewarded for his efforts."

The merchant's lips grew thin. "And what of
my
reward?"

"It is nothing more than a box, after all, and you would only need to carry it with you to your destination of Moridunum in Demetia."

"Yes, and there I would have to find someone willing to make the journey to the seat of this Cador, a delay that could cause me a day, if not more. And what if I find no one willing to make the journey?"

"To bring a letter to the king of the Durotriges from his wife? You really think there are none who would bet on the rich reward at the end of the journey?"

The merchant paused, trying to regain the advantage. "Nonetheless, a courier would still need to be found. There is no guarantee that I can do that in the space of a morning."

The port master began to shift slivers of shaved silver from one palm to the other. "There are enough ships that travel between here and the many ports of the Bretain. I can wait."

As the port master intended, at the sight of the stream of silver, the merchant's greed got the better of him. "Good, I will take the missive. But I want an extra handful of silver for my efforts."

The port master continued to play with the silver shavings, left, right, left, right. "A whole handful? Do you not think that a bit excessive? As I said, I'm sure there will be another merchant before the moon is out more willing and less greedy who can take charge of a simple box."