memories of Drystan, the man who had officially been his brother. He envied those like Kurvenal who had been old enough to remember the charismatic young man who should have been king of Dumnonia, rather than five-year-old Kustennin.
He tied back the tent flap he had been holding open. "Sometimes being sorry is a good thing," he murmured. "At least it is better than having lost the trick of it."
Kurvenal shot him a sharp glance before he stepped out under the awning protecting them from the summer that was no summer. "Of course I want to take Dyn Tagell back — for you, for Dumnonia, for Arthur, for Britain. But I also wouldn't mind living to see Judual reach the age of choice." He pointed in the direction of the thick walls of the mainland fortress — and the enemy guards visible even from here. " They control the promontory now. I wish we could take it back, Kustennin, but I also do not want to commit suicide just yet. I still have much to live for." He reached up to fondle Kustennin on the back of the head, as if he were still a boy. "That includes seeing how you fill your role as king of Dumnonia."
Kustennin nodded. Although he had been training in arms and administration for years, the trip from Isca was the first time he'd led a warband. Border disputes and raids in Dumnonia had been quelled by Gwythyr, or generals chosen by Cador or his mother, or by the smaller regional kings themselves. His mother did not lead armies. He knew the tales of her homeland, of the war goddess Morrigu and the warrior-queen Medb — but in Britain the era of warrior queens like Boudica had died with the Roman conquest.
Gazing out from under the temporary roof, unable to do anything more than wait, it occurred to Kustennin that they had an advantage over the enemy — Yseult of Eriu. Perhaps together they could do something about the interminable waiting.
Kustennin turned to Kurvenal. "I'm going in search of my mother. Perhaps we will soon be able to put an end to this standstill."
* * * *
His mother was enthusiastic about the idea, but they had some persuading to do. Gawain and Cador both argued against Yseult getting involved in the fighting.
"She could help us without getting involved," Kustennin insisted. He turned to his mother. "You would be able to cloak a detail of warriors in illusion from a distance, wouldn't you?"
"I think so."
"And stay out of range of the fighting?" Gawain asked.
She shrugged. "That would depend on how many men and how far away."
"It's worth a try," Gwythyr said. "If Yseult cannot maintain the illusion, the men can always retreat."
"I was with Drystan when we attacked Din Eidyn with magic," Kurvenal said. "I think I would be the right person to lead the attack on the mainland gate."
While the rest discussed who would take which flank and what preparations still needed to be made, Kustennin gazed at Kurvenal, remembering what he had said about wanting to still be around when Judual reached the age of choice.
And now he had volunteered to lead the most dangerous part of the attack.
"I will go with you," Kustennin said.
* * * *
They had to wait for the next moonless night to carry out their plan. The rocky plain in front of the mainland fortress was bare of sheltering trees, so they had to take advantage of darkness. His mother would do what she could to cloak the soldiers in illusion, but the natural concealment of night would help.
It was raining again. While none of them liked having damp tunics, in this weather, the guards on the walls in their hooded capes might be less inclined to step out from their posts to scan the horizon for movement than if they were pacing patiently on a perfect June night.
In the distance, the faint hoot of an owl came from the north.
"The others are in position," Kurvenal said.
Kustennin wiped the rain out of his eyes. "Then it is time for us to launch the first boulders."
One contingent stayed with the catapults, while another moved away in the direction of
He tied back the tent flap he had been holding open. "Sometimes being sorry is a good thing," he murmured. "At least it is better than having lost the trick of it."
Kurvenal shot him a sharp glance before he stepped out under the awning protecting them from the summer that was no summer. "Of course I want to take Dyn Tagell back — for you, for Dumnonia, for Arthur, for Britain. But I also wouldn't mind living to see Judual reach the age of choice." He pointed in the direction of the thick walls of the mainland fortress — and the enemy guards visible even from here. " They control the promontory now. I wish we could take it back, Kustennin, but I also do not want to commit suicide just yet. I still have much to live for." He reached up to fondle Kustennin on the back of the head, as if he were still a boy. "That includes seeing how you fill your role as king of Dumnonia."
Kustennin nodded. Although he had been training in arms and administration for years, the trip from Isca was the first time he'd led a warband. Border disputes and raids in Dumnonia had been quelled by Gwythyr, or generals chosen by Cador or his mother, or by the smaller regional kings themselves. His mother did not lead armies. He knew the tales of her homeland, of the war goddess Morrigu and the warrior-queen Medb — but in Britain the era of warrior queens like Boudica had died with the Roman conquest.
Gazing out from under the temporary roof, unable to do anything more than wait, it occurred to Kustennin that they had an advantage over the enemy — Yseult of Eriu. Perhaps together they could do something about the interminable waiting.
Kustennin turned to Kurvenal. "I'm going in search of my mother. Perhaps we will soon be able to put an end to this standstill."
* * * *
His mother was enthusiastic about the idea, but they had some persuading to do. Gawain and Cador both argued against Yseult getting involved in the fighting.
"She could help us without getting involved," Kustennin insisted. He turned to his mother. "You would be able to cloak a detail of warriors in illusion from a distance, wouldn't you?"
"I think so."
"And stay out of range of the fighting?" Gawain asked.
She shrugged. "That would depend on how many men and how far away."
"It's worth a try," Gwythyr said. "If Yseult cannot maintain the illusion, the men can always retreat."
"I was with Drystan when we attacked Din Eidyn with magic," Kurvenal said. "I think I would be the right person to lead the attack on the mainland gate."
While the rest discussed who would take which flank and what preparations still needed to be made, Kustennin gazed at Kurvenal, remembering what he had said about wanting to still be around when Judual reached the age of choice.
And now he had volunteered to lead the most dangerous part of the attack.
"I will go with you," Kustennin said.
* * * *
They had to wait for the next moonless night to carry out their plan. The rocky plain in front of the mainland fortress was bare of sheltering trees, so they had to take advantage of darkness. His mother would do what she could to cloak the soldiers in illusion, but the natural concealment of night would help.
It was raining again. While none of them liked having damp tunics, in this weather, the guards on the walls in their hooded capes might be less inclined to step out from their posts to scan the horizon for movement than if they were pacing patiently on a perfect June night.
In the distance, the faint hoot of an owl came from the north.
"The others are in position," Kurvenal said.
Kustennin wiped the rain out of his eyes. "Then it is time for us to launch the first boulders."
One contingent stayed with the catapults, while another moved away in the direction of
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