they saw, with resulting inaccuracy.
The wood began to splinter under the repeated force of the battering ram, giving way in a tearing crack and rumble of pulling and breaking. Kurvenal and his men poured through the opening, still invisible to the enemy, and Kustennin followed. He had drawn his sword, but rather than attempt to take part in the fighting, he pressed his back against the wall, concentrating on maintaining the illusion.
Then, behind him, he heard the war cry of Arthur's companions, "Britannia patria!"
Mounted British soldiers streamed through the shattered gate and began fighting next to Kurvenal and the others. The air was full of the ring of steel on steel, the grunts and screams of fighting men, the neighing of horses. The detail of Picts keeping guard in the mainland fortress was soon outnumbered.
They'd done it.
* * * *
From the edges of the British camp, Yseult peered into the night, trying to see what was going on. All was quiet on the walls of the fortress; her illusion held.
But then she could feel her control slipping. Perhaps it was too far away or too many people for her — or both.
She turned to Ricca. "I have to get closer; I can't continue to protect them otherwise."
"No. We cannot put you at risk, Lady."
Why not? she wanted to yell. My son is allowed to put himself at risk!
But of course she did no such thing.
And then they heard a warning cry go up from the walls.
"We will go to his aid, Lady Yseult."
Ricca barked out orders to the rest of her men-at-arms and then addressed Illtud. "Make sure she stays here and doesn't do anything rash."
In the distance, Yseult could distinguish the men on the ramparts shooting at the party with the battering ram. There was activity above the gate as well — perhaps they were preparing vats of boiling liquid? She had to get closer; she couldn't just stand here and watch.
"Fetch my gelding," she told one of the guards.
The man looked confused. "Ricca said you were to stay here."
"And he is under my orders, not I under his."
Illtud touched her elbow. "None of the men out there would want to see you at risk, Yseult."
"And I do not want to see them at risk either. I need to get closer, Illtud. The farther away I am, the weaker my powers. I need to help."
Illtud sighed. "They will not thank me if I let you go."
"You have little choice. But you can come along for my protection."
Yseult could barely make out his smile in the dark. "Excellent idea."
"Then perhaps you should change out of your priest's robes."
She heard him chuckle as she hurried off to her tent to change into breeches herself.
* * * *
As their small band rode for the mainland fortress, Yseult could feel the magic. A dip in the landscape obscured her view of the gate, but someone had taken over when her own powers grew too weak.
Who could it be but Kustennin? While she had often felt a hint of power in him, he had always blocked any attempt on her part to talk about it, let alone train him in controlling it.
On the other hand, it might also be someone on the Pictish side.
Yseult kicked her heels into her horse's flanks. All along the wall of the mainland fortress, groups of warriors were throwing up ladders and climbing over, but the fighting was heaviest near the shattered wood of the entrance.
While Illtud and the others joined the fray, Yseult sought the source of magic. There it was, a wall near what was left of the gate. She whirled her gelding around to see Kustennin, his back against the stones and sword drawn, but not involved in the fighting. Instead, he had an expression of intense concentration on his nearly beardless face as he continued to cloak as many of his comrades as possible in illusion.
Yseult drew in a deep breath, amazed at what her son had accomplished. But this was no time for giving in to motherly pride; while they had gained the mainland fortress, it was not yet theirs — and Dyn Tagell itself was still to be retaken.
She pulled up next to her
The wood began to splinter under the repeated force of the battering ram, giving way in a tearing crack and rumble of pulling and breaking. Kurvenal and his men poured through the opening, still invisible to the enemy, and Kustennin followed. He had drawn his sword, but rather than attempt to take part in the fighting, he pressed his back against the wall, concentrating on maintaining the illusion.
Then, behind him, he heard the war cry of Arthur's companions, "Britannia patria!"
Mounted British soldiers streamed through the shattered gate and began fighting next to Kurvenal and the others. The air was full of the ring of steel on steel, the grunts and screams of fighting men, the neighing of horses. The detail of Picts keeping guard in the mainland fortress was soon outnumbered.
They'd done it.
* * * *
From the edges of the British camp, Yseult peered into the night, trying to see what was going on. All was quiet on the walls of the fortress; her illusion held.
But then she could feel her control slipping. Perhaps it was too far away or too many people for her — or both.
She turned to Ricca. "I have to get closer; I can't continue to protect them otherwise."
"No. We cannot put you at risk, Lady."
Why not? she wanted to yell. My son is allowed to put himself at risk!
But of course she did no such thing.
And then they heard a warning cry go up from the walls.
"We will go to his aid, Lady Yseult."
Ricca barked out orders to the rest of her men-at-arms and then addressed Illtud. "Make sure she stays here and doesn't do anything rash."
In the distance, Yseult could distinguish the men on the ramparts shooting at the party with the battering ram. There was activity above the gate as well — perhaps they were preparing vats of boiling liquid? She had to get closer; she couldn't just stand here and watch.
"Fetch my gelding," she told one of the guards.
The man looked confused. "Ricca said you were to stay here."
"And he is under my orders, not I under his."
Illtud touched her elbow. "None of the men out there would want to see you at risk, Yseult."
"And I do not want to see them at risk either. I need to get closer, Illtud. The farther away I am, the weaker my powers. I need to help."
Illtud sighed. "They will not thank me if I let you go."
"You have little choice. But you can come along for my protection."
Yseult could barely make out his smile in the dark. "Excellent idea."
"Then perhaps you should change out of your priest's robes."
She heard him chuckle as she hurried off to her tent to change into breeches herself.
* * * *
As their small band rode for the mainland fortress, Yseult could feel the magic. A dip in the landscape obscured her view of the gate, but someone had taken over when her own powers grew too weak.
Who could it be but Kustennin? While she had often felt a hint of power in him, he had always blocked any attempt on her part to talk about it, let alone train him in controlling it.
On the other hand, it might also be someone on the Pictish side.
Yseult kicked her heels into her horse's flanks. All along the wall of the mainland fortress, groups of warriors were throwing up ladders and climbing over, but the fighting was heaviest near the shattered wood of the entrance.
While Illtud and the others joined the fray, Yseult sought the source of magic. There it was, a wall near what was left of the gate. She whirled her gelding around to see Kustennin, his back against the stones and sword drawn, but not involved in the fighting. Instead, he had an expression of intense concentration on his nearly beardless face as he continued to cloak as many of his comrades as possible in illusion.
Yseult drew in a deep breath, amazed at what her son had accomplished. But this was no time for giving in to motherly pride; while they had gained the mainland fortress, it was not yet theirs — and Dyn Tagell itself was still to be retaken.
She pulled up next to her
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