Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  When the phases of the moon completed another cycle with no sign of bleeding, Yseult realized she would have to tell her mother. Besides, Yseult the Wise needed some good news — the idea of another grandchild might distract her a little from Crimthann's death.

  Yseult found her mother outside the main hall with Brigid, discussing the possibility of a summer solstice festival. But if the dark clouds beyond the walls of the holy site were any indication, the longest day of the year was to be short and dark. Nearby, her half-brother Nath played at sword fighting with one of the few boys his age in Druim Dara.

  "Do you really think a festival wise, with the tribes of the Laigin making war on each other not far away?" her mother asked.

  Brigid's smile was bitter. "When are the tribes of Eriu not making war on each other? And still we celebrate our ferocious gods on a regular basis."

  "Festivals are always a welcome distraction from raids and fighting," Yseult said as she joined them. "Good day, mother, Brigid."

  They gave each other the kiss of peace.

  "You have news?" Brigid asked.

  Yseult should have known she could not keep anything from the high priestess of Druim Dara for long. She drew a deep breath and nodded. "I'm afraid I will soon have to take my leave of you again. I'm almost certain that I'm pregnant."

  Her reserved mother took her in a quick embrace and gave Yseult the first smile she'd seen on her face since Crimthann's death. "We see you so rarely, we would be happy to have you here in Eriu longer. But under the circumstances, I think it a good decision to return to your husband."

  "Yes," Brigid agreed. "Go back to Cador. It is probably safer to return to Ard Ladrann and find passage back from there, even if it will take longer. I will send to Illann tomorrow and request an escort to go with you."

  "I have my own escort."

  Brigid shook her head. "Your personal guard is not enough. It will only take a few days to get everything organized. Or were you meaning to set off on your journey this afternoon?"

  Yseult chuckled, feeling much more light-hearted now that the decision had been made. No, she did not know how Cador would react to the news of her pregnancy, after so categorically refusing that they try to have children. On the other hand, he was nothing if not fair. He might be angry, but he would not turn her away for being pregnant with their child. Yes, she had assured him she could avoid pregnancy, but he must know that medicines did not always work.

  If nothing else, he would take her back into his life, and they would have another chance. That night, Yseult fell asleep much quicker than she had since leaving her husband's side, lulled by the sound of rain on the thatched roof of the roundhouse.

  * * * *

  The fear woke her. She heard nothing, saw nothing, smelled nothing, but she could feel the fear.

  Yseult jumped out of bed as others around her also began sitting up, rubbing their eyes, and looking around. But still there was no sound — whatever was causing the fear, it was outside the walls of Druim Dara.

  Then the warning bells began to sound. Almost immediately after, the door of the round house crashed open. "The church is under attack. The residents of Cill Dara are at our gates seeking refuge!"

  As if it had been only yesterday since she had last done such a thing, Yseult grabbed a sword off the wall and stormed out into the damp summer night with the rest of those capable of wielding a weapon. Her sleeping gown hampered her movements, so she yanked it over her head, leaving only a light shift that went to her knees.

  She slipped on wet grass. Should she really be following her instincts this way? It might be better to stay huddled in her bed, protecting the unborn life in her belly. No, she had no choice. She had grown up a daughter of Eriu, a woman who helped to defend her rath when need be. If the rath died, so did the individual.

  Outside the roundhouse, she caught the whiff of smoke from a fire that had failed to take. The summer rain had proved their ally. Fear curdled in her gut, and she was reminded of a night decades ago when Drystan had fought at her side as the bard Tandrys.

  So long ago, and still he was with her.

  Of course I am. I'm the love of your life, remember?

  A shudder went through her whole body. She had not felt him so close since his father's death, had thought the revenge Bedwyr wrought had given him peace.

  But you are not at peace, are you? came his voice in her mind, gentle and full of regret.

  "No, I am not at peace! You were ripped from my life, and I am making the best of it. Help me now as you helped us then!"

  Cador does belong among the best, yes, she felt him say, before her grip on the sword grew more confident, more professional. I cannot truly be at peace until you are. For now, I can stay with you for the space of a battle.

  "Thank you, my love," she murmured into the night.

  You have two loves now.

  She laughed out loud, full of energy. "More than that, depending on how you define it."

  True. But most important is the love that will last.

  Yseult nodded. "Help me to survive this so Cador will have a child of his own. That at least will last."

  I will do my best, for you and Cador both. And then her steps grew faster as she ran for the wall of Druim Dara, the presence of Drystan in her mind and her sword arm. Even before she reached the ramparts, she could hear the desperate screaming beyond.

  "Now!" Brigid ordered.

  Despite the danger, warriors pulled on the ropes to either side of the gate and opened the heavy wooden door. Refugees from the church and surrounding Christian community of Cill Dara streamed in, thanking their god for his mercy. Yseult grimaced. It had actually been the work of more than one god, and a lot of very normal people. But who thought to thank them?

  She felt a smile in the back of her mind. You did, came the voice of Drystan in her mind.

  Direct on the heels of the refugees from Cill Dara came the enemy, screaming a battle cry Yseult did not immediately recognize.

  "Close the gates!" Brigid called out over the sounds of battle.

  It was easier said than done — the opening between the thick oak beams was now full of enemy warriors. They would have to force them back first.

  The dirt was quickly turning to mud, wet from rain and churned up by so many feet. Yseult tried to keep from slipping and slashed at the dark figures in front of her, her aim more sure than it had been in the battle for Dyn Tagell.

  To your right!

  Yseult turned and parried an attack, twisting her opponent's sword back on himself with more skill than she would have had without Drystan in her mind and her sword arm.

  Luckily, the enemy was trapped in the gateway, a wall of defenders in front of them and the heavy wooden doors pressing in on them to either side. Yseult was glad to see that a number of the refugees had either taken up arms themselves or were helping at the doors, trying to press the attackers in on themselves.

  "Ui Bairrche! Ui Garrchon!" she heard now distinctly. The enemy belonged to the tribes who supported Crimthann's son-in-law Findchad for the kingship of the Laigin. Findchad himself should be in Dun Ailinne for the ceremonial election of the new king by now. It appeared his allies were more inclined to trust arms than elections.

  Yseult's sword found an unprotected spot between helm and chain mail, and her opponent let out a scream that turned to a gurgle as he slipped to the ground. She jumped over his body and slashed at the warriors behind him as the dark host trying to force their way into Druim Dara began to slip away into the night. Someone had apparently called a retreat, surprised at the strength of their defense. Defense which should not have been needed at all, given the fact that Druim Dara was the site of the sacred fire and not involved in the wars between the tribes of Eriu. But young Nath and his mother had sought refuge here.

  Yseult allowed her sword to sink to the ground as the heavy doors closed behind their attackers with a satisfying "thunk." "Thank you, Drystan," she murmured.

  You're welcome. S
tay safe.

  And then he slipped away again. She felt the ache of battle in her shoulders and the ache of absence in her heart.

  She turned back to the refugees. Her true training, that as healer, would be needed now. Some of the residents of Druim Dara had brought torches and lanterns to where the survivors were huddled between the round houses. People cried and wailed, while others stared into the night, quiet and unmoving. Her mother was tending a young man with serious burns on his arms. "They torched the church," he said, his voice nearly empty of expression. "I tried to pull Fergal out, but a beam fell on him."

  "It's a wonder any of you were able to escape," Yseult the Wise said as she took his hands gently in her own and turned them over, examining the injury.

  "Why would they attack a church?" the young man said. "We do not even have any riches to steal."

  Brigid joined them. "The church was not their target; they wanted to provoke us and gain entry, and they almost succeeded. Even now, they are setting up camp outside our walls. Druim Dara is under siege."

  * * * *

  At first light, Brigid, Yseult, and her mother climbed up to a fortified lookout station on the ramparts and gazed out over the hundreds of Laigin warriors who were making war on one of the most sacred sites in Eriu. The summer rains had let up again, and the fields around them shimmered freshly green between the tents. The air smelled fresh and the morning sun on their backs was warm and pleasant. The perfect weather seemed to make a mockery of the position in which they found themselves.

  Yseult's mother shook her head. "The war for the Laigin kingship has come to Druim Dara. It is not enough that my husband is dead; now they want to kill my son. I'm sorry I brought you into this, Brigid."

  "It is not you who brought us into this," Brigid said impatiently. "It is the Ui Garrchon and the Ui Bairrche camped outside our walls, tribes with no true belief to guide them, either old or new, only a band of hungry, slighted warriors, ambition, and a tenuous connection to the kingship of the Laigin."

  Yseult touched her mother's elbow. "Perhaps they believe their victory in the battle which led to Crimthann's death entitles them to the kingship."

  "That was a skirmish," Yseult the Wise said dismissively. "They won no victory and gained no territory!"

  Both Brigid and Yseult refrained from pointing out that the besieging tribes had managed to kill a king.

  Brigid turned away from the sight of the enemy warriors and gazed down into the center of the rath. "Look at us, cowering behind the walls of a sacred site, while men who believe in the old gods ignore everything that should be holy to them in order to get at your son."

  Along with a number of the residents of Druim Dara, the refugees from the church had gathered in the central area between the round houses. Yseult could see her little brother Nath among them, tall for his age, with the white-blond hair of the Feadh Ree, as he talked seriously with several adults.

  "Not the old gods of the Tuatha Dé Danann," her mother said, her voice bitter. "Not Danu, Anu, and Brigid. Not Aengus Og, the god of love and king of the Otherworld. Not Dagda, the good god. They believe in the gods of the Gael."

  Brigid shook her head. "No, Yseult. They believe in any god and all — but only when it is convenient. Otherwise they believe in none. Most of all they believe in the goddess of war and death and slaughter, Morrigu — a goddess who is in our pantheon as much as theirs. Who is to say where her origins lie? She is said to have helped the Tuatha Dé in the battle of Mag Tuired, after all."

  Yseult saw her mother's lips tighten, but she did not answer and her thoughts were hidden. She wished once again that her mother would not close herself off so much. Yseult knew that giving comfort was not one of her strengths, but she would have done her best if her mother had allowed it.

  They descended from the ramparts in silence and joined the crowd that had gathered in the central area between the round houses. Patraic's nephew Mel stepped forward, bowing respectfully, despite the fact that he was a Christian bishop and Brigid a representative of the goddess. "We have been discussing our situation, Lady Brigid, and we were wondering how long we can survive a siege. What is the situation of the stores here within the walls of Druim Dara?"

  Brigid faced him, grimacing. "Not good. With the last harsh winters and the meager harvest between, much of our reserves have been used up. Besides, we are in here, and our cattle and sheep are out there."

  Mel gestured at the Christian disciples who had found refuge with him. "And with these extra mouths to feed and no opportunity to harvest the summer crops? How long?"

  "We have to make a count of how many people are here now and check the stores again," Brigid said. "But I suspect it would be about a month without rationing."

  "Perhaps someone can sneak out past the besieging army and take a message to Dun Ailinne," Mel suggested.

  "Illann will hear of our plight soon enough, I think."

  "Perhaps not. The warriors out there control the roads to and from Druim Dara. You see all the survivors from Cill Dara before you; no one else made it out alive to tell the tale, and we are trapped."

  The other refugees nodded agreement.

  "Perhaps travelers will notice what happened and go for help," Yseult suggested.

  "And perhaps the enemy out there will kill them first," Mel said. "Most of the residents of Druim Dara must have some powers of the Old Race, do they not? Couldn't the power of changing be used to cloak someone in illusion in order get past the warriors of the Ui Garrchon?"

  The three women exchanged glances. It was not often that a Christian priest openly acknowledged the powers of the Tuatha Dé — let alone suggest using them.

  Brigid nodded shortly. "We could, but it would still be dangerous, especially if anyone in their army detects the magic."

  Nath pushed his way through the crowd and grabbed their mother's hands. "I think you and I should go."

  Yseult the Wise stared at her son. "Even using the power of changing, we would be safer behind the walls."

  "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?"