He knew at just what height to fly, virtually skimming the surface of the gray Atlantic, to keep from encountering the Veil, the magical barrier of illusion protecting the Irish coast of Tir na nOg. The illusions didn’t trouble him, but the possibility of detection did. Though he knew the coordinates where fluctuations were most likely, he would never get through undetected unless he drew on the power of the cauidron—which he also needed to conserve for the confrontation with Lutair. But I’ll never get anywhere near him if I don’t get through the Veil, he thought. Summoning as little of the vessel’s power as he thought he could risk, he headed for the barrier and onward, across the tip of southwestern Britain and on to Brittany.