Blood of Quartz

Chapter 8

Berrigan Keep - Inner Courtyard and Stables

Erik awoke with Niall's foot nudging his ribcage. The damp crawled over his skin, the morning dew slick across his forehead. He lifted one eyelid. Dawn was not quite upon them.

"What?" he grumbled, and sat up, rubbing his neck. His pack had been hard, and because of it he had tossed and turned. That, and sitting half the night, watching the stars, wondering at the turn of events.

He was part Berrigan, or more appropriately, he was the son of a Berrigan. He now understood why his mother had warned him to remember where he came from. She had to know this might happen the moment he arrived at the Keep. The sword was still a mystery, one he hoped to solve soon.

"Commander wants a word with you," Niall said quietly. "Alone."

Erik sighed. No doubt they would want to curry favour and see to it he got good placement when they shipped out. Not that he wanted it. He had not told anyone except Niall what had happened. Niall had looked at his friend with eyebrows up into his hairline, then gotten very quiet.

"I always knew you were more than just a simple country man. You could run circles around us as children," he had said, to which Erik had replied that it was because he was Orrick's son, nothing more.

They hadn't talked much more about it, but Erik could sense Niall wasn't pleased by the news.

"I'll be back," he muttered, and hefted himself up, belted his sword, and shuffled over to the commander's tent. His hand went instinctively to the pommel, and the hum greeted him, spreading warmth through his body and waking him up. Well, at least there was a use for the strange connection he felt to the weapon.

The canvas on the tent was damp and cold to the touch, and he waited a moment before entering, his hand on the flap, crimping the edge. He didn't want to lose friendships over this. Niall was a brother to him. If there was to be strife, he wanted to quash it before it got too big to reconcile. He was just a simple hog farmer, nothing more.

He desperately wanted to go home. Despite the fact that his mother was an unknown being to him in some ways, she was still his mother, had chosen a life other than the one she had been born into, and she needed him.

As he lifted the flap, the commander stepped out.

"Ahh Torston. Good morning. I was just coming for you. Saw your man Fialston, said he'd rouse you."

"Good morning," Erik replied, and fell into step with the man, walking out of the square. "What did you need of me?"

"How skilled are your men from River Bend?"

"In what way, Commander?" Erik asked, curious again.

"I have to put together a guard for the Lady Abigail. She is headed back to Kirkam House, and I have thoughts to put you and your men with her as an escort. I can't spare many, the muster for the Duke needs to be seen as full as possible," he replied.

"I suppose we are able to provide guard duty. None of us are blooded warriors, but we're all skilled with bow, some have rudimentary sword skills. We'd do."

Ah good. Well, this way, once your men and you are clear to Kirkam House, you can disperse home."

Erik stopped and looked at the man. "You'd allow us to go home? We wouldn't be marching to the capital and King Nathaniel's boats?"

"Boats?" the commander asked, puzzled. "What boats?"

"Men from the east, they say that the King is amassing boats, more keep arriving in port every day. Emptying their cargo and then waiting. We're wondering if we are to be the return cargo."