Blood of Quartz

Chapter 14

Berrigan Keep - Stable yard

"I'm not at all comfortable up here."

"You'll do fine, just need a few hours to get used to it"

"I'd rather be on my own two feet, thanks."

Erik watched as Paulin circled Commander Harrt's grey around him, laughing and relaxed in the saddle. The horse snorted, the reins tight as he expertly sat; he was the picture of a master. Paulin had taken to the grey well, and was enjoying every single moment he rode. He knew he would have to give him back, but it seemed not to bother his friend, who rode most of the days they had been here, and spent more and more time with the horsemen instead of his friends from River Bend.

Erik was perched on a red hairy beast of a horse. His name, according to the stable lads, was Firestorm, which seemed to be the worst possible name to give a horse that would not move except to change resting legs. He was tall, and sturdy, albeit a bit rotund. Erik thought him a likely candidate as a plow horse, not a charger.

Erik had not wanted a horse, but he was given this one and told to get on with it, most everyone else picking animals he wouldn't have dared sit astride anyways, making his choices slim. He looked across at his father, who was mounting up on a shining black charger, settling into the saddle with an ease he'd never imagined, making strange purring noises that immediately calmed the prancing and head tossing. The horse was obviously his, the familiarity unmistakeable.

"Shall we ride out?" was all Paulin added before he let the horse loose and headed for the fields out beyond the gate they had gathered at. With a whoop, some of the other men joined him. It had been a wonder they had all eagerly taken to horse, including Niall. Erik sighed and kicked at Firestorm, who grunted. His father trotted up beside him and stopped. Firestorm denied his name and shifted his back legs, letting out a sigh.

"He's a solid horse, son. Dare say he is well suited to standing about and watching."

I would rather be walking," Erik muttered, clucking and kicking again, hoping upon hope he would move. "I could likely walk faster."

Erik was to take his place as one of the commanders at the head of the mounted unit, with several other captains. His father would be with the few Kingsmen who had accompanied him, guarding the Duke, as always. In the chaos that the last few days had been, Erik had not had much time to spend with his father, but in watching him, realized that he was no longer a farmer. It both awed and scared him. Would he ever get to go home? He had mentioned the earl's wish for the men from River Bend to accompany Lady Abigail, and then themselves go home, but his father had expressed the same doubt as Niall.

Erik had doubts too. Cerrin was still with the healer, not well enough to travel. Paulin had all but declared he wanted to go with the mounted units. Donegal, Wooler, Niall and himself were still keen to go home, but Lorry and Finley, eighteen and nineteen summers themselves, had no intentions, he noticed. The idea of heading to parts unknown on a boat was excitement to fill their heads with fool ideas of adventure. Again, Erik felt the sadness of life changes hitting him, and he took a cleansing breath as he stretched his sore, aching muscles in the saddle.

"Once he is part of the line, that horse will live up to his name, I imagine. Horses tend to follow one another well when their blood is up," Orrick said lightly, and kicked his own horse forward, headed in the other direction to escort the Duke. "I will see you afterwards."

Erik watched his father trot away, suddenly envious of his ability to ride. Horses were a mystery, this one especially. Hogs, on the other hand, were predictable and easy. Cows too, for that matter, and you didn't have to master the skill of riding them to get along. He was grumpy, tired, aching, and feeling sorry for himself as he finally got the horse moving. He rounded a corner, and was just past the gate when the horse stopped with another grunt. Erik hung his head in defeat. He would be laughed out of the command line. Not that it mattered.