Blood of Quartz

Chapter 27

The covered wagon creaked as he closed the back of it, the hold brimming with provisions in various lumpy bags. Erik backed his horse up to the yoke, securing the harness to the whipple. One horse on the wagon instead of the normal two would be fine, which he was pleased with. The wagon, horse, and the items behind him were supplies headed back to the King's Guard, bought here at the Keep. The horse was old, but dutiful enough, and lipped at his hand with his grey flecked muzzle when Erik checked the bridle.

"You'll be fine, I suppose," he muttered to the horse, who blew into his hand and then lost interest, chewing his bit and bobbing his head in agreement.

The buzz around him as everyone lent a hand to preparing the wagons was marked with urgency. They were a day behind, and winter was showing itself in the frost on the grass and brisk morning air. They would have to push to make Bethune in three days. Weather was coming.

Erik was relegated near the back of the group that was leaving today. All the men had teased him, the job of driving the wagon normally given to someone much older, or a woman.

Only one horse to deal with, no one accompanying him. He could be alone with his thoughts. Or at least as much as he could be while they travelled. It would be good to be out on the road, away from the confines of the castle, so he could gather all of the upside-down things that had happened into one basket in his mind. He needed to sort it out and resolve himself to his new life. His father was right. Wallowing would make him miserable. He needed to make the best of it.

It was difficult, because he felt inadequate for the task laid out before him. How was he to become a soldier, a fighter? He was meant to live simply, be peaceful. The idea of fighting, killing another man made his insides clench. His father, had he felt the same way when he was first shipped off?

His father. He was organizing the retinue near the front, commanding and regal, nothing like the man he remembered, yet every bit like the man he knew. Five years had changed him so completely, yet... There he was. Still the storyteller. Still the quiet, decisive thinker. Still the affectionate, kindly man. Could he expect to change so fully, and still retain who he was in the time to come?

Erik was worried it was not possible for him. He did not want to become hard, unfeeling, or uncaring. It gnawed on him, the unknown changes awaiting him when he reached Bethune.

He turned as he heard shouting, and Niall appeared down the alley, leading his horse, his armour on. Behind him was Wooler, much the same. Bulky packs jutted out from each horse, Wooler's mount bristled with weapons, his axe most prominent.

"We're headed out soon. You ready?" Niall asked as he took in the small wagon and horse, grinning as his eyes met Erik's. "Sure you can keep up?"

"I'll be just fine here," Erik replied quietly, and pulled the lines through the guides, setting the ends on the seat in a coil beside his sword. "Suits me."

"We'll ride with you a ways," Wooler stated.

"You don't need to."

"We'll ride with you a ways," Wooler repeated, fixing Erik with one of his steel gazes that told Erik to stop arguing and just let him do what he wanted.

"Fine, fine."

They stood a few moments more, watching the flurry of activity, all of them in their own heads. Erik wondered if he would get to see his mother and sister before they left. It had been non-stop work from daybreak to now, getting everything together so they could make good time before they had to make camp for the night. He'd not gotten a chance to go up the hill to the keep, nor even leave the outer gate courtyard.

Making camp took some time as well, the tents and beds and fires that were needed for the Duke quite elaborate. Luxury on the road, a ridiculous concept, but he was royalty, and expected it. So if they did not leave soon, they would be pushing tent poles into the ground in the dark.

"Niall! Niall!"

They turned in unison as a flurry of fabric and skirts launched at Niall, nearly knocking him over. Wooler grabbed for Niall's horse as Niall folded his arms around Ylaine, who was sobbing unintelligible words.

Erik cleared his throat, and Ylaine dropped, turned and blushed scarlet. Niall had not let her go, and they shared a look. It was part resolve, and part asking for permission, and with it was the pain Niall was desperate to swallow and push down.

"We'll give you some privacy," Erik said quietly, and he and Wooler moved away.

After Abigail had left the dinner last night, he had watched Niall and Ylaine curled up in front of the fire. They weren't talking, just staring at one another, his hands slowly untangling and refolding her braid, her hands firmly planted on his chest, over his heart. It had been painful to watch them, knowing they were parting, perhaps forever. He had left not long after that, and stood on the ramparts, looking out over the inky dark forest, his own pain and troubles vibrating inside him with nowhere to go, no one to release them to but the stars and moon, high above him.

"How long have they—" Wooler asked, then stopped, looking back at them. "I suspected, but they never went together in the village."

"No idea. Niall can apparently keep secrets better than we expected, and Ylaine can steal away anywhere without being seen. I suspect not even my parents knew. Could also be that this happened here too, when they saw one another again."

Erik looked back just in time to see Niall tenderly caress her cheek, lean in, and kiss her. He could not see Niall's face, but could see Ylaine's, and it broke his heart, because hers was shattering, the tears coursing down her face leaving tracks.

"She'll make her peace in time," Wooler mumbled.

"She has to," Erik replied.