Blood of the Red

Chapter 3 - Ingold

Chapter 3 – Ingold 

 "Wake up! We've a long way to go. Quickly now if you don't want to be left." Ingold helped Dain into the waking world with the toe of his boot. 

Mist hung in cold shreds between the trees. Ingold looked to the east where the grey sky shaded into pearl.

"Up, up, up!" He clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly, "We'll break our fast later."

While Dain gathered his wits and went down to the stream, Ingold busied himself with the horse's tack. He strapped his gear in place, taking care to tie the cooking pans so they wouldn't clank against each other. This done, he unbound the piebald mare from the oak she was tethered to,and checked her girth. From time to time Ingold glanced through the trees,toward the ridge overlooking the copse. There would be a pursuit.

"What's she called?" Dain asked, returning from the stream. 

Ingold's gaze wandered to the ridge again, "You were with me when I took her. I didn't see any sign, did you? Come, let's go."

Dain went to pat the mare's nose, "She's got to have a name. We should give her one. She carried us very well last night."

"And she may have to do it again if we don't move on soon. I suspect I have more than a few people on my trail by now..."

Dain blinked. "For Mabel?"

"What? Who the... who is Mabel?" Ingold felt torn between exasperation and curiosity.

"Our horse. She looks like a Mabel to me," Dain said,feeding the mare some grass he'd found between the oak roots.

"I'm not much of a horseman, but I'd say more like a Marion," said Ingold, warming to the subject. "And no, not for stealing a horse. Though that's not to be encouraged either."

Ingold lifted Dain up behind the saddle, then mounted,with no particular elegance. The boy's lightness shocked him. He'd not spent much time with children but it seemed that they should weigh more than Dain. 

Once both riders were secure, Ingold urged Mabel on at a steady pace, angling through the trees. Under the leaden sky the hills looked drear and uninviting. Last night's rain lay along every frond of bracken and rested on every branch, so that even the slightest brush resulted in a soaking.

They left the copse and Mabel cantered over the heavy ground, throwing up clods behind her. Ingold made across country, knowing his direction, taking herders' tracks when they suited his purpose. The moorland, too sour for farming, supported sheep in the main, gathered in by scattered crofters.

After an hour he slowed their pace, pacing along an ancient lane, a dry-stone wall that began and ended in rubble paralleled their path along some forgotten boundary and kept off the wind.

"Who is Jamus?" Dain asked.

Ingold stiffened, "How do you know that name?"

"You were talking in your sleep last night," Dain answered. "Most of it didn't make sense, but I heard the names. Jamus mostly,and Karalynn.

"Ingold chewed at his lip. He shook the reins and Mabel picked up speed. "Jamus was a friend of mine. My best friend. He's dead. He died a long time ago."

Dain's voice shook with the horse's motion, "And Karalynn?"

"My wife," Ingold said, his tone flat, "She's dead too. Don't speak of her again."

Ingold squeezed his eyes tight for a moment to keep away the sting of tears. Years had not inoculated the pain. Some deeds, some deaths, some people pin you to the moment and however you twist and pull, whatever currents try to tug you along time's river – you can't move on. Karalynn's death had proved to be a wound decades could not heal. Revenge might yet provide a remedy...