by Helen Gosney
Red Rowan
Book3:
Return of the Reluctant Hero
ISBN 978-0-9925853-2-7
Copyright © Helen Gosney 2014
All rights reserved.
Cover image © Mikesilent| Dreamstime.com
Cover design by author
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed therein are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real events, locations and organizations is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
1. “… everyone said I wasn’t good enough.”
2. “…somebody has to be the bloody hero.”
3. “The horse looks a bit like Mica…”
4. “… it should be recorded…”
5. “We can’t stay here…”
6. “Red Rowan’s coming for us!”
7. “You never stop.”
8. “…terrifyingly fit and athletic.”
9. “A spirit of adventure.”
10. “Ribbons”
11. “As brave as a lion…”
12. “… the triple curse…”
13. “… it’s not as easy to do as he makes it look.”
14. “It was just… just bloody wrong”
15. “We can’t reach him ...”
16. “Consider yourselves, er… dead.”
17.“I want to go with someone who was there…”
18. “We should have come before this, but…”
19. “A g’Hakken gentleman, Sarge!”
20. “…much quieter and less fraught.”
21. “I’ve never seen any madmen up there except my own kin.”
22. “The gaited colt”
23. “Tabs”
24. “… ‘tis almost a lost art.”
25. “To free the slaves.”
26. “a swordsman like any other…”
27.“… how the other half lives.”
28. The logging camp.
29. “I couldn’t just stand there and not try…”
30. “Barn raising.”
31. “faster than you’d think possible.”
32.“Gods, these bloody stories get around!”
33. “Is it truly that time already?”
34. “You’re in for a surprise with Red.”
35. “Just a man, like any other…”
36. “…orders to stop him…”
37. “… too young, too inexperienced.”
38. “The problem is easily fixed, my lord.”
39. “… something simple, plain…”
40. “… boots off please.”
41. “You must have nearly lost your arm…”
42. “’S a… a halber’…”
43. “So much blood”
44. “Safely tucked up in bed”
45. “What’s happened?”
46. “ What do the healers say?”
47. “The daftest bloody idea I’ve ever heard.”
48. “I might ask old Hibbon…”
49. “A bit of a setback”
50. “… ‘tis only a game.”
51. “… the night he fell in love…”
52. “… no ‘mere’ first-round bout.”
53. “… he doesn’t mess about.”
54. “… unlikely to ever be equalled.”
55. “ I’ll always be a bit of the forest…”
**********
1. “… everyone said I wasn’t good enough.”
Almost six years have slipped by since Rowan had made the trek to find Plausant Bron and life in Yaarl was calmer and more peaceful than it had been in quite a while. The oddness that had abounded everywhere had ceased abruptly at about the time that a single rolling thunderclap had been heard over a huge area of Yaarl. The ground had trembled like a frightened animal and buildings had swayed, but after people near and far had been terrified out of their wits there was… nothing. No balls of fire, no drenching rain, no dreadful creatures stalking the world bent on mindless destruction, nothing. The moons and stars had continued serenely on their way through cloudless skies and life seemed to have more or less gone on as always.
Now though, there were no bizarre lights in the sky, no rivers freezing solid in the middle of summer, no blue sheep, no rains of fish or frogs, and nobody turned to stone as they worked in the fields. Of course people and animals still died, but now it seemed to be more in the natural order of things, rather than whole villages dying overnight for no obvious reason.
Some folk still attended services in Temples and Tabernacles, perhaps more than before the great thunderclap, and most of the priests of the Many and the One continued to keep the faith though they could no longer feel the Presence of the Gods at all. Those who wished to believe in the Gods did, and those who didn’t wish to, didn’t.
**********
All in all, a good thing, Rowan thought as he finished rebraiding his hair. He’d wondered if it might revert to its original dark auburn when the nexus between Yaarl and ‘the other place’ had closed, but no. It still fell past his hips in a beautiful shimmering curtain, but it had remained completely silver. His neat beard was mainly silver with a brindling of dark red, braided in the dwarven style as befitted his status as an adopted member of the g’Hakken clan. No man could hope to grow a beard as magnificent as a dwarf’s and Rowan didn’t try. He simply trimmed his to suit himself, braided it close to the skin in the pattern that proclaimed his membership of the g’Hakken clan and left it at that. Nobody’d complained about it as far as he knew, but they were welcome to discuss it with him if they were offended.
He tied off the end of his braid and tossed it back over his shoulder, ready to do some work. There was always plenty of it to be done with the horse breeding business he and Griff had established. They were doing well, too. They wouldn’t sell their horses too young, as many breeders did, and so it’d taken a while to really get going, but now there was good, steady demand for their beautifully bred and beautifully trained stock. They’d been crossbreeding with working mares to produce some bigger horses that were more attractive to the physically large foresters, and they’d even taken some of their best horses to the prestigious Horse Fair at Frissender in Wirran and done very well with them. Naturally they’d taken the stallions Mica and Soot with them too and they’d had a busy time keeping up with the demands of the owners of fine breeding mares for their services. It seemed their hard work was paying off at last.
“Rowan, why do you suppose your brows and lashes are still dark…?” Fess asked him curiously.
They were sitting on a log in the Siannen forest, with Fess idly watching Rowan’s horses grazing while his friend finished with his hair. Rowan shrugged. He’d wondered the same thing himself, but he’d given up fretting about it a long time ago.
“’Tis a complete mystery to me,” he laughed, “Ask me something I know, Fess.”
He knew that Fess had something a bit more important than that on his mind and he knew he wouldn’t have to wait too long to find out what it was. He just needed to be patient, and he could outwait Fess any day of the week. The mares and foals clustered around him as he called them to him.
“They’re a fine looking lot of babies, Rowan,” Fess said admiringly, “Are these Mica’s and Soot’s get?”
“Aye, most of them are. Destined to join the Guard too, I hope,” Rowan laughed as several colts nearly knocked him over, “Ratbags! They’ll end up breaking my neck one of these
days!”
“They can be rough little buggers, can’t they? Beautiful though. I wish I could’ve brought the brood to see them,” Fess said wistfully. He hadn’t had enough time off to come to Sian by the southern Break and Bella refused to travel through the Dogleg Pass. Her one and only trip that way, when Rowan and Zara had been wed, had been more than enough for her. And now, of course… Fess brightened. “Did I tell you Bella’s pregnant again?”
Rowan smiled at him. Fess and Bella had four children now: three sturdy little lads and a curly-haired little moppet who, at just fifteen months old, had her father firmly wrapped around her little finger.
“You do know what causes that, don’t you Fess?”
“Oh, aye. ‘Tis all the bloody cold nights in Den Siddon,” Fess said with a happy grin.
Rowan laughed.
“Aye, so ‘tis. And is Bella well this time?” he enquired politely. He thought she would be. Bella had taken to motherhood like a duck to water.
“Aye… always is, lucky lass. Not like some of the horror stories the lads tell,” Fess grinned again. “Still, I wish I’d had time to bring them with me…”
They chatted on about this and that as Rowan checked all the horses in the good-sized herd and then whistled for his stallions.
“They’re looking as fine as ever, Rowan,” Fess said, admiring the superb pair as they trotted out of the trees.
“Aye, they are. They’re happy enough not turning out for inspections and the like, they much prefer to run about in the forest with their mares,” Rowan said, wondering how much longer Fess would keep this up for. Nobody could make small talk like a Wirran, but equally nobody could outlast a Siannen.
“And Rose is happy?”
“Aye, she is, she’s joyful. ‘Tis good to see. That fellow she wed, Josef d’Albe d’Jasse a’Binnen del’Tarn, is a good man, for all that he’s of the Ghost Cedar clan and uses the full title. And you’ve always thought my name’s complicated,” he laughed. He and Josef got on very well indeed. “She has twins of her own now, little lasses as like as peas in a pod. Rhianna and Zarinya. Gran and I were midwives. We were there visiting and… well, we were needed. ‘Twas quick, too. Poor Josef damned nearly missed the whole thing.”
Fess tried not to shudder. No Wirran man would attend a birthing as the foresters did. Mind you, foresters were taught from a young age how to birth babies and much else besides, and Wirran youngsters weren’t. It made sense in Sian though, as some of the forester settlements and villages are very isolated and without access to midwives and healers. Many a forester woman had cause to be grateful for her husband’s expertise in midwifery.
Fess thought he’d best change the subject.
“And what of the others you met on your travels?”
“Hmm…? Oh, Cris seems to have got the wanderlust… the last I heard he and Rill were going to look at rivers in, er, Salandar, I think ‘twas. The rats are still waiting for him in Gnash, I imagine.” He smiled cheerfully, knowing he could keep this up all day so long as he didn’t have to think up the questions himself. “And of course Moss looks after our bridge here in Borl Quist.”
He’d been as surprised as anyone when the troll had asked to come back to Sian with them: he’d wanted to see the Forest Giants that the twins had spoken of so affectionately. He hadn’t been disappointed in the magnificent forest and something about the sturdy timber bridge in the town had persuaded him that it deserved the services of a Bridge troll. He’d been unable to explain it, but he simply knew that it was so.
The folk of the town had been a bit startled, but pleased to welcome him, and the local forest trolls had been all but overcome with the honour of having a Bridge troll in their midst. Now the rather unremarkable bridge was beautiful, its rails and endposts lovingly carved with the birds and animals that abounded in the forest and Moss was perfectly content in his new home.
**********
Finally Fess brought up the subject of the Champions’ Trophy, which was coming up again in about a year or so.
“Why did you try out for the Trophy the first time, Rowan?”
Rowan shrugged. So this was what had been on his friend’s mind, was it? How very interesting. But why on earth…?
“Because Captain Telli entered me and because everyone said I wasn’t good enough and shouldn’t have been there.”
“And the second?”
“Because they said I couldn’t do it again.”
“Are you going to try for it this time?” Fess asked intently.
Rowan looked at him in surprise. No, he couldn’t be thinking… could he? Not even Fess was that daft.
“No. I’m too old and feeble.”
Fess laughed at him. Anyone less old and feeble than Rowan would be hard to imagine. True, his hair was completely silver, but that had nothing to do with his age and more to do with his having met with the Gods at Plausant Bron. Well, having met with the God of pain and suffering, Pleer Bon, anyway. Rowan wasn’t thirty-seven yet, and he was as strong and fit now as he’d ever been. He’d run Fess ragged every morning as they’d done their exercise routines together.
“You might be a bit rusty, Rowan, that’s all. Truly, you could probably beat most of them even if you had a wooden leg and only one eye.”
Rowan looked at his friend sceptically.
“”Tis a bit harder than it looks, Fess.”
“Rowan, I truly think you should give it a try.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Rowan shook his head.
“No, Fess, that’s not the question. I’ve proved to myself that I can win the damned thing, that a Siannen is as good as any bloody Wirran or anyone else despite what they all might think… sorry, no offence meant…” he smiled at Fess, “So why? Give me a good reason and I’ll think about it.”
“I’ve got no good reason to give to you, Rowan. Truly, I haven’t. I’m just being selfish… and I’m like you were last time too, I suppose. I just want to see if you can do it again… and you really will be too old and decrepit next time…so why not?”
Rowan looked at him again. He knew that Fess could nag at this forever if he wasn’t very, very careful.
“Go and get your sabre, Fess, and I’ll go and get mine,” he said at last, “Let me see how good we both are and then I’ll think about it.”
Fess frowned at this unexpected development.
“Rowan, I still train with the sabre every day and truly, I’m still pretty good. How long is it since you’ve touched yours?” he said.
“Maybe not as long as you think, but a while…” Rowan thought about it. He didn’t really know why he did still practice with the sabre sometimes, but he did. “It’d be a couple of months, I think. I still play with it every so often. Not like I used to, of course, but I don’t think you’ll kill me. If you do… well, that’s an end to it, I suppose.” He grinned suddenly. “But if you can’t beat me, I’ll do it.”
Fess frowned at him again.
“You’ll really try for the Trophy if I can’t beat you?” he said sceptically.
“Aye. And if you don’t try very hard to beat me, I’ll kick your backside. Agreed?”
Fess laughed.
“Agreed.”
Fess was a very good swordsman, always had been, though he’d never really been a match for his brilliant friend. He thought he might give him a run for his money now though, particularly when he heard Rowan sneezing and saw the dust on the sabre’s scabbard.
“Are you sure about this, Rowan?”
Rowan laughed at him, pleased to have called his bluff.
“Aye. You’re not frightened by some poor decrepit old white-haired forester, are you?”
“You cheeky bugger. You’re two years younger than I am. A mere whippersnapper!” Fess said grandly.
Rowan nodded.
“So I am. Ready, old man?”
In a depressingly short time, Fess found himself staring at the tip of Rowan’s sabre resting lightly agains
t his chest. His own sword was on the ground a good distance away and there’d been nothing he could do about it. He could see that Rowan himself was surprised by how much of his skill he’d retained.
“Well, it looks like you get your wish, Fess. Are you sure that you really did try?” Rowan said, but he knew that Fess had done his best. He’d started off by going a bit easily, but when he’d realised that Rowan meant business Fess had quickly tried very hard indeed.
“Aye, Rowan. Truly, I couldn’t have done more than I did… so you really will go into the Trophy again?”
“Why not, as you said. If I lose, I’ve lost nothing… nobody’s ever won the damned thing three times, so why should I? And if I do win it…” he shrugged, “Then I’ll have shown them all what a poor decrepit grey-haired old forester can still do.”
“Aye, you will. You truly will. Come back with me to Den Siddon, Rowan, and I’ll find some decent opponents for you to train with.”
Rowan took his time as he thought about it. He hadn’t been back to Den Siddon since he’d brought his shattered troopers home from Messton all those years ago. He simply hadn’t felt he could cope with all the inevitable memories that it’d revive. But now … maybe it was time to finally face up to his fears.
“Aye, Fess. I will, so long as Griff and Honi don’t mind having to work a bit harder while I’m not here… and of course I’ll have to be back for the foaling,” he said at last, “Thank you.”
**********
Fess had one more surprise for him.
“Rowan, I… I’d like to buy one of your horses from you. You’ve always said the Captain of Den Siddon should have a fine horse to ride…” he said.
Rowan looked at him consideringly.
“Aye, I have too. One that’s kind to his backside, I’ve always thought, not like some of those rough-gaited old things the Guard usually has. Well, I’m pleased you’ve actually been listening to me sometimes. But I won’t sell you one, Fess,” he replied.
