Red Rowan: Book 3: Return of the Reluctant Hero

by Helen Gosney

  “Did he? I could say the same of him.”

  “He thought you’d be the one to win the Trophy twice, didn’t he?”

  “Aye, he did. I wish he could have seen me do it.”

  Johan had died suddenly, not long before Rowan’s second Trophy Tournament. Sword Master Hibbon, the man who’d first realised Rowan’s potential with a sabre and trained him for his first Trophy, had taken over his preparation at very short notice and done an excellent job of it. Still, Rowan had missed Johan and still did.

  “Rowan…” Telli said thoughtfully, “Did he ever say that he thought you could win it three times…?”

  Rowan looked at Telli, his face pensive. He nodded slowly.

  “Aye, Telli, he did. I thought he was daft, but he said… he said I’d been so young when I first won it that I’d not be too old and decrepit to win it three times. He truly thought that I could do it, if I was fully fit and not injured. I just thought he was completely daft.” He smiled suddenly. “And why would anyone want to try and win the damned thing three times anyway? ‘Tis a hell of a lot of hard work.”

  Telli smiled back at him.

  “Aye, it is too. So why do you?”

  Rowan shook his head, still smiling at the foolishness of it.

  “I don’t know really, Telli. Daft, isn’t it? I just do. ‘Tis partly to repay Johan’s faith in me all those years ago and… partly because I’m fed up with folk telling me what I’m capable of, and what I’m not capable of, and well, as Fess says, why not? If I’m still good enough to win it, then maybe I will, and if I’m not good enough any more, then I won’t. I mightn’t even get past the first bloody round,” he laughed. “I might break a leg before then, or get fed up with running around in circles before breakfast and take my cursed sabre and go home. ‘Tis only a bloody game, it doesn’t really matter. The forest will be as beautiful as it ever was, no matter what happens.”

  “That’s still a dreadful heresy, you know! But I’m pretty sure you’re still good enough, Rowan,” Telli said, “Stefan and Corran are our big hopes, but you can beat them any day of the week. You can beat them both together.”

  “Then maybe I will win the damned thing again. ‘Twould be worth it to see what the g’Hakken do.”

  “That’s a thought… what would they do about the tattoo?” Telli wondered, intrigued.

  Rowan laughed.

  “No idea, Telli! ‘Tisn’t my problem even if I do manage to win it again. Whatever they do, I’m sure the organisers won’t be pleased.”

  “Well, by the time they found out, it’d be too damned late anyway, lad.”

  “Aye, and just as well too. They’d take forever to decide what should be done.”

  “Rowan lad, it took five hundred years for someone to win the Champions’ Trophy twice. If you win it for the third time, just think how long it might be before somebody else does it. Whatever the old buggers decide won’t matter.”

  “Telli! You’ll be a worse heretic than me soon!” Rowan laughed at him.

  “Gods forbid,” Telli said devoutly.

  **********

  Rowan glanced about to be sure that none of Fess’s little lads were anywhere near, and then he climbed up the tallowbark. He knew it was a good place to go to think, nobody interrupted him up there, and he had some serious thinking that he needed to do. He’d promised Sword Master Stefan that he’d take a rope with him for safety if he was climbing the tree, and he did so now. Sometimes he’d even used it. Scrap ran up the other side of the tree and scampered onto the branch that led to Rowan’s open window.

  “You can go in if you like, laddie,” Rowan smiled at the leggy kitten that’d grown so quickly, “But I’m going up a bit higher…”

  He went as high as he could safely go and made himself comfortable as Scrap came up beside him. Rowan smiled again as the little cat lowered itself into a crouch and crept forward, carefully hiding behind some convenient leaves. Yes, there was a raven watching them with its bright clever eyes. Both the bird and the man knew it was safe enough, especially up here: Scrap was an enthusiastic hunter and wasn’t bad at catching mice, but he hadn’t mastered the far more difficult art of catching birds yet. He’d frightened a few but that was as far as he’d got. That didn’t stop him trying though, even over a hundred feet up in a tree. The raven flapped away with a derisive caw and Scrap sat up, washed his paws nonchalantly, and came back to sit at Rowan’s side.

  “You daft thing, Scrap. ‘Twas bigger than you,” Rowan laughed, “What would you have done if you’d caught it up here anyway?”

  He tickled the kitten’s ears and looked out over the garrison, past the town that was almost a city but still somehow smaller than it should have been with a garrison of this size and importance, and over the river. It was beautiful here in the mountains, he thought. Shame there were no decent sized trees though. Even the tallowbark wasn’t big by Siannen standards, and as for the pine plantation outside the town… it was only fit for running around or through, nothing else. He’d never liked pine trees much. They were all right by themselves, he supposed, just one here and there, but planted closely like that… no. Nothing grew under them and even the birds and animals didn’t like them. He thought about the forests of home, with the mighty Forest Giants, and sighed.

  No, Rowan, don’t think about all that now, he told himself sternly. You’ll be going back soon enough for the foaling. Now’s the time to be thinking about this other damned business… he stroked Scrap’s velvety black fur absently as he settled down to some serious deliberation.

  **********

  A couple of days later Rowan was down at the training circles, waiting for his turn to spar. He sat on the grass, stroking Scrap. The little cat rubbed its face against Rowan’s hand and purred as they sat together in the early morning sunshine.

  Stefan watched them for a while, puzzled and concerned. He and Corran had both disarmed Rowan with relative ease, twice, yesterday and Abel had very nearly done the same. Something was wrong. Rowan raised his head as the Sword Master walked over and sat beside him.

  “Rowan… I can see something’s bothering you. What’s wrong?” Stefan said quietly, “Have you had bad news from home…?”

  Rowan shook his head, but said nothing.

  Stefan looked at him more closely. It wasn’t like Rowan to be moody, but he looked sad and uncertain.

  “You’re always telling us to speak up,” Stefan said, “So… out with it, laddie. We’re friends, aren’t we? If I can do anything, I will…”

  Rowan smiled at him, but it was an effort.

  “Aye, we are friends, Stefan. So, tell me what you think I should do…” he said very softly, then told Stefan what it was that was worrying him.

  Stefan thought hard and nodded slowly.

  “I think you should do it, Rowan. You should go and see Fess right now,” he said, “And then you can get back to kicking backsides.”

  Rowan smiled at him again, much more easily this time.

  “Aye, you’re right, Stefan. So I can. Thanks, lad,” he moved Scrap, put his shirt back on and trotted off toward the garrison, the little black cat scampering beside him.

  **********

  17.“I want to go with someone who was there…”

  “Fess… could I ask you a favour, do you think…?” Rowan said hesitantly as Sergeant Var Rinsson ushered him into Fess’s office and closed the door.

  Fess looked up at him from where he sat behind his desk, getting an early start on yet more paperwork. Rowan looked very serious about something, a bit concerned too.

  “Aye, of course you can. If I can do it, I will,” he said, puzzled, “But are you all right?”

  Rowan took a deep breath.

  “Aye, Fess… but… I want to go back to Messton. Would you come with me, please?”

  Whatever Fess had expected, it certainly wasn’t that.

  “Aye, Rowan, of course I will, if you want me to. When do you want to go?”

  Rowan shrugged.


  “I don’t know really. Soon. The sooner the better, now I’ve finally decided,” he said softly, “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow…? Rowan, what’s brought this on?”

  “I don’t know that either. I went past the Memorial a few days ago… and I stopped, like I often do, and… somehow I got to thinking about going back home again, how different it’d be from how it was last time, and… I don’t know…” Rowan struggled to explain something that he didn’t really understand himself, “I just thought… I need to go back to Messton, and I don’t want to do it alone. You were there, you know what it was like and…”

  Fess stood up and hurried over to Rowan. He put an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

  “Rowan, lad, we’ll go tomorrow. It’s time I went back too,” he said.

  “Thanks, Fess. Have you not been back either?”

  “Only once, Rowan. When they… when they dedicated the memorial there.”

  “There’s another one out there?” Rowan said, surprised, although he realised at once that he shouldn’t have been. Of course there’d be some sort of memorial to the dead at the battlefield itself.

  “Aye, but it’s not like the one here. It’s very simple, not much more than a plaque…” Fess shrugged, “You’ll see…”

  “Thanks, Fess. I appreciate this. I’ve come to terms with it all at last, as much as I can, but I just need to… to do this to truly let it all go, I think…” Rowan hesitated, “… and I want to go with someone who was there…”

  “Aye. You’re right to… I don’t think anyone else can really understand what it was like… Tomorrow, Rowan. We’ll go tomorrow,” Fess said quietly.

  **********

  Rowan looked up from brushing Ashen. Fess was coming across the cobbles with someone striding along behind him. Rowan couldn’t quite see who it was.

  “Rowan, I hope you don’t mind, but…” Fess began as he came through the doorway.

  “Rowan, lad, can I come with you?” Cade asked softly as he stepped past Fess.

  Rowan smiled at him.

  “Of course you can, Cade. I didn’t ask you because Fess told me you and the lads from Trill never go to the Memorial Day here… and truly, I wouldn’t either. It’d be too bloody hard. Anyway, I thought perhaps you wouldn’t want to… I’m sorry, I should have at least asked you. It’ll be good to have you there too,” he said.

  “Thanks, Rowan… none of us can really cope with the big service at the Memorial, even after all this time…” Cade said, “We just meet up quietly somewhere and remember what we want to… more than what we want to, usually…”

  Rowan nodded in complete understanding.

  “How many of the lads are still in the Guard, Cade?” he said.

  “Only two… me and young Borric Davisson. He’s a sergeant at Den Kahler now,” Cade replied.

  “Borric and his damask tablecloths!” Rowan grinned suddenly.

  Cade stared at him in surprise.

  “I’m amazed you can even remember that, Rowan,” Cade grinned too. It had been a truly dreadful time, but now he could see a funny side to it as well.

  “What the hell were you doing with bloody damask tablecloths when you were chasing after Rollo?” Fess wanted to know. He knew they were very expensive things because his mother-in-law had made it very clear to him when he’d spilt wine on one of hers, not long after his marriage. The mind boggled as to what Borric had been doing with one, he thought.

  “We needed something for bandages after Rollo cut me at Trill, something better than the lads’ shirts,” Rowan said, “And all Borric could find other than not-very-clean bed sheets was a couple of very fine and undoubtedly very costly damask tablecloths…”

  “And one of the lads, Thierry, was worried about what his Ma would say to him if she ever found out he’d cut the cursed things up,” Cade laughed, “He was in shock, poor lad, but he was so upset about it. We still tease him about it even now. In the end Borric told him if he didn’t shut up about it, he’d go and find Thierry’s Ma and tell her himself.”

  “They must have been damned fancy bandages,” Fess chuckled.

  “Oh, aye, they were. The healers couldn’t believe it when we got back to Messton,” Cade said, “They did the job though, and I truly don’t believe anyone in Trill would have begrudged us.”

  “No, they wouldn’t,” Rowan said, “The owner might have nagged us a bit, but I’m sure she’d have given them to us if we’d been able to ask her nicely.”

  They saddled their horses and headed off. As they trotted through the Gate, a thought struck Rowan.

  “Who’s minding the place while you two aren’t here?” he wondered, “Stefan?”

  “Aye, it’ll do him good, and Telli’s there to help him if he needs it,” Fess said, “Now, let’s go, lads.”

  **********

  They came to the hill outside Den Siddon where Rowan’s battered little convoy had got their first glimpse of the garrison they’d tried so hard to reach. A granite slab like those in the memorial stood beside the track. ‘In honour of the men of Red Rowan’s Troop who struggled so bravely to get home. They shall not be forgotten.’ was all it said.

  Rowan’s eyes widened as he read the simple inscription.

  “The men who died on the track are buried beneath it,” Cade said quietly.

  Rowan nodded, but said nothing for a few moments.

  “Good,” he said finally, “I thought they might have buried them all together out at Messton, but this is better… but… ‘Red Rowan’s Troop’…?”

  “There’d have been armed revolt if they’d put anything else, Rowan,” Cade said, “No, ‘Red Rowan’s Troop’ we were, and still are. Always will be.”

  Rowan shook his head slowly as he took it in.

  “This is something else that I just have to shut up about and accept with good grace, isn’t it?” he said quietly.

  Fess smiled at him.

  “Aye, laddie. It is. Just get used to it,” he said.

  Rowan shook his head again.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” he said.

  Cade smiled at him too.

  “At least it’s better than putting ‘the Wirran Guardsmen who were betrayed by their cursed old bastard of a Commandant and left to die’, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Aye, of course it is,” Fess agreed, “Shorter too, less work for them to do.”

  “Well, that’s always a good thing, I suppose,” Rowan nodded hesitantly, “I… I just… I was just surprised, that’s all. Truly, I’m honoured by it.”

  **********

  “What happened to the two lads from the farm? Um… Yianni and Zeb?” Rowan asked a bit later as they rode along a very faint track.

  The young stallions Ashen, Storm and Ebony were settled into their very comfortable gait that nobody could really explain, and Fess and Cade found themselves enjoying the ride despite their destination.

  “Telli gave them an honour guard back to the farm when they’d rested and recovered a bit. Their Ma and Pa were beside themselves with pride when the lads got back,” Fess said, “They couldn’t believe any of you survived…”

  The farmers had thought the battered, exhausted young captain who’d asked so politely to borrow a couple of carts would simply not be able to do what he so badly wanted to do, and they’d worried for him and his wounded men in their trek. As the days had passed and their sons hadn’t returned as expected, they’d realised that somehow the impossible had been done. That so many men had survived, including Rowan himself, had astounded them.

  “…And young Zeb joined the Guard in the next intake. He’s at Den Mellar now, doing well too,” Cade smiled.

  “Good for him. They were both good lads, they helped us so much,” Rowan said, his face unreadable, “The whole family did so much for us…”

  **********

  If they’d pushed themselves a bit, they could have got to Messton easily in a day and a half, a single day if they’d really been in
a hurry, but they felt no need to rush themselves or their horses.

  “I’ll never understand it, you know,” Rowan said as they stopped for the night, “’Tisn’t so bloody far, but it took us so damned long to get back. I don’t even know how long, truly, but it seemed endless … the old bastard could have helped us at any time. Did he ever say why he…?”

  Fess and Cade shook their heads. “No, he never did. At the courtmartial, he… he couldn’t seem to understand why he was even up on charges… he couldn’t seem to see what a terrible thing he’d done …” Cade said.

  Rowan stared out into the late afternoon sunshine for a moment, shook his head, and turned back to his friends.

  “And what about his family? Bertha and Therese? Were they all right? Nobody blamed them, I hope?” he asked, “’Twas none of their doing. Therese was a bit full of herself but I quite liked Bertha, she was a good woman underneath that frown, and she had a lot to put up with. I was glad when she defied the old bastard and went to Sian to my wedding.”

  “No, they had no idea at all,” Fess said, his face sad, “The old bugger had said nothing to them, and he kept them in the Cottage when the garrison was in such an uproar. Bertha and Therese were both in tears when they saw you come through the Gate with the men. They left Den Siddon the next day, went to Bertha’s kinfolk somewhere down near the Catseye Lake. Everyone treated them with respect as you asked them to.”

  Rowan had forgotten he’d done that. He nodded sombrely. There seemed little to say.

  **********

  “Here we are, lads. It looks so bloody different, doesn’t it?” Rowan said, looking over the great plateau that was Messton. There at the side was the Edge, an enormous and very steep scarp that made the place so difficult as a battle site.

  Fess and Cade nodded. Both had only been back once since the battle and of course there’d been a great many Guardsmen there then for the dedication of the Memorial. Now the wind whistled miserably across the ground and it seemed very lonely.

  Fess was about to say something when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up; Cade shook his head slowly.