Red Rowan: Book 3: Return of the Reluctant Hero

by Helen Gosney

  When Rowan brought the children back home a bit later, they hurried in to see the new baby. For a moment the boys were disappointed that they didn’t have another brother, but their disappointment quickly faded as their golden-haired little sister gripped their fingers surprisingly strongly.

  Looking at them, Rowan thought that this little lass would soon have all her menfolk wrapped around her little finger, just as her big sister and her mother did.

  **********

  21. “I’ve never seen any madmen up there except my own kin.”

  The weeks and months passed and finally the long cold winter was gone. It was time for Rowan to return home for the foaling and breeding season.

  Horsemaster Ross and two third year recruits – Cadets - who were particularly interested in horses were going with him. Ross had bought the remainder of Rowan’s fine young horses as officer’s mounts and he wanted to have a look at those left behind in Sian too. Fess had been very enthusiastic about them and the garrison could do with some more troop horses. Rowan had helped train the colts they’d had in the horseyards, but some were proving to be a bit disappointing.

  “Will you be going through the Dogleg Pass, Rowan?” Fess asked as his friend saddled Ashen.

  Rowan smiled at him.

  “What do you think, Fess? It’ll be passable by the time we get there, or near enough,” he said cheerfully. He’d missed the forests even more this time and he was pleased to be going home again. Nothing would induce him to take the much longer way home via the southern Break. “I promise I won’t lose anyone on the way through.”

  “You’d better not, laddie,” Fess grinned, “Think of all the paperwork you’d have to do. It’d be even more for a bloody civilian.”

  Rowan groaned.

  “Bloody Hells, no! I’ll be extra careful, Fess,” he promised as he carefully packed Scrap into a saddlebag. The little cat settled itself down for a nap, perfectly happy. Later it’d ride in front of Rowan on the saddle or on his shoulder.

  They made good time on their journey. The Cadets, Dorrel Calumson and Kurt Pynter, had never been to this western part of Wirran and they stared as the mighty mountain range known as the Sleeping Dogs reared higher and higher on the horizon.

  “Sir, are we really going to cross those?” Dorrel asked doubtfully. The Dogs had a fearsome reputation and there was only one place where a crossing might be tried. It wasn’t somewhere the Cadet had ever dreamt he’d find himself.

  Rowan nodded.

  “Aye, Dorrel, we are. Up and over the Dogleg Pass, where only madmen and us foresters ever go, they say. ‘Tis a lie, of course,” he smiled at the two lads, “I’ve never seen any madmen up there except my own kin.”

  Ross laughed. He’d never been that way himself, but – unlike most people - it was something he’d always wanted to do and here he was with an expert guide. He was looking forward to it. Really, he was enjoying this trip very much; Rowan was good company and the youngsters were proving to be too. Ross had always been fascinated by the phenomenon of the fabled Horse Master but had never thought he’d ever see such a one, much less work with him. It never ceased to amaze him what Rowan could do with a horse without even thinking about it and the way that every horse in the stables came to the front of its box simply to watch him as he walked past was astounding. Eerie at first, admittedly, but amazing too. And he wanted to see Rowan’s stallions as well; few horses could do what Fess assured him they could.

  “I’ve been to Sian before, years ago,” he said slowly, “But we went through the Break of course…”

  “Did you go to the north-east, or up to the north? Up to the Giants?” Rowan asked him curiously.

  Ross shook his head.

  “No. We went to Siovan and Sinter, on the lakes. It was beautiful, truly beautiful,” Ross said.

  “Aye, it is,” Rowan smiled at him, “All the same, you missed the best parts. Not that I’m biased, of course.”

  “Of course not,” Ross agreed with a grin.

  “But… but what about the horses, Sir? Isn’t there a… a very narrow bit at the top of the… er… Dogleg Pass?” Kurt wanted to know.

  Rowan smiled at him again.

  “Aye, there is. Up at the top there’s two big crags, the Fangs, they’re called. The trail goes between them and around the side of the Northern Fang. Well, the other way from this side. ‘Tis a bit steep and narrow just there.” There was also a sheer drop of nearly a thousand feet on one side, and it wasn’t called the Scream for nothing, but Rowan saw no reason to worry the lads. “Don’t fret, we’ll be fine, I promise you. Us and the horses.”

  Fess had told Ross that Rowan’s young horses had simply followed him across the Scream with no fuss at all, and he believed there’d be no problem with the troop horses either. Ross couldn’t wait to see how Rowan managed it.

  His opportunity came a few days later. The Pass had thawed and was navigable, though there was still a sprinkling of snow on the higher parts. All went well until the troop horses balked at the dangerous ledge at the top of the Pass.

  “Daft creatures,” Rowan said, shaking his head, “Why would you think you’re going to fall here when you’ve managed the rest so well? The cursed wind’s blown the snow away, ‘tisn’t even slippery.”

  Dorrel looked at the sheer drop and the narrow rocky track, shuddered and looked at Kurt.

  “I bloody know why, Sir,” he said quietly.

  “How the hell are we going to get across there, Sir?” Kurt said as his horse shifted unhappily beneath him.

  Rowan smiled at them and shook his head again.

  “You’ll be right, lads, and so will the horses. Generations of foresters and their horses have come this way and they can’t all have been bloody daft,” he said, “Don’t worry, you won’t need a blindfold, I think ‘tis better they can see where they’re putting their feet.” He swung down from Ashen’s back and calmed the troop horses with a gentle hand.

  “Up you get onto Ashen, lads. He’ll look after you… just let him have his head, sit quietly, and don’t fuss him. And now, what about you, Ross? Will your mare be all right if Ashen gives her a lead?”

  “Aye, I think so…” Ross thought about it a bit more. It really was a hell of a drop. No wonder only madmen ever came up here. And foresters of course… It was truly magnificent though, with the endless line of the Sleeping Dogs to the south and the bulk of the Northern Fang beside them. Wonderful, just as he’d always believed it would be. He could see a great white bird hovering a hundred feet further along the trail and perhaps fifty feet below them.

  “Maybe…” he added doubtfully, “What sort of bird is that down there, Rowan?” His eyes widened as the bird tilted its wings and rose on an air current to hover beside them at about the level of the horses’ heads. It was an enormous creature, easily ten feet or more across its wingspan, and it stared at them with fierce amber eyes. Ross thought he could almost reach out and touch it.

  Rowan bent down and grabbed Scrap. The little cat was measuring the distance to the huge bird and setting itself for a stalk and pounce.

  “Daft cat,” he said to it, “He’ll carry you off.” He looked back at Ross and smiled. “Sorry, Ross. Scrap has more courage than sense sometimes. ‘Tis a blood- crested snow eagle. Magnificent, aren’t they? They nest up here in the high peaks; his mate should be somewhere nearby. She’ll be a bit bigger than this fine fellow. Who’s got the rabbits we caught for supper?”

  Dorrel handed a bag to him without a word, wondering what the hell he wanted a bag of rabbits for. Surely he wasn’t planning on cooking them here, now? The eagle was watching every move he made.

  “Just stay very still, everyone, and don’t say a word,” Rowan said softly as he grabbed one of the rabbits, “’Tisn’t every day you’ll see a snow eagle so close. You’ll be able to tell your grandchildren.”

  He tossed the rabbit perhaps twenty feet down the track. The eagle stared at him, at the rabbit, and then back at Rowan again. It tilte
d its wings gracefully and glided over to the rabbit, landing neatly behind it.

  Ross and the Cadets gaped as the great bird inspected the rabbit and apparently found it to be satisfactory. It launched itself into the air with a wild scream, the rabbit gripped firmly in its enormous talons. It hovered in front of Rowan for a moment, flaring its feathery crest, displaying the crimson colouring that had been hidden before. Each feather looked as if its lower half had been drenched in blood. The eagle screamed again and flapped off towards the Southern Fang.

  “You’re welcome, you noisy creature,” Rowan said with a grin. He turned back to the others. They were all wide-eyed at the wonder of seeing the snow eagle so close to them. None of them begrudged it the rabbit; they had plenty. “We foresters always feed them when we come through here. We don’t always see them, or not so close as that, but we always leave them something. ‘Tis a hard life up here for them. Now, what about this crossing?”

  “That was incredible… but I’m… I’m not sure about the mare, Rowan…”

  “I’ll take her, then. You can be a passenger this time, Ross,” Rowan smiled up at him and turned to Dorrel and Kurt as they settled themselves on Ashen’s back.

  “Here we go, lads,” he said quietly, “Close your eyes if you like, Ashen will watch where he’s going. Just leave his head free and let him take his time, otherwise hang on as tight as you like. You’ll be at the back of the others. If you can though, try and open your eyes about halfway across, just don’t look down. You can see forever from up here, they say.”

  “Aye, Sir,” Dorrel and Kurt said together.

  Scrap skipped across the precipice just in front of Rowan, careful not to get too far ahead; then Rowan strode across leading Ross’s mare, with the Cadets’ horses close behind. All three horses were calm and confident as he spoke to them softly on the way. Ross gazed in wonder at the sensational landscape, the crisp mountain air so clear that he truly felt like he could see forever.

  Kurt clutched Ashen’s mane very tightly and Dorrel clutched his friend very tightly as the grey stallion carried them across, completely unconcerned. Both lads managed to open their eyes and they stared in astonishment at the endless chain of snow-crowned mountains running away from them. The mountains of Wirran were nothing like this.

  “Thanks, Rowan,” Ross said when they got to the other side without incident, “It’s a damned handy talent you have.”

  “Aye, ‘tis,” he agreed as he made much of all of the horses for their brave effort and gave each of them a peppermint as a reward.

  “Bugger me, Sir… I don’t know how you bloody did that,” Dorrel said as he slid off Ashen’s back and stood on trembling legs beside him.

  Rowan smiled at him. He hadn’t told the lads, but it was only Ashen’s second trip across and the stallion had done well. He stroked the horse’s dappled neck again and gave the Wirrans and himself a peppermint as well.

  “Neither do I, Dorrel,” he said.

  “Is that how you’ll get the new troop horses across on the way back? Just… just lead them like that?” Kurt wanted to know. Horsemaster Ross had tried to explain the difference between himself and a Horse Master such as Rowan, but now he’d seen something of it for himself he thought he understood it better. Certainly nobody else in their little troop would have been able to get the horses across the chasm, but Rowan had just… done it, and without blindfolding them either.

  “Aye, but not two or three at a time like that, ‘twould take all bloody day,” Rowan said.

  “But… what do you mean, Sir? How many at a time?”

  Rowan shrugged.

  “However many Horsemaster Ross decides to have. Me and Scrap at the front, then the horses with you lot somewhere in the middle, and Ashen at the back. Or you can ride Ashen again if you like,” Rowan smiled, “You’ll see.” He looked at their incredulous faces. “I’ve been doing this since I was a very little lad. The first time I came this way… I don’t remember it really, I was only four or so, but a whole lot of us were going to a fair or something in Wirran and the men were going to blindfold the horses and lead them. The story goes that Pa told them to wait a minute, he wanted to try something…”

  “He told me to go ahead and take the horses over, and he’d be over in a minute with my sister, Rose. Heights don’t usually worry us foresters, even as youngsters, and they didn’t worry me either so off I went on my fat little pony and the horses just…” he shrugged, not understanding it any more than anyone else, “They followed me across the Scream like these have just now. Pa knew damned well what would happen, I think. He’d seen me toddling around the paddock at home enough times with a herd of workhorses and cows and pigs and Gods know what following me. Nobody has ever been able to explain it, least of all me, but as Ross says, ‘tis handy sometimes.”

  “And what about the eagle, Sir?” Kurt wanted to know.

  “Well, as I told you… we always feed them, but they don’t always come as close as that. Maybe he was hungrier today than other times,” Rowan smiled again. If the others hadn’t been here he’d have let the bird perch on his arm as he had when he’d come through here with Fess, but there were enough wild stories that went around without him adding to them.

  **********

  A couple of days later they came out of the Pass through lovely treefern gullies and turned off the track, such as it was, and headed into the forest. Of course the Wirrans had heard stories of the forests of Sian, and certainly this was beautiful, but… somehow they’d been expecting more. The trees were well over a hundred foot tall, but hardly ‘giants’. Rowan looked at them and smiled.

  “Not what you’d thought, eh? We’re not there yet. ‘Tis a couple more days to the Giants,” he said. Less if he had anything to do with it. For a moment he remembered the nightmare of coming through here last time, after Messton, and how long it had taken, and he silently thanked Mica and Soot again.

  Ross and the lads gaped at their first sight of a Giant. It had to be more than two hundred feet tall, a huge eucalypt filled with raucous parrots feeding in its great blossom-laden branches.

  “Great Gods, that’s a bloody big tree, Rowan! I always thought folk, er…” Ross said as he stared upwards.

  “…Exaggerated?” Rowan laughed at him. “No, lad, most of us don’t. But this one’s only a baby…”

  They were stunned into silence when they reached a fully-grown Giant. It soared almost four hundred feet into the air: huge beyond imagining, alive with birds and scuttling creatures, magnificent beyond words. Rowan moved Ashen through the treeferns and undergrowth and reached over and laid his palm flat against its mighty trunk for a moment without saying anything.

  **********

  22. “The gaited colt”

  The forest was thick, trackless apart from a few narrow animal trails, but Rowan had no trouble at all finding his way. He just headed in the direction he wanted to go and somehow there always seemed to be a way through. He simply shrugged when Dorrel asked him how he knew where he was going.

  “I just do… they say no forester ever gets lost, and they’re right. Any forester could find his way through this, through anything as far as I know,” he said.

  They were in more of a hurry now as Rowan said it wasn’t much further, when they came into a clearing. It seemed to be almost filled with a very fine herd of heavily pregnant mares, guarded by two superb stallions.

  “Mica! Soot! You’ve brought them all to meet us, you daft creatures!” Rowan said happily. He turned to the others. “Ross, lads, these are my horses… the dapple is Mica and the black is Soot, and these are their mares. They run loose in the forest most of the time, but they come back every night to see us and when the mares are close to foaling, like now, they stay pretty close.”

  Rowan had dismounted and now was almost hidden in a great sea of horses as he greeted them all quickly.

  “But, Rowan… don’t people, um, steal them when they’re loose like that?” Kurt asked, amazed that the horses w
ere running free.

  Rowan shook his head.

  “No forester would take them, and neither would anyone else if they know what’s good for them. Mica and Soot guard their mares very carefully and they don’t appreciate folk trying to make off with them. The runes on their shoulders are Griff’s and my names and their manes have the clan braid woven into them, so folk can see whose they are, see they’re not wild.”

  They rode on through the forest that still had no track, surrounded by lovely mares and led by the magnificent stallions that trotted along quietly on either side of Rowan, completely unfettered. It felt like being a wild horse oneself, in a great herd of wild horses. But of course these weren’t wild horses at all.

  “Those stallions of yours are superb, Rowan, just superb,” Ross said quietly, “I wondered about Mica when I saw the Memorial and the pictures in the Men’s Mess.”

  Rowan turned and looked at him curiously.

  “What did you wonder about him, Ross? The paintings in the Mess are a better likeness than the bronze in the Memorial, I think,” he said.

  Ross nodded as he looked at the dappled grey trotting happily beside Rowan.

  “I wondered about his breeding. He’s only, what, half a hand less than Soot, but he looks… so different. His conformation is different, his head is different. No offence meant to Soot of course, he’s magnificent too, but I thought they’d look more alike for some reason… they were both troop horses…”

  Rowan smiled at him.

  “Soot is Wirran bred, bred to be a troop horse. Right colour, right size, right temperament, strong and brave and clever… and Mica… well, he’s near enough the right size and right temperament, but he’s a bit feistier than Soot. He’s just as brave and clever and strong, he’s got maybe a bit more endurance than Soot and he’s faster too,” he said. “His conformation is just as good as Soot’s, but he’s a bit more closely-coupled, more compact, I suppose, than most troop horses. ‘Tis why he’s so good at the higher training. Of course the bloody Commandant didn’t like me having a grey, but I had Soot too and Mica wasn’t the only grey in the Guard. You know as well as I do that most garrisons can scrape up an honour guard of four or six greys if they need to, and Den Siddon certainly could.” He smiled again. “Look at Mica’s head more closely.”