Red Rowan: Book 3: Return of the Reluctant Hero

by Helen Gosney

  “Thanks, Pa. That’s a damned good axe,” he said with a grin as he handed it back to Rhys.

  “Perhaps you should get the dwarves to make you one of your own this time,” the young fellow Perrin piped up.

  Rowan laughed at him.

  “I’ve got to win the cursed tournament first, laddie! ‘Tisn’t as easy as everyone seems to think. But aye… perhaps I should…” he said, “What’s a forester without a decent axe?”

  **********

  29. “I couldn’t just stand there and not try…”

  Dorrel and Kurt enjoyed their innocent flirtations in the camp very much. Both sides knew the Wirrans wouldn’t be staying long, but that didn’t mean the forester lasses had to ignore them completely. And so long as the womenfolk were shown proper respect, none of the Siannens would spoil things for them. They’d all been youngsters themselves, after all.

  They spent a week at the logging camp before coming back through the forest with the workhorses that had done their bit and earned a rest.

  The foresters coming into the camp to rejoin the crew thanked Rowan and the Wirrans for bringing the workhorses and supplies in with them, thus giving them a few extra days at home. Those leaving the camp did the same before disappearing into the trees for a much faster trip home than usual, unburdened by extra horses as they were.

  Ross and the Cadets had had a wonderful time in the deep forest, fascinated by this vital facet of the foresters’ lives. It was as Rowan had said, out here the Wirrans were very junior recruits, but even the most junior of recruits has a place in the scheme of things and can make themselves useful.

  They’d tended horses and cleaned and mended harness as they’d expected to, and reshod some of the horses with the nubby shoes the foresters used in the forest so that their animals wouldn’t slip, but that wasn’t all they’d done. The Wirrans looked small to the foresters’ eyes, as of course Rowan himself did, but like Rowan they weren’t afraid of hard work and though they didn’t have his strength and stamina they earned the foresters’ respect.

  They’d helped to lop branches from a felled Giant, awed and humbled by the sheer size of the mighty tree, and they’d planted little saplings to replenish the forest. They’d helped mark a trail to the next work site and they’d been hunting, field-dressed the deer they’d caught and helped Mariel to cook it for the foresters. They’d learnt a surprising amount about the fine art of using an axe. Of course, axe work was part of a Guardsman’s training, but not like this. As Fonse said, it was the difference between just knocking somebody’s head off with an axe and going merrily on your way, and chopping him up and disposing of him neatly without leaving a mess for someone else to clean up. And then one magical day they’d seen the dance of the lyrebird and heard its wonderful song, and been astonished at the accuracy of its mimicry. They’d even surprised themselves by going to the very top of the fire tree. Rowan and Fonse and freckle-faced Ailsa had taken them up just before dawn, laughing at their breathlessness as they’d climbed higher. Red-gold light flooded the tops of the trees for as far as they could see and the camp below them was still in darkness; they’d come down to be met by an honour guard of cheering foresters. Few outsiders ever made it to the top of the fire tree and they were impressed by the Wirrans’ efforts.

  **********

  They’d been back at Borl Quist for a couple of days and it was midafternoon on a thundery, humid day that had everyone oddly unsettled. All of the animals were restless too as lightning crackled ever closer to them and Rowan was walking around the paddocks, patting the nervous mares and foals and singing softly to them as he went.

  “Gods, I wish I knew how he does that…” Ross said softly as he watched Rowan’s progress. Mica and Soot walked at his side, the dogs and cats trotted at his heels and the horses he’d passed were grazing calmly; the ones he hadn’t got to yet were standing quietly now too, their heads turned towards him as they waited for him to come to them and reassure them as they knew he would.

  “He doesn’t know himself,” Griff said, “But I can remember going to see Rhys and Gran with my own Ma and Pa when I was… seven or so, I suppose. It wasn’t long after Rhianna, Rowan’s Ma, died. He and Rose were only three… it was thundery, like this, but very windy too and none of the beasts were happy about it. Rhys decided they’d be better in the barn, so he went out to do it at about the time we came down the track…” Griff shook his head slowly as he remembered it. “Rowan trotted after him to help him… and all Rhys had to do was hold the barn door so it didn’t slam shut in the wind. Rowan called the beasts to him… bloody great workhorses, a couple of cows and a pig, and some of their neighbour’s damned goats as well… he had names for them all. The horses were gentle creatures, but they were frightened… anyway, they went to Rowan and he patted every one of them and then they… they just followed him into the barn. I remember he and I stayed there for a couple of hours, playing with the barn cats and talking to the horses… and they weren’t frightened any more. In the end, the little lad fell asleep in the hay, snuggled up with the cats, with all the animals around him. I didn’t understand it then, and I still don’t, but it’s… it’s wonderful, truly.”

  “Aye, it is. It’s fascinating just to watch him…”

  Griff smiled at him.

  “And the best part is, I know none of the horses are going to panic and run into a fence, even with all this damned thunder and lightning,” he said.

  “Well, at least it’s not raining as well,” Dorrel said.

  “It’d be better if it was,” Honi muttered, looking around worriedly.

  “Why do you say that, Honi? There’s plenty of water and the grass is lush.” Kurt looked around as well. Everything was green and beautiful. It seemed an odd thing to say.

  Griff and Honi glanced at each other.

  “You’re thinking about fires, aren’t you?” Ross asked quietly before they could say anything.

  “Foresters are always thinking about fires, Ross,” Griff replied, “Especially with all this cursed lightning…”

  **********

  A couple of hours passed and the animals had all settled well, even the mares and their skittish new foals. Lightning still flashed and thunder still rumbled, but that seemed to be starting to clear up at last despite the ominous looking clouds to the west. There’d been a few drops of rain. The men and Honi were sitting on Rowan’s verandah drinking tea, eating fruitcake, and wondering if it might decide to rain a decent amount after all.

  “Rowan lad, I can smell bloody smoke,” Griff said suddenly. He stood up quickly to see if he could see where it was coming from and Rowan hurried to his side.

  “I can’t smell it, Griff, but that doesn’t mean much,” he said as he looked around. His sense of smell hadn’t been the same since his nose had been broken and it could be a damned nuisance.

  The Wirrans joined them. They could smell smoke now too, and the others were obviously concerned.

  “There’s the fire bell,” Griff said as a loud clanging noise came from the direction of the town, “But where the hell’s the bloody fire?”

  “There!” Dorrel cried, “ Over there! Look!” He pointed to a thin plume of dark smoke rising above the trees to the south.

  “Where…? Oh, great bloody hells!” To the Wirrans’ surprise, Griff ran to the nearest tree and climbed it as quickly and easily as a possum, in spite of his size. Honi ran to the barn and returned with a handful of bridles as Rowan hurried to the pen where the soon-to-be troop horses were. He whistled softly and they trotted to him eagerly. He and Honi started to put bridles on the nearest ones as Mica and Soot came to his side as well.

  “Do you want to come too, Ross? Lads? You don’t have to, and it won’t be pleasant,” he said.

  Ross looked at Dorrel and Kurt, who nodded quickly. They were ready for almost anything.

  “Aye, Rowan, of course we’ll help you,” he replied, “The more the better on a bucket line.”

  “Then quickly, lads,
grab a horse,” he said, leaping onto Mica’s back. He didn’t bother with a bridle. “Can you see whose place it is, Griff? Alb’s or Mirrin’s?” he called up to his cousin as Ross and the lads hurried over.

  “It looks like Mirrin’s, but I can’t see if it’s his house or his barn,” Griff came down the tree almost as quickly as he’d gone up, “You go on ahead, Rowan. We’ll come right after you. Honi’ll take care of things here and then come too.”

  “Aye, all right. You take Soot, Griff, he’ll give a good lead through the trees for the young horses when we’re in a rush like this, and he’ll carry you better than the youngsters too. Ross, lads, just follow me with Griff, but hurry. Oh, and bring a bucket too.” He reached down and grabbed one himself and set off at a gallop.

  “Come on, lads. Everyone got a horse and a bucket? Good. Let’s go!” Griff jumped onto Soot’s broad back and they set off after Rowan and Mica. Ross hadn’t thought they’d be too far behind, but as they sped down the track he could see there was no way they were going to keep in touch with Rowan and Mica, much less catch them. When they headed into the trees he realised why Rowan had chosen these horses that were used to running in the forest, rather than the troop horses, but even so they were quickly being left behind.

  “Gods, that horse can run!” Dorrel said in amazement. The black mare he was riding was a lot faster than anything he’d ever ridden and he was a good rider as all Guardsmen must be, but Mica was leaving them for dead.

  “Oh, he can run all right,” Griff grinned at him as Soot and the other horses leapt over a fallen log with no hesitation at all, “Mica’s probably still the fastest horse we’ve got, especially with Rowan on board. Jumps like a stag too. We haven’t got a hope in hell of catching him.”

  “Just as well you know where we’re going then, Griff!” Of course Ross was worried about the fire they were galloping towards, but this ride through the forest was exhilarating too. His grey horse was strong, willing and very fast. “Is it far?”

  “A couple of miles to go, I suppose. The trees open out soon, and it’ll be a bit easier,” Griff replied.

  Sure enough, the trees thinned and they came into a huge clearing with a road – a track, really – running across it. There were still stumps and logs to be negotiated, but the horses seemed to be game for anything. And they were keeping up with bold Soot well. Of course they were carrying less weight than Soot, but even so Ross found himself thinking what an asset Rowan’s horses would be to the garrison, particularly out in the field. Mica and Rowan flew on ahead of them, crossed the track and drew even further away.

  “See there… there it is! Dammit! It looks to be the bloody barn and it’s well alight …” Griff said grimly.

  **********

  There were already a couple of dozen foresters there in a well-organised bucket line when they arrived, with more galloping up all the time. Above the roaring of the flames they could hear the terrified screams and bellows of the horses and cattle that were trapped in the barn.

  “Try not to hear it, lads. Think of something else, anything else, and just get in the bucket line and do the best you can,” Ross said quickly, trying desperately to take his own advice and not hear the awful noise himself. Dorrel and Kurt looked white faced, but they both nodded bravely and ran over to the line to do whatever they could.

  Griff hurried up to the front of the line. The barn looked to be well alight, though maybe not quite as badly as he’d first thought. In any case he thought he knew where Rowan would be.

  “Mirrin…? Mirrin!” he grabbed the arm of a dark-haired man almost as big as himself who was standing staring hopelessly into the flames, tears rolling down his face.

  “What…? Oh, it’s you, Griff. Rowan’s… I couldn’t bloody stop him, Griff. I tried, but he… he just went straight past me… you know what he’s…”

  “Only too damned well, the daft bugger. Nobody could have stopped him. Did he at least take a bloody rope so he can find his way out again?”

  “Yes, yes, but…”

  “Then start praying to whatever damned Gods you believe in, Mirrin, and get the lads to throw as much water here by the doors as they can. Go on, man, move! I’ll look after Rowan’s rope.”

  Mirrin stared at him and tried desperately to pull himself together. He was no use to anyone like this.

  “All right, Griff,” he said and then thrust the end of the rope into Griff’s hand and turned to the bucket brigade with renewed determination. “More water here! Quickly, lads! Try and clear the way here!”

  The noise of the trapped animals was much less, Griff realised. It could mean one of two things. He found himself praying too, something he hadn’t done since Rowan had been so desperately ill when he’d come back home from Wirran. From Messton. He felt a tug on the rope, then another, and felt it slacken slightly in his hands. Rowan was coming back then. Thank the bloody Gods, he thought. He kept the tension on the rope, pulling it carefully towards him and suddenly he felt it slacken more. Too much. He pulled the rope harder, but there was no resistance at all now. No. No. No. No. Griff desperately wanted to pull the rope from the barn, but he must leave it as it was and hope that Rowan might somehow still follow it out, even burnt through as it must be.

  “Rowan!” he screamed frantically. “Rowan!”

  The firefighters turned as one and gaped at him in horror and dismay. Griff wasn’t one to panic for nothing.

  “More water here, quickly! As much as you can! Rowan!” he yelled again.

  There was a sudden wild neigh from inside the barn and a clatter of hooves as a mixed herd of desperate, terrified animals galloped through the smoke and flames towards the doors, following a little chestnut mare.

  “Rowan!” Griff called as loudly as he could.

  The mare hesitated, altered course slightly, then jumped a pile of burning hay and charged out of the door, scattering the anxious bucket brigade. They cursed virulently and scattered a bit further as the rest of the beasts galloped to safety behind the mare, with a wild-eyed red and white bull bringing up the rear.

  “Rowan! Where the hell are you, you daft bugger?” Griff looked desperately at the milling animals. He couldn’t see much through the smoke and the dust raised by the beasts’ hooves.

  “I’m all right, Griff,” a soft hoarse voice said from the back of the chestnut mare, “I’ll just move these poor beasties away from the fire a bit more, up near the other horses, and then I’ll join the buckets.” And then Rowan coughed and wheezed horribly, his chest full of smoke.

  “You daft bugger,” Griff muttered as he hurried after him.

  **********

  “Is he all right, Griff? Did he… did he really get all those beasts out safely?” Ross asked him quickly as he went past.

  “What? Oh, Ross…” Griff realised guiltily that he hadn’t given the Wirrans another thought. “Yes. Yes, he’s got out with the beasts, but he’s coughing a lot and he can hardly breathe. I’ll come back and tell you more when I know more myself. Are the two lads all right?”

  “They’ll feel a lot better after hearing that, I’m sure. It’s not been easy for them, they’ve never seen anything like this, but they’ve done well. I’m truly proud of them both.”

  “They’re good lads, Ross, as Rowan says. And now I’m going to have words to say to him, the bloody daft bugger.”

  He found Rowan sitting on the grass with the rescued beasts, with his own horses and the horses the other foresters had ridden to the fire close by. He was cradling a very young foal. The chestnut mare he’d ridden must be its dam, Griff realised, as Rowan got to his feet, stood the foal up and guided it carefully to the mare’s udder. Somehow he must have carried the foal out. Griff shook his head, bemused, and looked at Rowan carefully. His wet clothes were burnt in places and steaming a bit and his face was covered in soot and grime and sweat; his eyes were red and sore from the smoke and ash of the fire and he was coughing and wheezing badly as he tried to get some fresh air into his lungs. His ha
ir was singed and dull with ash and his hands were burnt and blistered and he didn’t look very steady on his feet.

  “Didn’t you have a damned rag over your face, you silly bastard?” Griff’s words came out more brusquely than he’d intended, but Rowan was coughing too much to take much notice.

  “Of course I bloody did, Griff. I tore a bit off my shirt and put it over my face, and I tipped a couple of buckets of water over myself before I went in too. But I lost the cursed rag in there when I was picking up the foal,” he said tiredly, “And now Honi’ll probably nag me for tearing my shirt in the first place.”

  She would, too, Griff thought. Generations of forester women had nagged their menfolk for doing exactly the same thing; of course Honi would give Rowan a hard time. Just as soon as she knew he was all right.

  “You poor bloody daft bugger,” he said and enfolded Rowan in a huge hug.

  Rowan leaned against his comforting bulk and said softly, “Thank you, Griff. I followed your voice out. I couldn’t see a damned thing in the smoke after the rope broke, I couldn’t see the rope properly, but I… I heard you calling me. Thank you. Did… did all of the beasts get out?”

  “I don’t know, laddie. I’ll check with Mirrin. No, sit down there again, lad, you need to rest and get your breath back. You’re coughing out as much smoke as a good-sized dragon.” He smiled at Rowan’s startled face. “Anyway, there’s plenty of folk on the buckets now and the fire team from the town are here with their pump too, and the trolls are lining up to work it. Don’t worry. And if you stay here with the beasts, they won’t panic again. I’ll go and get you some water to wash the muck from your eyes, and to drink.”

  “Thanks, Griff. But could you throw some on the sheep first? I think perhaps she’s smouldering a bit.”