Red Rowan: Book 3: Return of the Reluctant Hero

by Helen Gosney

  Rowan wasn’t worried about a lock of hair; he’d certainly have been upset if it had all been cut, because a forester’s braid represents his love and respect for the forest and it represents his clan. It’d normally never be cut except for the necessary maintenance to keep it tidy. But he could see his braid laying thick and heavy over his shoulder as it always did, and the shoulder, he now realised, was firmly bandaged. He wasn’t really surprised at the dislocation either: he’d done it a couple of times since the injury at Messton and though he’d worked hard to strengthen the joint, it did seem to be unstable. But surely he should remember hurting it, shouldn’t he…? He tried to focus on what the healer had said and he moved his feet experimentally. Bloody hells, that right one hurt, and it felt like it was strapped up pretty tightly too. He thought it might even be splinted.

  “Is my ankle broken?” he asked, still not really able to take everything in.

  “I don’t think so, but it’s black and blue and swollen like I don’t know what. We had to cut your boot to get it off,” Zefer said slowly.

  “My… my boot? What was my boot doing there? I don’t wear my bloody boots to bed,” Rowan said, feeling more confused than ever and wishing his head might stop aching so he could think straight. Surely the damned poppy juice and whatever else Davi had given him might start to do something useful soon.

  “Well, you had your boots and your trousers on, lad, but no shirt. ‘Tisn’t so unusual for a sleepwalker to do that,” Davi said soothingly, “And we all know it happened to a lot of the lads after Messton…”

  Rowan frowned again as he tried to think it through.

  “Aye, me too, but only a couple of times, and I woke up out in the forest or in the barn. But it’s not happened for a long time now. Years… I thought it was over with. Dammit… it must have been that bloody pest Estel that started it up again…” he said.

  “Who’s Estel?” Davi asked quickly, concerned that Rowan mightn’t be as rational as he seemed. The answer worried both healers even more for a few minutes.

  “He’s the brother of a man I killed at Messton. He’s the bloody halberdier’s brother…”

  It took a bit of explaining, but finally Davi and Zefer were reassured.

  Of course Telli and Fess and Cade wanted to send troopers to find Estel, but Rowan managed to talk them out of it.

  “No, please just let it end here. He’s gone now, and I truly don’t think he’ll be back,” he said quietly, “I told him to go out to the Memorial at Messton so that he can see that all of the men there were treated with decency and respect and honour. Maybe he will and maybe he’ll find some peace there too…”

  **********

  46. “ What do the healers say?”

  Rowan spent nearly a week in the infirmary, much to the consternation of the troopers when word of it inevitably got out.

  Most of the first few days was spent sleeping: the healers had known of Rowan’s nightmares of course, most of the men from Trill and some from Messton still had them, but even so they’d been surprised at just how disturbed Rowan’s sleep really was. He told them wearily that the dreams had eased quite a bit after he’d come back to Den Siddon, but after his meeting with Estel they seemed to have reasserted themselves again. At least he hadn’t tried to walk in his sleep again. There was no real answer to the problem, of course: Rowan wasn’t keen to take sleeping potions, even for a short time, and the healers had little else to offer.

  Rowan decided to stick with his own regimen of virulent blasphemy when the nightmares woke him. It didn’t really do much for the awful dreams, but it made him feel a bit better anyway and if all else failed he could still get up and have a cup of tea with one of the healers who kept a discreet watch over him.

  They managed to keep him in their care for longer than they’d thought they would, but inevitably the day came when he thanked them all for their trouble and headed off out the door with Scrap, a stout walking stick, and a heavy limp, his foot and ankle encased to mid-calf in what the splintmaker laughingly called a ‘walking splint’. It was cumbersome, but the healers’ very uncomfortable crutches had been unusable with his injured shoulder and at least with this he was mobile. His plans to convert both splint and walking stick to kindling as soon as he reasonably could he kept to himself.

  As he limped across the Parade Ground a cheer went up from the troopers who saw him and he found himself surrounded by men anxious to know how he was. Fess and Cade appeared from nowhere and sent them off about their business and then they walked beside Rowan to the Captain’s Cottage. He’d be staying there until such time as he could comfortably manage the stairs to his own rooms. The children had been threatened with dire consequences if they didn’t leave Rowan in peace to rest and recover, but privately he thought that Fess and Bella themselves would be the ones who’d be fussing and fretting him the most.

  Bella had heard the cheers and recognised them for what they were: she met Fess and Cade and their charge at the front door of the Cottage, took one look at Rowan’s pale, weary face and kissed him. Then she shepherded him inside and closed the door, leaving the other two men on the doorstep.

  “That wasn’t very polite, Bella,” Rowan said as she settled him into a comfortable chair with a footstool for his injured ankle.

  “Don’t fret about those great lumps, Rowan. They’re all right. It’s you we need to be worrying about, look how thin you’ve got in such a short time,” she said, concerned.

  He shrugged. He’d simply been unable to eat more than very little since the accident and he lost weight easily. Always had. But now that the intense nausea had finally settled he was eating, cautiously, again.

  “You’re not going to be fussing me, are you, Bella?” he asked warily.

  “No, Rowan love. At least I’ll try not to,” she tried not to laugh at him as she kissed his cheek again, “Now, how do you feel about a nice cup of tea and some shortbread?”

  He thought about it and nodded.

  “Aye, thanks, I think I could manage that. I’ll even let you bring it over for me, just for today though, mind,” he smiled at her, but truly, his ankle was hurting more than he’d thought it would be after just walking from the infirmary. He suppressed a sigh and some bad language.

  She laughed.

  “Aye, just for today. Make the most of it, laddie.”

  **********

  The next afternoon Rowan and Scrap turned up at the fencing circles mounted bareback on Ashen, Blob walking beside them, much to the amazement of the Trophy squad.

  “Rowan…? What the hell are you doing here?” Stefan managed, “Does Bella know you’re…?”

  “Bella knows I’m taking my exercise and going to the stables to see Ashen, which I did, and then I thought I’d come and see what you lot were up to down here,” Rowan smiled at him, “But to be truthful ‘twas a bit too far to walk with this cursed ankle, so Ashen has helped me out.”

  “But… but, Rowan, should you be riding like that?”

  Rowan looked down at him, surprised.

  “Stefan, I’m not bloody riding,” he said, “I’m just sitting here minding my own business while Ashen is taking a little stroll with Scrap and Blob.”

  “How the hell did you even get up onto him with that damned great splint?” Corran asked curiously before Stefan could say anything. Surely he wouldn’t have been able to use the mounting block, and Fess and the healers would have the hide of any trooper who’d given him a leg up.

  “Same way as I’m going to get off in a moment…” Rowan gave a signal to his horse that nobody else saw and Ashen obligingly knelt for him. Scrap jumped to the ground, and Rowan swung his uninjured leg over the stallion’s neck and stood up carefully on the grey’s off side. “Thank you, Ashen laddie,” he said softly as the horse got to its feet beside him. He patted its neck and turned to the troopers, trying not to laugh at their astounded faces. “See? There’s no great bloody mystery to it. Now, because Bella’s busy doing housework and she wouldn�
�t let me do anything to help her with it, I’ve come down here to see your pretty faces again…” of course they’d been to see him while he’d been ill, but the healers had severely limited the number and duration of visits, “…And to borrow a couple of weights if I can, please.”

  “And what do you think you’re going to be doing with bloody weights?” Stefan frowned at him suspiciously.

  “Scrap’s been laying about in the infirmary with me the last few days, and he’s got too fat and lazy to chase mice, so I thought I could throw the cursed weights at them,” Rowan replied straightfaced.

  The little cat had been more than a match for the healers, leaping to the top of the highest cupboards in the infirmary and with fierce hissing and growling and razor-sharp claws defying all attempts to remove him. Sometime during the night they realised he’d quietly moved down beside Rowan’s pillow and there he’d stayed, with nobody willing to try to grab him in case the inevitable furore might disturb Rowan. Poor Blob had been thrown out of the room fairly smartly though. The dog had whined miserably under the window until Fess had had to banish him to a little shed on the far side of the garrison. His heartbroken howls had disturbed everyone so much that Blob had finally been allowed to stay outside under Rowan’s window so long as he was QUIET. Like Rowan, Blob was only half as daft as everyone thought and he’d finally settled more or less happily on an old blanket that somebody’d found for him. Now he sat beside Rowan, his plumy tail wagging madly. “What the hell do you think I’m going to do with the bloody things, you daft bugger? Eat them?”

  “I… er…” Stefan tried to pull himself together, “And what do the healers say about you lifting weights, laddie?”

  He knew he’d made a tactical error when Rowan laughed at him.

  “Dunno. I’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure, and probably sooner rather than later,” Rowan said cheerfully, unafraid of healers or anyone else for that matter. What was the worst they could do to him? Send him to bed with no supper? Nag? “Do you seriously think I’m going to let myself lose any more strength in my shoulders and arms? Especially this bloody right one. Anyway, I’ll only be starting with light weights…”

  Stefan stared at him again, barely remembering to close his mouth in time.

  “But… but Rowan, lad, you can barely walk… and it’s only two months until the Trophy… you can’t… you surely don’t think you can still…” his voice trailed off as Rowan raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

  “I don’t know, Stefan. You’re probably right, but I…I just can’t give up on it yet …” Rowan shook his head slowly. He’d thought about this long and hard in the infirmary, once his head had finally stopped aching enough for him to concentrate. He simply wasn’t ready to meekly give up just because of some cursed bloody Plaiten. “We’ll see…”

  Stefan muttered something that was inaudible to the other troopers, but Rowan heard it clearly as “Cade always did say that you were a bloody stubborn bugger”.

  And Cade was right, he thought. Still got damned good hearing too. And as Finn always says, I am the bloody Champion. I will not let this beat me.

  **********

  47. “The daftest bloody idea I’ve ever heard.”

  The healers Davi and Zefer came to the Captain’s Cottage to see Rowan, as they had every day since his release from the infirmary. They heard laughter from the back garden and headed around there: Rowan often seemed to be out there under Johan’s apple tree, or near the cherry trees he’d planted for Zara and his little son before going to Messton. Usually he’d be watching the children playing with Blob and Scrap, or reading to them, but today it seemed that he was showing them how to juggle.

  “Looks like his co-ordination’s all right, Davi,” Zefer said softly as he watched Rowan juggling a motley assortment of several balls, a little doll, and what looked like an old sock folded into itself, to the joy and wonder of his little audience.

  “Aye, the daft bugger. Looks like there’s not too much problem with that right shoulder either… but I’m not too sure how much rest he’s actually getting.”

  Young Stefan threw Rowan another ball and he smoothly incorporated it into those he was already tossing up.

  “A good day to you, Davi and Zefer,” Rowan said without taking his eyes off the things he was juggling, “Sorry, all,” this to his audience of Fess’s children, their dog and, naturally, Scrap, “The healers are here to make sure I’m still breathing, so we’ll have to continue this later. Catch!”

  He tossed a ball to each of the boys – young Rowan and Stefan caught theirs with no trouble and the youngest lad, Aaron, caught his after a bit of a fumble. Then he threw the sock to Scrap. The little cat leapt high to catch it easily, then trotted off a few paces and lay down with it between his paws as if daring anyone to try and take it from him. Blob was quivering with excitement as Rowan finally tossed him a disreputable looking ball that he grabbed gleefully and carried over to sit beside Scrap, just out of reach of the little black cat’s sharp claws. He’d felt them before when he’d tried to take liberties with the very tempting rolled-up sock and he knew better now.

  “Well done, lads. We’ll make circus performers out of you yet,” Rowan grinned at them all, then finally bowed low and presented the little doll to Zara. She reached up and favoured him with a rather sloppy kiss. He laughed happily and then turned his full attention to the healers.

  **********

  “Rowan, we’re not sure you’ll be right for the Trophy,” Davi said worriedly as he took the stitches out of the cut on Rowan’s head. Naturally, Scrap had come to sit beside Rowan, so that he could supervise. The wound had healed well, but there was still quite a bit of bruising there. Well, there were still a lot of scrapes and bruises all over Rowan’s body; he’d been lucky to get out of it as well as he had.

  Rowan looked at the healer in surprise. It was ten days since the incident on the stairs and there was still a bit more than six weeks until the tournament began. His head had more or less stopped aching a couple of days ago, the giddiness and nausea had settled, and his balance and reflexes seemed unimpaired. He was able to use his right arm cautiously and he was doing just that so the shoulder wouldn’t get stiff. Of course he hadn’t been training - unless you counted lifting a few light weights to strengthen his injured shoulder - and he knew he’d have to take it very carefully, but he’d thought he’d be all right by then. Naturally his ankle was still swollen and painful, still splinted, and it hurt like hell if he wasn’t careful, but all the same Rowan was able to get around fairly well, much to the relief of the very concerned garrison.

  “What makes you say that, Davi?”

  “It was a damned decent knock on the head that you got, Rowan, you were unconscious for a bloody long time and you gave us all a hell of a fright…” the healers had been beginning to wonder if Rowan would in fact wake up again, “…We don’t think you should go back to training just yet…”

  Rowan shrugged.

  “I don’t think I’ve lost too much fitness,” he said, “And I know how to use the damned sabre, ‘tis second nature to me now. I can wait a bit longer.” Even if the unaccustomed inactivity was already starting to fret him. He’d been pleased when the boys had hesitantly asked if he might show them how to juggle while he was staying with them.

  “All the same, you really need to rest for a good month or so. Head injuries like that aren’t to be taken lightly. And while that ankle’s not broken, it’s been wrenched pretty badly…” Davi didn’t mention the shoulder: he knew that Rowan would simply say that he had another arm he could use perfectly well, and of course he was right.

  Rowan looked away for a moment and sighed.

  “Another month or so?” he said, “Dammit. And just when I’d decided I really wanted to win the bloody Trophy this time, too.”

  It was the healers’ turn to look surprised.

  “What do you mean? Haven’t you wanted to win it all along?” Zefer looked up in surprise from where he was checking
Rowan’s ankle.

  “Aye, I have, or I’d not have been working so damned hard at it for the last year, but not as much as I want to now…” Rowan said slowly.

  “I’m truly sorry, Rowan. I know how hard you’ve been working for it,” Davi said. Rowan was well known for being the first to arrive at training and the last to leave. His work ethic had even surprised the Sword Master. “But… well, we’re just concerned that you might not be ready to compete in the time.”

  “I know, Davi, and I thank you both for it. But you know if the Trophy started this afternoon I’d front up for my bout and I’d take my chances, don’t you, and if bloody Rollo jumped out from behind a tree at me I’d grab my sabre and sort him out too.”

  Davi and Zefer both nodded unhappily.

  “Aye, I do know it,” Zefer muttered, “We both do.”

  Rowan stroked Scrap absently as he gave it some more thought. He’d worked too hard for this to let it go easily, but he hadn’t planned on injuring himself like that either.

  “How about this, then, lads… I’ll not train for another couple of weeks and then I’ll be very, very bloody careful, and of course I’ll not be going to any more lead-up tournaments. Do you think that’d be all right?”

  “Mmm, maybe, if you take things slowly… but you’ll be short of match fitness, Rowan…” Davi replied, uncertain about the wisdom of it, but knowing he’d have no hope of changing Rowan’s mind. He glanced at Zefer, who shrugged philosophically.

  Rowan smiled at them both.

  “I don’t think it’ll matter. My bloody reputation alone will make up for that.”

  Davi thought about it and realised that Rowan was probably right. All the same…

  “Is the Trophy so important to you?”

  “If you’d asked me that a few weeks ago, I’d have said no. But now…” Rowan shook his head ruefully, “Well, as I said, I’ve realised that I truly do want to win the cursed thing. The other times… of course I wanted to win it, or I’d not have been there, not have done any good, but I’ve always felt the first Trophy was for Sian and Den Sorl, and the second one was for Johan, mainly, and then Sian, the g’Hakken, and Den Siddon. But this one, Davi… this one’s for me. For the clans too, of course, I suppose, but… I just wanted to win it for myself, and I still do. Even more so, now. Selfish of me, isn’t it?”