Red Rowan: Book 3: Return of the Reluctant Hero

by Helen Gosney

Rose and Josef looked at each other and then at the side of Rowan’s head more closely.

  “Rowan lad, ‘tis a decent scar there. And your hair’s growing back red…” Josef said slowly. He remembered a kinsman who’d been knocked out with a branch as a youngster, and he still had a white patch in his dark hair to show for it. It wasn’t an uncommon thing in the forests. “What the bloody hell happened?”

  ‘I…” Rowan shook his head. He really didn’t want to go into it all right now. “I slipped on some stairs, there was a big bit of candle wax there, and I fell and hit my head. We’ll talk about it later…”

  Rose wasn’t going to be put off so easily. She knew that Rowan never drank alcohol of any sort when he was in full training, and very little even when he wasn’t.

  “Well, I’m sure you weren’t drunk, so how the hell did you manage that?” she asked sternly, fighting a sudden intense urge to shake him. She noticed something else as he moved away from Josef’s careful probing of the scar and the short auburn hair around it. How odd that it was growing back red… “And what the hell’s wrong with that bloody foot the bull trod on? Surely ‘tis healed up by now? Or are all those horrible things we heard in the inn true?”

  “Rose, love, I’d believe less than a quarter of those tales if I was you,” Rowan saw that she wasn’t going to be placated by that either. “I sort of tore my ankle a bit when I fell, but ‘tis all right now, more or less. I just stood up awkwardly, that’s all. We’ll talk about it later, love…”

  “You sort of tore your ankle up a bit… “ Rose shook her head slowly, “We certainly will talk about it later, laddie. And I suppose you’re still going in the Trophy?”

  Rowan shrugged.

  “You know I am, love. But surely you also know that I wouldn’t be if I truly thought I couldn’t do it. Don’t you?” he added a little plaintively. “Just how bloody daft do you think I am?”

  “Hush, Rose, my sweet,” Josef said quietly before she could tell her brother exactly how bloody daft she thought he was, “Rowan’s a big lad now and even he’s not daft enough to go in the cursed Tournament just for the sake of turning up and getting his backside kicked in the first Round.” He turned back to Rowan. “You still think you can win it, don’t you, even with a few… er… setbacks…?”

  Rowan looked at him and smiled.

  “Maybe. I’m going to give it a damned good try anyway, Josef.”

  Josef nodded seriously. It’d have to be a hell of a setback to stop Rowan from doing something he was so intent on doing.

  “I know you will. Good luck, laddie. I’m thinking perhaps you’ll be the one doing the kicking of backsides and we’ll all be there to see you do it. Even your friend Moss left his Bridge to come with us, and a couple more of your friends from, er… Gnash? … have turned up as well.”

  Rose pulled herself together. There’d certainly be further conversations about this, but not right now. She hugged Rowan again and kissed him.

  “Did you think we weren’t going to get here to see you, Rowan love?” she managed.

  “Mmm… well, I was starting to think you might miss the first Round. It’d be a hell of a long trip for nothing if I lose,” he said, relieved that Rose seemed calmer.

  “You aren’t going to lose, you ratbag. But we were a bit slower through the Pass than we’d hoped… anyway, we’re here now, and Costa has found you for us. I… we… I wanted to give you this…” Rose looked down at the little parcel she held.

  Josef smiled at her and shook his head.

  “…And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, daft woman! Rowan, lad, we’ve been hearing awful tales about you, but I can see you’re looking even bloody fitter than when we saw you at home,” he said, “I truly do think you’re going to win this bloody Trophy again if you’re not careful.”

  “… If you say so, Josef,” Rowan agreed with a grin.

  “Ha! I wouldn’t even know which end of a damned sabre was which until I cut myself!” the big man laughed happily. “Gods, there’s a bloody lot of stuff in here,” he said, looking around in amazement, “Are your medals and things in here too, Rowan?”

  Rowan nodded.

  “Aye, they’re here,” he said.

  Josef looked at him carefully. He seemed unworried, but not very enthusiastic. Still, Josef knew that Rowan would soon tell him if his next question was unwelcome.

  “So, where are they, lad?”

  Rowan shrugged.

  “Over on that wall… with all the others…” he gestured vaguely.

  “Don’t be bloody shy, Rowan. Show me,” Josef smiled at him, “Or do you expect me to look at the whole damned lot of them in here?”

  Rowan laughed.

  “No, Josef, I wouldn’t expect that of anyone. They’re over here…”

  “Could I come too, please, Sir?” Costa asked nervously.

  “Gods, Costa, I nearly forgot you were there behind this great lump! My apologies,” Rowan smiled at him, “Aye, lad, of course you can come and see the cursed medals if you want to. They’re just over here. Oh, and don’t anyone fall over Scrap. He’s rattling around in here somewhere, mousing and chasing moths, and he’s hard to see in this light.”

  They stood in front of the little case that held Rowan’s medals as Scrap materialised out of the gloom and stood up as tall as he could to peer into the case too.

  “So, which ones are the Champion’s Medals, Rowan?” Josef asked, fascinated at the bright medals arrayed there and surprised by just how many there were.

  “These two here, with the dark blue ribbons. These gold things with the crossed sabres and the oak leaves, like my tattoo…”

  Costa stared at them in awe. Bloody Hells, he thought. I never thought I’d ever be so close to a Champion’s Medal, let alone two of them. And certainly not in the company of the man who’d won them. Competition medals were in a separate case of course, except these two, but there’s so many other medals and things here, too… service medals… Silver Spurs… they said that Rowan won the Silver Spurs when he was only sixteen, but that simply couldn’t be true…

  He stared wide-eyed at the bloodied rags of a Captain’s insignia, stunned as he realised just what they were, and then his gaze moved to the bottom of the case, to the lovely gleaming medal lying there with its blood-red ribbon. Great Gods… it must be… it has to be… he took a deep breath.

  “Sir… is that the… the Star of Yaarl, Sir?” he asked carefully. They said that the Champion didn’t like to talk about it.

  He nodded though and answered calmly, “Aye, that’s it. Bloody thing.”

  “It’s beautiful, Rowan,” Rose said softly.

  “Aye, ‘tis. But…”

  “’Tis magnificent, Rowan lad,” Josef said, putting a hand on Rowan’s shoulder, “But I think perhaps it cost too much…”

  Rowan looked up at him and nodded again slowly.

  “Aye, you’re right there. It cost all of us far more than the damned thing was worth…”

  The notes of a bugle rang out, startling them all and shattering the sombre mood.

  “Dammit, ten minutes to Lights Out,” Rowan said, “I’m truly sorry, Rose, Josef, but you’ll have to go or we’ll all be in bloody trouble. You know what a stickler Fess is for rules, he’d probably throw all of us in the damned dungeon and toss away the bloody key.”

  “Gods! Well, we can’t have that,” Rose chuckled, “Take this, Rowan love, Anna and I made it for you. Oh, and there’s something for Scrap too!” She thrust the little parcel that she’d been carrying so carefully into his hands and kissed his cheek. “Good luck tomorrow. We’ll be there to see you.”

  “Thanks, my heart, but what is it?”

  “You’ll see. Maybe it’ll bring you luck. Now, which way is it to the Gate?” she looked around dubiously. She had the excellent sense of direction of all foresters, but the garrison was very confusing at night.

  “You’re all the luck I need, Rose, but thank you. And thank Anna for me too; I probably won’
t see her till after the bout. And as for the Gate, Costa will get you back there safely, won’t you, laddie?” Rowan smiled at the recruit’s enthusiastic nod.

  “Aye, Sir! I’d be proud to, Sir,” Costa said happily, “Er… this way, my lady, Sir…”

  He turned and headed off back to the Gate, his heart singing.

  Josef winked at Rowan as he turned to follow Costa. Another slave. Rose had worked her magic again.

  **********

  52. “… no ‘mere’ first-round bout.”

  “Good morning to you, Commandant. Would you like to come this way please, Sir?” Ulrich and the other second-year recruits were acting as ushers and general aids for visitors at the Trophy competition and he’d saluted smartly as Telli strode towards him. Telli had just wished all of his Guardsmen good luck in their respective bouts, promised to see as many of them as he could, and here he was at the first one.

  “Aye, thanks lad,” Telli smiled at him as he took a seat right in the front row for one of the very first matches of the tournament, settling his backside onto the uncomfortable planks that provided the seating at this particular competition circle. Normally there wouldn’t be seating here at all, and certainly not for a mere first-round bout, but of course this was no ‘mere’ first-round bout. This bout was between a well-qualified fellow from Den Tissot and the Champion. The dual Champion. Gods, there’s a lot of folk about, Telli thought to himself, not too many damned seats left. Maybe it’s just as well I am the Commandant or I’d probably be left standing behind all those bloody great foresters, and I wouldn’t see a thing.

  He’d been surprised that the bout wasn’t in the main arena, and he said as much to his neighbour. Paul Williton, the man who’d refereed Rowan’s first Trophy final, and now the chief judge, laughed.

  “Aye, well, it would have been. All of Rowan’s bouts would have been, but…” he shrugged and shook his head.

  “But…?”

  “Rowan said it wasn’t right that all of his opponents had to face that added pressure, especially early in the piece.”

  “He said… what?”

  “He said his bouts should go into the draw for arenas, like everyone else’s do,” Paul chuckled happily, “He said the Trophy wasn’t about him and it wasn’t right for him to be in the main arena all the time, it gave him an unfair advantage over those who’d never set foot in it. He said the same thing last time too. Shocked the old buggers to the core.”

  Telli thought about it. Yes, he remembered there’d been a big fuss about it last time, but Rowan had stood firm. It was the only time he’d expected anything to be different merely because he was the Champion… and all he’d asked for was that he should simply be treated the same as everyone else. He hadn’t wanted a private tent to get changed in; he hadn’t wanted anyone to assist him but Fess, his second; he’d been happy to train anywhere and take his turn in the bathing facilities; and he hadn’t wanted to be exempted from the ballot for the competition circles. No wonder the organisers had been shocked. And apparently he hadn’t changed his mind about it since the last Trophy tournament.

  “Aye, well, he’s right too, I suppose,” Telli said, “But what about all the spectators? No, wait… I can imagine what he said about that too…”

  Paul laughed again.

  “Is it something like…‘the Trophy isn’t for bloody spectators, it’s for those who’ve worked so damned hard to be here… and we should all be treated the same…’? Or maybe ‘the spectators will just have to take their chances’? Possibly even ‘They can see me or anyone else any time they like at training if they just get out of bed a bit earlier’? Gods, he’s a stubborn bugger, Telli. None of us could talk him around.”

  “I doubt great Beldar himself could get Rowan to change his mind once he’s made it up,” Telli grinned, “And he wouldn’t give a damn if nobody came to watch him at all. He’d just go about his business and get the job done anyway.”

  “Aye, you’re right there. And so here he is in this outside circle halfway to the Woopsies, with the world and his grandmother watching, and a mob of folk outside complaining they can’t see,” Paul said. “Mind you, I can see Rowan’s point.”

  “Did you happen to ask his opponent what he thought?”

  Paul smiled at the memory of the man’s panic.

  “Aye. When he’d calmed down a bit, he said he’d rather be out here, even if there is a lot of folk around. He said it was nerve-racking enough having to face Rowan in the bloody first round, without having to go into the main arena as well.”

  **********

  Rowan finished his warmup with a neat backflip and turned to put on his share of the present that Rose had delivered to him. For a moment it seemed strange that little Scrap wasn’t sitting on it, keeping it safe for him and warming it up, but there were so many folk milling about today that Rowan had thought the cat would be safer left up in his rooms. Scrap hadn’t been too impressed with the idea, but he’d accepted the inevitable and as Rowan had looked up from beneath the tallowbark, he’d seen Scrap curled up on the soft little knitted blanket that’d been tucked into the parcel for him, his new toy mouse under one paw, watching him through the window and waiting patiently for his return.

  Rowan put his own gift on carefully and wriggled his shoulders and moved his arms to check the fit. Perfect, he thought happily, looking down at the competition singlet that Rose and Finn’s wife Anna had made for him. It was creamy silk, beautifully embroidered with the Forest Giant over his heart and the intricate g’Hakken rune on the right shoulder.

  “When you’ve finished looking at yourself, laddie, we’d better get a move on,” Hibbon smiled at him. He’d be Rowan’s second for this Trophy, as he had been for the first one twenty years ago.

  “Aye, we’d better. It wouldn’t do to be late, would it?” Rowan had never been late for a competition or for that matter anything else, and he wasn’t going to start now. “Has Telli got himself out there yet?”

  “Aye, almost. Now, is that ankle right?”

  “Aye, ‘tis fine. Davi and Zefer thought I should keep the brace on it as a precaution.”

  Hibbon nodded. The unusual brace had been a great success and several others had been interested in it, or something like it, for their own niggling injuries.

  “Good. Time for you to go and kick this other poor lad’s backside for him, then, Rowan. I don’t need to remind you not to mess about, do I?”

  Rowan laughed.

  “No, you don’t. I’ll be saving my ankle as much as I can, never fear. Now, let’s get on with it.”

  **********

  Telli looked around at the crowd, fascinated as he always was at these tournaments to see the great variety of people who turned up. This being Rowan’s first match, there was a lot of interest, and naturally his family and kin were there. And so were a surprising number of g’Hakken dwarves. Usually there’d only be a few of them, and generally only for the last two or three Rounds, but of course Rowan was of the g’Hakken too and naturally they wanted to support their clansman, the reigning Champion. The only dwarf Champion ever, as Finn always said, Telli thought with a smile. There were a lot of Guardsmen too, and not just Den Siddon and Den Sorl men, as well as folk from Thallassia, Crell and Bettra and further afield.

  Only a couple of days ago Telli had been startled to see the Bridge troll Chinook following a very nervous-looking young recruit across the Parade Ground to his – Telli’s – office to pay his respects. Bridge trolls wouldn’t normally leave their precious Bridges for more than a very few days, but Chinook had come from Den Sorl and it would have taken him… what? A week or so to get here to Den Siddon? Probably a bit more. And all to see his old friend, the defending Champion, compete again. Amazing.

  Chinook had come to the last Trophy tournament too, much to the consternation of the organisers. They’d been honoured by his presence as was proper, but worried that nobody’d be able to see past the troll’s huge bulk. Chinook had merely smiled at them and gon
e to stand at the back of the onlookers with Rowan’s forester kin, all happily cheering their man on. But that Tournament had been held at Den Sorl and Chinook had returned to his Bridge each day as quickly as he decently could – not surprising with so many strangers around.

  A most interesting little group caught Telli’s eye. A tall spare fellow who had the unmistakeable look of a Guardsman about him, for all that he wore the grey robes of a priest of the One; a couple of fellows who’d probably be in their early thirties… a small, sharp-faced man and a stocky, nondescript looking lad, obviously outlanders by their dress; and a troll. Another troll?

  This particular troll was looking around at the crowd in a surprised sort of way and as he looked back at the circle for a moment, Telli noticed the silver torc around his great neck.

  Bugger me, he thought, astounded. Another bloody Bridge troll. I was just thinking about Chinook’s being here, and there’s another one. The damned world’s gone mad if Bridge trolls are wandering about and leaving their Bridges to their own devices, no matter how little used they might be. It’s simply not done.

  But how very bloody interesting it was. Telli watched in fascination as the troll leaned down and said something to his companions. They nodded cheerfully and followed the troll as he headed towards the large contingent of Siannen foresters who were standing politely at the back as they always did, the crowd parting before him. His face lit up as he saw Chinook standing with the others and he hurried forward to grasp the other Bridge troll’s wrists firmly in the Trollish greeting that implied great respect. I must get Rowan to introduce me to that lot, Telli thought, it’s truly amazing the folk he knows.

  And then Rowan was there in the circle. He stood straight and tall and calm as always as he waited for his opponent to finish messing about with his boots and get himself into the centre of the circle. The man fumbled a bit more as he looked up and saw that the Champion was already there. It was the height of arrogance and ignorance to keep the Champion waiting, he knew, and it was simply not done. His heart sank. He apologised for his tardiness and was surprised when Rowan smiled at him and said, “’Tis all right, Alden. I could see you were here, and not just playing silly games. Now, are you sure your boots are right? I don’t want you to trip and hurt yourself.”