by Helen Gosney
Den Sorl had been the butt of a lot of good-natured and not so good-natured ribbing over the years, but this young fellow was making folk sit up and take notice and Trav wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t been pleased to see the dismay on the faces of Lieutenant Denis of Den Ree, Sergeant Will of Den Tissot and Lieutenant Gerrit of Den Siddon as their own excellent candidates had been bested over the last few weeks. Wait until you see what Rowan and Devil can do to them, he thought happily. The stallion’s attitude had improved a lot since Rowan had taken him in hand, but he could still be a handful for even the best riders. Trav thought the other Cadets would be in trouble when it came time for each recruit to ride all the other horses. Mind you, even the best-behaved troop horse would soon get fed up with a succession of nervous strangers.
“That lad’s not using the curb,” Denis said disapprovingly.
Trav sighed. It wasn’t forbidden, was it? He spoke up.
“The horse has got a damned double bridle, like all the others. Rowan’s entitled to use it as he likes. It’s how he manages the horse that matters.”
“Aye, well… I doubt he’ll have enough control over that stallion when it comes to the circle work, if he’s not going to use the curb,” Denis sniffed.
Trav shrugged.
“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
**********
The Cadets had ridden singly and in formation and Devil had behaved beautifully. Now it was time for the lads to ride each other’s horses. Rowan walked calmly up to each horse, patted it, mounted it, and rode it superbly, just as he had with Bast. Devil stood deceptively quietly as the other lads approached him. Those who managed to get on his back quickly found out why he was named as he was and though a couple of lads did last for more than a minute or so, Devil refused to settle for them and the stallion won the battle. A few poor lads found themselves with one foot in the stirrup, hopping furiously on the other as Devil pranced away from them. They were probably relieved when they lost their balance and landed on their backsides, no matter how embarrassing it was for them.
You’re not the first lads he’s done that to, Trav thought wryly, and you won’t be the last. At least nobody had been dragged and Devil hadn’t bitten or kicked anyone. He really had improved a lot, but he was still very feisty. Still, a Guardsman had to be able to ride anything.
The assessor from Den Ree frowned, upset as his own garrison’s candidate picked himself up from the dirt.
“That bloody horse is unrideable!” he snapped.
“No, he’s not,” Trav said quietly, “You saw our lad ride him, and ride him damned well too. I ride him myself sometimes. He’s feisty, I grant you, but he’s not the only horse that’s given the lads trouble.”
It was true. The horses were spirited, as good troop horses are, and though they were well trained, quite a few had taken exception to being ridden by a succession of unfamiliar Cadets. But Rowan had ridden them all with no fuss and no trouble at all, even the fiery grey mare that had snapped and kicked at several poor lads and bucked off a few more.
He’d walked calmly up to her, just as he had to every other horse there, patted her and swung easily onto her back. He calmed her as she sidled and fretted and then he trotted and cantered her in neat circles as was required. The mare pricked her ears, arched her neck and carried her tail like a banner as she showed that she was just as good as any stallion from the Woopsies, even if she was also equally as temperamental. And she followed up by bucking her next two riders off just as Devil did the same.
Lieutenant Denis frowned even more. Unfortunately he’d missed seeing Rowan with Bast and Sten. He was still very sceptical about the Horse Master business, didn’t believe it was really possible no matter what the others said, and he didn’t like being proved wrong.
“You there, lad,” he shouted, “Aye, the lad there with the red hair, from, er… Den Sorl. Catch that bloody horse of yours, unsaddle it, and ride it bareback!”
“Aye, Sir.” Rowan saluted him, gave the bay mare he was riding back to its rightful rider and turned away to carry out the order. Devil was cantering in happy freedom on the other side of the forty or so Cadets. Dammit, Rowan thought. I’m not going to bloody chase you around. He whistled softly. Every horse in the field pricked its ears and tried to pull away from their riders and come to him and Devil stopped in his tracks. The stallion trotted back to him and rubbed its nose against his chest as if in apology.
“Stop it, you daft bugger. You’ll slobber on my jacket,” Rowan muttered, “You’ve got me in enough damned trouble. And you’d been so good too.” He tickled Devil’s ears quickly, then unsaddled the horse and vaulted onto its back.
Rowan was pleased that everyone knew about the Whispering now. He’d certainly had more than his share of folk looking at him like he had two heads, and a lot who simply hadn’t believed him until they’d watched him with the horses, but as far as he was concerned, they could believe or not believe as they chose. His friends accepted him and so did his garrison, and that was all that mattered.
“What exactly do you want me to do with him, Sir?” he asked the assessor as Devil gave a good impression of being a statue.
Denis glared at him.
“Just ride the bloody thing. Circles, figures-of-eight, at trot and canter. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Devil trotted in a big circle, then a neat figure-of-eight and a smaller circle, lifting his hooves high. Rowan stopped him and he stood for a moment, beautifully straight and square, and then he set off again at a collected canter. He did the exercise again, changing lead at the crossover point of the figure-of-eight as was expected, and stopping four-square again before setting off for a third time at a faster but still perfectly controlled canter. He completed the set, stopped as before, and started again, this time in a beautiful extended trot.
“Are you going to keep the poor lad doing this all bloody day?” Trav demanded with a snarl.
Denis jumped slightly. He’d been mesmerised by the display this young rider and his magnificent, temperamental stallion were producing. He felt something akin to awe stirring within him… this lad truly was a Horse Master, just as Captain Telli had said. Incredible.
“What! Oh… er… no. No, of course not,” he shook his head and raised his voice a little, “That’s enough, Cadet. Thank you.”
Rowan stopped Devil four-square in front of him.
“Thank you, Sir. Shall I saddle him again, Sir?”
“Aye, lad.”
Denis thought he might as well. After a couple of hour’s break the next phase of the test was for all of the lads to ride all of the horses bareback, but nobody but Rowan had been able to ride Devil with a saddle, so they’d have no hope without one. And barring a complete disaster in tomorrow’s cross-country trial, which he thought extremely unlikely, he already knew who the winner of the Spurs was. No, he might as well ride back in comfort. The lads remounted their horses and headed to the horse lines, Mess tent and lunch.
**********
The final phase of the assessment was probably the most important of the lot. It was a fairly long ride across unfamiliar and very rough country filled with unexpected obstacles, to deliver a despatch satchel at the end. The Cadets were given a map to study for a short time, but otherwise it was done by memory. There was no set course, but the riders had to pass a number of checkpoints; failure to do this meant disqualification. A rider could choose, for instance, not to take the initially inviting track through an enormous brambly thicket, but it was quite a long way around and the checkpoint was just on the other side of the thicket.
This test wasn’t a race, it didn’t matter who finished first, but the lads had to complete the course within a given time if they were to escape penalties and it wasn’t an overly generous time either. There were a lot of obstacles to negotiate and it wasn’t unknown for some of the lads to either get lost en route, or lose their despatch bags somewhere: often among the
brambles or at one or other of the creeks that criss-crossed the course.
Rowan studied the map carefully, trying to see the best way around as he plotted a course in his mind.
“All right, lads. That’s enough of that,” Horsemaster John Borleson of Den Ahlen said with a grin as he and Trav of Den Sorl gathered up the maps, “Ten minutes to start time. Go and get your horses.”
“Aye, Sir.” The final twelve Cadets left in the assessment saluted and hurried off to the horse lines.
**********
They stood in a rough line for the start. Quite a few of the horses were playing up, affected by the excitement and nervousness of their young riders. Rowan sat a little apart on Devil, stroking the stallion’s glossy black neck and talking quietly to him. Devil stood like a rock and so did the horses nearest him, much to their riders’ relief. John smiled to himself. Like all of the assessors, even the most sceptical, he’d accepted the evidence of his own eyes and was now fascinated to see just what Rowan could do without thinking about it. He hadn’t been disappointed yet.
“Good luck to all of you, lads. Now, take care and remember it’s not a race. The idea is to get to the other end in one piece, with your despatch bag and all your tokens. And your horse as well, if at all possible. Everyone ready?” John said. He knew the lads would take off like bats out of hell and he took a couple of steps back.
“Aye, Sir!”
John smiled at Trav, at the other end of the line.
“Then, GO!”
Trav blew a few notes on the bugle to announce the start and John hastily stepped back a bit further as several horses reared in excitement. Sure enough, as always happened, the Cadets had set off at a hell of a pace. No, that red-haired lad of Trav’s with the very feisty black stallion hadn’t. He wasn’t dawdling by any means, but he was letting his horse settle and get balanced and he was travelling at a sustainable pace.
A couple of horses baulked at the big pine log that was the first obstacle, and one lad remembered too late that he should have tightened his horse’s girth a bit more, but the rest of the horses and riders sailed over it and headed off in various directions to navigate their way around the demanding course by memory.
“Well, that’s our bit done, Trav,” John laughed, “Now we can go up to the finish to watch them, see how your young Whisperer goes. Should get a good view from up there.” The finish was on the top of a very steep hill. A narrow trail snaked up one end of it and then there was a clear run of about half a mile along the crest of the hill to the final marshall, who’d take delivery of the all-important despatch bag.
“Aye, we should. Hang on a minute, I just want to see which way young Rowan’s going to go…” Trav nodded to himself as Rowan and Devil cantered into a good-sized patch of thick forest.
“He won’t get lost in there, will he?” John said, concerned, “Lads often do. They follow the animal trails and end up going around in circles. It can take ages for them to come out again.”
Trav laughed.
“Ha! Haven’t you heard that foresters never get lost? And not just in forests either. No, we haven’t managed to lose Rowan yet, and we’ve tried a couple of times. Just in fun, of course, but he got back to barracks before the rest of us did.”
John raised an eyebrow in surprise
“Gods, you wouldn’t want to lose him, would you? That lad’s outstanding, and he’d still be outstanding if he wasn’t a Whisperer. He’s been kicking the other lads’ backsides in nearly everything for weeks, and he’s taught them some humility too.” John smiled at Trav again, “He only has to collect all his tokens and get himself to the finish and he’s won the Silver Spurs. He’d probably bloody win it even if he lost his horse and had to go around the checkpoints on foot and didn’t finish until midnight.”
Trav nodded. He was proud of Rowan’s efforts. The lad had wiped the floor with the others in fencing and archery, run them ragged in the fitness trials, and he’d shown them how a horse should be ridden too. He’d been worried when Telli had told him that Rowan wanted his strange gift, the ‘Whispering’ as he called it, to be known now: he didn’t want the lad to be treated like some sort of freak; but the brave young fellow had been right. After initial shock and awe when they realised that the claim was really true, folk had accepted it as the wonderful thing that it was. Accepted also that there was a lot more to Rowan than that.
“No, we certainly don’t want to lose him. It’ll be a sad day when he’s transferred on. That lad is going to make folk sit up and take notice of little Den Sorl, even if we are out in the Woopsies.” Trav laughed suddenly. “Mind you, he’ll never use the damned Spurs; he only wears spurs with his dress uniform because he must. He never uses them otherwise.”
John laughed. His own garrison of Den Ahlen wasn’t very big either, and while it wasn’t as far out in the backblocks as Den Sorl, it wasn’t exactly in the central hub of things either. His Cadet had done well, but hadn’t made the final twelve. He was pleased to see Rowan doing so well.
“No, I noticed that. Anyway, good for him, and good for Den Sorl too. It’s about time somebody other than Den Siddon or Den Ree or Den Tissot won this. Now, let’s go so that we can watch him kick their backsides a bit more!”
“Aye, let’s.”
**********
John and Trav watched happily from their vantage point on the hill as Rowan left the last checkpoint and headed for the finish. He’d made good time without overtaxing his horse as some of the others had done, and he hadn’t had to backtrack to any checkpoints either.
“Gods, that damned horse can jump,” John said as Devil soared over the big fallen pine that was the last obstacle apart from the final hill itself.
“Aye. He can be a bugger of a horse, but he’s the best one we’ve got. We wouldn’t keep him otherwise,” Trav smiled.
John suddenly grabbed his arm.
“Trav, what the hell’s your lad doing? Why’s he stopping? Surely the horse isn’t lame, is it?” he said.
Trav frowned, concerned.
“I hope not, but Rowan’ll keep going even if he has to crawl on his hands and knees and carry the horse himself…” he tried to see more clearly, “I think he’s gone back to that lad that fell…”
They’d seen a big bay horse come a nasty cropper there and a healer was on his way down the hill to see why the lad riding it hadn’t got up and kept going. Really, the young fellow should have gone around rather than jump the log as his horse was tiring fast, but he’d probably thought he’d save some time.
“Daft lad,” John muttered, “He should keep going. He’s nearly finished.”
“Aye, maybe…” Trav said softly, “But he won’t. He’ll want to be sure that other lad and his horse are all right. He doesn’t know there’s a healer on his way.”
“No, of course he doesn’t,” John said, unhappy with himself as he realised what he’d said, “He’s right to stop, even though those other lads didn’t. I shouldn’t have said otherwise… a man has to look out for his fellow troopers.”
They watched Rowan tear a long strip from his shirt and bind the other Cadet’s ankle. He helped the injured lad to his feet as the healer galloped up to them. The healer slid from his horse, spoke to the lads, and bent down to check the injured ankle.
That young fellow will have to come back with the healer now, John thought. What a pity; he’d done so well up till then, apart from that slight error of judgement. Pity he’d have to be disqualified like that, but of course that was the rule… and the other lad had lost quite a bit of time, too. His horse was fast and still strong, but it was a good way down to the winding track up the hill and there couldn’t be that much time left now. He stared as the Den Sorl lad legged the other fellow up onto the black stallion’s back, leapt aboard himself, grabbed something… the despatch bag? from the bay’s saddle and urged the stallion into a ground-covering canter. The horse bore its double burden easily.
“Well, we did say he should look after his fellow
trooper…” Trav said with a grin, “The other lad seems a bit dubious about Devil though.”
“Aye, he does, doesn’t he? I can’t think why. And where the hell are they going now…?”
**********
The remaining assessors sat on their horses at the top of the hill to watch the final, cross-country, phase of the assessment for the Silver Spurs. They had little doubt about the winner, but still this was an important test for the lads.
The Cadets set off in a ragged line as the notes of the bugle sounded.
All of the horses were keen to run, some a bit too keen. Rowan was happy to let them lead off; he and Devil sailed over the first big log that had upset a couple of the horses ahead of them and headed for the trees to the left. He loved riding cross-country like this and they did quite a bit of it at Den Sorl. Out in the Woopsies as they were, nearly everything was cross-country, and it’d been the same at home in Sian. He knew that Devil was game for anything, knew too that the horse wanted to go faster, but he didn’t want the stallion to run itself into the ground as some of the others undoubtedly would. He ducked under the branches and wove through the trees, jumped a little creek and soon found himself in open country again. He gave the stallion a bit more rein and it lengthened its stride and galloped past a horse that had already parted company with its rider.
At the first checkpoint the marshall gave Rowan a token to put in the despatch bag, marked him off his list, and smiled at him as he sent him on his way. Some of the Cadets were lacking a bit in the manners department, he’d noticed, but not this young fellow. Good luck to him.
Devil cleared several more obstacles with no trouble at all and Rowan could see the huge thicket that awaited them ahead. It seemed that quite a few lads had converged on it at the same time. Some were still mounted, a couple were leading their horses, and inevitably someone was picking himself up off the ground.
Rowan cantered Devil up to the thicket and stopped a little way back from it. The trail couldn’t be wide and comfortable like that all the way through, judging by the very vulgar profanity he could hear coming from the centre. No, it looked most uninspiring, he thought. The country on either side was rough and broken and it was a long way around, unless… He thought about the map he’d studied, turned aside and urged Devil on.
