by Helen Gosney
Still, the Commandant was looking forward to meeting the lad who’d won the Silver Spurs. How anyone from a Godsforsaken place like Den Sorl had managed to do it was anyone’s guess, but by all reports the young fellow was simply outstanding. And he’d bloody better be, the Commandant thought sourly as he dismounted stiffly. He still didn’t accept that Rowan might really be a Horse Master. That simply wasn’t possible.
“Good day to you, Sir, and welcome to Den Sorl,” Telli said as he saluted smartly, “Did you have a good trip?”
He knew damned well that the Commandant’s backside would be hurting and his disposition would be sour. The man was always a grumpy old bastard and he’d be even worse after a week or more on the road.
“No, I didn’t, Captain. Thank you for asking,” came the reply, just as Telli had expected, “If you’ll have someone show me to my quarters, I’ll speak with you later.”
“Aye, Sir. Cadet Fess, will you show the Commandant to the guest quarters, please?”
“Aye, Sir.” A tall, handsome young man stepped forward, his golden curls gleaming in the sun. He saluted smartly. “Welcome to Den Sorl, Sir. Would you like to come this way?”
“Aye. Lead on.” The Commandant stumped off.
You miserable old bugger, Telli thought.
**********
A couple of hours later, the Commandant went to Telli’s office.
“So, Telli, your lad won the Spurs,” he said. He was feeling a bit better after a rest and a couple of glasses of very good wine. “How the hell did you manage that? How many Cadets have you got here?”
“Five, Sir.” The natural attrition rate of recruits was high, and so were the standards of the Wirran Guard. Those that made it through the rigorous training were good, very good.
“Only five? Bloody lucky to find anyone good enough to go into the Spurs in just a handful like that,” the Commandant said judiciously as he poured himself some more wine.
“Aye, Sir. We’ve not had anyone suitable for quite a while, but actually we could have had two this year. That lad Fess, who took you to your quarters, is very good too. In any other year I’d have sent him…” Telli paused for a moment, “… But the lad that won it, young Rowan, is simply outstanding.”
“Mmm… all the reports I’ve seen agree with you. ‘Exceptional’, most of them say. Apparently he ran everyone ragged in the cross-country; kicked their backsides with the sabre too. And he did an outstanding job with the horses… could ride anything, they said. So… tell me about him…and I don’t want to hear any of this nonsense that he’s a bloody Horse Master, no matter how well he rides.”
Telli nodded cautiously. Let the old fool believe what he likes, he thought, anyone who saw him at the Spurs is in no bloody doubt. He knew he was in for a hell of a tonguelashing and he knew it’d be soon.
“Well… he’s just a very talented young fellow,” he said, “He’s a natural athlete, which helps of course, and he makes things look easy… but he works very hard, and it shows. He’s… he’s strong and fit, bloody wonderful with a bow or a blade, any weapon really, and he truly is probably the best horseman I’ve seen for a hell of a long time.”
“Really?” The Commandant raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You truly believe he’s a… a Horse Master, don’t you?”
“Aye, Sir. I do. He’s been helping our Horsemaster with the other recruits for quite a while, and it’s… truly remarkable what he can do. But the best part of it all is that he’s not an arrogant lad, like some. He’s a quiet young fellow, softly spoken, beautiful manners. Popular with everyone. We’ll be sorry when he’s transferred on…”
“A quiet young fellow, you say? Popular? How does he go with command, discipline?”
“No problems at all, Sir. He knows how to give commands and take commands, how to manage his men,” Telli said, “He can be a bit, er, blunt spoken, maybe, but he’s truly an asset to the Wirran Guard, Sir.”
“Then I suppose it’s time I met this young paragon, Horse Master or not,” the Commandant decided, “Send for him, Telli.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Telli braced himself as he went to his office door. The Commandant was in an expansive mood now, but he knew that wouldn’t last.
“Sergeant Blacken, could you find Rowan, please, and ask him to come to my office? The Commandant would like to meet him.”
Blacken raised an eyebrow, but said nothing other than, “Aye, Sir.” He saluted and hurried off.
A few minutes later the Commandant saw Blacken and a young man coming across the Parade Ground with the sun at their backs. He couldn’t make out any details, but the lad was obviously an athlete. Tall and broadshouldered, well built but not heavy, he walked like a great hunting cat beside the lumbering Sergeant. They disappeared under the verandah and a few moments later there was a knock at the door.
Telli braced himself a bit further. Oh, but it’d be worth it, he thought. And with a bit of luck the bloody Commandant will choke himself.
“Come in,” he said as he opened the door himself.
Rowan stepped through the door and saluted.
“Thank you, Sir,” he said, “Did you want to see me, Sir?’
“Aye, Rowan, I did. The Commandant would like to meet you…”
Rowan turned to the man seated at Telli’s desk, bowed his head slightly and saluted again.
“Cadet Rowan d’Rhys del’Quist, Sir,” he said politely, as he raised his head, “’Tis an honour to meet you.”
The Commandant’s eyes widened at the soft Siannen accent and they widened further at the long auburn braid that swung behind the Cadet as he moved his head. Finally he took in the lad’s handsome face. His very young-looking face.
“Great Bloody Gods!” the Commandant breathed, “You can’t be the lad who won the Spurs!”
Rowan looked very surprised at the man’s reaction, as well he might, but he managed to keep his voice neutral and respectful.
“Aye, Sir. Is there a problem, Sir?”
The Commandant glared at him.
“A problem? Aye, there could well be a bloody problem, lad!” the Commandant snapped. “Explain yourself!”
“I… I don’t know what to say to you, Sir,” Rowan managed, his eyes wide, “I don’t know what I’ve done to cause you offence…”
The Commandant stared angrily at him again and then turned to Telli.
“I don’t appreciate practical jokes, Captain, as you well know.”
“Sir, this truly is the lad who won the Spurs. He won it through sheer talent and bloody hard work,” Telli said, furious at the Commandant’s attitude.
“Permission to speak freely, Sir?” Rowan said quietly as the Commandant fumed in silence. At Telli’s quick nod, he continued, “Commandant, I’m sorry if you feel I’m not a worthy winner of the Spurs.” For a moment his eyes blazed, but his voice was calm and courteous, “All I can tell you, Sir, is that the assessors felt that I was the best Cadet there. And with all possible respect, Sir, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, they were right. I was the best of them.”
The Commandant gaped at him.
“Why, you…!”
“He has my permission to speak freely, Sir,” Telli reminded him quickly, trying hard not to show his joy at Rowan’s startling, wonderful blend of excellent manners, complete respect and devastating bluntness.
“So you think you were the best of them, lad?” the Commandant snarled.
Rowan stood straight and tall, his head high. He didn’t understand the Commandant’s problem, but he’d certainly give him an honest answer.
“Again with respect, Sir, it doesn’t matter what I think. ‘Tis the assessors who made the decisions, Sir, not me. But since you ask me, Commandant, aye, I do believe I was. And by a good way in most things, Sir.”
The Commandant glared at him again. By all the reports he’d read, the lad was right, dammit. And he’d spoken respectfully and courteously too. But by Beldar’s britches, he was bloody blunt at the same time.
A typical damned forester. And just exactly what was a forester, and a damned young-looking one at that, doing in the Wirran Guard? He turned to Telli again, ready to give him a hell of a dressing-down.
“So, Captain, what the hell do you…” he began.
Telli quickly turned to Rowan, still standing straight and tall. The poor lad looked confused and upset by the Commandant’s hostility, but there was a dangerous light in his eyes too. He certainly didn’t need to hear the coming tirade.
“Dismissed, Rowan,” he said, adding softly so that only Rowan heard him, “Don’t fret yourself, laddie. It’ll be all right.”
“Aye, Sir. Thank you, Sir. A good day to you, Captain, and to you, Commandant.” Polite and correct to the end, Rowan saluted, turned neatly and strode out, closing the door behind him.
“Are you all right, laddie?” Blacken asked him quickly.
“Aye… I think so… but…”
“The whole bloody garrison can hear the old bastard, Rowan, and I’m sure he’ll have a hell of a lot more to say to the Captain too. Come on lad, down to the stables with you. You’ve still got to spruce Devil up for the presentation tomorrow,” Blacken said kindly.
Rowan looked up at him.
“There probably won’t be one…”
“Course there will.” He took Rowan’s arm and steered him towards the stables.
**********
The Commandant had worked up a good head of steam and he let Telli know at great length and in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t happy.
Finally Telli managed to get a word in. He knew that Rowan had been the best Cadet in the competition by quite a way, no matter how old he was, and it wasn’t right that he should be treated like this.
“But, Sir, with respect…” he said, “It’s not Rowan’s fault that I accepted him into the Guard, Sir, and he can’t help looking so young. It’s certainly not his fault that he’s exceptional either. He earned the Spurs, Sir, and he was a good long way in front of the other lads, by all reports.”
The Commandant glared at him again. He knew he couldn’t disqualify Rowan or overturn the result of the competition, but there was still something he could do.
“This Cadet will be promoted to Trooper in a couple of months,” he said coldly, “How old will he be then, Captain?”
“Seventeen, Sir.” Near enough anyway, Telli thought. He’d only be a week or so from his seventeenth birthday.
“Still only seventeen! Bloody Hells! Too young, Captain, too bloody young. He’s to stay here at Den Sorl until he’s eighteen. He’ll be a Trooper, as he’s finished his training and he’s just proved that he’s too damned good not to promote, but he’ll be ineligible for transfer until then,” the Commandant said loudly and firmly.
“Aye, Sir. By your command, Sir,” Telli saluted and bit back a smile. Now he and Sword Master Hibbon might have a chance to pursue a ridiculous idea that they’d had.
All the same, Telli was furious as he watched the Commandant stalk out of his office. How bloody dare he, he thought. Rowan’s clearly the best Cadet in Wirran and that cursed man has the damned gall to suggest he shouldn’t have won because he’s too young.
“Stables, Sir,” Blacken said as he came back from wherever it was that he’d discreetly disappeared to. Wherever it had been, he couldn’t have missed hearing the bloody Commandant: the whole damned garrison must have heard him. It’s not the way to do it, Telli thought savagely. Fair enough, tell someone off, but not so the entire world hears every word you say. He headed off for the stables.
**********
The garrison had chosen a unique way to honour their Silver Spurs winner. It’d take a bit of work, but it would be well worth it. Even more so, now.
“Trav, is Rowan in here?” he asked quietly as the Horsemaster hurried up to him. There were a lot of folk in the stables, as he’d expected. He was surprised and pleased to see most of the honour guard from Den Siddon there too.
“Aye. He’s been helping the lads out… I think he’s down there with Fess and Devil now. Telli, what happened with the old bastard? Blacken said he was shouting like a mad man. He didn’t… he hasn’t threatened to disqualify Rowan, has he? He can’t do it…”
Telli shook his head.
“No, no, it’s all right, Trav. As you say, he can’t do it. He wanted to, though.” Telli forced his rage down again. “The bloody miserable old bugger! You’d think he’d be pleased for the lad and proud of him like we are here, but no… he couldn’t get past him being so young… and between you and me, Rowan’s being a forester didn’t go down well either. No, he had to content himself with tearing strips off me, the useless old… Oh, and Rowan won’t be eligible for transfer from here until he’s eighteen.”
“Eighteen! But… but what about his promotion to Trooper? He can’t knock that back!” Trav was nearly as angry as Telli at the thought of such an injustice. “How the hell can he not promote the best Cadet in Wirran? Anyway, it’s the Promotions Board that decides that, not him.”
Telli shook his head again.
“Sorry, Trav, that’s not what I meant. The bloody Commandant’s got me rattled. No, Rowan will be promoted to Trooper as he should be, but he’s to stay here at Den Sorl until he’s eighteen.”
Trav frowned as he thought it through. He smiled suddenly.
“So we’ll have him for an extra year,” he said happily, “That’s wonderful, and he’ll be pleased too, I think.”
“Aye, he will. He’s a good lad, and truly, I don’t want him to leave. I know he must, eventually, and I know the garrisons will be lining up to get him too, but…” Telli sighed, “Trav, I need to talk to him about it all.”
Trav nodded.
“Aye, it’s only fair to. The poor lad’s wondering what the hell he’s done wrong.”
“He’s done nothing wrong… I’ll go and talk to him.”
Fess saluted and made himself scarce as Telli made his way down to them. Trav was already moving everyone else out of the stables so they could have a bit of privacy.
“Hello, Sir,” Rowan said as he saluted. He looked pale and troubled.
“Hello, Rowan lad,” Telli said softly, “Are you all right?”
“Aye, Sir. I’m all right, I think, but…” he shook his head, still disturbed by what had happened.
“I’m truly sorry that happened, Rowan. But it seems the Commandant’s not happy about you winning the Spurs…”
“Aye, I worked that out, Sir. But… why? I don’t understand… what have I done wrong?”
“Nothing, laddie. You’ve done nothing wrong. It seems he’s upset about your age…”
Rowan stared at him in amazement.
“My age? But what’s that got to do with it, Sir? I’ve always held my own against the other lads, even if they are older, and I certainly don’t expect special treatment. It’s never been a problem…”
Telli sighed softly.
“No… and it shouldn’t be a damned problem now either. Rowan lad, I shouldn’t say this to you, but… well, the Commandant has some bloody stupid ideas sometimes.”
“Apparently, Sir.” Rowan looked him in the eye. “And does he have a problem with foresters in general, Sir, or just with me in particular?”
Gods, this lad is so bloody blunt, Telli thought, and he doesn’t miss a thing. For a moment he didn’t know what to say, but he could only tell the truth as Rowan would himself.
“I truly don’t know, Rowan,” he said, “Are you really all right, laddie?”
Rowan nodded slowly.
“Aye, Sir, I think so. Surprised, I suppose. Disappointed… I was going to refuse the Spurs, Sir, but… Lieutenant Trav and Sergeant Blacken and Sergeant Coll said that I shouldn’t. They said I won them fair and square…”
“Rowan lad, don’t refuse them…”
“… And I thought about it…” Rowan continued softly, as if Telli hadn’t spoken, “And I thought, I can refuse the Spurs, or return them or whatever it is I’d have to do, but if t
he Commandant wants to give the Spurs to one of the other lads… well, ‘tisn’t right, Sir. They’d know they didn’t really win them. I did. Horsemaster Trav and Sword Master Hibbon both said I’d won it clearly, Sir… And they’re right,” his eyes blazed for a moment as he got his thoughts in order, “I’ve done nothing bloody wrong. I’m a Cadet, the same as every other lad that was there and I’m sorry if it sounds arrogant, Sir, but… I truly was better than any of them… I truly did bloody beat them, Sir, and if the Commandant can’t accept that a forester has done better than the Wirran lads and beaten them at their own game, then… with respect, Sir, that’s his problem.”
It was a long speech for such a quiet lad. Telli looked at him carefully.
“Aye, Rowan, it is. I have to tell you, laddie, he wanted to disqualify you, but he couldn’t. He simply can’t. You’ve done nothing wrong. And you’ve certainly done nothing to deserve what he’s doing. You won the bloody Spurs whether he likes it or not, and there’s not a damned thing he can do about it.”
Rowan nodded slowly and took a deep breath.
“I was going to refuse the Spurs, but I’m not now…” he said, “I’d be proud to accept them from you, Sir, but… truly, I think the Commandant should present them to me, the same as he would if I was a Wirran from Den Siddon or Den Ree. Maybe he doesn’t like it, but that’s his problem too, Sir. Not mine. I’ve done nothing bloody wrong.”
Telli smiled at him. Rhys had said that young Rowan was tough and could take anything the Guard might throw at him. He’d been right.
“No, you haven’t. And I’d be proud to present the Spurs to you. But truly, I believe you’re right in what you say. The Commandant needs to do his job, and with bloody good grace too. Now, don’t worry, laddie, the whole garrison is behind you on this.”
“And will I still be promoted, Sir?”
“Rowan lad, not even the bloody Commandant’s stupid enough to not promote the best Cadet in Wirran. It’s not up to him, anyway,” Telli smiled as the lad relaxed a little, “But you won’t be eligible for transfer until you’re eighteen. The Commandant says you must stay here at Den Sorl until then.”
