Red Rowan: Book 4: The Dwarf Moot

by Helen Gosney

  “No, laddie. They need to see where to put their feet when we’re riding, rather than leading them. Now, are you right? Grab onto me… Bloody Hells! Not quite so fraggin tight, Rill! I still need to bloody breathe!”

  “Are… are you going to take us all over together?” Rill quavered.

  “Aye. It takes all damned day otherwise. But if you’d rather, I can take you across separately if you think you’d be happier that way.”

  Rill thought about going across like that. He’d have to watch as his friends went across without him, leaving him alone beside this terrifying drop. Or, conversely, if he went first, he’d be by himself on the other side while Rowan went back for the others. He shuddered at the thought of either situation.

  “Oh, bloody hells, no! No, Rowan. I want to come with you and everyone else,” he said.

  “Brave lad. Let’s go then. Come on, Fish. Don’t be bloody daft with me, you’ll be all right,” Rowan said softly as he stroked the gelding’s nose.

  Ashen strode forward confidently as Fish snorted once, then followed the grey across the precipice. Cris’ mare, Bess, and Tadeus’ chestnut gelding, Hazel, were close behind and the trolls came last, their sturdy mares seeming unperturbed.

  Scrap sat on Rowan’s shoulder rather than bounding across as he usually did. His confidence was largely restored after a good cuddle and gentle words from Rowan, but sitting where he was he could swat Rill’s ears with his tail from time to time as retribution for the man having frightened him.

  Rowan was sympathetic to poor Rill’s plight, could feel him trembling where he held on like a limpet, but thought he should have spoken up before they’d come so far up the Pass, or, better still, before they’d even started on the track. He also thought the man had been lucky not to get a taste of the little cat’s claws, and he decided not to notice the odd lash of a furry black tail as he sang ‘the Bishop and the Bordello’ to help keep the horses calm. The song was probably an unnecessary precaution, but it hurt nobody and possibly helped the horses in the face of Rill’s terror.

  Tadeus smiled happily as he heard Rowan singing what sounded almost like the very bawdy song that he knew from his trooper days as ‘the Priest and the Prostitute’. Every trooper and ex-trooper he’d ever known knew this song, or one very like it, and most knew at least one verse that the others didn’t.

  He sat quietly on Hazel’s back, marvelling at the wonderful panorama to his left, but marvelling more at Rowan’s ability to do this. He remembered the foresters’ comments at the Trophy and realised they’d been right: the fact of getting any horse across here was amazing, but to do as Rowan was, was simply… the old priest found he had no words for it.

  **********

  8. “good to be home”

  Dear Gods, ‘tis good to be home, Rowan thought happily a few days later. No more parades, no more damned brass bands tootling away, no more shaking clammy hands and making bloody speeches, no more cursed crowds pushing and shoving and shouting his name… just the sound of birds singing and trees rustling. Wonderful.

  Mind you, he’d had a good trip home. He’d been pleased to see that Sergeant Blacken, a man he remembered fondly from his recruit days, was back at Den Sorl. Well, he was Lieutenant Blacken now, and 2/ic of the garrison, but he really hadn’t changed much. His gruff exterior still hid a kind heart. Most of the remaining troopers were new to him, but they all made him welcome, both as the Champion, and – more importantly, as Rowan saw it – as a Den Sorl man.

  The trek across the Dogleg Pass had gone well too, even though poor Rill had been so frightened. For a moment Rowan wondered again why the silly man hadn’t simply spoken up before they’d even taken the track to the Pass, and certainly before they’d actually reached the Scream, but he came up with no real answer. Surely Rill wasn’t intimidated by him, Rowan, was he? Maybe all the business of his being the cursed triple Champion had been the problem… well, there wasn’t much he could do about that: Rill would just have to see for himself that Rowan was still the same man that he’d always been.

  Rowan sighed, then smiled as he remembered the awe and wonder on the faces of Tadeus and Chinook as they’d encountered their first fully-grown Forest Giant. The great tree had soared above them to nearly four hundred feet, its mighty branches filled with noisy birds and little beasties that were busily scuttling up and down, and the priest and the troll had both dismounted and stood beneath the tree, their heads thrown back so as to see as much as possible, their mouths open in astonishment.

  **********

  Rowan had left both trolls - and, of course, Strawberry and Lavender - at Moss’s Bridge with a promise to see them again soon and urging Ashen to a faster pace, he headed for home, with Cris, Rill, and Brother Tadeus following behind him.

  About a mile or so from his destination he found himself joined by his stallions Mica and Soot. They always did this when he’d been away for a while, and often when he hadn’t, too. He had no idea how they always knew when he was coming… something to do with his being a Whisperer, obviously, but he didn’t really understand that either and certainly couldn’t explain it. He made much of his horses and continued on his way, ignoring the odd glances that Rill was sending his way.

  They came around the last bend and into the big clearing where Rowan, Griff and Honi had their horse-breeding business. Right in the middle of the road was a big sign that said ‘Home of the Triple Champion’, and below that, ‘Welcome’.

  “What the hell…?” Rowan said. He didn’t look happy and he didn’t sound happy.

  “Looks like your fame has preceded you, Rowan!” Cris piped up.

  “It bloody better not have!” Rowan muttered fiercely. He said several words that made Tadeus laugh and Cris and Rill look at each other, completely mystified, and then more loudly, “Griff! Is this your idea, you bloody daft bugger?”

  He looked around him, but there was nobody in sight other than those who’d come with him. He listened carefully and his sharp forester’s ears could hear the very faintest of rustlings as if someone was coming through the trees. Quite a few someones, in fact. And then there was a soft chant that quickly resolved itself into ‘Rowan! Rowan! Red Rowan!’

  “Bloody Hells! Not here too!” Rowan said several more uncomplimentary things about those who might have nothing better to do with their time but stand around out here among the trees and chant daft slogans. For a fleeting moment he was even tempted to turn Ashen and gallop back the way he’d come. Don’t be such a bloody coward, he told himself sternly. Gods, it was SO very bloody tempting, though.

  What seemed like most of the population of Borl Quist and its surrounding countryside – foresters, dwarves, trolls and all – stepped out of the trees and surrounded him, much to the visitors’ surprise. They’d heard nothing except the chanting, and Rowan’s swearing.

  “Welcome back!” the newcomers said enthusiastically and pushed somebody forward. That somebody turned out to be Rowan’s cousin, Griff. He looked at Rowan’s horrified face and the amazement on his friends’ faces and laughed.

  “Don’t worry, laddie! We’re not going to make a big to-do, I promise you. Everybody just wanted to come and congratulate you and welcome you home again,” he said, “Oh, and invite you and your friends to a party in the town square tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Mmm… that’ll give you all enough time to have a nice rest and spruce yourselves up a bit, but not enough time for you to run too bloody far, Rowan.”

  “Don’t bet on it, Griff. Mica’s still the fastest horse we’ve got and he’s right here, ready to go. Soot and Ashen aren’t slow either,” Rowan smiled at his cousin, then glanced at Tadeus, Cris, and Rill. They all smiled at him cheerfully, obviously ready for a bit more celebrating, even if Rowan himself wasn’t best pleased about it. “But where are my bloody manners? Thank you on behalf of all of us. We’ll be delighted to go, but in my own case… only so long as it doesn’t involve any more cursed speeches, backslapping or han
dshaking.”

  Griff looked at him askance.

  “What the hell do you think we are? Fraggin Wirrans?” he said.

  Rowan laughed happily.

  “No, thank the Gods. I’m sure the buggers mean well, but they can get very wearing at times.”

  “So, tomorrow then?” a very deep, rumbling voice came from the crowd.

  “Aye, Brook, and thank you,” Rowan said in Trollish, then switched back to Common in deference to Cris and the others, “Thank you all. The sign was a nice touch.”

  Somebody else spoke up. It sounded suspiciously like one of the dwarven blacksmiths.

  “Ha! We thought you’d enjoy that! And well done, laddie.”

  The townsfolk disappeared into the trees as silently as they’d come, leaving Griff and Honi standing beside Rowan, Cris, Rill and Tadeus still sitting on their horses in the middle of the road.

  “That sign’ll make good kindling,” Rowan said thoughtfully.

  Griff and Honi looked at each other and laughed.

  “What?”

  “Griff said you’d say that,” Honi said with a grin.

  **********

  It was a very good party, with no speeches at all. There were plenty of quiet murmurs of ‘well done, laddie’, and ‘that’s kicked their backsides for them! Good for you, Rowan lad’, and quite a bit of handshaking and hugging from the men, and kissing and hugging from the women. There was plenty of good food, too; with wine, dwarven ale, the fierce juniper spirits that the trolls made and largely drank themselves and, inevitably, tea to wash it down. After all, it wasn’t every day that the town welcomed the triple Champion home.

  “But it will be from now on,” Griff laughed, “Well, at least until we take the horses to Frissender.”

  **********

  9. “I’ve told them I’ll do it”

  A few days after Rowan’s return, it was time for Griff and Honi to leave on their break. Of course it wasn’t easy to get them to actually go, even though they’d been enthusiastic about the idea when Rowan had first suggested it.

  “But Rowan, we can’t just go and leave you to do everything by yourself!” Griff protested.

  “Griff, you daft bugger, I’m not by myself! Tadeus and Cris and Rill all want to stay and help out for a bit and ‘twas their own idea to do it,” Rowan said, “I know that Rill’s off with the bloody birds more often than not… well, the rivers, really, you know what I mean; but the others aren’t like that. Tadeus wasn’t always a damned priest, you know, he was a Guardsman too, and he truly knows a hell of a lot about horses.” He smiled at Griff, “And Cris is pretty good now too. Plus, if the cats miss any mice or rats, he can catch them for us as well. And if all else fails, and I truly can’t manage, there’s plenty of folk in the town who’ll help out, just like they helped you and Honi.”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “And what does Honi say? She was keen to go and see her kin the last time I saw her, which was last night. Surely she’s not changed her mind since then?”

  Honi was a woman of the Marblebark clan of central Sian, and it’d been a while since she’d been back to see her kin. There’d be quite a bit of catching up to do.

  “Well, yes, she is too, but she’s worried about leaving you here and…”

  Rowan rolled his eyes and sighed.

  “Bloody Hells, Griff! What exactly does she think is going to happen to me? Perhaps Tadeus might beat me to a pulp with a fraggin prayer book, or Cris might talk me to death? Maybe Rill might lure me into the damned creek and drown me? I truly think I can handle them, lad.”

  Griff’s worried face relaxed into a grin.

  “Ha! I reckon you probably could too, laddie, at least one at a time. Well, we’ll go then, but we’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” he said.

  “At least two months, Griff.”

  “No, Rowan! I couldn’t be away for so long.”

  Rowan tried not to sigh again. It was like trying to get water to flow uphill sometimes, he thought.

  “Then six weeks. Otherwise you’ll meet yourself coming and going. ‘Tis a good long trek to Honi’s folk, and you’ll need another nice little break to recover from all of the hugging and kissing and gossiping and so forth…” he looked at Griff’s dismayed face, smiled to himself, and kept on, “What about… oh, I don’t know… Sinter? Somewhere around there? The lakes are always beautiful and the fishing’s good.”

  Griff suddenly looked much more interested.

  “So it is,” he said thoughtfully, “Lovely trout down there… ha! Do you remember when I caught that big golden trout that time we were there with Gran and Rhys? You’d have been about seven or so, I suppose, and you made me let the bloody thing go.”

  Rowan laughed.

  “And you’re still fretting about it after all this time? The poor thing was a female and full of eggs. And you know how rare the golden trout are.”

  “Well, I do now. But at the time I was only thinking about how nice it’d be for my supper.”

  “Gran and Pa would have released it if you hadn’t.”

  “Mmm, I know. ‘Twas the right thing to do. In fact, I caught another one just before we left to go to the Trophy. It was so beautiful…” Griff smiled as he thought about the rare fish’s lithe golden body speckled with silver and bronze spots, so different from the usual brown or rainbow varieties. He sighed softly. “And I let it go…”

  “Good lad. Now, I don’t want to hurry you off at all, but shouldn’t you be busy packing your things?”

  **********

  Rowan thought that Griff and Honi would probably be back in four weeks, rather than six, but maybe the fishing at Sinter would be so good that they’d linger at that lovely spot a bit longer. He hoped so. They’d looked after the place while he was away training for the Trophy in Den Siddon, and he’d been away for over a year, all told. And they were supportive of the idea of him going back to the garrison for a couple of months to help out with the new recruits, as well as the plan to train some of the troopers in the advanced battle training techniques. At least that’d be done here in Sian. And then there was the Dwarf Moot… Rowan had the sudden feeling that he’d be the one meeting himself somewhere along the track, with all of this running about. So much for ‘retirement’.

  Griff turned away and headed back to his house to throw a few things together. Suddenly he stopped, swore, and hurried back to Rowan.

  “Bloody Hells, I damned nearly forgot, Rowan,” he said anxiously, “Raven and I are going to be the bunny this year. I thought it’d show everyone we can breed horses other than Guard mounts. And I’ve told them I’ll do it and I can’t let them down.”

  Rowan smiled at the thought. Every year the foresters held a… well, it wasn’t exactly a race; it was more of a hunt, really, and it attracted entrants for a good distance around and sometimes even some from other provinces. It was basically a ride through the forest in pursuit of the ‘bunny’, and the person who caught him was the winner… unless of course the bunny wasn’t caught at all.

  The exact route was up to the bunny.

  He did have to go to a designated turnaround place to receive a green ribbon to prove he’d in fact been there – not because any forester’s word wasn’t good, but simply as a precaution against troublemakers from other parts. Other than that, he could go wherever he liked, so long as he gave those left behind enough time to cook lunch for everyone. Most bunnies chose a roundabout and very scenic route indeed and it was considered almost a sacred duty to try and lose as many hunters in the trees as possible.

  Some of the pursuers rode as individuals, and some rode as a team, as that gave them more chances to cut off or bottle up the bunny. Any outsiders were paired up with a forester as a condition of being allowed to join in the hunt, but everyone else knew the forest intimately, so nobody really had an advantage over anyone else. Except Rowan, of course. Any horse would try harder for him than it would for anybody else. It was the reason he’d never ridden his horses in a
proper race, unless they wanted a pacemaker. But this was different, and he’d been the bunny several times, riding either Mica or Soot, and nobody’d ever caught him.

  The time that a group of ten or so had somehow managed to box him up in a narrow canyon, thinking they’d finally got him, had become the stuff of legend. They’d sat on their horses, nose to tail across the entrance, blocking it while one of their number went to claim Rowan at last. “Mind your heads, lads! Duck!” he’d shouted and ridden straight at them. There’d been no room and no time to scramble out of the way, so they’d all ducked their heads and flattened themselves on their horses’ backs as much as they could as Mica galloped at them, ears pricked. The braver ones – those who’d glanced up - had a fine view of the stallion’s dappled belly as it soared over them easily. By the time they’d pulled themselves together, Rowan and Mica had disappeared into the trees again.

  Rowan thought that Griff and Raven would give them a good run for their money too. The big black stallion was one of Soot’s sons, his dam a work mare. The cross was becoming very popular among the physically big foresters who wanted a sturdy mount with a bit of speed, and Raven was all of that with Soot’s courage and ability to jump thrown in. He was shaping up to be a future sire of his type of horse. As Griff had said, with a bit of luck he’d be a good advertisement for that particular breeding cross too.

  “When is it, Griff?”

  “Um… about a month or so, I think. Young Conor’s doing the organising this year. Well, most of it, he’s had a bit of help from us old buggers,” Griff said with a grin.

  “The only problem is, I’m not sure that Cris and everyone will want to stay here for, what, nearly three months altogether, Griff,” Rowan frowned as he thought about it, “I know you’ve told Conor you’ll do it, but what about if I ride Raven this year and you can do it next year? You can take any of our horses away with you.”

  “Mmm… I suppose we could do that. Do you think Conor’d be upset by it?”