by Helen Gosney
“They’re a damned good looking lot, Griff. You should do very well with them, I think. And Mica and Soot are looking as fine as ever. But why hasn’t Mica gone lighter as he’s aged?”
Griff shrugged. The stallion was still as darkly dappled as it’d always been.
“’Tis said to be because he’s desert-bred, Grayle. That’s as good a reason for it as any other that we might come up with, I suppose.”
“Mmm… well, I’ve already had quite a few enquiries for Mica’s and Soot’s services. We missed them here last year, though I know ‘twas unavoidable with the Trophy and all. I think you’ll do well again with the stallions, as well as with these youngsters.”
“Good!” Griff laughed, “I’d hate to think we’ve brought the poor beasties all this way, only to have to turn around and take them back home again, and all for nothing.”
“I truly don’t think that’s going to happen, lad, certainly not with the stallions and not with these others either. There’ve already been quite a few Guardsmen fretting about when you’d be here,” Grayle smiled, “You could probably sell twice as many horses as you’ve brought with you.”
“Well, these are the best of them, of course. I suppose we could have brought some of the others as well. I’ll see what Rowan thinks about that for next year. And there are still a few of the best ones at home, but they just aren’t ready yet. They can come here next year, if we’re invited, and if nobody comes to Sian in the meantime looking to buy a nice horse.”
Grayle nodded again. He knew that Griff and Rowan wouldn’t sell a horse that was untrained, ‘unbroken’, as the expression was. Of course, they didn’t ‘break’ their horses at all, but they were beautifully mannered and beautifully trained before being sold. Grayle also knew that they wouldn’t simply sell their horses to anyone with the necessary money to buy them. No, they could be most particular about it. They had no control over what happened to their horses once sold, but they did do their best to ensure that they went to kind, caring owners who’d treat them properly. They’d look at the prospective buyer’s own mount and if they weren’t happy with its condition, the sale simply wouldn’t happen. Many of the horses were destined to be troop horses, but if the Guardsmen’s mounts didn’t pass muster with Rowan and Griff, then they wouldn’t be joining that particular garrison either.
Some of the other breeders were starting to do the same, Grayle knew, and in his opinion it wasn’t a bad thing. Nobody wanted their animals to go to somebody who wouldn’t look after them properly. And if by some chance they simply didn’t care, they wouldn’t be selling at Frissender again, ever. The loss of prestige associated with that would be immense, and Grayle knew that most simply wouldn’t risk it.
**********
“Will Rowan give his demonstration with Mica and Soot again this year, do you think?”
He’d ridden both stallions in a demonstration of their ‘advanced battle training’ each year they’d been at the Horse Fair and the sight of the stallions ‘dancing’, as many people put it, had been both very popular and also stunning to those who’d never realised that a horse could do such things. Of course, most didn’t realise the true implications of such training.
“Of course he will, if you ask him to. He won’t just take over a space and put the horses through their paces, though,” Griff said with a smile, “But if you ask him, he’d be delighted to show them both off.”
“Good. I’ve, umm, heard a rumour that some of the garrisons are, er…”
“… interested in training more horses to that level? Yes, we’ve heard it going around too.” And been most surprised to hear it here at Frissender. “Not all horses can physically do it, of course, but it might be feasible. Rowan says they’ll have to come to Sian if they want to do it with him though,” Griff shrugged, not wanting to give too much away. In fact, things were fairly well advanced. The Engineers had been pleased to see that the foresters didn’t mess about, in fact got on with the job just as well as they would themselves – and there was no higher praise than that, to an Engineer. The barracks would likely be finished by the time Griff and Rowan got back to Sian, as would the indoor training facility and new stable to accommodate the troopers’ horses. “He feels guilty enough about leaving too much to Honi and me, as he puts it. ‘Tis daft, but you know how he is…”
“How who is?” Rowan asked as he came up to them, as lightfooted as ever.
“You, laddie! Don’t you bloody know that eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves?” Griff frowned at him fiercely before laughing.
“Wasn’t eavesdropping,” Rowan grinned at him, “Not on purpose, anyway. So…?”
“We were just talking about that idea that Horsemaster Ross of Den Siddon had of training some of the Guard’s horses to a higher level,” Grayle said.
Rowan nodded. There’d been a lot of discussion about it since the Trophy, and quite a few dispatches back and forth. The Engineers were happily doing their bit, working well with the foresters after a cautious start, and it was almost certain that the actual training would start next year. Fess and Telli had hopes that Rowan would take at least a few of the Guard’s Horsemasters – and their horses, of course - with him when he’d finished with the new recruits and Rowan himself had plans to do just that so long as all the necessary formalities were finished. As much as he hated red tape and paperwork, he could see its necessity for this particular undertaking.
He and Commandant Niall had sent a joint dispatch about the plans to send some Siannen Guardsmen to learn the techniques too. Rowan would give a lot to have been able to see their faces when the Siannen trooper trotted into Den Siddon with the dispatch, but he was fairly sure that they’d see Niall’s reasoning. They’d have done the same themselves if the situation had been reversed.
“Oh, aye. ‘Tis a good idea, in theory. ‘Twould be a shame to see the techniques die out completely, I think. The only problem is where we’d actually do it; you know what homebodies we foresters are,” he said straightfaced, “If the Guard wants it badly enough, they’ll just have to cope with the idea of some of their Horsemasters coming to Sian for a while.”
“Do you think they will?” Grayle asked curiously.
Rowan glanced at Griff for a moment, then shrugged.
“Aye, probably next year, but keep that under your hat, please. Depends on how much they want it to happen, really. Den Siddon didn’t fall down when Ross came to Sian for the foaling last year, and that was what? Nearly three months or so? So long as the recruits are reasonably competent at riding, he’d be happy to leave the buggers, and I’m sure most of those from the other garrisons would be too. Someone else can help out with the lads if they’re not there.”
“Den Siddon’s poor bloody recruits will certainly be competent with you there to encourage them along, Rowan lad!” Griff laughed.
“Don’t you fraggin start, too,” Rowan groaned, “I’ve already had Fess and Ross in my ear about it.”
**********
“Dammit! I bloody nearly forgot!” Grayle said.
Rowan and Griff both raised an inquiring eyebrow, making them look very alike in spite of their difference in size.
“What did you bloody nearly forget?” Rowan smiled at him, “Something important, or a nice juicy piece of gossip?”
“And if it was a nice piece of gossip, you wouldn’t even pass it on, so there’d be no damned point, would there? No, I forgot to ask if you wanted to sell your horses through the sale ring, or…?”
Grayle thought it’d be the ‘or’ option. He knew that both foresters disliked the atmosphere of the auction ring, with the sometimes-frenzied bidding and the often-frightened horses. Besides, their prices weren’t negotiable. Any buyer who objected to being unable to haggle could go elsewhere as far as Griff and Rowan were concerned. Sure enough, both men shook their heads.
“No, thanks, Grayle,” Griff said, “We’ll sell them from the yards, as we usually do. Anyone who wants to find us will find us, and R
owan can show off our horses a damned sight better than any sales staff, with no offence to them.”
“Aye, I thought you’d say that. ‘Tis why you’re here near that nice open space.”
“Thanks. Would you mind if we put a few little hurdles over there? We’ll take them down when we go, and anyone can use them in the meantime to show that their horses aren’t afraid to jump.”
“Not at all. In fact you could leave them up when you leave, I think. But will you need a hand now? There’s plenty of young loafers hanging about the place, and I’m sure they’d not mind helping you out.”
Rowan laughed.
“I was going to say ‘no, thanks’, but who am I to deny some poor lazy bugger the chance to get up off his backside and make himself useful? Aye, send them around,” he said cheerfully.
**********
27. “… a colt or a filly?”
“If you can’t find a damned horse here, there’s no bloody hope for you!” a burly Wirran said in frustration as his brother turned away from yet another yard of fine-looking young horses. “We’re at the Frissender Horse Fair, for the Gods’ damned sakes, and this is our third bloody day at it! There are no swaybacked old hayburners here!”
Indeed there weren’t. The standard of horses here was just as high as it always was, and always would be.
“Mmm… I know that, Stannel, but…” a younger and smaller version of the first one shook his head, almost as frustrated as his brother, “I just can’t find what I’m looking for…”
“And what was that again?”
“A nice colt; not too big, not too small, well-behaved but with a bit of spirit, a bit of personality about him… like those stallions over there!”
Stannel quickly looked to where Pell was pointing. His eyes widened.
“And which one did you have in mind, lad? The grey or the black?”
“Well, either, really. They’re both superb and I’d be happy with either of them, but I’d thought I’d get a younger horse than either of those two…” he looked at the horses again and found himself sighing. Oh, yes, he’d be happy with either of them, all right. They were magnificent.
His brother was looking at him as if he’d just said something utterly ridiculous, as, in a way, he had.
“Great bloody Hells, Pell, anyone’d be happy with either of those two, though the grey is said to be virtually unrideable. But there wouldn’t be enough gold in all of Yaarl to buy them,” he said, “You don’t know who those horses are, do you? Let alone who owns them!”
Pell stared at him in amazement.
“What do you mean ‘who’ those horses are, you bloody idiot?”
“It’s not me who’s the bloody idiot here, lad. Do the names Mica and Soot mean anything to you?”
“Mica and Soot? Mica and…” Pell said, frowning thoughtfully. He blanched suddenly. “Mica and Soot! No! They can’t be!”
“No? Look at who they’re following then.”
A tall silver-haired man with the unmistakeable braid of a Siannen forester was strolling along, the reins of his horses loosely over one arm and the horses themselves walking calmly at his heels like a pair of enormous dogs. The crowds parted in front of him and closed behind him, whispering and pointing and trying not to be noticed doing it.
The resigned look on the man’s handsome face showed that they weren’t entirely successful. An even taller and much bigger forester beside him carried a very businesslike axe on his back. He turned to the first one and said something that made the other man laugh. Suddenly he looked much younger than his silver hair suggested.
“That’s… that’s really him, isn’t it? That’s the Champion?” Pell said, stunned to think that he was so close to the great man himself.
“The triple Champion, laddie. Aye, that’s him. He wasn’t here last year because he was busy training for the Trophy, but if he’s brought some young horses with him as well as the stallions… well, you might just find what you’re looking for there. Assuming the damned garrisons haven’t beaten us to it, of course.”
“Gods! I wonder where they’re yarded…”
“Shouldn’t be too hard to find out, you daft bugger. I can think of a couple of ways already. We could chase around and find somebody who looks official and ask them, or we could follow the Champion and hope that’s where he’s headed.”
Pell stared at him in astonishment.
“We couldn’t just, er, just follow him like that! Could we?”
Stannel shrugged.
“Why not? He’s very approachable, especially when it comes to his horses. Remember I bought Mist from them?”
He had, too, and he considered the purchase of the lovely dappled grey mare to be the best he’d ever made. Mind you, he didn’t expect the foresters to remember him: it’d been three years ago, after all, and they must see a hell of a lot of folk interested in their horses.
“I wonder who that great big tall bugger with him is? I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a big man.”
“Well, you’ve never been to Sian, have you? A lot of the foresters are as big as that fellow. I think he’s a cousin or something, and they’re in the business together. You know, they say the Champion’s considered to be small by his kinfolk.”
“Small?” Pell eyed Rowan’s muscular, broadshouldered six foot three inch frame and shook his head. Mind you, beside the other forester anyone would be considered small.
“That’s what they say. Of course, folk say a lot of things about him, and it can’t all be true. The poor bugger must get bloody fed up with it. I know that I would. Anyway, shall we go after him before we lose him?”
“I don’t think we’ll lose sight of them, Stannel, especially that bloody huge one. He’s got to be damned nearly seven foot tall! But, yes. Let’s go.”
**********
Rowan and Griff had just finished giving a very well attended demonstration of Mica and Soot’s ‘advanced training’. Well, Rowan had ridden the horses one after the other and Griff had kept an eye on the one not being ridden; not that anyone would be stupid enough to try and make off with either of the stallions. If by chance somebody was silly enough to try it… well, they wouldn’t get far and Griff wouldn’t have to exert himself at all. Mica and Soot were more than capable of looking after themselves.
The two men and their stallions finally got clear of the worst of the crowds and headed for their own section of the yards. They weren’t in a hurry; a man with horses yarded nearby had promised he’d tell any potential buyers that Rowan and Griff would be back in an hour, and they knew that Umber and Boof would be doing a good job of making sure nobody made off with their horses. The dogs would allow people to look at the horses and pat them, but they wouldn’t allow anyone into the yards unless Griff or Rowan were there.
**********
The two Wirrans hurried around a corner to find themselves face to face with the foresters, a stallion standing alertly at either side of them. They came to an abrupt halt, nearly falling over themselves in the process.
“A good day to you, lads,” Griff said politely, “Are you truly following us, or is Rowan just imagining things?”
“I… er… we, um…” Stannel managed. Griff was very large indeed, this close, and he was looking at Stannel in a puzzled sort of way.
“Griff lad, you shouldn’t bloody loom over the poor buggers like that. You know that Wirrans are a bit shy,” Rowan said, trying not to laugh at the stunned expressions on the other men’s faces. He’d occasionally caught the aptly name bogglers – fish with a perpetual expression of complete astonishment on their silly faces - that looked less surprised than these two. “A good day to you. I’m Rowan d’Rhys del’Quist of the Forest Giant clan, and this is my cousin, Griff d’Fergus. We truly don’t bite folk without a damned good reason. So, why were you following us?”
“We… we wanted to see your horses…”
Rowan laughed.
“So you’re not about to stick a knife into us and try to steal
Mica and Soot? A wise choice, my friends. They don’t take kindly to being stolen,” he said.
“And, truly, we don’t take all that kindly to having knives stuck into us either!” Griff added, “Showing off our horses, though, ‘tis another matter. They’re just along here. I’m assuming you meant the young horses that’re for sale.”
“Aye, I did, but your stallions are magnificent,” Pell said as the horses fell into step either side of Rowan. He realised that they weren’t being led and remembered another story he’d heard about Rowan and his clan… but surely Horse Masters were just a story, weren’t they? He wanted to ask, but didn’t feel he should. Still, he wondered about it.
“Thank you,” Rowan said, “Their progeny are damned good too, with all modesty. Trouble is, quite a lot have already been sold; virtually all of the blacks, bays and browns have been taken by the Guard of various places, and several of the greys as well. Were you thinking of a colt or a filly?”
“A colt, I think.”
Pell found himself looking at the first yard containing Rowan and Griff’s horses. A couple of dozen very fine fillies trotted to the fence to nuzzle at the foresters’ hands. A pair of sleek black and tan dogs hurried up to do the same. He found himself very taken by a pert dappled grey that batted her eyelashes at him and nudged him cheekily.
“Oh… they’re so pretty, aren’t they?” he sighed as he stroked her glossy neck. He was surprised to see an intricate braid in her long mane, and even more surprised to see that all of the other horses had a similar braid, even the stallions. Of course he didn’t realise that it was the Forest Giant clan braid.
Rowan and Griff smiled at each other.
“Aye, they are,” Rowan said, “But the colts are over here…”
Pell reluctantly left the fillies and stared into a yard of equally fine colts. Bugger me, he thought, I was so damned sure that I knew exactly what I wanted, but I’d be happy with any of these, colt or filly. He remembered what Rowan had said about the Guard had already bought quite a few.
