by Helen Gosney
“It’ll cost you a silver coin to cross the bridge with your horse,” he said without preamble.
“And a good day to you too, Sir,” Rowan said softly, irked by the fellow’s unexpected and unnecessary rudeness, “And how much would it be if I left Ashen here and walked across? I’ll be coming more or less straight back.”
“What! You can’t leave your bloody horse here unattended!”
“He won’t make a nuisance of himself, I promise you, but I’d advise you not to try and touch him. He can be feisty if he feels threatened, but if you leave him be, he’ll wait here for me perfectly happily. Now, how much?”
“Ten coppers,” the toll man, Kein Bellet, said surlily.
Rowan shook his head.
“Sorry, ‘tis too much. Two.”
“Ten, I said!” Kein glared at him.
“And I, my friend, said ‘tis bloody exorbitant. I could likely buy half the damned bridge for that. I’ll give you two, take it or leave it.” Rowan had never had any patience with bargaining; he’d pay a fair price and that was that.
“Then you won’t be crossing the bridge at all,” Kein smirked.
“No?” Rowan wriggled a kink out of his broad shoulders, stood to his full height again and looked down at the tollkeeper. This man was starting to seriously irritate him. For a moment he was tempted to reduce the fellow’s precious tollbooth to kindling with his lovely new axe. It’d only take a couple of well-placed blows there and… there… Don’t do it, Rowan lad, he told himself sternly, ‘tisn’t worth it. All the same, this bugger needed a short sharp lesson in manners. He decided to indulge himself just a little. “Are you the one who’s going to stop me?” he asked innocently, one hand absently stroking the hilt of a dagger.
Kein stared at the polite, softly-spoken, but suddenly oddly menacing stranger and gulped.
“No! Saul Goff, here, will stop you,” he said, indicating the guard standing watching them from the other side of the town gate.
Saul looked at Rowan’s powerful physique and the gleam of the axe where its cover had moved a little and shook his head.
“Not me, Kein, you miserable bloody skinflint. Ten coppers IS ridiculous. Take the gent’s two coppers and shut up about it!” he said firmly.
Rowan smiled at him.
“Thank you, Saul, and a good day to you. I’ll be back for Ashen shortly,” he said.
He patted Ashen, put two coppers on the tollkeeper’s little table, then strolled past Kein and out the gate without another word. He crossed the few feet that separated the town’s walls from the bridge and looked down. The river raged about a hundred or so feet below him in a sheer-walled rocky chasm. Rill would love this, he thought. He himself was more interested in the bridge though. It was a fine stone bridge with three graceful arches spanning the fifty or sixty yards of the chasm’s width, and wide enough for two good-sized wagons to pass easily anywhere along its length. At the other end of it was another toll station.
Rowan strolled across, looking back at the town a couple of times. Kein was sidling closer to Ashen, whether to take a closer look at the sabre in the scabbard attached to the horse’s saddle, or to have a better look at the superb dappled grey itself, Rowan wasn’t sure. Either way, Ashen wasn’t having it. Rowan laughed as the stallion put its ears back and snapped its teeth together close – but not too close, as a first warning - to the man’s ear. Kein jumped back, slipped, and landed hard on his backside on the packed earth of the street.
Serves you right, you bastard, Rowan thought happily. I did bloody warn you.
He stopped for a moment in the centre of the bridge and ran his fingers over a carved stone set a little below the capstones of the sides. It was weathered, but still clearly legible. He swore foully and steadily as he realised the truth about Gabon and his bridge and kept on with his fluent multilingual profanity until he got his rage under firm control again. It wouldn’t do to seriously hurt the next dozen or so townsfolk he came across, and he realised it wouldn’t do to tell his g’Hakken clansfolk about this just yet either. Finally he felt calmer and he went on his way.
When he got to the other end of the bridge, he chatted to the tollkeeper there for a few minutes about the caravans that were expected in a day or so, then turned and whistled softly.
Ashen pricked his ears, stepped forward and flicked his long tail at Kein’s face, startling the man so that he leapt back and ended up on his backside again. Then the grey trotted happily across the bridge and snuffled at Rowan’s hands.
“Are you going to charge us ten coppers to go back?” Rowan asked the toll man pleasantly.
“Nah,” the fellow replied with a grin, “You didn’t even step off the bloody bridge at this end. Besides, it was worth more than that to see that old bastard Kein end up on his backside in the dirt. Twice! That’s a fine horse you’ve got there,” he patted Ashen’s nose and the horse nudged him in its usual friendly way.
Rowan laughed and tickled Ashen’s ears.
“Thank you. Now, what’s the real rate for crossing this damned bridge? A copper?”
“Yah. Did Kein really charge you ten?”
“He tried to. I gave him two, as I’m going back again.”
“Ha! Good for you!”
“Now, I’m just the advance guard for my clan. They’ll be coming across tomorrow and there’s a hundred and fifty or so of us… and some wagons.”
“Some wagons as well? Give the old bugger no more than two silver,” the tollkeeper said promptly.
“Thanks. We’ll see you tomorrow, then. I’m Rowan d’Rhys del’Quist.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” the other man said, shaking his hand, “I’m Gavin Treyne.”
Rowan slipped the man a couple of coins, remounted Ashen and trotted back across the bridge, forcing down his renewed anger as he passed the plaque in the middle of it. He nodded to Saul, who was very amused by Ashen’s antics and a very put-out Kein, who wasn’t, and slowed the grey to a walk as they entered the town again.
**********
35. “a bit of a problem”
Rowan was almost back to the northern gate and leading Ashen again, when an important-looking individual hurried up to him.
“My name’s Lester Figgins, Mayor of Gabonsbridge,” he said, slightly out of breath from his hurry to meet the intriguing visitor that the whole town was talking about, “It’s not often we see a Siannen forester here, but you’re very welcome. Will you be staying long?”
“A good day to you, Mayor Figgins,” Rowan said as he shook the other man’s outstretched hand and tried not to show his reluctance, “Rowan d’Rhys del’Quist of the Forest Giant clan at your service. But no, I’m sorry to say the clan won’t be staying in your fine town. We’re on our way to Gian on business, and some of us don’t want to be away from home too long.”
“The clan? How many of you are there?”
“A hundred and fifty or so. We wanted to cross the bridge tomorrow and the headman sent me ahead to check it out,” Rowan managed to smile at him. After all, if he’d been able to smile at the old Commandant of the Wirran Guard who’d betrayed his own wounded troopers at Messton, he could smile at anyone. “It certainly seems a fine bridge to me. We’d be proud to cross it, if there are no objections.”
The mayor looked up at him in surprise.
“Objections? Why the hell would you think there’d be objections? We’d be proud to have your clan use our bridge,” he said, “Sometime tomorrow, you said?”
“Aye, early morning, I think, before these damned caravans I’ve been hearing about stir themselves. When do the town gates open?”
“I wouldn’t be fretting about the caravans. They’re rarely here before midday at least. And the gates open an hour after sunrise.”
“Ah, good. Thank you. We’ll be here then.”
Rowan and the mayor smiled at each other and walked companionably towards the town gates.
Rowan could hear raised voices as they got closer, and he laughed to hi
mself as he heard several most unflattering remarks in Dwar. Obviously the Candellaran guard hadn’t understood them, or he’d certainly be even more upset than he already was.
**********
“You damned dwarves can’t come into Gabonsbridge, and you sure as hell can’t cross the river here! Just bloody clear off!”
“But what about our kinsman?” Dann asked, sounding like he was fast losing patience with the guard, “He came here ages ago and he’s not come back. I suppose you bastards have bloody murdered the poor bugger!”
For his part, the guard had already lost any tolerance he might have had. Rowan thought this little conversation might have been going on for a while, judging by the number of townsfolk already gathered.
“I keep telling you, but you’re too fraggin stupid to take any notice, that there are NO cursed dwarves in Gabonsbridge! None!” the guard shouted, “I’ve been here at this gate all bloody day, and you two are the only dwarves I’ve seen! And that’s two too many!”
Dann glared at him as he held Owen back. The younger dwarf could be as feisty as Rowan himself, but with far less control of his temper.
“We’re only waiting for our kinsman, you ignorant bastard.”
“And he’s not bloody here! How many more times do I have to…?”
“And why exactly must you blame us g’Hakken for the actions of the g’Tyrren nearly, what, seventy bloody years ago? When all’s said and done, they were only protecting one of their own little lasses from a mob of you great, raping bastards anyway!”
Rowan started to make his way forward through the throng of townsfolk, the Mayor still walking at his side.
“Does this happen often?” Rowan asked him quietly.
Lester Figgins shook his head uneasily.
“Hasn’t happened for ages. I thought they’d all got the message by now,” he replied, “Still, they’ll go in a minute, and it certainly won’t affect your clan’s coming through. I’m, er… I’m sorry you had to see that, though.”
“So am I,” Rowan said, his face sad.
The guard was still shouting, his face red with anger.
“Look, I’m bloody warning you! Just bugger off!” he snapped, “Your cursed kinsman isn’t here! How many times must I say it?”
The guard heard the slow clop of Ashen’s hooves behind him and turned to see Rowan and the mayor coming towards him.
“Now, look, you damned stupid little bastards! This gentleman here, with our Mayor, is the only traveller to come into the town since noon, and I think you’ll agree that he’s no bloody dwarf! Now for the Gods’ sakes and your own, just GO AWAY!” he shouted at Dann and Owen.
He took a deep breath and launched his final tirade.
“Just bloody GO! We don’t want your cursed kind around here! What part of that don’t you understand, you useless bastards? Get fraggin going!”
The fight seemed to go out of Dann and Owen and they turned to their ponies and started to leave. Rowan knew they’d still be able to hear him, though.
The guard turned to Rowan and sighed.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Sir. The little buggers still try us out every few years,” he said, “Now, what did you think of our bridge? Good enough for your clan, is it?”
“Aye, I think so. And Mayor Figgins here was kind enough to say that the clan would be welcome here, and welcome to cross the bridge as well.”
“Did he?” the guard said, unsurprised that this quietly spoken, polite fellow’s clan would be welcomed to the town. “Perhaps he’ll arrange a reception for your clan, then,” he added jovially, his argument with the dwarves forgotten as he saw the two in question were slowly leaving.
“Mmm… there might be a bit of a problem with that though,” Rowan said quietly.
The guard looked at his unhappy face in surprise.
“A problem, you say? But why? If our Mayor says your clan’s welcome here, then that’s all there is to it. We’d be proud to see them in the town,” he said.
Rowan’s face cleared.
“Truly? Then let me introduce you to a couple of my clansmen, who are my good friends as well… here are Dandarel, son of Findarel, both Master Smiths of the g’Hakken, and his son, Owendarel…”
**********
The mayor and the guard gaped at Rowan in horror.
“What! How the hell can you be a damned dwarf?” Lester Figgins spluttered, outrage written all over him, “And if you think that’s funny, you’re very much mistaken!”
“No, my Lord Mayor, nothing that’s happened here today is funny at all, and I’m afraid you’ll find that you’re the one who’s mistaken right now. I am in fact of the g’Hakken, and I’m honoured to be so.”
Rowan slipped his arm from his shirt, moved his axe across a little and turned so the townsfolk could see the dwarven rune tattooed on his right shoulderblade. They gaped at the complicated arrangement of weapons tattooed down his arm like another sleeve, their eyes wide at sight of the awful scar at the shoulder and upper arm as he turned… and then they saw the unmistakeable dwarven clan mark. Naturally, they didn’t know which clan it actually represented, but that didn’t matter.
“So, now,” he continued quietly as he looked the mayor in the eye, “It comes down to this, Sir: are you going to abuse me and chase me off for no reason too, or are you going to be a man of your word and allow my clan to cross the river here in peace, as you agreed?”
“You didn’t say your clan are bloody dwarves!” the mayor said, still shocked by the revelation.
“No, I didn’t. Didn’t think it was necessary,” Rowan replied, and his eyes were fiery, “And you didn’t ask. You simply made an assumption that’s turned out to be wrong.”
The mayor stood undecided for a long while, as some of the Town Council joined him and the group of townsfolk behind him grew to a good-sized crowd, their mutterings becoming a deep throated grumbling. Finally he turned to Rowan.
“You can come through the town and cross the bridge, but not the dwarves,” he said.
Rowan raised an eyebrow at him.
“Not my clansmen?”
“No. Only you. After the last time, we vowed we’d never let dwarves into the town or over the bridge again.”
“After a young dwarf lass was attacked and raped by some of your townsfolk nearly seventy years ago, you mean?” Rowan said softly, his temper held in firm check, “Some vows are made to be broken, and ‘tis sure as hell time this one was.”
The mayor looked stunned at such bluntness, but he held firm in front of the Council and the good folk of Gabonsbridge.
“No.”
Rowan shook his head slightly, his face bleak.
“You shame yourself and all of your people,” he said, “We’ll just have to go around, then. A good day to you all.”
He started to turn away.
Owen couldn’t help himself.
“Proud of yourselves, are you, you bastards?” he snarled, “You’ve just managed to offend the Champion, and I’ve always thought that was damned near impossible to do. Oh, your pardon, the triple Champion, as I meant to say.”
There was sudden, complete silence as the crowd gaped at him, and then at Rowan.
“Rowan, didn’t you bloody tell them that either?” Dann asked, delighted to see the horror and dismay on the faces of those standing before him.
“I didn’t think ‘twas necessary,” Rowan shrugged, “It doesn’t change who I am, or what I am.”
“But the Champion carries a sabre, not an axe!” somebody piped up from the safety of the middle of the very disconcerted mob.
Rowan nodded.
“Aye, so he does… a bit like this one, perhaps?” he said as he drew his sabre from the scabbard at Ashen’s saddle with a ringing hiss.
Dann and Owen hadn’t thought the men’s eyes could get any wider, but they were wrong. They stared at the superb, gleaming g’Hakken sabre in Rowan’s hand and stepped backwards as one.
The mayor nearly fell over h
imself trying to apologise, but Rowan merely shook his head and said, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Figgins, but ‘tis simply too late now.”
He swung up into Ashen’s saddle and trotted off without looking back, the dwarves on their ponies at his side.
“Well, that went about as expected, lads. I’m truly sorry,” he said, “But on the bright side, it looks like we’re going into the bridge keeping business for a bit. ‘Tis said to be a nice little earner.”
**********
36. “shameful and dishonourable”
It was a beautiful star-filled night, and the moons Auria and Argent were waning when the g’Hakken went around Gabonsbridge. The youngest dwarves were riding with one or other of their parents for now, rather than on their own mounts or in a wagon, and the hooves of every pony were muffled. The youngsters were all subdued, having had a very stern lecture about the importance of their not speaking when told they mustn’t, and the horrible consequences of disobedience.
They waited in the trees a little to the north-east of the town, with the wagons that they’d leave here for now and come back for later, if all went well with their plans. They watched while Rowan approached Gabonsbridge on foot. Even the dwarves were surprised and impressed by his silent speed as he scaled the wall and disappeared. In fact, Rowan had found it to be a bit easier than he’d expected and he hadn’t really needed the rope he’d bought earlier. Still, a bit of rope never went astray. He came back to the dwarves, laughing quietly.
“They’re all snoring their heads off in there, nice and snug behind their fine stone walls. There’s not even a bloody watchman. So, shall we go?” he said to Finn.
“Aye, laddie, let’s do that. Lead on,” the dwarf grinned at him and turned back to his clan, “And remember, you youngsters, anyone who so much as squeaks from now until we’re well over the bridge is going to be doing all the clan’s washing up and laundry for the next six months. The next noisy bugger after that will be digging privies for a year. So, shut up now and stay shut up!”
