by Helen Gosney
“I’m so glad you’re pleased with them, Rowan…” she began.
“Pleased? I’m more than pleased, Sharra. Thank you for all your work. They’re truly wonderful, and I know that Rose, Honi and Gran will love them,” he said.
“Oh, and don’t forget this, will you?” she handed him a little wooden box that was beautifully carved with leaves and flowers: the same sort of little box that the other things had sat in.
“As if I could.”
Anna looked at him curiously.
“And what’s in that one, Rowan lad? And who is it for? Do you have a lady hidden away somewhere that you’ve not told us about?”
He laughed.
“No, Anna, my love. This one’s for you. I hope you like it.”
“For… for me? But… why?”
“Why not? There doesn’t have to be a reason, does there? Open it, love.”
Eyes shining, she lifted the lid on the little box. Inside gleamed a dainty silver chain similar to Rose’s, and on it were two little cats sitting side by side: a gold and silver striped one and a smaller black enamelled one.
“Oh! Oh, Rowan, it’s lovely. They look just like your Ollie and little Scrap!” she said, delighted with her gift. “Could you do it up for me?”
“Of course,” Rowan said and as he bent to do it she turned and kissed him.
“Thank you, Rowan. It’s truly lovely,” she said, and brushed away a tear.
He was about to ask what he’d done to upset her, when Sharra put a hand on his arm and shook her head at him.
“Hush,” she said very softly.
He nodded, mentally kicking himself for being so slow.
“What a bloody boor you must think me,” he said.
“No, never that, Rowan,” Sharra said.
**********
They made their farewells and headed off. Rowan had just one more thing to collect: another mysterious, but plain, little box awaited him at another stall that seemed to be stocked with all sorts of obscure, oddly masculine-looking things.
“And what’s in this one?” Anna asked, looking down at the box and fingering her new pendant happily, “Or should I not ask?”
“Ha! Of course you can ask. This one’s for Griff. Open it, but be careful not to put your fingers inside it and get stabbed,” Rowan said with a grin.
She opened it warily and stared at the odd array of bright feathers inside. There was a silvery gleam as well. How very peculiar, she thought.
“But what is it, Rowan?”
“Not ‘it’, Anna, ‘them’, or possibly ‘they’. See?” he laughed, and carefully picked up one of the mystifying feathery things. A beautifully made and brightly coloured insect sat on his palm, a steel hook all but hidden underneath its little body and wings. “Do you think Griff will like them?”
“But what is it? Oh, I see now… fishing lures! They’re wonderful, Rowan! I’m sure Griff’ll be pleased,” she said, “In fact, I think I might buy some for Finn. Here, help me pick some out…”
Finally, they headed back to their wagons, delighted with their purchases. Tomorrow, they’d be on the road back to g’Beyans’ Bridge, Wirran and home. From there, Rowan would travel on to Den Siddon to help break in Fess’ new recruits; and after that, he’d take the Horsemasters and their horses, and show them the wonders of the Dogleg Pass, Sian and advanced battle training.
For a moment Rowan thought it was just as well he’d not be competing in any more tournaments. He’d simply not have the time to put into it now. Somehow, he was busier in ‘retirement’ than he’d ever been.
**********
Apropos of nothing, Anna said quietly, “You know she likes you, don’t you?”
“What?” Rowan’s mind had been busy elsewhere, “Who likes me?”
“Sharra.”
He smiled at her.
“And I like her, Anna. She’s a lovely woman. Does beautiful work… Gran and Rose and Honi will be thrilled.”
“I didn’t mean it quite like that…”
“Like what? Oh…”
Anna smiled at his sudden confusion. Men could be so dense sometimes, she thought happily.
**********
59. “a new and better life”
At about the same time that the g’Hakken were leaving the Dwarf Moot, in far-off Ti’Ahranu a big black man collected his pay from a caravan master and took his leave. He watched as the caravan headed off down the road to the capital, then remounted his horse, rode back a little way, and turned off the main road onto a narrow rutted track. He slowed his horse’s trot to a sedate walk as he looked around curiously. Gods, he’d forgotten how hard a life it truly was here, he thought as he passed a couple of tumbledown little shacks in the middle of a poor-looking crop of beets and cabbages. His own house had been no better than those.
He shook his head and looked a bit further… he could still remember when his father had planted those trees over there, in an attempt to shelter the house and little plot of land from the ever-present, drying winds that turned the already poor soil to dust. He’d been about twelve or so, he thought, and Tibor would have been about five. What sort of damned trees were they, though? He couldn’t recall for the life of him, but he thought that Rowan would know. Well, whatever the hell they were, they were fine trees now, reaching for the sky, and bravely doing their bit to stop the soil from blowing away. His sons Sascha and Mikkel would be fine tall lads by now too…
He’d been away for a long time, and he wondered if his children would even remember him. Certainly little Dara wouldn’t… he’d be damned lucky if she didn’t take one look at him, scream, and run away.
But… well, he’d done it for his family, so that they might have enough money to live a little more comfortably. Xoanna had understood that. Tibor might have gone with him, but… it was better to have a strong man around the place. Life in Ti’Ahranu was very hard for those who had little, like Fallon and his family… like everyone in this part of the province.
But now, thanks to the kindness of strangers… no, not strangers, Fallon thought with a smile, friends. They’d accepted him and made him welcome in a way that he’d never really known… thanks to the kindness of his new friends, life was going to change, and change for the better if Xoanna agreed. Tibor’s decision was his to make, but Fallon thought his brother would be happy to go to Sian.
He still had most of the money he’d been given – he’d lived off the land as much as possible on the journey home, and he’d been lucky to find a couple of caravans that’d been looking for guards and were going the right way. They could use that money to improve their lot here, or, as Fallon hoped, to travel to a new and better life among the Forest Giants. The mere idea of it was intoxicating.
He finally came to the rusty gate that he’d swung on as a lad. It was still rusty, and two lean tallish lads were swinging idly on it just as he and Tibor used to, all those years ago. He dismounted slowly and stood there as they turned towards him and looked at him warily. Gods, he thought, they don’t know me. He blinked back tears and wondered if he should simply get back on his horse and go.
“Poppa…? Is that really you, Poppa?” a husky young voice said.
He looked down to see the bigger of the two lads standing straight and tall beside him, looking up at him with wonder in his dark, dark eyes. For a moment Fallon saw himself as he’d been at that age.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
He found himself engulfed by two pairs of arms that didn’t reach around him, their owners scrambling to be the first to kiss him.
“Poppa, Poppa! We knew you hadn’t forgotten us!”
“We knew you’d be back for us!”
“So you got my letters?”
“Yes! Yes! Oh, Poppa, are we really going to move to… to… Sy-ann?”
“It’s spelt like that, Mikkel, but they pronounce it ‘Shee-ahn’. Sian. Well, I hope we are. Depends on what your Mamma thinks about it.”
“Then perhaps you should be asking her�
�” a soft, smoky voice said from behind him.
He spun to see a tall, beautiful woman standing there, her glossy black hair in a myriad of long narrow plaits. She was holding the hand of a leggy little girl with wide dark eyes and a similar hairstyle.
“Xoanna…” his eyes drank in the sight of her. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered.
“And this is Dara, my love. She’s grown a bit since you last saw her,” Xoanna said softly. She bent down to the girl. “This is your Poppa, Dara sweetheart. Remember how I’ve told you about him?”
“You told me he’s the biggest, strongest and best Poppa in the world,” Dara said, “You said he’s even bigger than Uncle Tibor…”
“And he is!” Sascha piped up.
Fallon knelt down to Dara’s level.
“I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long, Dara, and I’m sorry that I’ve missed seeing you grow up into such a lovely pretty girl. Can you forgive me?”
For a dreadful moment, Fallon thought she was going to reject him, but then she stepped towards him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, nearly knocking him onto his backside in the process.
“All my friends said you’d never come back to us, Poppa. They were mean and horrible sometimes and they said I didn’t even have a Poppa. But I knew you’d come home to us! I knew you would!”
“And how did you know that, sweetheart?”
“Mamma always told us that you would,” she said simply.
**********
A couple of weeks later, a slightly battered, but still sturdy wagon laden with the family’s few possessions came through the rusty old gate and headed north to Sian. Though Fallon’s family had farmed there for several generations, they didn’t own the land and never would. Their wealthy, city-dwelling landlord would find someone else to take their place and frankly, Fallon didn’t care if the miserable old skinflint did or not. He’d had to spend a bit of money on the horse and wagon, but even so there was still some left, certainly enough to get them to where they were going. He mentally thanked the g’Hakken and Rowan again. His faithful chestnut plodded happily along beside the wagon, carrying Tibor and a couple of stray bundles, and a pied cow was tied to the other side of the wagon. Both boys were perched on her bony back, talking excitedly about their wonderful new adventure. It was a hell of a long way to Sian, but there was a future for them there, a good future. Fallon shut the rusty gate, climbed back onto the cart’s seat, kissed his wife, daughter, Grammy and Fael who were all perched there and set off without a backward glance.
**********
Afterword
Thank you for reading this story, and I hope that you’ve enjoyed it.
I don’t believe the series will become one of those that go on and on and on and… on. Too confusing, too hard, and too boring. All the same, I suppose I should ‘never say never’, as the saying goes.
The Red Rowan series is:
Red Rowan: Book I: Forester’s Son
Red Rowan: Book 2: All Gone, the Gods
Red Rowan: Book 3: Return of the Reluctant Hero
Red Rowan: Book 4: The Dwarf Moot
Red Rowan: The Bewitcher of Beasts & other short stories
Contact me at [email protected]
I found myself writing another book at the same time as this one, which as Rowan would tell you, is only done by daft buggers. It’s not finished yet, as common sense finally prevailed and it was put aside until this was done. With luck, it might be ready for publication sometime in mid-2016 or a little after.
It’s tentatively titled “Liam Tighe, Archer”, but that could well change in the future. Oh, and it’s not set in Yaarl.
A short preview follows.
**********
Excerpt from “Liam Tighe, Archer”
[title not definite yet]
Liam Tighe was a big man: just over six and a half feet tall and powerfully built. And right now he was in big trouble. He and his troops – well, not ‘troops’ exactly, more like a poorly equipped and out of practice rabble, if one was honest. Still, they were good men and doing the best they could against the cursed Indari who’d decided their empire needed to be expanded into this quiet little backwater of Auria. While they’d been at it the invaders had brought their slavers’ ways with them and of course that hadn’t sat well with the Aurians either. Anyway, Liam and his men were vastly outnumbered, but that wasn’t the main problem. Liam wasn’t too damned proud to run like hell when that was the best or only thing to do – no, he didn’t believe in heroic last stands where all that was left was a hell of a lot of grieving widows and families. There’d been enough of that when the bloody Indari had wiped out the standing army of Auria to a man, leaving only a few rebels like himself.
The problem now was that he and the men were surrounded and there was simply nowhere for them to run to, except this damned blind canyon they’d been slowly, inexorably herded into. Of course it was a trap, and he roundly cursed the Commander who’d led them into it. Blind Freddy could have seen it coming, but not that pigheaded bastard the Honourable Harlan Baldron. Harlan the bloody Halfwit, Liam thought savagely. Well, at least Harlan wasn’t a problem anymore, not since he’d made the elementary error of stopping an axe with his head in the last little encounter.
But that’d left Liam as the ranking… er… officer in this ragtag little band, since everyone else who’d considered themselves to be better leaders than a mere farmer had had the bad judgement or sheer bloody bad luck to get themselves killed too. Just as dead either way.
Liam looked around quickly. He only had, what, a dozen or so men left? He cursed the Honourable Harlan to even worse eternal damnation because they’d started out with nearly a hundred. Of course there’d been a few skirmishes and things since then. In fact they’d managed to make such a nuisance of themselves that the Indari Governor had sent out five hundred men to stop them. There were quite a few less than five hundred of them now, though.
He sighed and continued his scrutiny. Just ahead of them and to the right side reared tall cliffs. They were near as dammit sheer, but even so Liam thought they could probably be climbed all right, given a bit of time, but time was a luxury they simply didn’t have. The Indari who pursued them weren’t in any particular hurry now, but they certainly wouldn’t take kindly to any Aurians scaling the cliffs and getting away from them. And Indari archers were very damned good, almost as good as Liam’s men. Unfortunately, they still seemed to have plenty of arrows left, and Liam’s men didn’t. They did still have a few, but not nearly enough. For a moment he wondered why the Indari hadn’t positioned archers at the top of the cliffs, as he certainly would have had the roles been reversed. There was damn-all cover down here, the Gods knew. He decided they must be led by the Indari equivalent of the Hon. Harlan and turned his attention to the other side.
A magnificent waterfall cascaded for several hundred feet from the top of the gorge into a deep pool, and from that a fierce, narrowish river raged off into the distance in a twisted and deeply cut chasm. Well, it would have been magnificent under any other circumstances, Liam thought sourly. Right now it was all he bloody needed, with its beautiful tumbling waters, its misty spray and its cursed rainbows.
***
“No way across there, Liam!” Tam, his 2i/c and brother-in-law, shouted from where he leant perilously close to the roaring waters.
“No miraculous ledges or mysterious bloody caves?”
“Nope. Afraid not, lad. Just more sheer bloody rock like everywhere else, only wetter. Some nice little patches of ferns and mosses and things though,” he came back to Liam’s side, shaking himself like a wet dog as he came. “There’s a sort of narrow ledge running along this side of the river, about three feet or so above the water, but I can’t see how far it goes and it’s a good way down to it too.”
Liam cursed fluently, as skilled in the art as one would expect of an old soldier. Well, not that old: he wasn’t quite thirty. He’d served out his five years’ c
ompulsory military service, as all Aurians did from the age of seventeen, and then returned to his peaceful farm, wed his lovely wife Jenna, and been perfectly happy until the Indari had shown up three years ago to carry out their perfectly planned and perfectly executed coup.
***
The little duchy of Auria, with its single large city and mainly rural population, was considered a cultural backwater by most other nations. Mind you, it was a wealthy enough little place, with its gold and silver mines, but it was so far from the main hub of things that nobody really gave it much thought except to admire and strive to purchase the exquisite and very expensive work of the highly skilled Aurian metalworkers when it became available in the more civilised parts of the world.
Emperor Alfet Gustav of Indar had had his own plans for the place though. He knew that Duke Riken had only a relatively small standing army, knew too that he liked to host big events at his hunting lodge and invite the best of Aurian society to them; and so he’d laid his plans. He’d quietly taken over the couple of small provinces between Indar and Auria and then waited patiently until the time was just right.
Duke Riken and his hunting party had returned from a most enjoyable and very successful hunt to find that all of his family, guests, guards and staff had been slaughtered and neatly laid out on the front lawns. As he’d stared in horror at the bodies of his three young sons, and his wife with their baby daughter still in her arms, the Indari had fallen upon the hunting party and their few guards and killed them all.
The invaders had moved quickly to the capital, Argent, named for its famous artisans. More than a third of the population and all of the remaining standing army – including, of course, the young men on compulsory service – had died in a valiant, but ultimately doomed effort to save the city. The remaining small towns and villages had fared no better.
And so Auria had found itself conquered, its ruling family and virtually all of its nobility killed, and its army utterly defeated. Emperor Alfet sent his third son, Prince Alberto Gustav, to be Governor. He was a widower with a teenaged daughter, but he was just as ruthless as his father, and any resistance by the populace was brutally punished – either by a swift but generally painful death, or by the slower death of slavery.
