by Helen Gosney
He looked on as Rowan first made friends with the little bay mare, and then checked her saddle and bridle. Rowan shook his head slightly and adjusted the bit in the mare’s mouth to a more comfortable position, smoothed the saddlecloth and gave her a not very gentle knee in the ribs as he tightened her girth a little more. Cris was a bit taken aback, but Bess didn’t take offence at all at such an indignity. She merely turned her head and watched Rowan with prick-eared interest as he ran his hands down her legs and picked up her hooves, then extended her forelegs to get the right fit of the saddle and girths.
Finally happy with the mare’s gear, Rowan swung onto her back, walking and trotting and cantering her in circles and figures-of-eight. Cris was surprised at Bess’s smooth elegant paces and how well she moved for her new rider, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d never be able to do the same with her.
He said as much to Rowan, who shrugged and said, “ I’ve been riding horses and nearly anything else I could since almost before I could walk. My friend Glyn and I used to race his Gran’s goats when we were little; bony old things they were, very hard on the backside, not that we cared! And the poor cows weren’t much more comfortable. It’s a wonder they ever gave us any milk, poor creatures.” He grinned at the memory and continued.
“We used to ride the big draught horses and oxen too, of course, we had to climb onto the fence or a stack of logs to get onto them and our little legs were so short they practically stuck out sideways. Gods, it was a long way to the ground! It’s a wonder we didn’t break our silly necks. And Pa nearly had kittens when he saw me riding a neighbour’s prize bull one day. The bull was no trouble, but Pa was, well… shall we say, not pleased. I would have been nine or ten, I suppose, certainly old enough to know better, he thought. I probably deserved the belting he gave me; but truly, I’d been riding Old Grumpy for quite a while and the bull and I were both quite happy about it until Pa caught me that day. I made sure I was a lot more careful about where I rode him after that, but I’m ashamed to say that it didn’t stop me…” He laughed and looked down at Cris. “So you see, I’ve been riding one sort of creature or another forever, and truly, I should be reasonably competent at it.”
Cris nodded. “Well, I suppose so, Rowan… but, um, I’ve ridden a bit, but not a lot, and… well, Tadeus thought Bess would suit me, but I’m not so sure now… if you saw me doing something horribly wrong, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? I want to come with you, but I don’t want to hold you back…” his voice trailed away uncertainly.
“Don’t worry, Cris, you won’t be holding us back, ‘tisn’t as if we have to be there by any particular day, assuming we can even find the damned place; but aye, if you’d like me to, of course I’ll help you. Believe me, you’re a lot better rider than some of the Guard troopers who you’d think had never even seen a horse in their lives … but they could all stay on through thick and thin without hanging onto their poor horses’ mouths by the time I’d finished with them.” Rowan flashed his engaging grin again. “I have to tell you though, I’m not one for the flowery phrases or pussy-footing around the point, so if you don’t mind that, I’ll be glad to do what I can. I promise I won’t shout at you, but I think we can improve things for you and Bess pretty easily. She’s being a bit cheeky with you just now, but I don’t think that’s the main problem. She’s a fine mare; Tadeus chose well …you and she just need to adjust to each other. ’Tis a bit like being wed in some ways…Anyway, she’ll be happier with her bit sitting more comfortably in her mouth, and her saddle not sliding about or the girth pinching her, I’m sure.”
Over the next few days, Cris and Rowan rode together every day on a grassy place just outside Gnash where the horse markets were held; Cris riding Bess and Rowan changing from one to another of his three horses. Rowan turned out to be a very good, perhaps surprisingly patient teacher. He corrected Cris’s seat in the saddle and the length of his stirrups, and the shortness of the rein he rode with.
“She’ll go more kindly if you can just try and keep your hands light. Give her a bit more rein and not hang on so tightly… not completely loose of course, still keep contact with her mouth, but not so tight that she fidgets and tosses her head around… like that! Oh, and use your legs a bit more too, that’s what they’re there for, in the same way that horses have manes for you to hang onto if need be, rather than hurting their mouths. ‘Tis just as well you’re not riding either of these two,” Rowan indicated the stallions calmly cropping the grass, “Or you’d be picking yourself up off the ground and walking back home, and I promise you they’d be back there first, very pleased with themselves and innocently waiting to be fed.”
After Rowan had quietly pointed out areas where improvements could be made, Cris felt he was really beginning to ride a lot better and more confidently for the first time in his life. Bess was more responsive and more patient too; in fact she was a pleasure to ride as Tadeus and Rowan had said she would be. And the friendship between Cris and Rowan seemed to be off to a good start as well. Rowan didn’t want to talk about Messton or Duke Rollo again just yet, but he thought Bimm had been right; it had been time to finally speak about his ordeal, no matter how upset he’d been at the time. He was happy to talk about just about anything else though, and his stories of life in the forest, and the timber cutters and charcoal burners and creatures that lived there, and tales of riding bulls and boars were fascinating to the city-born and -bred Cris. He’d never imagined such things.
Cris also found he was learning a surprising amount about horses and riding just from watching Rowan with each of his three horses. He’d never seen anyone look so at home on the back of a horse as Rowan did. And he’d never seen such well-trained horses either; all three were responsive to the slightest touch or signal, and they’d follow Rowan around like huge dogs at heel, rather than needing to be led. The dark dappled-grey stallion was perhaps Rowan’s favourite, but it was obvious that he had a real affection for the black stallion and the piebald gelding that would do duty as a packhorse when they left Gnash, though it was a perfectly good saddle-horse. Both stallions were well mannered and seemed easy to handle, though Rowan warned Cris they could be fiery, like all stallions, and not to try to ride them for any reason if he wasn’t around.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, I know you’re not going to…” Rowan said, “But both of them are trained not to allow themselves to be stolen …they’d certainly buck you off if you ever managed to get onto their backs, they’re both very good at that. Especially Mica. And they might decide to give you a good kicking as well, ‘tis part of their battle training.”
Rowan thought for a moment. Yes, he really must tell Cris what that could mean. It wasn’t right not to.
“Cris… let me tell you another story. It’s about, well, what can happen with battle trained horses in the right circumstances, I suppose. This happened when I was… I don’t know really, a few days I think, from Borl Quist that last time…”
**********
17. “you shouldn’t touch them… they’re trained to protect…”
They’d been following him for two or three days, he was fairly sure, and they mustn’t have a bow or he’d have been dead by now. He’d lost track of time, but though he was injured and his fever was rapidly getting worse, he wasn’t deaf. There were two of them, he thought, and for all the noise they were making they might as well have been a herd of cattle galloping through the trees. If he’d been well they’d never have been able to keep up with him, but he was far from well. And he knew they wouldn’t get tired of it all and just go away: Mica and Soot were far too valuable a prize to pass up, especially as they only seemed to be protected by a man who was so ill he could barely stand.
They came the next morning. Mica was laying on the ground with Rowan sitting against his flank, half awake after another night of fitful sleep interrupted by burning fever, pain and nightmares. He knew they were there though. Soot had nickered quietly to him and Mica had suddenly te
nsed at his back. Rowan knew there was little he’d be able to do; he doubted he could even throw a knife effectively now. But he wouldn’t have to.
“Well, well… what have we here, Van? A pair of fine if very muddy stallions, and… hmm…and a not so fine-looking young fellow, a Siannen if I’m not mistaken,” the man wasn’t tall, but he was solidly built: a swarthy man with black oily hair and he spoke in Thallassian.
“Yes, yes, very fine horses indeed, Dorran, but very much in need of a good grooming, as you say. I do believe we could take much better care of them than this, er, gent. A forester, I think. We will have to be careful of the clans, but we’ll be long gone before they find this one, if they ever do, out here.” Van was another Thallassian, by the look and sound of him, a little taller than the first one, but just as swarthy and greasy-looking. He was fingering the hilt of a short sword.
Rowan’s heart sank. This pair was unlikely to listen to anything he tried to tell them. He did try though. It was only fair to warn them.
“Please don’t touch the horses, just leave them and me be …” he’d said.
The Thallassians were surprised at Rowan’s fluent Thallassian, but even if he’d been a kinsman it probably wouldn’t have changed their plans; in their minds, the stallions were already theirs.
“So, you can speak our tongue?”
Rowan nodded, but didn’t have enough breath for a long conversation. It wouldn’t change anything, anyway.
“Please, don’t touch them, just leave now and keep going on your way…” he managed.
The Thallassians found this very comical. When they’d finished laughing, they stepped forward to grab the horses’ halters.
“Really, you shouldn’t touch the horses, they’re battle trained, they’re trained to protect…” Rowan had tried again, but he broke off with a sharp gasp of pain as Mica stood up behind him, jarring Rowan’s injured ribs as he went.
The Thallassians had smiled even more broadly. They could see the superb quality of the horses standing before them, in spite of their muddy coats and tangled manes and tails. And battle trained, too. Even better. They’d bring a good price anywhere. A pity about those cuts on the grey’s shoulder, but no, it wouldn’t really matter. The animal was sound and moving freely, though the sick man generally rode the black stallion – probably trying to do his best by the other one, they thought. And even the fussiest, most puffed-up fool of a Guardsman wouldn’t reject the splendid grey just because of a few scars like that. Dorran had reached for the black stallion’s halter and his friend Van had gone for the grey. He liked dappled greys, did Van. Both stallions had stiffened, snorting at them and half-rearing, but these men were used to handling horses, and they weren’t worried by a pair of posturing stallions. And obviously the owner wasn’t going to be a problem; he’d barely managed to get to his knees and clearly wasn’t going to get any further.
Dorran had leapt onto the back of the black stallion as Van lunged at Rowan with the short sword. Rowan parried the sword with a dagger as best he could from his awkward position but it gouged deeply into his thigh. He swore and called something to his horses as Van came back for another try. The stallions were ahead of him though.
Soot screamed angrily as he reared, then bucked violently with a vicious twist that sent Dorran flying through the air to land with a heavy thud. The stallion turned very quickly and kicked him hard in the body. Dorran barely had time to scream before Soot kicked him again in the head.
Mica had charged at the other Thallassian, knocking him down with a shoulder. Van tried to get up, but a muffled shriek from his friend, followed by a horrible dull thud distracted him and Mica was on him. The stallion seized the man by his sword arm, high up near the shoulder, and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. He dropped the screaming Thallassian and kicked him solidly, much the same way as Soot had done to his friend.
Rowan was still kneeling where he’d been, trying to stem the flow of blood from the gash in his thigh. The cut was deep, very deep, and bleeding freely, but at least the blood wasn’t pulsing out. With some helpful profanity he managed to cut a long strip from his already tattered shirt and he bound the wound as best he could. Mica and Soot came to him, snuffling at him worriedly until he’d managed to stand by using one of Mica’s legs as a support. He grabbed the bottles of water and willowbark tea as Soot knelt so he could get on his back more easily. He didn’t worry about the bridles hanging on a low branch; he didn’t need those to help him. And he didn’t bother to look at the two Thallassians he’d tried to warn; he knew there was nothing he could do for them.
He’d seen so much violent death lately that a little more didn’t shock him as it would have a short time ago, but he felt saddened by it as the horses loped away in the direction of Borl Quist.
**********
“They wouldn’t have done that unless they’d known I was in danger,” Rowan said quickly, looking at the stunned look on Cris’s face. “Cris, I’m not doing a good job of this. Truly, Mica and Soot are no more danger to you than… than Tim Mouser, except in very specific circumstances. If anyone tries to steal them, which I truly know you wouldn’t, they’d certainly throw them off their backs very smartly … and if anyone tried to harm me or Rose… and please believe me, I know you’re not going to do that either, then that person would be making a very, very bad mistake.” He paused. “Do you seriously think I’d let Rose or Gran, or, or Zara and my baby if they’d lived, or the stable boys, or anyone else for that matter, anywhere near them if they were… insane killers?”
Cris thought about it. Rowan’s tale had shocked him, shocked him deeply. He remembered Rowan’s circumstances at the time and thought some more.
“Cris, I truly hope you will still come with us when we go, but if you’re worried about the stallions and you’d rather not, that’s your decision to make… you just think about it and let me know when you’re ready.” He started to turn away.
“Rowan, wait…”
Rowan turned back, wondering what Cris was thinking. The poor man had learned a lot of things that he’d never imagined in the past few days. It must have been quite a shock to his quiet, ordered life in Gnash. He did look less apprehensive though, Rowan thought; but now he looked angry.
“These Thallassians…they… they were really going to kill you, weren’t they? Even as ill as you were?” he sounded angry too.
Rowan nodded. He had the scar on his thigh to show for it. At first he’d wondered if the Thallassians had been another nightmare too, or a fever dream; but no, the scar was there and the healer had assured him the wound was only a couple of days old when he’d finally got to Borl Quist. And Fess and his troopers had found the bodies of the would-be thieves in the clearing where they’d found Rowan’s bridles.
“Then they deserved all they got,” Cris said firmly, “You’re entitled to defend yourself however you can…” he hesitated, then continued with a rush, “I do still want to come with you, I truly do… If you’ll still have me…”
“Are you sure, Cris? You don’t have to decide right this second.”
“Yes. I’m sure. Thinking about it more won’t change my mind.”
Rowan grinned at him.
“I’m glad, Cris, truly glad. But if you do change your mind, you can always just come back to Gnash. There is one thing, though…” he almost laughed at Cris’s disappointed face, “Well, er, how can I put it politely? Stallions are stallions after all, and Bess…”
Cris produced Tadeus’ mysterious bag of herbs with a flourish.
Rowan laughed.
“Oh, good on him, ‘tis easy to see he’s a horseman. I thought I might have to go and scour the market for some,” Rowan replied, “The horses are used to being in mixed groups in the Guard of course, but it’ll just make life a bit easier for all of us if we can give Bess some of that when we need to; don’t worry, she won’t notice the difference.”
**********
18. “That’s what I like about travelling, ‘tis nev
er dull.”
It was very early and Cris was still half-asleep when he arrived at the stable on the day they were to leave, but all four horses were already groomed, with their forelocks neatly braided and a couple of thick plaits in the lower part of their manes too. Rowan had saddled the handsome black stallion that Rose would ride, and he had the piebald packhorse, Max, ready to be loaded. Rose was just about to start on this as Cris headed into Bess’s stall. The twins were dressed much alike in well-fitting leather vests and trousers, and calf-high boots: Rose in brown and Rowan in black, and both had pale linen shirts. Cris was wearing dark twill trousers and a red woollen vest and shirt, with most of his baggage packed into Tadeus’ saddlebags and his cloak neatly rolled ready to be tied on behind his saddle. He also had a few bits and pieces that Max would carry, and Rose took them from him as he went past. Tim Mouser was supervising the preparations from his vantage point on the broad back of the dappled-grey stallion, Mica.
“Come on, Tim Mouser, you’ll have to move from there or you’ll find yourself being used as a saddle blanket... oh, a good morning to you, Cris,” Rowan said, running his fingers through Mica’s long silver-black mane while he lectured the cat. “It looks like it’ll be a fine day for travelling. And ‘tis always good to get a nice early start.”
“Mmm, yes, I suppose so...sorry, I’m not really awake yet,” Cris replied, smiling at the energetic twins. “It sort of takes me a while to get going in the mornings, especially if I’ve been up late ratting.”
“How will Gnash manage without you?” Rose teased him, “But don’t worry, we’ll soon get you woken up.” She grinned back at him.
“Right, Rose, I think perhaps I might do you next, before I move Tim Mouser on,” Rowan said, quickly washing his hands as she obligingly turned her back to him. He deftly wove her long hair into an intricate braid more suitable for travelling than her usual loose flowing locks.
