Red Rowan: Book 3: Return of the Reluctant Hero

by Helen Gosney

  “What the hell are all these folk doing here, Rowan?” Kurt asked in amazement.

  “Barn raising,” Rowan replied with a smile. He took pity on the poor mystified lads who’d volunteered to come without really knowing what they were letting themselves in for. “Building a new barn. Mirrin can’t do it by himself, so they’ve come to give him a bit of a hand. Like us.”

  “But there’s so many here…” Dorrel looked at the busy Siannens. They seemed to be well organised and surprisingly well under way with the job.

  “Some of the lads, like Conor and Isan, haven’t gone back into the forest yet, so here they are. ‘More hands make the work go quicker’, as the Bettrans say,” Honi laughed. Isan was quite good with an axe and he was a willing worker, but nobody’d trust him to actually build anything, and the cooks had sent him on his way with kindly smiles and looks of horror. He’d probably find himself on hay moving duties. Ah… that was a thought. She looked at Rowan sternly. “And don’t think you’re going to be hammering and sawing and digging holes for fenceposts and things, laddie. We’ve barely got your hands right.” She’d put extra bandages on his hands today for protection and she hoped she’d threatened him with enough dire consequences to make him cautious, but still…

  “Oh, no, my lady. I’m just the horseboy and general dogsbody today. I’ll be careful,” he promised, his face the picture of innocence.

  She frowned at him suspiciously.

  “Just see that you are.”

  “Aye, my lady,” he said, and bowed as elegantly as he ever had at any of the Commandant’s Midwinter Balls, “By your command, my lady.”

  “Gods, you’re a cheeky bugger, Rowan!” Griff laughed, “I don’t know how you get away with it!”

  “I can run faster than her, Griff, that’s the secret,” Rowan grinned at him, “Well, I hope I still can.”

  **********

  And now it was late afternoon and a new barn and fenced yard had risen on the site of the old one. It only needed a few more shingles on the roof and perhaps a lick of paint here and there and it’d be finished. There’d been a bit of timber over and so the workers were building a new henhouse and a good-sized shed to store the excess hay. Most importantly, a tiny and oddly barn-shaped edifice had risen triumphantly to replace perhaps the most unfortunate casualty of the fire, Mirrin’s privy. Dorrel and Kurt were sitting under a Forest Giant, tired but happy after their day’s labour. They looked up at the busy creatures in its great branches. It was a sight that never ceased to fascinate them.

  “Gods, it’s no wonder Rowan finds it so hard to leave here,” Kurt sighed, “I wish we could stay longer.”

  “Aye, so do I. It’s wonderful. I always thought there could never be anywhere better than Wirran, but… I almost wish I was a forester…” Dorrel said softly.

  “You’d need to grow a bit, lad!” his friend laughed. Dorrel had just met the Guard’s height requirements and he was… well, not big. Most of the girls they’d met were taller than him, not that anyone seemed to care.

  “Ha! So I would,” Dorrel grinned. “Gods, they’re bloody big folk, aren’t they? They make me feel like a dwarf. Rowan’s taller than nearly everyone at Den Siddon, except Captain Fess, and probably stronger too, but they all tower over him. Even Fonse and Eilin, and they’re only eighteen, like us. Mind you, I’d back Rowan against any of them.” He thought about the way Rowan had danced with the axe. “I’d back him against half a dozen at once.”

  “Aye, so would I,” Kurt hadn’t forgotten the axe either and he remembered when they’d gone hunting with Rowan. He’d moved through the forest far more silently than Isan and his friends could, and his accuracy with a bow had been astounding. “Well, he’s a Weapons Master after all, so he should be bloody good…” And he was. The foresters had welcomed them all to their knife throwing competitions, but smilingly insisted that Rowan’s throws wouldn’t count. He’d laughed, shrugged, and shown them how it should be done.

  “Aye, I suppose so,” Dorrel agreed, looking up at the birds playing in the leaves above him, “I’ll never forget all this, Kurt… the fire was horrible, but even so… the way that everyone just dropped everything to come and help Mirrin was amazing,” he shook his head, bemused, “And look at them all here today, working away… And the foaling was wonderful, and so was the trip to the camp… and all the folk we’ve met… wasn’t it fun when Moss showed us how to tickle trout? Truly, Rowan has some amazing friends…”

  “Aye… a Bridge troll here. I always thought they were… well, just stories, really.”

  “I thought that about Horse Masters until I saw Rowan with his horses. I know that Ross told us about it back in Wirran, but…” Dorrel shook his head, mystified anew. “What do they call it here? Whisperer…?”

  “Aye. Strange word to use, isn’t it?”

  “Mmm… it is… Kurt, do you really think he can get all of the new horses over the Scream in one go? There’ll be, what, thirty of them?”

  Kurt nodded. Rowan truly could do anything with his horses, his stallions were incredible, and even the most possessive mare was happy for him to handle her foal. He watched as Rowan brought Mirrin’s beasts back from a neighbour’s farm where they’d spent the last week. There was something here that he didn’t understand, he thought.

  Ross had felt it was better not to tell them what he’d realised on the night of the fire.

  Kurt was distracted from that line of thinking by Dorrel’s elbow in his ribs.

  “Kurt?”

  “What? Oh, sorry, Dorrel… um, thirty-three, I think Ross said. But aye, I think Rowan can do it. He said he could, after all, and he wouldn’t have said it if he had any doubts. And remember how the work horses just followed us through the forest. I thought we’d be herding them, or leading them or something,” he said.

  “Aye, so did I… funny how he said we’d pretend the horses don’t follow him, when we get back to civilisation, wasn’t it?” Dorrel replied.

  Kurt shrugged.

  “Oh, I dunno. I suppose he must get fed up with folk staring at him when he doesn’t have to herd them like the rest of us do,” he said.

  “Aye, I suppose it would get annoying, and it’s not as if he can sort of turn it off, is it? Bloody handy talent though, as Ross said. Ah, Gods, I’ve had a wonderful time…” Dorrel smiled as Vreya and some of her friends came to join them, with Conor carefully carrying a big platter of bread, spitroasted lamb and some vegetables that’d been baked in the coals. Isan followed, bearing an apple pie that he’d liberated.

  **********

  31. “faster than you’d think possible.”

  The journey back to Den Siddon was surprisingly uneventful.

  The track through the Dogleg Pass had lost itself in a confusing jumble of deadend canyons and impossibly steep ravines, but Rowan wasn’t concerned as they stopped to rest the horses.

  “Rowan, I’m not doubting you, but how the hell do you know where you’re going through here?” Ross asked, looking around, “And why isn’t the track marked in some way?”

  Rowan smiled at him.

  “’Tis marked, Ross,” he said, “See all those rocks piled up over there? And that canyon’s marked as a deadend by that sort of gouge in the rockface…”

  Ross and the recruits stared at him. The pile of rocks didn’t look much different to all the others they’d passed, and as for the gouge in the rock…

  “And I’ve been through here lots of times now. Truly, I’ve never heard of a forester getting lost up here, and I’m not going to be the first,” he smiled at them again, “Now, do you fancy a nice mountain goat for supper later? Sorry, ‘kid’, I should say.”

  Dorrel and Kurt looked around. They couldn’t see any damned mountain goats, or kids either. Ross looked too and nodded.

  “Aye, I see them. So it’s not true that they stay away from up here?” he said with a grin.

  Rowan laughed.

  “No, they come up here all right. The snow eagles take
some of them of course, but there’s plenty to go around,” he said, “Now, if we go down there…” he indicated a narrow canyon to his left, “… It opens out a bit and there’s often goats or sheep there because ‘tis sheltered from the wind. Let’s go and see if we can get a couple of youngsters; one for us, and one for the snow eagles.”

  “What about the horses? Won’t they follow you?” Dorrel wondered.

  They’d followed him all the way to here, after all. Rowan shook his head.

  “No, Ashen will keep them all here. Well, I think he will, he’s not as used to doing it as Mica or Soot. And I’ll leave a shirt here for Scrap to guard, or he’ll come too. If they do start to follow me, and they’re pests about it, you can go hunting without me.”

  Scrap settled himself happily on Rowan’s spare shirt and Ashen stood firm at the entrance to the canyon. None of the horses went past the grey as the men headed up the narrow way. It twisted and turned and opened out into a widish, sheltered bowl about a hundred yards along. There were a couple of dozen sprightly longhaired mountain goats and kids nibbling at lichens and mosses and some unappetising looking low bushes.

  “We’ll need to get a bit closer than this, Rowan,” Kurt said doubtfully. He was sure that the biggest goat, the one with the oddly luxurious creamy white coat and the most magnificent curly horns he’d ever seen, was watching them with its wicked yellow eyes.

  “Aye… maybe a bit closer if we can. Try not to make too much noise though,” Rowan said.

  “But that big ram… er, um… billy goat… he’s seen us,” Kurt whispered.

  Rowan nodded, unworried.

  “Aye, he has too. He’s probably wondering what the hell we’re doing up here. Still, I think he’ll let us get a little bit closer and then they’ll scatter,” he said softly, “Pick your target now, a nice young one, not a tough old thing, and be prepared to fire as soon as you see Billy start to stamp his hoof. Oh, and they’re faster than you’d think possible.”

  “But…”

  “Hush, lads,” Ross said with a smile, “You’ve done well with the rabbits and pigeons and things while we’ve been here, and this is no different. Only a bigger target is all. And very bloody fast too, I think you’ll find.”

  They crossed an invisible boundary and the herd leader stamped its hoof. The herd scattered immediately as a bow sang, followed by another and then two more close together. A moment later a young goat fell dead with an arrow in its heart, a second fell but struggled up with an arrow in its side and a third bolted, bleating loudly.

  “Dammit! It’ll get away! It’s nearly out of range,” Dorrel cried in anguish.

  “No, it won’t. Just see to that other wounded one,” Rowan said quickly, nocking another arrow to his bow and loosing it in one smooth movement. The escaping goat tumbled head over heels as the arrow took it in the heart.

  “Go and get that one and the other one that Rowan shot, please, lads,” Ross said quickly, “We’ll take care of this one here.” He thought the rough and uneven ground wasn’t doing Rowan’s injured foot any good at all and besides, he wanted to ask Rowan something without the lads overhearing.

  “You could have walked right into the centre of that herd if we hadn’t been with you, couldn’t you?” he asked quietly when Dorrel and Kurt were out of earshot.

  Rowan nodded.

  “Aye… probably even with you, if we’d been careful,” he replied, “When Fess and I used to come through here from Den Sorl, as lads, I’d bring him up here to see them. He was fascinated watching the little ones run and play on the rocks. But I’d never betray their trust by just… just walking up to them and killing them, Ross. I hunt like everyone else does.”

  And like every other forester, he silently thanked his prey for the gift of their lives.

  He smiled at Kurt and Dorrel as they trotted back to them, carefully carrying the other two kids.

  “Good shooting, lads. You just needed to aim a bit further forward. And you picked the same damned goat,” he said with a laugh. Sure enough, both the recruits’ arrows were lodged in the animal’s rump.

  “I needed to aim a bit further forward myself,” Ross said ruefully as he reclaimed his own arrow, “They’re damned fast, Rowan.”

  “Aye, they are. ‘Tis amazing how speedy they are on these rocks,” Rowan agreed, “But you’ve all done well. There’s plenty for us and the snow eagles. They can have the biggest one and we’ll have the nice tender ones.”

  “Is it far from here to the Scream?” Kurt asked curiously.

  Rowan shook his head.

  “No… a bit under an hour. There’s the Fangs, see?” he indicated two mighty crags that reared their snowy heads not far away. “And after we’ve crossed I think we’ll stop for the night where we did coming up. ‘Tis early, I know, but ‘tis the best spot for a good way.”

  It was a good spot, almost flat in the middle of a big group of boulders, with a little spring bubbling from the rocks and it was sheltered from the icy, always present winds. More importantly, it was well away from the southern Fang, with its dangerous habit of dropping bits of itself on unwary travellers.

  “What did you decide about going across, lads? Do you want to ride Ashen again?” Rowan asked when they came to the Scream again. The Breath Stealer, as some called it. Either name was very appropriate, Dorrel thought, looking at it dubiously.

  “Aye, Rowan, if we can,” the young fellow said, “He looked after us well before.”

  “I’m sure he will again,” Rowan smiled at him, “And what about you, Ross?”

  “My mare and I’ll stick very close to you, but I think she’ll be all right this time. She’s a good sensible creature,” Ross replied, perfectly confident in Rowan’s ability to get them all safely across.

  Rowan grinned at him.

  “Fine. Now, I’ll just give one of the goats to the eagles and we’ll be on our way…”

  He tossed the biggest of the goats down the track a little way.

  An enormous female snow eagle glided down to inspect it. She raised her feathery, seemingly blood-soaked crest, shrieked at the travellers, and then flapped off with the goat in her great talons, her slightly smaller mate just behind her.

  “They’re very polite birds, aren’t they?” Kurt laughed.

  “Aye, they are. They always shriek like that to say thank you,” Rowan said with a grin.

  There was no problem with getting the horses over the Scream. Scrap danced across just in front of everyone and Rowan strode across next with Ross’s mare close behind him, followed by the recruits’ horses and the thirty-three young horses that were about to join the Wirran Guard as their sires had before them. Rowan sang the haunting forester song ‘The Felling of the Giant’ as they went, so the young horses at the back would still hear him even if they couldn’t see him. It was probably an unnecessary precaution, but it hurt nobody and ensured an easy crossing.

  Dorrel and Kurt sat on Ashen’s back and stared at the long line of horses walking confidently behind Rowan and shook their heads in wonder. They thought they’d been prepared for the sight; after all, the horses had quietly followed him all the way from their home, just as the workhorses had in the forest; but no. It was simply astounding.

  Rowan got to the other side and whistled for Ashen. The stallion pricked its ears and set off over the Scream as if it did it every day. This time Dorrel and Kurt kept their eyes open, awed by the sheer majesty of the vista beside them, but they were careful not to look down and they hung on just as tightly as before.

  **********

  32.“Gods, these bloody stories get around!”

  Rowan was sitting in his favourite chair reading for a little while before bed. Scrap was on his lap, purring, perfectly happy to be a book rest. Rowan and Ross, Dorrel and Kurt had got back from Sian that afternoon, settled the new horses in the horseyards, stabled their mounts and found themselves with a couple of hours to spare before supper.

  Rowan took his leave of the others, and he
was walking back to barracks with Scrap trotting beside him when he heard several people running up behind him. He turned swiftly to see the Trophy squad coming back from their afternoon run. He waved to them.

  “Ho there, Stefan! How’re things back here in civilisation?”

  “Rowan! You’re back. How was it out in the Woopsies? Everything go all right?” Stefan replied, coming over to him quickly. “Keep going, you lot. You can gossip later,” he added and the rest of the squad quickly greeted Rowan and then ran on.

  “Aye, it all went well. No dramas at all,” Rowan smiled at him, “So how come you can gossip now?”

  “Privilege of rank, laddie,” the Sword Master laughed. He became serious though. “Did I see you limping just then?”

  Dammit, Rowan thought, I can’t put anything past you, can I? His foot was still bruised and his toes hadn’t completely healed yet; they were generally painful by this time of day. He knew they’d be fine, but it’d take a few more weeks before they were really right. Especially for running about and using the sabre. At least he could wear his own boot again.

  “Aye… you did, Stefan. ‘Tisn’t much though, it’ll be fine,” he said carefully.

  Luckily he was saved from further discussion by the arrival of Fess, who took him back to the Captain’s Cottage to spend an enjoyable few hours with Bella and their brood.

  All of the children were surprised at just how much Scrap had grown, surprised too at some of the new tricks he’d learnt. Really, the little cat had had a very enjoyable and profitable time in Sian. His hunting techniques had been honed by true masters of the art and the mice, rats and birds around the garrison were in for some interesting times. So possibly were some of the troopers patrolling the battlements at night, because Scrap was mischievous and liked to cause a bit of mayhem and confusion: he’d also learnt how to growl in a deep tone like Umber and Boof and he could give a fairly good imitation of a forest cat’s yowl. His self-taught retrieving had improved a lot too, since he’d taught Rowan to do his bit reliably, and he’d learnt some new ways to surprise dogs. The children particularly liked the one where he ambushed their amiable buffoon of a dog, Blob, by hiding in the garden and then running at him full speed, bowling him over, boxing his floppy ears and galloping off and up into Johan’s apple tree. Both cat and dog liked to play together and they were happy to demonstrate for as long as the children liked to watch. Eventually they’d worn themselves out and flopped down together for a good rest.