Red Rowan: Book 4: The Dwarf Moot

by Helen Gosney

  “’Tis good to be home again, Honi, my love,” Griff said softly as he breathed in the tangy scent of the Forest Giants and listened to the birds singing in their mighty branches.

  “Mmm… it is, too. But ‘twas a lovely holiday, wasn’t it? I hope Rowan hasn’t worked himself to a frazzle while we’ve been gone,” Honi said.

  Griff laughed.

  “I don’t think he’ll have done that, love. He’s a daft bugger at times, but as he says himself, he’s only half as daft as everyone seems to think. And he’s got plenty of help,” he thought about it for a moment, “Well, the old priest looks to be a useful sort, and young Cris too, but I’m not so sure about that lad Rill…”

  “He’s an odd one in some ways, isn’t he? Still, I suppose ‘tis only to be expected…” Rowan had told them as much about Rill and Plausant Bron as he felt would make sense to them, “He’s a great one for the waifs and strays, isn’t he?”

  “Rowan, you mean?”

  “Who else? I know that you bring home your share of them too, love, but not like Rowan…”

  Griff shrugged.

  “I don’t think he sets out to do it, my sweet. And Tadeus, Cris and Rill are hardly ‘waifs and strays’, they’re only staying to help us out until you and I get back,” he decided it was time to change the subject, not least because he wouldn’t mind if the newcomers were to stay for a bit longer. He and Rowan planned to buy some more mares at Frissender this year, and their little enterprise was getting to be a good-sized enterprise, and very successful. And with the Wirran Guardsmen coming as well…? Things could be getting fairly hectic at times, he thought. “How do you suppose they went in the bunny run? Do you think they’ll have caught Rowan and Raven?”

  She thought about it. Raven was a fine horse, and they had great hopes for him in the future, but he wasn’t as fast as some of the smaller horses. Then again, the run wasn’t about just speed, and of course Rowan had been riding him…

  “I think they’ll all have been left eating dust, love. I think Raven would find a bit extra for Rowan, even if he didn’t think he had anything left.”

  “Rowan wouldn’t ride him until he thought he had nothing left!”

  “No, of course he bloody wouldn’t. I didn’t put it very well, did I? What I meant was… well, you know what I meant!” She leaned over and swatted his ears happily.

  “Yes. But Raven’s a damned good horse, too. I hope he showed everyone what he could do, and if he did, I think we’ll find ourselves with a lot more working mares to introduce to Mica and Soot. Might even have Raven serve a few this year.”

  “Mmm… wasn’t Rowan saying something about doing the same with Ashen too? Doesn’t seem long since they were both running around the paddock with the other babies.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but they’re six now. Some breed them younger than that, you know. I don’t think we ever will, mind you.”

  “No… the time gets away, doesn’t it, love?”

  “Certainly does. Do you know we’ve been away for more than seven damned weeks? Ha! I laughed at Rowan when he said to take so much time off, said we’d only be a couple of weeks. Wasn’t I bloody daft!”

  She smiled at him.

  “Yes, my love, you certainly were,” she said serenely, then laughed.

  “You’re not supposed to agree, wench! You’re supposed to think that I’m the most wonderful husband that anyone could possibly have!”

  “Oh, yes… well, you’re that too. I just didn’t want you to get too high an opinion of yourself.”

  Griff glared ferociously at her, then leaned over and gave her a kiss. He enjoyed it so much that he gave her another.

  **********

  They came around the last bend to see that the place seemed to be deserted.

  “Where the hell is everyone? Surely they’ve not all disappeared,” Griff said, looking around.

  “Maybe a bunyip got them?” Honi said with a grin.

  Bunyips are mythical creatures said to live in lakes, ponds and waterways all over Sian, waiting to devour travellers and general stickybeaks that get too close to their homes. Some say they are big warty, froggy-looking creatures, and others believe they are sort of man-shaped, but covered in pale iridescent scales, and they have huge fishy eyes and mouths full of razor-sharp teeth. Another theory is that they don’t actually live in the water, but in a cosy cave nearby, and they are really shaggy, bear-like beasts with the tusks and manners of a wild boar. Whatever they look like, it’s generally agreed that they have insatiable appetites and would eat whatever came their way, but they favour meat and little children are a particular delicacy to them. Naturally they hate intruders of any sort, but most of all they hate men.

  Griff laughed.

  “Well, one might have got Rill easily enough, and maybe even Tadeus and Cris, I suppose, but I truly think that Rowan’d be safe!” he said.

  “Ha! He’d be sitting about drinking cups of tea with the damned thing and all its family,” Honi said.

  “He always wanted to find one when he was a little lad,” Griff said slowly, remembering several wonderful, long-ago expeditions, “Never did, of course. He was most disappointed to realise that it simply wasn’t going to happen.”

  Griff didn’t know, because Rowan knew it was ridiculous and so hadn’t told him, but the old longing would still sometimes wash over him when he crossed a remote little creek or looked into an out-of-the-way forest pond.

  “Well, perhaps not a bunyip, then. But where the hell do you suppose they are?” Honi said, looking around again.

  They tended their horses and looked around without finding anyone other than a pile of sleepy cats and dogs on Rowan’s neatly made bed. They shooed them off, much to the animals’ dismay. Finally they stood leaning on a fence, mystified, for a few minutes. Eventually they heard hoofbeats coming through the trees.

  “That’s them,” Griff said, recognising the distinctive pattern of hoofbeats that only Rowan’s horses had, around here, “I wonder where they’ve been?”

  “I wonder what the hell they’ve been up to,” Honi said, as she saw that Rowan was covered in mud, “Gods! Maybe Rowan truly has been saving them from a damned bunyip.”

  **********

  17. “… like a dowser?”

  Earlier that day, Cris had gone to the blacksmiths in the town to buy some more nails for the seemingly neverending job of fencing. Post and rail construction was all very well, as was the use of wooden pegs when needed, but sometimes there was simply no substitute for the judicious use of a few good strong nails. While he’d been there he’d had a most interesting little talk with the dwarves. He wondered what Rowan would think about it. Cris felt that he himself was making a good contribution to the work of the farm, even if he wasn’t much good at gardening, but he often felt that Rill was… well, a bit feckless, really. Rowan was very tolerant of Rill – the man had saved his life, after all, and Rowan hadn’t forgotten it. Mind you, Rowan had also saved Rill from being trapped in the closing nexus between Yaarl and what he called ‘the other place’, so Cris felt that things were probably even between them; not that Rowan would think like that. But even so, he must surely think that Rill could be a bit more use around the place.

  Cris tended his horse, turned her out with the others and went over to where Rowan was riding some of the young horses in their training drills. He was intrigued to see that Tadeus was riding with him, the pair of them making a fine display.

  “What are you two doing?” he asked, surprised, “Those colts look like they’ve been practising!”

  Rowan laughed.

  “Aye, they have! They’ll show better to buyers at Frissender, if I ride them like this rather than simply leading them.”

  “It’s like being back in the Guard, riding with the troop,” Tadeus said happily, “I never realised how much I’ve missed all this, with the horses.”

  “Can I help you with it too?”

  “Aye, of course you can, Cris. We’ll have Griff
and Honi in the line as well, I think, when they get home. ‘Tis good for the young horses to be ridden in disciplined groups like that, especially those that end up as troop horses, and it’ll help us to show them off as best we can at the sales,” Rowan smiled at him.

  Here’s your chance, Cris thought. Take it.

  “And er… what about Rill?” he said innocently.

  Rowan raised an eyebrow, but answered politely, “No, I don’t think we’ll be having Rill doing this, with all respect to him. He rides like a damned sack of turnips.”

  “So he does,” Cris said, “Umm, Rowan, do you ever think perhaps he should be doing a bit more about the place? Other than drowning the garden, I mean. Dammit, that didn’t come out very well, but…”

  Rowan tried not to sigh. He knew exactly what Cris had meant, because sometimes he found himself trying not to think the same thing. Rill undoubtedly meant well, but… well, he could be trying at times, particularly to someone who worked hard himself and was used to a more disciplined way of life.

  “He does his best, Cris. He’s quite good at feeding the ducks and chickens and collecting eggs, and brushing the horses too, and he’s getting better at milking the cow. It all takes him a bloody long time, but he does a good job in the end,” he said.

  Cris continued doggedly, “Well, I think I might have found something that he’ll be better at…”

  Tadeus and Rowan exchanged a quick glance.

  “Oh, aye? And what might that be?”

  “Well, the blacksmiths need a new well…”

  “Bugger me,” Rowan said, surprised, “And you’re thinking that Rill could dig the bloody thing? ‘Tis damned hard work, Cris. Um, how can I put it politely? You need a bit more muscle than Rill’s got, I’m sorry to say.”

  “A hell of a lot more muscle than Rill’s got, you mean, laddie!” Tadeus chuckled.

  Cris laughed at the thought of Rill digging anything, particularly a well. He was shortish and stocky, but not a strong man, and not really a great one for physical exertion at times. His travels with Cris over the last seven or so years had toughened him up quite a bit, but no, he wasn’t strong. He was a good friend, but Cris doubted he’d even know which end of a spade was the business end.

  “Gods, no! Can you imagine it? No, I thought he might be able to help them find the best place for it. Seems the present one’s been silting up a lot lately, or something.”

  Rowan looked thoughtful for a moment. Rill had been ‘the one known as the river god’, after all.

  “You mean like a dowser?” he saw the bafflement on the faces of both of his friends, “A diviner? Somebody who can find water underground?”

  “Yes. I’ve never seen one, but I’ve heard that they sort of walk about with a stick or something, and it leads them to water. Rill didn’t do anything like that, but he could always find little creeks and springs and things when we were travelling, and I thought…”

  “Let’s ask him, then. Anyone seen him recently?”

  “I think he’s over there with the dogs,” Tadeus said, intrigued by Cris’ idea.

  They found Rill playing a game of fetch with Umber and Boof. Both dogs liked this game, and so did Scrap. Sometimes the little black cat would gallop out of nowhere, grab whatever was being retrieved - so long as it wasn’t too big or too soggy - and run off with it to give it to Rowan. Luckily the dogs didn’t mind the little interloper, or pest as they probably thought him. It just added another variation to the game and gave them an opportunity to chase Scrap, as they often did in fun. Of course Scrap and Ollie chased the dogs as well, and sometimes it was hard to know which animal was enjoying it the most.

  **********

  “Rill,” Rowan began without preamble, “If I asked you to find me the best place to dig a well somewhere near… oh, let’s say the main barn, would you be able to do it?”

  Rill nodded.

  “Of course. About twenty paces north would probably be best. I suppose it might depend on the type of soil there, though,” he replied with no hesitation at all.

  “Really? You can tell that from here? ‘Tis a good long way…”

  “Well, it is a bit far, but I’ve been in and out of that barn plenty of times, and I… I felt the water over that way one day and I went to… to sort of have a look.”

  “You felt it, Rill? What do you mean?” Tadeus asked in astonishment.

  “That’s the only way I can explain it, Tadeus, but it’s not exactly a feeling. It’s just…” Rill shrugged, “I just know that it’s there.”

  Rowan nodded to himself. He couldn’t explain the Whispering either, it just simply WAS, and maybe this was sort of similar.

  “Cris might have found a job for you, then, Rill,” he said, “So long as you don’t mind doing it, of course.”

  “Of course I don’t mind doing anything I can to help, Rowan. But I… I’m not very good at anything…”

  “If you can find water like that, I’d say you were very damned good at something, lad. The g’Farrien – the blacksmiths, I mean – need a new well dug…” Rowan tried not to laugh at Rill’s horrified face, “Don’t fret, Rill, you wouldn’t actually be digging the bloody thing. They’ve got plenty of strong young lads for that, and ‘twould give them a break from the forge for a bit. No, Cris wondered… well, we all wondered if you might be able to tell them where’d be best to dig.”

  Rill smiled, his relief obvious.

  “Of course. Shall we go over there now?”

  Cris, Rowan and Tadeus looked at each other.

  “Aye, why not? They can soon send us packing if we’re not welcome, and I’m sure these colts will be happy to have a change of scenery.”

  **********

  “Do you use a forked stick, or a piece of wire?” Master Smith Jeldaron asked Rill curiously, “I’ve seen lots of folk try with both, but I’ve only ever seen one that was truly successful. That was old Tyril d’Vance from over Aston way, but he’s been dead a good few years now. ‘Tis usually a bit hit and miss, I’ve always thought.”

  “No, Sir, I don’t use anything like that. Um, where were you thinking of putting it?”

  “Somewhere over there, near the old one, I suppose. We need it near the forge so we can quench the metal without having to go a long way for water. At the moment we’re using the other well at the back of the house, but ‘tis a damned long way to cart water, especially by the end of the day. ‘Tis a bloody nuisance, truly.”

  “Let me see it…” Rill walked to the old, silted-up well and looked down into it. “Was this a good well? It seems like it’s not in quite the right place.”

  “’Tis always silting up, the cursed thing. Sometimes it’ll be dry, in a bad year.”

  “Mmm… it would have been better over there…” Rill pointed to a spot perhaps thirty feet away.

  “Why over there? ‘Tisn’t very far from this one,” Jeldaron said, obviously puzzled by this odd young man, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, Rowan could do extraordinary things with any beast, so perhaps it wasn’t surprising that his friend might be able to do something… unusual… as well.

  “No, it isn’t, but the underground stream divides into several branches about a quarter of a mile up there…” he pointed again, “And your well here is on one of the weaker branches. It would be much better over there.”

  None of the young dwarves looked happy about digging a well just on this very odd man’s say-so, even if he was Rowan’s friend. Rowan took the spade from them without a word and followed Rill to the chosen site.

  **********

  “Now, would you be happy with it here, Jeldaron?” he asked. He didn’t mind digging the thing, but it’d be no good if the Smith wasn’t happy with the site.

  Jeldaron considered it carefully.

  “Yes, I think so,” he said at last, “’Tis actually no further from the forge, when you look at it… it might even be a wee bit closer, I think. We’ll just have to clear a bit of clutter from that side
door, and we can bring the water in that way.”

  “Well, let’s see if Rill is right, then.”

  Rowan knew suddenly that he would be, just as surely as he knew that he himself could walk up to any beast and not be harmed by it.

  “Can you tell how far down it is, Rill?” He hoped devoutly that it wasn’t going to be something like thirty feet.

  Rill bent down to put his palm flat to the ground. He frowned in thought.

  “About, um… a bit less than eight feet, I think. This branch of the stream is a bit closer to the surface than the other one.”

  Relieved, Rowan set to work with a will, grateful that the ground wasn’t too rocky, while at the same time not being so loose and silty that the walls would collapse before they could be shored up and bricked up properly. Dammit, that was a thought.

  “Have you got any timber for the walls, please, Jeldaron? I don’t want to find myself needing to be dug out of the bloody thing,” he said.

  “We’ll get something, Rowan lad. You keep going and these useless lads of mine will be right back with what you need,” the smith glared at his offspring and they scurried off to get the materials to shore up the well. The old well had been a problem for a while, and the necessary timber was on hand against the day a new one would be dug.

  Rowan was digging a narrowish excavation that would be widened if it was successful, and he was almost seven feet deep when he suddenly stopped and bent down.

  “Bugger me!” was all he said.

  “What is it, Rowan?” came the inevitable question from the many onlookers who’d gathered to see what was going on.

  “’Tis water, my friends. Look at this.”

  He held his hand above his head, stretching up so that the others might see it easily above the lip of the hole. It was muddy and dripping with water.