by Helen Gosney
Pell nodded. It was obvious that the foresters knew exactly how much their horses were worth. As he thought about it, he realised that they’d be very stupid indeed if they didn’t, and that wasn’t a description that applied to either of them.
“Aye, it is. I… I just truly thought you’d ask for more than that,” he said.
“Well, aye, we could, I suppose, but we don’t have to cover auctioneers’ fees and things because we sell straight from the yards,” Rowan said, “Besides, if we did charge more, then you… well, not you, exactly, the, um, buyer would be shocked and try to haggle and tell us at great length that we’re greedy Siannen bastards, overcharging for a damned horse, and he’s seen better ones somewhere else anyway, and… well, the truth is, we can’t be bothered with all that,” he smiled at Pell, “Besides, we’d likely be thrown out of the Fair for punching a few noses. As I said, we think our prices are fair, and if folk don’t want to pay a fair price, then they can go and buy elsewhere. But they won’t find better horses than ours, though I know ‘tis bragging to say it.”
“No, it’s not bragging. It’s the truth. We’ve seen a hell of a lot of horses the last few days, and the only ones that compare to my Mist are these ones here. They’re superb,” Stannel said simply.
“Thank you. So maybe we’ll see you again in a couple of days and you’ll go off with one of our babies?” Griff said.
“Aye, I’m sure that you will. I’m just not sure which one.”
Rowan and Griff watched as the brothers headed off to the barn to collect their own horses, talking animatedly as they went.
“Another happy customer, Rowan lad. Which one do you think he’ll take?” Griff said softly.
“I don’t know, but I truly think Rain would be better for him. I think Bark might be a bit feisty.”
“He managed all right today.”
“Aye, he did, but you and I were both here, weren’t we? I know he says he’s ridden Mist with no trouble, and he seems to ride well, but a sprightly young colt like Bark is a very different proposition to any mare we’ve got here, and a hell of a lot different to old Rusty.”
**********
The very next day, Rowan and Griff were brushing the already glossy horses when Rowan glanced up. He was unsurprised to see the brothers hurrying up to the yards.
“There you go, Griff lad. I said they’d be back today. Now, which one do you think he’ll choose?”
“The filly.”
“Aye, I think so, too. And truly, I think he’ll be happier with her in the long run.”
Greetings were exchanged and then Griff said with a twinkle in his eye, “So, is it Rain that you fancy, Pell?”
“I… how did you know?”
“I didn’t really, but we both thought she might be better for you than Bark. He’s a fine colt, but… well, often folk do go away and think a bit more, and they realise that a feisty bold thing like Bark is fine to look at and dream about, but not necessarily what they want to be riding every day. ‘Tisn’t a fault on either side, ‘tis just the way of it.”
“Would you like to ride them both again, to be certain, or would you rather just trot Rain about a bit?” Rowan said. A thought struck him. No, he didn’t think they’d mentioned it yesterday. “And Pell, if you should change your mind about Rain, please bring her back to us while we’re still here, or write to us in Sian if you’re not happy with her, or are wanting to sell her. We’ll always buy a horse back for the price that’s been paid. And we’d come to Wirran or anywhere else to collect her, too.”
Pell stared at him in amazement.
“Truly? You’d do that?”
Both Rowan and Griff nodded.
“Aye, we truly would. We’ve only had to do it once, a few years ago. A fellow bought a nice young stallion from us, ‘twas a five year old chestnut. A lovely horse. Anyway, he was delighted with it, and off he went,” Rowan said softly, “About six months later we got a letter from his wife in eastern Crell. Her husband had died suddenly of some sort of apoplexy, and she wanted to sell the horse. It was too feisty for her and, well, I think she was frightened of it. A lot of folk wanted to buy it, but they also wanted to take advantage of the poor woman and not give her a good price. Anyway, she wasn’t happy with that, and couldn’t seem to do any better, so she wrote to us,” he shrugged, “So Griff went to her and offered her the price that’d been paid, as we’d said we would, and she was happy with that. Then he had an even better idea,” Rowan smiled as he remembered it, “He let it be known that he was selling the horse on the widow’s behalf. Starting price was… well, a bit more than she’d already accepted. You can always bargain down, but you can’t bargain up, so they say, though to be truthful I sometimes do it that way just to irritate unreasonable folk who won’t take a fair offer in the first place. Anyway, you wouldn’t believe the sudden rush of genuine buyers offering good money for that horse. Poor Griff had to nearly beat them off with a bloody stick. He ended up selling it for more than twice the highest offer the widow had got on her own. ’Tis amazing how folk won’t try to take advantage of Griff.”
Griff laughed.
“And just as well too, else I might have to kick their backsides for them!”
“And it’d serve the bastards right. But aye, Pell we truly would come and get Rain if you’re not happy with her for any reason,” Rowan said, “And we’d be happy to do it, I promise you. Maybe Griff will even offer to sell her for you. He’s much better at that sort of thing than I am. As I say, I tend to bargain up, rather than down.” In fact bargaining of any sort seriously irritated him. He simply had no patience with it and was always happy to leave it to someone who actually enjoyed it.
Pell and Stannel looked at each other in surprise, but then Stannel nodded thoughtfully. He’d forgotten about that, but he remembered now that Griff had said the same thing to him when he’d bought Mist. He’d been so pleased with the mare that he simply hadn’t given it another thought.
“Oh, dammit! Gods, we truly must be getting old and bloody daft! We forgot to tell you about the special gait that she has, too…” Griff said, as Rowan went to get a saddle and bridle for Rain.
“Like Mist has? Really?” Pell said excitedly.
“Yes, exactly the same as Mist has. A lot of Mica’s foals have it naturally, as both Mist and Rain do, but we teach it to all the youngsters. ‘Tis a very comfortable gait for travelling, and ‘tis easy on the horses as well.”
“Here you are, Pell. Take her for a bit of a ride before you sign the paperwork. If you go up that way, it should be less crowded.”
Pell and Rain trotted off, the dogs running happily beside them.
“You’re not worried that he’s going to, er, just keep on going and not come back?” Stannel asked, surprised.
“No, laddie, he won’t do that. Why do you think Umber and Boof went with him?” Griff said with a smile, “Besides, we’ve got you here in our evil clutches until he gets back, haven’t we?” He laughed at the surprise on Stannel’s face.
A little while later, price paid and paperwork duly signed, the clan braid undone from Rain’s mane, the brothers headed off, with the dappled filly following them. For a moment it seemed that she didn’t want to go, but Rowan patted her and said something in her ear, and she followed Pell away.
“I hate to see them go, Griff, even when I know that they’ll be well looked after,” Rowan said wistfully.
Griff put an arm around him.
“So do I, laddie. So do I. But ‘tis the way of it. We knew that when we went into this.”
“Aye, I know. I’m just being daft.”
“Then we’re both bloody daft.”
**********
30. “a little black filly”
The next couple of days passed quickly, with the remaining colts and fillies going to good new homes. Rowan and Griff were especially pleased to see that the bay colt Bark was bought by a man that they’d bought some broodmares from: he’d mentioned that he was trying to find a r
eplacement for his old stallion, had laughingly suggested buying Soot, and found himself being introduced to one of Soot’s sons. A very handsome and very suitable one of Soot’s sons. The deal was quickly done.
Rowan and Griff were celebrating their overall success at Frissender with a cup of tea, when both stood up at a sudden commotion that seemed to be headed their way. The dogs growled, then stood alertly at Rowan’s side.
“Is that Grayle coming over here, Griff? He’s looking a bit upset about something; not with us, I hope. And who’s that with him? I can’t quite see for all the damned hangers-on…”
Griff stretched a bit taller and said, “’Tis Toren, and he’s carrying a… a foal, I think.”
Rowan had met up with his g’Hakken kinsman several times since he’d been at Frissender, had shared several meals with him, but of course they’d both been too busy to be doing much socialising.
“Why the hell would he be carrying a foal to us?”
“He knows what you’re like with bloody waifs and strays, laddie,” Griff said wryly.
“Me! Ha! You’re no damned better!”
They laughed, but quickly grew serious as they saw that Toren was indeed carrying a foal, and the tiny thing looked like it fitted the description of ‘waif and stray’ if anything did.
“Thank the Gods you’re both still here,” Grayle said anxiously as he and the dwarf hurried up.
The hangers-on that they’d collected hastily dispersed when they realised that they’d arrived at the Champion’s yards. It wasn’t that he wasn’t pleasant and welcoming, because he was, but he didn’t always take kindly to gawkers when he had important things to be doing… and they could see that he was going to be busy with this little foal very shortly. And his huge cousin was the same. A gentle giant, beautifully mannered, but as blunt as every forester ever born. No, best to just quietly disappear and avoid a polite, but devastatingly direct suggestion as to what they might more usefully be doing with themselves.
“Aye, still here for now. We’ve still got to collect another couple of mares, and Mica and Soot have a few mares left to serve, but we’ll be leaving in a couple of days. What’s with the foal? Whose is it?” Rowan said, dropping to one knee beside the little creature and stroking it as Toren carefully put it down.
It was a dainty black filly and it stared up at Rowan with huge dark eyes as it nuzzled hungrily at his fingers.
“Well, that’s just it, Rowan, we don’t bloody know who it belongs to. We think it’s got separated from its dam somehow, and she’s gone off with her new owner, and, well, here the poor little thing is,” Grayle said.
“There’s been a hell of a hunt for the mare, but we’ve had no luck. I’ve got one mare in milk, but she didn’t take to the poor foal at all. I think she’d have killed it if she’d had her way. I managed to get a bit of milk into it with a bottle, but… well, it was better than nothing, I suppose, but ‘twasn’t enough,” Toren said slowly, “Anyway, I know that you’ve bought a couple of mares with foals at foot and I thought…”
“… you thought they might take the poor little thing? Aye, ‘tis worth a try. Let’s see her properly…” Rowan stood the filly up carefully. It was fairly wobbly, and fairly ribby and thin too, but it was a nice looking foal even so. “Gods, the poor baby’s not very old, is she, and it looks like she’s not eaten much for a while, with no disrespect for your efforts, Toren. Which mare do you think’d be best, Griff? The bay with the mealy nose and the colt at foot?”
“Mmm, I think so. I’ll go and get her…”
The mare followed Griff happily, and her own little bay colt pranced beside her. Both stopped dead at the sight of the strange foal.
“Don’t be like that, my lady,” Rowan said softly, “We need you to help us look after this poor little orphan. Here, come and have a better look at her. I think perhaps she’s a bit younger than that little ratbag of yours, but I’m sure you’d be able to manage them both, a fine mother like you.”
The mare approached cautiously and snuffled at Rowan’s hands. Then, with a bit of encouragement, she sniffed carefully at the foal. She gave Rowan an unfathomable look, then nudged the filly gently with her nose.
“Good girl. Good girl. Now, this little one’s a bit weak because she’s bloody hungry, but just stand there quietly like that, my fine lady, and Griff and I’ll help her to get to you properly,” Rowan glanced around for a moment, found Toren, and said, “Toren, can you just hold the colt back a bit, please? Thanks.”
“Here you go, baby,” Griff said gently, “Just over here… Gods, she doesn’t need any encouragement, does she? Poor little thing must be nearly starving.”
The filly was unsteady on her feet, but she’d found the mare’s udder and was suckling greedily. She’d struggled with Toren’s bottle, but she knew exactly what to do now.
“Slow down a bit, little one. There’s plenty there for you and your new brother. Just slow down a bit or you’ll give yourself a bellyache,” Rowan said. He stroked the head of the bay colt that’d trodden on Toren’s foot, then kicked the dwarf’s shin, butted him with its hard little head and finally managed to get away from him. It was watching curiously as the filly made free with the mare’s milk. “And don’t you fret yourself, little lad. You won’t starve either. And now you’ll have someone else to play with. That other colt’s a bit rough for you yet, isn’t he?”
They’d bought another mare with a foal at foot, but it was a couple of months older than the little bay, and it was a bit of a bully as well. It’d soon learn better manners, but in the meantime they’d thought it best to separate the two.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself another one, lads,” Grayle said happily. He’d thought the mare would simply reject the foal outright, but Toren had thought it was worth a try. The dwarf had been right.
“Well, if you find the owner in the next couple of days, you know where to bring them. But if not, I suppose she’s ours,” Griff replied, smiling as he watched the filly still feeding, though a bit more slowly now that the edge had been taken off her hunger. The colt had taken himself around to the mare’s other side and was suckling happily nose to nose with the filly. “The owner said this mare was a damned good mother, and it looks like he was right,” he added cheerfully.
**********
The little filly’s owner wasn’t found and so Griff and Rowan made their farewells to Toren and Grayle and set off for home a couple of days later with it trotting happily beside its new mother and brother. The foals had settled well together and seemed perfectly happy to share the mare’s time and attention. As for the mare herself, she was indeed the excellent mother her previous owner had said, and caring for two foals was well within her capabilities.
Rowan would see Toren again soon, but first he had to help get the new broodmares home, collect the surprise that he had for the g’Hakken in general, and Toren in particular, and get that surprise and himself back to the dwarven village so he could collect his new axe. After all that, he’d head off for the Dwarf Moot with his dwarven kin, and after that it’d be time to go back to Den Siddon and break in the new recruits. And then he’d take some Wirran Guardsmen and their horses back to Sian for instruction in the advanced battle training techniques that’d so intrigued Horsemaster Ross. For a moment he wondered if he truly would meet himself travelling busily somewhere along the track. Just as well he’d gone to Bettra with the g’Farrien before the Horse Fair, he decided.
**********
31. “Cows?”
Rowan rode into the g’Hakken village to cheers and shouts that faded into near-silence as the dwarves saw what was following him so quietly. They knew he was a Whisperer, knew too that he didn’t like to make a big fuss about it, but even so it could be truly startling at times.
Master Smiths Finn and his son Dann hurried out of the smithy to greet him and stopped so quickly that they nearly fell over each other.
“What the bloody hell are those things, Rowan?” Finn managed, “And what
are they doing… er, here?”
Rowan smiled at him as he dismounted.
“And a good day to you both, too,” he said. He looked around at the little herd of animals that’d followed him for so far. “These things? They’re cows, Finn. Oh, and the bigger one with the… er…” he glanced at the wide-eyed children staring at the animals and hastily amended what he’d nearly said. He didn’t want any dwarven mothers chewing his ear about leading their precious offspring into bad habits. “The bigger one with the horns is a bull. I thought the clan might like them…”
The g’Hakken kept goats and a few sheep, pigs, ducks and chickens and of course their very fine herd of ponies. But Rowan knew that Toren, the dwarf in charge of all the beasts, had long coveted these particular little beasties. They weren’t easy to come by, though, and Rowan had been fortunate to have been in the right place at the right time to acquire some.
Finn was still looking at him as if he’d gone mad.
“Cows? But… but… cows are huge bloody great things, aren’t they?” he said.
Rowan nodded happily.
“Mmm… well, aye, usually they are. But these ones aren’t.”
They certainly weren’t. They were about the size of the g’Hakkens’ ponies, but they were undeniably cattle: perfectly proportioned miniature cattle with soft, creamy-fawn coloured hides, darker fawn legs and fly-swatter tails, and big, brown, absurdly long-lashed eyes.
Toren hurried up to them, his eyes shining.
“Rowan! How the hell did you get these? The g’Lerran guard them with their bloody lives. Gods, I’ve been trying for I don’t know how cursed long to… oh, and ‘tis good to see you again, laddie…” his voice trailed away as he drank in the sight of the little herd. He stepped forward and offered his hand to the nearest cow. She snuffled at it carefully, then licked it, batted her eyelashes at him flirtatiously, and moved a bit closer so that he could pat her better. Toren suddenly found himself surrounded by many inquisitive little cows.