Red Rowan: Book 4: The Dwarf Moot

by Helen Gosney

  They were travelling down a fairly good road through open grassland dotted with a few trees. Mainly sheoaks, sandpaper barks and peppertrees, Rowan thought absently. Good shade trees.

  He was surprised to see the dwarves veering off the road and heading overland. Well, he thought, I suppose they know what they’re doing, they’ve been this way before and I haven’t, but… he’d looked at a map, at least. Over this way was a river, the Roaring River or some such, and it was a good-sized one too, he thought. Nothing wrong with that, but why the hell would the dwarves be crossing a possibly dangerous river over here, when they could do it in comfort a couple of miles down the road via the bridge at, er, what was the place called, now? Tayebridge? Tavensbridge? Ravensbridge? Something like that, he thought. He considered it a bit more… Gabonsbridge. Aye, that was it. For a moment he wondered who ‘Gabon’ was. Well, it didn’t matter now: the poor fellow’d be long dead if they’d had time to build a bridge for him. He returned to his original line of thought. Whoever Gabon had been, his bridge was the most direct way to where they were going. Crossing the river over this way, even if it turned out to be a nice gentle river with a lovely shallow ford – and with a name like ‘Roaring River’, that seemed unlikely – would take them a few extra days at least before they got back on track. They weren’t in any particular hurry, but still it seemed… odd.

  He pondered this for a couple of miles, then realised that the usually jovial dwarves seemed to be very quiet. He looked around. The dwarves were indeed very quiet, and some were beginning to look very grim as well.

  “Dann, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

  The dwarf riding beside him shook his head.

  “Nothing, Rowan lad.”

  “Have another try, Dann. I’ve not seen the clan look this worried since the last time the creek flooded and your Gran’s privy and half the clan’s goats nearly got washed away.”

  Dann shook his head again.

  “And while we’re at it, lad, why the hell are we going this way? Is it a secret shortcut that’ll save us some miles?” Rowan said, puzzled by his friend’s uncharacteristic reticence, “Dann, please. Just tell me what’s going on.”

  Dann sighed.

  “You’re too bloody canny for your own good, you know? ‘Tis this bloody river ahead that’s got us all worried. And no, ‘tis certainly not a damned shortcut. It’ll cost us three or four days if we’re lucky.”

  “So why are we not going to Gabonsbridge, then?”

  Dann shook his head a third time and looked away.

  Rowan fought a sudden urge to shake his friend until his teeth rattled.

  “Dann! For the Gods’ bloody sakes! Tell me what’s fraggin going on!”

  Dann sighed again and looked up at Rowan. His expression was sad and resigned, but his eyes were hard and angry.

  “There’s not too many places to cross this bloody river, Rowan, and where we’re headed is the best one for a long way. Not counting Gabonsbridge, of course.” For a moment he looked like he wanted to hit someone or something very hard, and being a Master Smith he could hit very hard indeed. “But, having said that, ‘tis still bloody dangerous. We’ll have to leave the wagons and we’ll be damned lucky to make it across without losing anyone.”

  “What! Then why the hell are we not going to…?”

  “Bloody Gabonsbridge?” Dann interrupted him, “Because the miserable, misbegotten bastards don’t allow dwarves to use their cursed fraggin bridge, do they?”

  Rowan stared at him in horror.

  “What! Dann, did you truly just say…?”

  “…that we’re not permitted to use the bloody bridge at Gabonsbridge? Aye, I did, laddie,” Dann snapped, but was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Rowan. ‘Tisn’t your fault,” he added, “I didn’t mean to speak to you like that, but…”

  “Don’t fret yourself, Dann, ‘tis all right. But why do they…? I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, to be truthful. All I know is that some of the g’Tyrren were passing through that way and some useless buggers attacked one of their women. She was only a young lass, but these bloody men, they… well, anyway, luckily she managed to scream and of course the clan came running. They didn’t kill the men, but they weren’t gentle with them either. But it turned out the bastards were the sons of some of the leading lights of the town…” the dwarf looked away for a moment before continuing, “There was a bloody riot, Rowan, and folk on both sides were killed by the end of it. The g’Tyrren were probably lucky to get away at all. Since then all dwarves have been banned. The good citizens of Gabonsbridge don’t allow any of us in their lovely town, and they certainly don’t allow us to contaminate their precious bloody bridge!” Dann’s voice was bitter and his eyes fiery as he finished.

  “And how long has this been going on for?” Rowan asked, his voice deceptively calm.

  “Longer than I can remember… probably seventy years or so. We rarely come here, but some of the other clans used to try and… but ‘twasn’t worth it, truly. There’d have been all-out bloody war of they’d insisted.”

  “Would there, indeed? And is all of Candellar like this?”

  “No, no. The rest of the province is all right. There’s a few clans live in the western parts; not many, but a few. They’re treated all right, but… well, I certainly wouldn’t like to live here in the east. The only reason we’re here now is to just cut across this bottom corner of the place to get to Gian and the Moot. Otherwise it’d take us bloody ages to go around.”

  Rowan recalled the map he’d studied and knew that it was true. There were a lot of dangerous swamps and damned nearly impassable mountains down this way. He looked thoughtful for a moment before he turned to his friend again.

  “What do you think would happen if I rode up to Gabonsbridge and wanted to cross the bridge, Dann?” he said.

  The dwarf looked at him in surprise.

  “You’d have no trouble, Rowan. Why would you?”

  “I’m g’Hakken too, Dann, or had you forgotten that?”

  Dann smiled up at him. He was first and foremost a Siannen forester, but he’d been adopted into the g’Hakken clan after he won his first Champion’s Trophy at eighteen. At six foot three, his clansmen always said he was the tallest dwarf ever, and they were very likely right.

  “Of course I’ve not forgotten it, you silly bugger! But…”

  “But nothing, Dann. I think I’d like to see this damned bridge that’s caused so much bloody trouble for everyone for so fraggin long. I’ll just go up and have a word with Finn, shall I? See if I can get him to alter course a bit.”

  “Hang on a minute, laddie! I’m coming with you!” Dann said happily as he urged his pony after Ashen.

  **********

  Finn was hesitant to risk a confrontation at first: after all, he had the safety of the womenfolk and youngsters of the clan to consider too, but the situation had seriously irked him for a long time.

  “But, Rowan, what if they decide to attack us? They say the g’Tyrren were damned lucky to get away as well as they did,” he said anxiously.

  Rowan raised an eyebrow at him.

  “You and Dann are both Master Smiths, Finn, and young Owen’s well on his way to being one as well. You’ve got your hammers with you and you know how to use them, don’t you? Your hunters are good archers and everyone else can handle an axe or a knife or something, can’t they?” he said, “And I’m not bad with a blade or an axe.”

  “Ha! Neither you are! Nor anything else for that matter. But I don’t want to start a bloody war, Rowan.”

  “Bugger me, Finn, you know I’m the last one who’d want to do that.” He was, too. He still had nightmares about the battles at Messton and Trill that’d earned him the highest military honour in Yaarl, and he thought he always would. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t stand up for myself and the clan. Anyway, I truly doubt it’d come to that. Most bullies turn to quivering jellies when you confront them.”

  Finn look
ed around at the little group of dwarves that’d gathered around them. Most were nodding their heads thoughtfully and he found himself doing the same.

  “So what’s your plan, lad? You sound like you’ve got one…”

  Rowan smiled at him.

  “Aye, well… sort of. I thought we could stop outside the town a bit, set up a guard around the camp, and then perhaps you and Dann and I could go into town and ask nicely to use the bridge.”

  The dwarves all stared at him as if he was stark, raving mad.

  “Ask nicely? That’s your bloody plan?” Finn managed.

  Rowan nodded cheerfully.

  “Aye. And if that fails… well, I suppose we could always take over the bridge for them. I’m pretty sure that’d teach them a few manners and a bit of respect for us dwarves.”

  Finn looked likely to choke himself, so Dann spoke up quickly, “Er, Rowan… did you really just say we’d take over the bridge?”

  “Mm… don’t you like the idea, Dann?”

  The dwarves all looked at each other and laughed.

  “We love the idea, laddie. We’ve been pussyfooting around these bastards for far too fraggin long. But no wars, remember?” Finn managed.

  “There won’t be a bloody war. I doubt the thing’s very well guarded, if they even bother to guard it at all. Shouldn’t be a problem if we’re a bit careful.”

  Finn shook his head slowly as he looked at him in amazement.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Rowan lad,” he said.

  Rowan smiled at him happily.

  “Good. I’d hate to be too bloody predictable.”

  **********

  It was put to a quick vote.

  Unsurprisingly, the g’Hakken voted to at least try Rowan’s plan. If it failed… well, they weren’t too proud to run when necessary, their ponies were swift, and they’d have a head start on the townsfolk. And then they could try crossing the river downstream; perhaps with Rowan’s help it’d be a bit less dangerous. Or there was always Plan B.

  **********

  The dwarves stopped a couple of miles from the northern side of Gabonsbridge and made themselves comfortable, but not so comfortable that they couldn’t leave at very short notice. Rowan, Dann and Owen rode on towards the town, with Finn staying behind to organise the clan. Rowan made a quick detour to look at the river downstream from the town and its bridge, and he could see why the dwarves were hesitant about crossing it. It was a wild, feisty river that raged down its deepish canyon, and though it looked magnificent, it looked damned dangerous too. He thought even Rill would think twice about going too close.

  “It comes out of the canyon and widens out a bit about eight or so miles downstream, but ‘tis still bloody wild,” Owen said gloomily.

  “Don’t fret, laddie, I think we can sort this out so we won’t end up with wet feet,” Rowan smiled at him, “But I’ve had another thought… what do you think about this…?” The dwarves stared at him in astonishment as he outlined his new idea, then they looked at each other and laughed.

  “Gods, you’re a bloody devious bugger when you set your mind to it!” Dann chuckled happily, “But aye, that might be even better.”

  And so they decided to simply move on to Plan C.

  **********

  34. “the best bridge for miles around”

  Rowan rode alone towards the town of Gabonsbridge. A walled town, it was, but not overly large. He summed up the defences with an expert eye as he brought Ashen to a halt and dismounted.

  “A good day to you, Sir,” he said to the stocky little man who hurried out of a small hut just outside the town gates.

  Nice strong timber gates set in a nice strong stone wall perhaps thirty feet high, Rowan thought. And this fellow’s not a Guardsman either. Good. He held out his hand politely.

  “And to you,” the little man responded cheerfully enough as they shook hands. He was surprised to see the scar on the back of Rowan’s hand and realise that he had a finger missing, but, well, accidents happened, he supposed.

  He took in Rowan’s size and his long silver braid, a little surprised to see that his short beard was neatly braided too, and then his eyes strayed to the axe strapped to Rowan’s back. Bugger me, he thought in amazement, I think this man’s a Siannen forester. He’d never seen one, much less actually met one, but they were part of the folklore of Yaarl and he knew what he was seeing. The long, intricately braided hair was simply unmistakeable, and if they wanted to braid their beards as well, who was he to naysay them? Perhaps it explained the scarred hand and missing finger too: both were probably common enough in the forests. But what in the nether hells would a forester be doing here?

  “We, er, don’t see many of your kind here in Gabonsbridge, or in any part of Candellar for that matter,” he added hastily, hoping he hadn’t given offence to the newcomer. It was said that Siannen foresters could be very particular about manners.

  Rowan smiled at him. He was likely the first forester to come to the province in a very long time. Most of his kin rarely left the great forests of Sian for long, but though he loved the trees, Rowan wasn’t ‘most foresters’.

  “No, I’m sure you don’t. Not many of us leave the trees, and if we do we don’t usually go very far,” he said, “But this time some of the clan’s on its way to Gian and we’re just cutting across this eastern corner of Candellar to get there.”

  “Gian?”

  “Aye. Some bloody nonsense or other that some damned fool said we’d go to,” Rowan didn’t indulge the gatekeeper’s obvious – and perfectly understandable – curiosity, “Anyway, I’m not fretting myself about all that, I’m just a sort of advance scout for the clan. The river’s too damned fierce to be crossing it safely downstream, so I’ve come up this way looking for a nice bridge.”

  “Well, you’ve found the best bridge for miles around right here,” the gatekeeper said proudly.

  “Seems like the only bloody bridge for miles around!” Rowan said with a grin, “I’ve not found any others.”

  “Ha! You won’t find any others either, not for a good day and a half upstream and down.”

  “Mmm… well, I’d best have a look at it, I suppose. There’s about, oh, a hundred and fifty or so of us, and I’d hate for the damned thing to give way when we’re halfway across.”

  The gatekeeper looked most surprised at the thought of a hundred and fifty foresters suddenly appearing from, well, nowhere.

  “A hundred and fifty of you?” he said.

  “We’re not all foresters,” Rowan said truthfully, he being the only one of the clan who actually was, “But aye, there’d be a hundred and fifty, a hundred and fifty-five of us all told. We’re well-behaved though, so we won’t be bothering your Watch or the Guard as we go through the town.”

  “Don’t have a Guard post here, and no official Watch either, just a sort of citizens’ militia. With the walls and all we’ve found that’s all we really need. We man the gates and keep an eye out for trouble, but you look harmless enough, no disrespect intended. Oh, and you’d best negotiate with the toll collector and make a cheaper rate if you can. Mind you, he’s a miserable old bastard, is Kein Bellet.”

  “So it’s a toll bridge?” Rowan had already guessed that there wasn’t a Bridge troll here: the situation with the dwarves would simply be abhorrent to them, and so would the idea of charging a toll to cross their precious Bridge.

  The other man nodded.

  “Ya. Quite a good little earner too, just between you, me and the gatepost,” he said.

  “Aye, I suppose ‘twould be. Well, I’d best be getting on or the clan will be thinking I’ve got lost. ‘Twas good to talk to you.”

  Rowan swung up into Ashen’s saddle and headed into the town of Gabonsbridge, happy with how things were going so far. No Guard post was a bonus, but not entirely unexpected.

  “And good to talk to you, too,” the gatekeeper said, still puzzled but unworried. Foresters weren’t known for making trouble in spite of their dauntin
g physical size, and certainly this particular one had been politeness itself.

  Rowan attracted quite a bit of attention on his way through the town. He didn’t set out to do it, but decided he could probably use it to further his cause. He found the town square with no trouble and left Ashen contemplating a particularly uninspiring statue of a stout, bald gentleman with a supercilious sneer on his fat ugly face. Surely this wasn’t Gabon? He’d somehow imagined somebody a bit more… distinguished than this man. He headed for an inn and stayed there for a little while, buying a round of drinks for everyone there, as well as the hangers-on that he’d collected. He nursed a mug of ale and repeated the tale of his being an advance scout for his clan, just here to see the bridge, while he listened to the general chatter about a couple of merchant caravans that were expected in the town in the next day or so. He also learned that the statue in the square wasn’t Gabon, but some other worthy pillar of society, and he lost interest in it.

  Then he went to a general store and bought some good strong rope, and finally he stopped at a saddler’s and bought a spare girth for Ashen.

  “That’s a fine horse you’ve got there,” the saddler said as he checked the length of girth required, “Good big barrel on him, plenty of heart and lung room. Not too heavy, though, and he looks like he’d be fast.”

  “Aye, he is, and thank you. I bred him myself,” Rowan said happily, “He’s very like his sire.”

  They talked horses for a while and finally Rowan bid the saddler a good day and continued on to the bridge.

  **********

  On this southern side of the town the gates were just as strong and the walls just as high as on the northern side. The guard’s little shed was outside the gates as before, on the almost six foot wide strip of land that separated the town’s walls from the chasm of the river. Inside the gates was a toll booth manned by a sour-faced man of around fifty years. Like most Candellarans he was a bit less than six feet tall and stockily built. He had thinning grey hair and was running to fat, and he didn’t look particularly pleased to see Rowan and Ashen.