Red Rowan: Book 4: The Dwarf Moot

by Helen Gosney

  “Tell me about them, Fallon. You’ve never mentioned them, and I just thought you… you didn’t have a family,” he said.

  “No, I don’t talk about them, because I miss them too much if I do… but I have two fine sons, Sascha and Mikkel, they’re… um, they’d be twelve and ten now. My little girl, my little Dara, would be nearly six…”

  Rowan wondered if he should ask about Fallon’s wife, but before he could make up his mind, the other man continued softly, “And my wife, my beautiful Xoanna, dear Gods, I miss her so much! And as I was sitting here, watching these little ones running about, I… I…”

  “You wanted to be with your own children, with your own family,” Rowan said gently.

  Fallon nodded and wiped his eyes again.

  “Can you not go back to them?”

  Fallon shrugged hopelessly.

  “Fallon, look at me, please,” Rowan was relieved when Fallon did so, “Have you truly done something so terrible that you can’t go back home to them? No, I don’t believe it. I know ‘tis none of my business, but…”

  “… But why did I leave them? I wanted to give them a better life, Rowan. We are very poor, and I… I wanted something better for them than a neverending struggle just to exist… we black people were once… we were once slaves in Ti’Ahranu… generations ago, now,” he added hastily as he saw the shock and horror in Rowan’s face, “It is many generations ago, and… we are free now, but still we are not always treated well. The only jobs I could get paid barely enough to live on, and…”

  “Fallon, I… I had no idea. Slavery is… is inconceivable to me…” Rowan felt ill at the mere thought of it.

  “It was a long time ago, but it is a shameful secret that the Ti’Ahrani still keep,” Fallon looked down at his own hands unconsciously twisting together, “It is a deep shame that we will always carry.”

  “It is not your shame, Fallon,” Rowan said softly. He said nothing more for a moment as he tried to comprehend it, and failed. He shook his head and continued, “And so you took a job as a caravan guard so that you could make more money for them…”

  “Yes. I send money back to them, and sometimes I get a letter from Xoanna, or my younger brother Tibor. The letters are always months old by the time they catch up with me, but they say she does get the money, and it makes it easier for her and the children… and she wants me to come home. The children miss me, and they are growing up so fast…”

  “How long is it since you’ve seen them, Fallon?”

  “Dara was just walking. She’d just had her first birthday…”

  Rowan looked away for a moment and swallowed hard. His own little lad, Liam, would be ten now if he’d not been born too early to survive. And if Zara hadn’t died too, perhaps they’d have had two or three more children. It still broke his heart to think of it.

  “You need to go home, Fallon. Your children are growing up not knowing you. Go now, today,” he said.

  “But…”

  “If you’re fretted about money, you can have whatever I have with me. ‘Tisn’t a huge amount, but ‘tisn’t a little either,” he’d brought extra with him for the Dwarf Moot, quite a bit more than he’d normally carry. It wouldn’t matter if he didn’t spend it there; besides, Finn assured him that the clans wouldn’t let their Champion be paying for anything. He’d not been happy about that prospect, and it would change. Meanwhile, the dwarves found the whole situation highly amusing.

  “Rowan, I can’t just take your money!” Fallon said, his shocked tone bringing Rowan back to the business in hand.

  “Why not? ‘Tisn’t as if I’ve just stolen it or made it myself. Please, Fallon, take it; give it to Xoanna with my best wishes for the future. But take it, and go home to her and the youngsters.”

  “But…”

  “Just leave me enough to buy something nice for Gran, Rose and Honi at the Moot. If I need more and I can’t earn it somehow, I could always sell my sabre. ‘Tisn’t as if I need the damned thing now, anyway. I’m not planning on killing anyone else, and ‘tis all it’s good for.”

  Fallon’s eyes widened. He’d seen that sabre, even sparred with it while Rowan had used the scimitar. He’d never forget the sheer perfection of it.

  “No! You couldn’t sell it! You… you just couldn’t!” he said, aghast at the thought of it.

  Rowan shrugged. He’d thought that way too, before Messton, but since then, no.

  “Aye, I suppose you’re right. The clan would be mortally offended, and I’d hate to do that. But truly, Fallon, I don’t need all the money. If I find that I’m a bit short, I’m sure I can find a couple of knife throwing or archery competitions to win. Gods, that sounded bloody arrogant, didn’t it? My apologies,” he smiled at Fallon, “But please, please don’t let pride stand in the way of accepting something you truly need when it’s freely offered.”

  Many emotions chased each other across Fallon’s dark face as he sat there, thinking about what Rowan had said. Finally he turned to him and threw his arms around him in the sort of gigantic bear hug that Griff was so fond of giving.

  “Thank you, Rowan. Thank you for your wise words and your kindness. I accept your offer, but I can’t take it all… maybe, er, half? Will that leave you with enough? And I shall pay it back to you when I can,” he said.

  “Half? Are you sure that’ll be enough for you? And you don’t need to pay it back, Fallon,” Rowan said, “But if you truly feel that you must, I have an idea to put to you.”

  “And what is that?”

  “First, let me ask you this: would you ever leave Ti’Ahranu, with your family of course? Is there anything there that’d keep you from leaving? Parents, friends?”

  “I have already left there, Rowan. I’m only returning now because of my family. It is a very harsh place for those who aren’t well off, and… well, truly, it seems not to reward honest workers, and particularly if they are black, as I said. Both my parents are dead, and so is Xoanna’s father, but her mother, Gramena, is still alive. She lives with us… with Xoanna, and helps with the children; they call her Grammy. Tibor and his wife, Fael, live with them too. They have no children yet, as far as I know. And as for friends… I’ve been away too long, I think.”

  “Then I’d like you to think about this… my cousin Griff and I breed horses, as I’ve told you… but I’m away a lot more now, one way and another, and involved with other things that’ll take more time than I’ve really got, and ‘tisn’t fair to leave poor Griff and his wife to do everything. Some friends are helping us out now, but, well, situations change… they might want to move on, and it’s getting too big for us, to be truthful. I’ve seen you with your horse, and Ashen, and the ponies, and you’re good with them. Would you consider bringing your family to Sian to work with us? And Tibor and Fael, if they’d come? ‘Tis a bloody long way to travel, I know, but…”

  Fallon stared at him in a sort of disbelieving wonder.

  “Did you just offer me a job? Did you truly just…?”

  “Well, aye. You and your brother both. Xoanna and Fael might find themselves roped in to help out sometimes too. And if you’re worried about the colour of your skin, don’t be. We Siannens care as little about that as the dwarves and their ponies. Possibly even less. And most of my kin are at least your size – except for my Ma’s side. They’re all considered a bit, um, ‘little’, like me,” Rowan smiled at Fallon, “Of course we’d have to build another cottage for everyone to live in, but that wouldn’t be a problem. There’s plenty of space and plenty of trees to build it from, and the clan’ll help…” Rowan’s voice trailed away as he saw the tears well up in Fallon’s eyes again, “Fallon…? What’s wrong? What have I said?”

  “You have offered me and my family a chance at a good life, Rowan. A life we have never even dared to dream of… there is nothing wrong at all. Thank you.”

  “Then I can expect you, Xoanna, Tibor and Fael, Grammy, and your children in Sian sometime? Good, I’ll look forward to it, and we’ll start bu
ilding a nice new home for you all when I get back after the Moot,” he frowned suddenly, “Dammit! I nearly forgot I’ve got to go to Den Siddon for a couple of months to deal with the new recruits. Well, no matter. I’ll write to Griff and Honi and tell them to expect you sometime. They can organise a house for you, or we could wait until you get there and you can decide for yourselves where you’d like it and if it’s to be single or double storied… we should really build a separate one for Tibor and Fael, don’t you think? I’m sure Xoanna and Fael would prefer that. You could stay in the barracks for a while, it’s finished except for a bit of paint here and there, and that’ll certainly be done by then.” It’d be done by now, he thought, and the Engineers were probably on their way back to Wirran, proud of a job well done, and rightfully so. “Cris, Tadeus and Rill moved in just before I left to join the dwarves and they’re very happy in there. There’s plenty of room…” Rowan smiled happily at the look of utter shock and wonder on Fallon’s face. He remembered something else. “Oh, and if I’m not actually there, because I’m fairly sure there’ll be some sort of bloody hold-up with the Horsemasters, just ask anyone in the town to take you to my father, Rhys d’Rhuary, or my cousin, Griff d’Fergus, and they’ll look after you. I’ll write it all down for you, I know the names can be bloody confusing. I’ll even draw you a nice map.”

  Griff would nag him endlessly about more waifs and strays, Rowan thought cheerfully, completely unworried by the prospect. He knew full well that Griff would have done exactly the same as he just had.

  **********

  The dwarves were sorry to see Fallon go, but they understood his overwhelming need to be with his family again. As they all said their goodbyes to him, each of them pressed something into his hand. When he finally realised that they were little purses and pouches of coins, he turned to Rowan with a questioning look.

  “Just accept them, Fallon. They’d be offended if you didn’t,” Rowan said softly in Ti’Ahrani, “They want to help you and Xoanna, all of your family, and this is the only way they have of doing it right now.”

  “Thank you all,” Fallon said when he finally reached his horse, “You’ve done so much for me… taking me into the camp, treating me as… as if I’m no different from you… and… and now this…”

  “You are no bloody different, except for being such a big tall clumsy bugger!” somebody piped up.

  “So I am. But… thank you. I don’t know what else to say to you…”

  “’Tis all you need to say to us, Fallon. Fare thee well, now. May you have a safe journey home, and we hope you’ll bring your family to meet us when you’re settled with Rowan and Griff and Honi in Sian. I think you’ll like it there among the trees,” Finn said.

  “So do I, Finn. So do I.”

  Fallon nudged his chestnut gelding into action and set off on the long journey home. He couldn’t wait to get there and tell Xoanna, Tibor, Fael, Grammy and the children about his travels, and about the wonderful opportunity they’d been offered in Sian. Yes, it was a hell of a long way from Ti’Ahranu to Sian, but that wouldn’t matter. The dwarves had quietly assured him that all foresters thought like Rowan and he knew that Sian would very quickly become home.

  **********

  42. “… just the same as anyone else”

  The revelation of the plaque had shocked him to his core, but Saul had seen a lot of interesting things as he stood faithfully at his post every day. It wasn’t really necessary anymore and the tollkeepers didn’t bother to show up now, not even Gavin, but something about the little encampment over the river had Saul fascinated.

  He’d never left Gabonsbridge, and so had never actually had any contact with dwarves before. He quickly realised that they weren’t the monsters he’d always been told they were. They laughed and bickered and went about the business of living their lives just the same as anyone else.

  Their womenfolk cooked wonderfully savoury-smelling meals that made Saul wish he could join them – of course he couldn’t, if he wanted to keep his job – and most meals seemed to be shared on a communal basis, as indeed most of the work of the camp was. Their children ran about and played games and tricks on each other, and got underfoot just like children everywhere. Their ponies were sleek and well cared for, and their little tent town was neat and clean and tidy.

  They’d taken that huge black man into their camp too, accepting him as if… well, as if he wasn’t a huge black man, to put it bluntly. They’d laughed when his sheer size inevitably caused chaos among their tents, and they’d been genuinely sorry when he’d decided to move on.

  And of course Saul had never seen a Siannen forester either, and that in itself had been another real eye-opener. Rowan seemed to fit into the clan’s ways as if he was just a very tall dwarf - he certainly didn’t knock any tents or anything else over as the other fellow had - and he did his share, and more, of any work that needed to be done. He was as stubborn as a rock, of course, and he’d proved that over and over with the caravan masters and Mayor Figgins, who still came down here every so often to chew his ear. It was like water off a duck’s back, though. He’d listen politely to the Mayor’s tirade, and to any of the Council members who’d put in an appearance, then quietly ask if the dwarves would be allowed to cross the bridge freely and in peace now. When he got the inevitable negative answer, he’d shake his head a bit sadly, wish the Mayor and any hangers-on a good day, and turn and walk away.

  The dwarves with him were inclined to mutter incomprehensible things in Dwar, undoubtedly the foulest of curses, but not Rowan. At least not here. His manners were simply impeccable. His private thoughts and words with his friends were very likely another matter, Saul thought. Rightly, as it happened. He’d seen an oddly dangerous light in Rowan’s eyes at times when dealing with Lester Figgins, and for one wonderful moment a few days ago, Saul had thought that Rowan was going to pick the man up bodily and shake him until his teeth rattled. Or possibly even toss him over the side of the bridge. Luckily the dwarves had managed to put themselves between Rowan and temptation and the moment had passed. By the stunned look on the mayor’s face, he’d suddenly realised how very close he’d come to taking an unplanned and very dangerous swim. Realised too that the Champion wasn’t a man to be trifled with, in spite of his remarkable patience and lack of aggression. Saul thought that Lester had been a lot more circumspect in coming down here since then, and certainly more respectful of Rowan and the dwarves who’d undoubtedly saved him that day.

  And there was something else about Rowan, too. Well, a couple of things, really.

  Saul had seen him training with both axe and sabre. That wasn’t odd… it was astonishing. He’d moved like the athlete he was, and his speed, grace, and sheer ability had been simply astounding. And terrifying in its casual expertise. Yes, Saul knew he was the Champion, but even so… and another thing, he used either hand with equal ease. Saul had never even heard of anyone doing that.

  And even though Rowan truly was the triple Champion, he seemed not too worried about it, and certainly didn’t expect anyone to be bowing and scraping when he was around. He’d actually told Saul to call him by his name, rather than ‘Sir’ or anything else.

  The town guard had also watched as Rowan rode his superb young stallion most days in an oddly beautiful series of exercises. Bloody Hells, he’d thought, that damned horse can dance better than I can. He was always disappointed when Rowan finally halted the horse, slid down from its back, rubbed it down and made much of it, then walked over to a group of dwarves ostensibly tending their ponies, but in reality watching him ride. The horse quietly followed him like a dog at heel, and in fact all of the ponies did the same at times. Now that was definitely odd.

  **********

  43. “nowhere to kick a ball properly”

  Finn’s wife, Anna, had become like a sort of cross between a mother and a grandmother to Rowan and so he listened to what she had to say, while the rest of the dwarves scoffed. And in the end, as most Mas and Grans inevitab
ly seem to be, she was proven to be right.

  “The breakthrough will come with the youngsters, and then with the women,” she’d said.

  It was a couple of days after Fallon had left them. The dwarves had been camped by the bridge for just over two weeks now and everyone was happily settled into the new routine, quite pleased to have a bit of a break from travelling. Game was plentiful a few miles from the town and the silverjackets from the river were tasty and relatively easy to catch.

  They’d turned away a couple more caravans, with varying degrees of irritation on the part of the merchants, though most calmed down when they heard the reason for the inconvenience. Those that didn’t were still politely turned away. One day Rowan had just finished training with his sabre; he knew that the dwarves expected him to demonstrate both his sabre and his new axe at the Moot, and he wasn’t about to disappoint them. Besides, he’d been doing it for so long now that he felt strange if he didn’t start his day with some sort of physical training, and working with the axe or sabre was as good as anything else he might do.

  He’d put his shirt back on and was resheathing the blade on his back when he heard a yell. He swore and ran to the end of the bridge to find three caravan guards drawing swords and threatening the four dwarves who were there. They for their part were ready to defend themselves with hammers and axes. It would have been a short and very bloody encounter.

  “NO!” Rowan shouted as he ran up.

  “Ha! Are you the Champion? Good. We’ll have you instead!” the head guard sneered when Rowan told them to put their swords away.

  “I won’t fight you. There’s no need for violence here. Please just go,” Rowan said.

  “Surely the Champion’s not afraid, is he?”