Red Rowan: Book 4: The Dwarf Moot

by Helen Gosney

  “Thank you. Just give us a few minutes to read it and discuss it with the clan, and we’ll be happy to sign it if ‘tis what you say. Would you like some tea or ale while you wait?”

  The men stared at him as if he’d suggested they all eat poison, but when Saul and some of the womenfolk came forward and accepted happily, they changed their minds. They quickly found that dwarven hospitality was as good as the old, forbidden stories said, and even Lester Figgins found himself sitting on the log, drinking the best ale he’d ever tasted and eating a very tasty sort of savoury biscuit that tasted of cheese, onions and, oddly but deliciously, apples. He watched in astonishment as his own grandchildren played happily nearby with a group of young dwarves.

  **********

  49. “… our gift to you.”

  With the charter signed, and all of the necessary hands duly shaken, there was nothing to keep the g’Hakken in their temporary camp. Rowan applied himself and his new axe to cutting up the logs that’d defended the bridge so faithfully. It was partly a kindness and partly that nobody wanted to be moving the damned things again. He left Lionel Figgins’ knife still stuck in a good-sized piece of timber by the toll collector’s little table; but he stacked the rest of the stove-sized and smaller bits and pieces of wood from the Town End log neatly just inside the walls and those from the Camp End one to one side of the other end of the bridge, so that they’d dry properly to be useful as fuel for the townsfolk.

  While he’d been busy with this, some of the dwarves had trotted their ponies happily – and without incident - through the town and gone back to rescue the wagons they’d left among the trees on the northern side. Tents were all very well for a while, the dwarves felt, but wagons were definitely more comfortable to sleep in… unless you were a long-limbed six foot three like Rowan, of course. Luckily he preferred to sleep under the stars anyway; besides, his sleep was still as restless and disturbed as it’d been since Messton, and he didn’t want to be waking the whole camp if he could help it. The remainder of the clan had the camp and all their belongings neatly packed up when they returned. All that remained was a final round of handshaking and they’d be off.

  Lester Figgins and most of the town came back to the southern gate to find Finn, Dann and Rowan waiting for them with two ponies and Ashen. After the necessary – or, to Rowan’s practical mind, repetitive and unnecessary – formalities, the three clansmen mounted up and turned to leave.

  Lester’s eyes widened in horror. The wires and things on the bridge were still there. He began to curse about the treachery of dwarves in general and foresters in particular.

  “Hush, Lester, hush. Some of us are very sensitive about things like that,” Rowan said cheerfully, “You don’t want to start another damned seventy years’ feud, do you?”

  “But… but… you’re still going to blow up the bloody bridge! Why? Why the hell would you do that? We gave you everything you wanted!” Lester spluttered.

  “Aye, you did, and we’re grateful for it.” Rowan smiled at him, “No, Lester, this is our thanks to you for the charter…”

  “You’re going to thank us by demolishing our bridge?”

  Rowan looked down at him, puzzled.

  “Who said anything about blowing up the bridge now? We’ll need the damned thing to get back over the river on our way home, and so will everyone else who comes this way,” he said, “No, this is our gift to you, and to prove it, Ashen and I’ll stay in the centre of the bridge while Finn lights the fuse.”

  “’Tis better at night, mind you,” Finn said, “But ‘tis a bit gloomy and overcast today, so it should be all right.” He and Dann trotted their ponies to the far end of the bridge, dismounted, and waited while one of the youngsters led their mounts away. The ponies were all well back, but the dwarves themselves were waiting expectantly much closer than Lester had anticipated. What the hell was going on here?

  Rowan halted Ashen beside the plaque in the middle of the bridge and smiled as he dismounted. This’d be something this cursed town would never forget. He waved to Finn to light the fuse.

  With a strange whistling scream something tore into the sky and exploded a couple of hundred feet above Rowan’s head. The dappled stallion stood firm with Rowan’s soft reassuring words in its ears and his gentle touch on its face and neck and shoulder, as a myriad of multicoloured stars lit up the gloomy clouds above them and drifted down to fall, hissing, into the river. There were more explosions, and more stars; there were assorted bangs and pops that produced noise and coloured smoke, but little else; there were things that burned like fizzing candles before taking to the sky trailing smoke and sparks, and there were whirling things that crackled and sparked like demented firewyrms. The horse’s ears flickered a bit under Rowan’s protective and comforting hand, and it leaned its head against his chest fairly heavily, but it stood staunchly through the lot. Rowan was very proud of Ashen and told him so. The ponies’ ears were stuffed with scraps of fabric and wool, and so were Ashen’s, but it was still very loud in the centre of the bridge. Rowan cursed himself for not stuffing his own ears with something as the display ended with a final cascade of stars that looked like a beautiful glowing waterfall. It was simply breathtaking. Rowan heard the ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s from the enthralled townsfolk – once they’d got over their initial shock, of course – and he smiled happily.

  “’Tis a little sideline of the g’Ballen clan. They’re miners, but they make these as well… they call them…” he said some incomprehensible words of Dwar and smiled, “Sorry. Umm… it doesn’t translate well, but ‘tis something like, er, ‘small explosions that light up the sky’… it sounds much better in Dwar. As for the different sorts, ’tis much simpler. Some are ‘stars’, some are ‘candles’, some are, um, ‘whizzers’, and some are simply ‘bangers’ and ‘smokers’. Impressive, aren’t they? Of course you’ve got to be careful not to set them off near anything that’s going to burn, or too near any beasties, and as Finn said, they’re better at night, but still…” he said, trying not to laugh at Lester’s expression. It was a wonderful mixture of awe and amazement at what he’d just seen, incredulity that Ashen hadn’t bolted, and anger at the realisation that he’d been had.

  “You never were going to blow up the bloody bridge, were you?” the mayor managed.

  Rowan shrugged.

  “We hoped we wouldn’t have to, Lester. ‘Tis a beautiful and useful thing, but… well, truly, if you’d not agreed in the end, then, aye, we’d have blown it up all right, just as I said we would. I assure you we’ve got enough powder left from blowing up that damned statue to make a good job of doing the same to the bridge. I’m glad we didn’t have to, though. And now, a good day and good fortune to you and your people. Perhaps we’ll see you again when we come back after the Moot.”

  He remounted Ashen and trotted away towards his dwarven kin before he laughed at the sudden horror-struck expression on Lester’s face as the man remembered the effortless demolition of the statue in the main square.

  **********

  50. “… so folk can see you”

  Finn rode at the head of the g’Hakken clan, as was only right for a Master Smith and headman of the clan, and Rowan and Dann often rode beside him as they travelled on. Sometimes, as inevitably happened, Rowan found that he’d drifted back through the travellers to somewhere just behind the centre of the group.

  A fortnight or so after leaving g’Beyans’ Bridge, Rowan found himself riding with Owen and his wife, Maya, laughing at their tales of previous Dwarf Moots and wondering just what he might expect from it. He was surprised to see Dann riding back towards them.

  “What’s wrong, Dann? Got a beastie somewhere ahead that needs moving on? Or are you just making sure your son here’s behaving himself?” he asked with a grin.

  “Ha! No, young Owen’s a lost cause, I think, Rowan lad. The old man said to come and get you, bring you up the front so folk can see you when we get there. ‘Tisn’t far now, just over that next hill,”
Dann said.

  Rowan looked at him in surprise.

  “So they can what? Bloody ‘see me’? Dann, old friend, I truly think they’ll see me all right, no matter where I fraggin am. No offence or disrespect intended, of course,” he said.

  Ashen wasn’t an overly big horse, but he certainly wasn’t small either, and of course Rowan himself stood at six foot three. No matter where they were in the group of dwarves they were conspicuous.

  “Ha! None taken, Rowan. Still, it’d be better if you were up the front, Pa thinks, so folk can have a good gawk at you with nobody in their way.”

  Rowan muttered something that made all of the dwarves around him laugh.

  “Gods, ‘tis as bad as the cursed Guard! I thought I’d got away from all that damned nonsense,” he added, frowning, “And I suppose I’ll just have to bloody shut up and accept it all graciously here too?”

  Dann nodded, trying hard not to laugh again.

  “Aye, laddie, I’m afraid so.”

  “Dammit.”

  “And remember, be careful of…”

  Rowan suppressed a sigh.

  “… of idiots who feel like challenging me. Thanks for the warning, Dann, but I’ve been fending off the silly buggers for years. Don’t fret yourself.”

  “Ah, but were any of those silly buggers dwarves?” Owen asked innocently.

  “No, they were mainly Guardsmen and general idiots, like those caravan guards at the bridge.” Rowan shook his head, then looked at Dann and Owen more closely. “Gods! I’d forgotten what stubborn, prickly bastards you damned dwarves are, with no offence intended to anyone. I’ll be extra careful, I promise.”

  “Us, stubborn! There’s nobody in the world as stubborn as you bloody foresters, with all respect to you and your clan,” Dann laughed, “And you’re both a forester and a dwarf, so there’s absolutely no hope for you, you poor bugger!” He sobered suddenly, “But truly, lad, some clans are bloody quick to take offence over nothing. They’re damned nearly as pigheaded as you too, and not too bright with it. Just be careful, that’s all.”

  “Aye, I will be. ‘Tis just as well to remind me, Dann. Thanks,” Rowan said as he urged Ashen to follow his friend to the front of the clan.

  “Will there be any of the g’Beyan here, Finn?” Rowan asked curiously as he joined him, “We should tell them about the bridge first.”

  “Aye, we should, but… well, I doubt there’ll be any of them here, lad. They’ve mostly died out now, I’m sad to say,” Finn replied.

  “That’s terrible. What happened to them?”

  Finn shrugged.

  “Most of their menfolk died for some reason… I don’t really know all the whys and wherefores, but they say ‘twas the will of the Gods … ‘twas about the time you left to go north, so it likely was. Anyway, those that were left moved up to Bettra, and the womenfolk married into other clans. There’s very few left now. ‘Tis a pity, but that’s the way of it,” he said, “We’ll tell the clan leaders before we tell everyone else though, I think.”

  **********

  Rowan wasn’t really sure what he’d expected of the Dwarf Moot. Yes, the dwarves had told him a lot about it, and naturally he’d asked plenty of questions too… he knew it was a sort of cross between a town fair or carnival, an animal show, and a sporting competition with a bit of politics and legal to-and-froing thrown in. Even so he couldn’t really picture it in his mind. As they came over the last hill he stared in amazement.

  As far as he could see across the nice sheltered bowl of a valley that lay before him, were tents… small tents, family-sized tents, even a couple of huge tents that’d accommodate a good-sized circus, and everything in between. There were also quite a few wagons such as the g’Hakken had, and a few solid little timber buildings as well – stores, perhaps. It was all arranged with the usual dwarven precision and passion for neatness and it looked more like a good-sized town than anything else. There was even what seemed to be a market just to the left of the centre. Naturally, there were dwarves everywhere and there was a gentle hum of conversation that sounded vaguely like the hum of a gigantic hive of bees from where the g’Hakken were.

  “Ready, laddie?” Finn said.

  “Aye, I think so. They won’t bite, will they?”

  Finn shook his head.

  “No, most won’t, but some can be a bit, umm, feisty…”

  Rowan raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Anyone in particular I should be looking out for, then?”

  “The g’Delsren can be a bit lively at times…” Dann spoke up from his other side.

  “And what’s their pattern?”

  Dann began to explain the braiding of the g’Delsren clansmen’s beards, but he broke off with a curse.

  “Bugger me! There’s their headman standing right in our way, the miserable old bastard! He won’t bloody move, either.”

  “Then he’ll find himself getting run over, won’t he?” Rowan said with a smile.

  Dann laughed happily.

  “I wish you’d been able to come to other Moots, laddie. We’ve needed your sort of diplomacy at times.”

  “Nobody is more diplomatic than I am, ‘tis true,” Rowan said modestly.

  He looked carefully at the belligerent looking dwarf planted in the middle of the road a little way ahead. Relatively tall and built like the proverbial brick privy, the fellow was almost certainly a smith of some sort, Rowan thought. Yes, he had a heavy hammer in one hand and his brawny arms bore the myriad little scars of old burns that all smiths had, just as his own hands and arms bore the similar scars that marked him as a swordsman.

  **********

  “Move your backside, you damned old fool!” somebody from the middle ranks of the g’Hakken spoke up, “Can’t you see we’ve got the Champion with us? Show some bloody respect!”

  The dwarf drew himself up to his full height of just over five foot, huffed into his magnificent braided beard, and stood his ground.

  “Ha! We g’Delsren don’t bow and scrape to anyone!” he pronounced fiercely.

  Rowan glanced at Finn, saw the tiniest of nods, and suppressed a sigh. He was quite prepared to stand up for himself, but he’d thought he’d at least have got into the great camp before he’d have to do it. He dismounted from Ashen and faced the aggressive fellow before him.

  “A good day to you, Sir,” he said in his fluent Dwar, “We g’Hakken and Forest Giants don’t bow and scrape either, except when good manners demand it of course. And then, as a good friend of mine once said about something else, we do what we have to do, when we have to do it. Doesn’t make us any less, and it keeps other folk happy,” Rowan smiled mischievously, “’Tis a bit like having a bath every… oh, six months or so, whether you need it or not.”

  The surrounding dwarves gaped at him in horror and hastily moved back several paces. The g’Delsren chieftain was relatively young despite what some had said, and he was notoriously short-tempered and very, very quick to take offence over nothing. He’d be sure to explode over this subtle slur on his hygiene. His face got very red behind his splendid beard and he began to shake with anger. He stepped forward and raised his hammer as Rowan stood his ground beside Ashen. Everyone else quickly moved back a bit more.

  The g’Delsren headman had both hands on his hammer and the weapon raised, ready, as fast as a thought, but Rowan had a dagger in one hand and his sabre in the other even more quickly. The dwarf looked at the superb weapons in disbelief and his eyes widened. That sabre had been in its scabbard beside the horse’s saddle the last time he’d seen it. How the hell…? And the horse had a wicked look in its eyes too, he thought. No, he must be imagining that. Suddenly he shook his head, and lowered the hammer. Laughing, he held out a big, callused hand.

  “They all said you were bloody fast, laddie, and bugger me, they were right!” he said, “And maybe what you were saying might be right in some circumstances, too. But ‘a bath every six bloody months’? You damned cheeky young bugger! Typical fraggin g’
Hakken! Finn, you old bastard, have you been teaching this young laddie bad habits?”

  “Not me, Dass,” Finn laughed, “I think ‘twas probably Dann’s lad, Owen.”

  Rowan smiled at Dass as they introduced themselves properly and shook hands. The sabre and dagger had disappeared as quickly as they’d come and Ashen had relaxed too. Rowan hoped the dwarves hadn’t noticed that the stallion had been ready to attack and trample the g’Delsren headman if needed.

  “To be truthful, Dass, I didn’t really need any teaching at all. Don’t blame Owen for my bad manners,” he said.

  “Ha! The day a forester has bad manners is the day I’ll be shaving my beard, lad. Welcome to the Dwarf Moot!”

  “Thank you. ‘Tis an honour to be here.”

  Dass smiled up at him, his belligerence gone.

  “The honour is all ours, laddie, and I’m sure I speak for all of us here, saying that. Who’d ever have thought the triple Champion would be a dwarf, and a damned g’Hakken at that!”

  “Who’d ever have thought there’d even BE a triple Champion, and such a bloody tall big bugger too? I know the g’Hakken are a tall lot, but this one must be the tallest one ever!” came a voice from the crowd as they surrounded Rowan to congratulate him and welcome him to the Moot.

  “Well done, Rowan lad,” Finn said softly.

  **********

  51. “… better than any razor”

  Rowan looked around curiously as they were shown to the place that’d been set aside for them. Yes, what’d looked from a distance as if it might be a market proved to be just that, and Rowan resolved to visit it at his earliest opportunity. He knew he’d be tied up for a few days as the dwarves inspected his Champion’s weapons, but after that, his time would be his own. And he’d promised to go and watch the g’Hakken youngsters when they competed in their running races and the like.