by Helen Gosney
Suddenly he thought of another way that might get the message through, though his last comment seemed to have struck a chord with many. Good. He slipped off his shirt and was rewarded with another gasp from the dwarves.
“Now, I know that some of you’ve seen my scars, but I want you all to have a damned good look at them right now. This one… well, ‘tis two really, I suppose, because it missed a bit…” he indicated the awful scar that ran from his right shoulder almost to his elbow, skipped his forearm and tore across the back of his hand, “Now, that was from a halberd, and if the poor silly lad wielding it had truly known what he was about, he’d have taken my arm off at the shoulder. As it was, I only lost a finger, though I near as dammit lost the arm later anyway, when the wound wouldn’t heal. I truly don’t know if the folk at g’Beyans’ Bridge have halberds, but they likely do have a few rusty old buggers lying about the place somewhere… and you really don’t have to be any good with one to do a lot of damage, provided you can heft the cursed thing,” Rowan saw the dwarves nearest him blanch, and kept going, “And this other scar, here…” it started somewhere under his left arm and ran obliquely across his ribs and then around his body. It hadn’t missed the Forest Giant clan tattoo over his heart by much more than a handspan. “I wouldn’t have survived this if it’d been perhaps an inch or so deeper. It was just bloody lucky that I killed the other fellow before he could strike properly. His sword cut around my body like that as he fell…” he shook his head slowly, “So you can see that the other buggers can still have a damned good try at killing you even when they’re dead themselves…”
Oh, yes, there were plenty of pale faces around him now, and most weapons had been resheathed.
“’Tis easy to kill, my friends,” he said softly, but he knew that every dwarf there would hear him in the complete silence, “’Tis very fraggin easy. But I beg you not to do it. Folk don’t get up and walk away like they did when you played ‘war’ as youngsters. They come back to visit you in your dreams though, believe me. Every cursed night.”
He turned and walked blindly out a side door of the huge tent, the shocked dwarves parting before him. His face was very, very pale and the silence was absolute.
**********
Anna found him sitting under a tree, with Ashen laying beside him. The stallion had its head resting in Rowan’s lap like a huge dog. She hugged Rowan and sat down beside him, saying nothing for a few moments.
“Are you all right, laddie?” she said softly, watching him as he twisted Zara’s ring on his finger.
“Mmm, sort of. I’ll be better in a bit, I think.”
“That was very brave of you, Rowan. Thank you.” She could only guess at what it must have cost him.
Rowan found a smile for her.
“Somebody had to do it, and I’m the big tall bugger with all the scars to frighten them with,” he said.
“Be that as it may, they’ve calmed down now. ‘Twas a lot sooner than we’d dared hope.”
“What about that young fellow from the g’Ballen? He seems like a damned rabble-rouser, if anyone does.”
“I think his clansmen will take care of him, Rowan. They can be feisty and inclined to act before thinking things through, the g’Ballen, but you shocked them to the core. Their headman is a good strong leader too. I think they’ll sit on young Feore well and truly.”
“I hope so. That lad needs a good kick in the backside, I’m thinking.”
“Aye, I think so too.”
**********
55. “the day after the Moot Meet”
“Finn! Rowan! Oh, where the hell are you? You must come quickly and stop them!” Anna shouted as she hurried back to the g’Hakken camp site from the market in the centre of the Moot. It was the day after the Moot Meet.
Rowan was on his feet in an instant and so were Finn and Dann.
“What’s up, love?” Finn asked anxiously as he saw just how upset his usually unflappable wife was.
“Oh, Finn, they…” she panted a bit in an effort to get her breath back. It was a warm day and she wasn’t getting any younger. She had a couple of heavy bags in her hands too.
Rowan took the bags of food from her trembling hands, then put an arm around her and squeezed her gently.
“Anna, Anna, calm down, love. Take your time and get your breath back and then tell us what’s got you in such a knot,” he said, “Nothing’s so damned vital that it can’t wait for a few minutes.”
She shook her head.
“This… this is, Rowan. Those bloody young troublemakers have…”
Finn, Dann and Rowan looked at each other and frowned.
“What troublemakers, love? Who? And what the hell have they done?” Finn asked as he took her hands in his.
“Those bloody fool lads from the g’Ballen and the g’Delsren, Finn. They’ve… they’ve ridden off to teach the folk of g’Beyans’ Bridge a lesson, they say.”
“What! But, Ma, why the hell would they…?” Dann said, appalled, “The clans’d all calmed down and seen reason…”
“How do you know that, Anna love? Who was saying it?” Finn squeezed her hands comfortingly, but he didn’t like the sound of this.
Rowan, more practical than any of them, reached for his weapons and asked simply, “Which way did they go, Anna, and when did they leave? Oh, and how many of them were there?”
She pointed north-eastwards.
“That way. They left well before dawn, Rowan. ‘Tis all around the market place. They… they say there’s about thirty of them, I think. Mainly g’Ballen and g’Delsren, and a few hotheads from the g’Tull. Apparently their leader’s that bloody young loudmouth Feore g’Ballen. You know what he’s like from the Meet yesterday.”
Rowan remembered him from the meeting all too well… a loudmouthed, opinionated young fellow who wouldn’t listen to anyone.
“Did you say thirty or so, Ma? Bloody Hells! Rowan, you can’t go after them by yourself, we’re coming with you,” Dann said quickly.
Rowan looked down at him and nodded.
“Aye, thanks Dann, but Ashen will outrun your ponies and theirs too. You and Finn get the headman of each of their clans and come after me.”
“But Rowan, ‘tis too dangerous…” Anna cried anxiously.
“Don’t fret yourself, Anna love. I’ll be careful and I’ll be fine, I promise. But I have to stop the stupid young buggers if I can.”
He whistled softly and Ashen trotted up to him. He was about to leap onto the horse’s bare back and gallop off, when he remembered his own recent words: ‘nothing’s so damned vital that it can’t wait for a few minutes’. He shook his head and hastily harnessed the stallion, thinking quickly as he did so. It’d taken them nearly a fortnight to travel here from g’Beyans’ Bridge, but they’d had wagons and they hadn’t been in any hurry. He thought he could probably do it in two days without any problems, two and a half at the most, and it’d take the young dwarves and their ponies longer than that. He glanced at the sun – they probably had a good six hours’ start, perhaps more. Well, it was as it was.
He took the water bottle and package of food that Anna had hastily thrown together for him, kissed her, and mounted Ashen.
“Don’t push your ponies too hard, Finn. Pace them or they’ll fall in a heap and we don’t want that,” he said, “Ashen and I’ll catch those useless young buggers, don’t worry.”
He turned Ashen to the northeast and trotted out of the camp. As soon as he was clear of the tents and wagons he picked up the trail with no trouble at all; urging the stallion into the odd gait it’d inherited from Mica, he set off after the hot-headed dwarves who were intent on mayhem.
Yes, they had a good start, but Rowan thought he’d likely catch them before noon the next day.
**********
56. “a very old dwarven punishment”
In fact Rowan caught up with the errant dwarves not long after dawn on the following day. He came over a rise to find them sitting around in a makeshift cam
p about half a mile away, eating breakfast. At least somebody’d had enough brains to bring some supplies, he thought. They were young fellows, perhaps in their mid-twenties judging by the length of their beards, but certainly old enough to know exactly what they were doing. Their ponies were grazing nearby. They looked weary and footsore, and Rowan thought their riders probably weren’t well versed in the art of pacing one’s mount so it could run all day. He, on the other hand, had had a hell of a lot of practice at it and he’d often dismounted and run beside Ashen to give the horse some respite. Ashen was bright-eyed and ready to run for hours again, if need be. Rowan dismounted, patted his horse, and walked quietly into a convenient clump of trees.
A few minutes later, the dwarves looked up in surprise as a long shadow fell across their little group. Rowan stood there, perhaps twenty or so feet away.
There was immediate consternation in the camp as the dwarves surged to their feet, grabbing hammers and axes as they did.
“What the hell…?”
“Great bloody Beldar! Where the frag did you come from?”
“How did you get here so fraggin fast?”
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Rowan looked down at them, but didn’t smile as he normally would.
“Did you not take in a single damned word I said at the Meeting? I’m here to stop you lads from making the worst mistake of your lives,” he said softly.
They stared at him in amazement, then laughed. One of them stepped forward: Feore of the g’Ballen clan, in his element here, leading his group of likeminded heroes to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting folk of g’Beyans’ Bridge.
“Ha! And how the hell do you think you’re going to do that?” he demanded belligerently.
Rowan shrugged.
“This’ll be a start,” he said, and whistled softly.
The weary ponies raised their heads as one and trotted towards him, and Ashen came to him from the top of the rise. The stallion stood alertly at his side, ready to defend him if needed.
The dwarves gaped at Rowan as he patted the ponies that clustered around him.
“How the hell did you…? Those damned ponies were hobbled…” one of the dwarves managed.
“Aye, they were, and ‘tis a wise precaution out here in the Woopsies. Any beast might startle them and make them run off,” Rowan said, stroking Ashen’s nose absently.
“But…”
“But that doesn’t stop anyone from undoing them, does it?”
They looked even more astonished, if that were possible. How could he possibly have unhobbled an entire herd of ponies without disturbing them? It simply couldn’t be done… but the undeniable proof that it had been done was right in front of them. Of course they’d all heard the tales about this adopted g’Hakken, but most simply hadn’t believed them. They knew better now.
Feore pulled himself together.
“A good trick, but we’ve still got legs to walk with. And there’s thirty-two of us. What’s your next trick going to be?”
Rowan shook his head.
“No tricks, Feore. But I will stop you, one way or another.”
“Oh, aye? I’m still waiting to hear just how you’re planning on doing that,” Feore sniggered as he stroked his axe suggestively. Most of the young dwarves stood beside and behind him, but a couple with a little more sense than the others stood back a bit.
“Well now, let me see. I’m definitely not going to run over there and attack you, Feore, though a good kick in the backside would likely do you a world of good, and I warn you right now that I’ll certainly defend myself if need be. Hmm… I suppose we could have a nice little bout of single combat, just you and me… or a couple of your friends can join you so you won’t feel too lonely or feel that it’s unfair… and if I were you, lad, ‘tis the way I’d go, because we’d only have to go to first blood and that won’t take long at all,” Rowan said, then he stood a little straighter and squared his broad shoulders, despising himself even as he did it but hoping the bluff might work. It wasn’t entirely a bluff, anyway. He didn’t make idle threats and he could do exactly what he was about to say as easily as breathing… would do it if it’d stop an all-out war between dwarves and men, no matter what the consequences might be for himself. “Or we can have a lovely melee and I’ll kill at least ten of you before you can lay a weapon on me. And you lot’ll likely maim or kill a few of your friends as well in the general confusion of it all. And of course the bonus to that is, if we happen to survive we’ll all hate ourselves forever for doing it. So, which would you prefer?”
The dwarves stared at him again. He towered over them and was powerfully built without being heavy. Most of the dwarves were miners or smiths, and all were strongly built too, and of course Rowan was older than all of them, but they’d seen him dancing with his axe and his sabre and marvelled at his athleticism and sheer expertise. They looked at each other again and several more shook their heads and joined the first couple.
“Now, lads,” Rowan said conversationally, “This is the time you should be quietly trying to surround me, if that’s what you’re going to do…” there was a soft hiss as he drew a dagger, “But now that I think about it, you’re probably a little bit late to be worrying about that… nobody wants to lose an eye now, do they?”
“You… you bastard!” Feore said, following it up with a foul insult that made Rowan laugh.
“I’m so sorry, Feore,” he said, hastily trying to look stern again, “I didn’t mean to offend you or your clan, but I was just picturing my dear old Gran and her Ma with the ears and tail of a donkey. Now, if I weren’t a forester as well as a g’Hakken, I’d take the top of one of your ears off for that, as you well know. Lucky for you that I am; and luckier still that I don’t really remember my own Ma well enough to see her like that too, because that would likely upset me. Now, enough messing about. What’s it to be? Oh, dear. I’m not sure we’ve still got enough starters for a decent melee…”
Feore glanced behind him and paled. At least two-thirds of his troops had backed away and put their weapons down.
“You bloody cowards!” he shouted, “Just what I’d expect of you lot! Can’t you see that he’s bloody bluffing? He’s only one man, when all’s said and done! Any dwarf’s as good as him!”
“Not me, Feore. I watched him sparring with my Pa, and that fellow from the g’Nessun,” one of the young g’Delsren piped up, “You take him on if you think you’re so damned good!”
Feore swallowed hard, grasped his axe more firmly and stepped forward. Two of his friends looked at each other, nodded, and did the same as a few more went the other way.
Rowan sighed and flipped the knife to his other hand.
“Well, lads, I have to admire your courage and your loyalty to each other, if not your damned brains Please don’t do this, though. I truly don’t want to hurt you, and there’s no shame in backing down,” he said.
“No? Then you back down and we’ll go and kill those bastards in g’Beyans’ Bridge!”
“Sorry, but I simply can’t let you do that. Don’t you see that you’re going to start a bloody war between dwarves and men if you touch anyone in that damned town? I thought you might have learned something the other day, but I realise now that I was wrong,” he shook his head slowly and sighed again. “Do you truly think the g’Hakken didn’t want to do exactly the same as you when they realised the truth of it all? Thank the Gods they didn’t run off waving weapons about like you lot are.”
“The g’Hakken? Ha! They’re too bloody cowardly to do anything but scratch their damned backsides! Useless fraggin farmers, most of them!”
Rowan reached down and picked Feore up one-handed and dangled him in front of his eyes. The stunned dwarf was shocked to see the sudden fire kindled there, and shocked again as he realised that Rowan’s very strong grip on the back of his jacket meant that he, Feore, couldn’t move his arms at all. He dropped his axe, hoping to hit Rowan’s foot, but missed by a good margin; in f
act almost hit one of his friends. There was a muffled oath from that dwarf as he hastily jumped backwards.
“Feore, you need to shut up right now, before that mouth of yours gets you into even more trouble than it already has. You might not see me as a true member of the g’Hakken, but believe me, they do and I do too. You will not insult my clan like that if you know what’s good for you.”
“Ha! You’re no more a cursed goat-loving g’Hakken than I am. You should be fraggin glad of it!”
“Enough. Keep very, very still now if you value your life. Does the phrase ‘an’Keyilar tel’ mean anything to you?”
Feore blanched as he looked into Rowan’s angry mottled green-brown eyes and he became very, very still indeed. His two friends took two steps backward, dropped their weapons, bowed their heads, and did the same.
An’Keyilar tel was a very old dwarven punishment, for particular use against those who wantonly insulted other clans. To fight against its rightful application could mean death. It was very seldom invoked except as a dire threat, but nobody could or would dispute Rowan’s right to use it, dreadful as it was to any dwarf.
Rowan plonked Feore down on the ground with a bone-jarring thud, but his very firm grip remained unchanged. He reached over with the other hand and gently stroked the blade of the dagger down the young dwarf’s cheek from the outer corner of his eye to the point of his chin. The braided beard fell away neatly, to the horror of all of the dwarves.
Rowan ran a finger down the inch wide strip of exposed, unmarked skin on Feore’s face, then nodded slightly. He could have shaved off more, a lot more, but he thought this would be enough.
“Smooth as a baby’s backside, just as Therellen said. ‘Tis good g’Hakken workmanship for you, Feore, and a lesson as well. Don’t take on something you can’t handle, and don’t be too bloody proud to take an honourable way out when it’s offered to you. More important than that, though, be very bloody careful who you mouth off to in future. Most g’Hakken would have quietly slit your throat for you just then. Be thankful you only offended me and not one of them,” Rowan said, and turned to the others, “Now, finish your breakfast and pack up your campsite, please, and we’ll get going.”