by Helen Gosney
“Aye. And a bloody disgrace they were too. They couldn’t even draw their swords properly, the idiots. Truly, they’re an embarrassment to themselves and the Guard; they wouldn’t last five minutes in any garrison in Wirran, and certainly not mine,” Rowan grinned happily at Cris, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “I should have cut their girths for them too. Ah, well. Let’s get on then, Cris. We can’t be spending all our time upsetting idiots and braggarts, fun though it is. We’d never get anything else done.”
The onlookers hadn’t enjoyed themselves so much for a long time and they’d laughed and cheered as Cris and Rowan walked away. The Guardsmen of Gnash were more or less a law unto themselves and anyone foolish enough to try and stand up to them regretted it very quickly. Seeing them put in their places with such devastating bluntness and ease had made the bystanders’ day, and the sight of them being helplessly borne away had been the perfect finale.
“Weren’t you afraid, Rowan?” Cris asked curiously as they walked off.
“Of them? No.” He shook his head slowly. “But only fools are never afraid of anything, Cris. The secret is not to let it overwhelm you to the extent that you’re afraid of being afraid, and you end up doing nothing when you should be doing something. Even if that something might sometimes turn out to be running like hell the other way.”
“But won’t they come after us?” Cris knew how petty and vindictive some of the Guards could be, though the one who’d fallen off his horse had slunk away pretty smartly.
“No, I don’t think so. They’ll have enough trouble to worry about when their horses get back to barracks with no bridles and probably without both of them too. It really upsets Horsemasters if a bridle’s lost, and one of those idiots left his sabre behind as well. And you can be sure the story will be there almost as soon as they are. They won’t need to be looking for any more trouble from us… er, sorry, from me. I doubt their friends will bother either, they’ll all be too busy laughing.” Rowan grinned cheerfully again. “I’d be glad to tell their Captain what I told them, if he cares to ask me.”
Rowan had been right, Cris reflected. Nothing more had come from their meeting with the Guardsmen. And it had been fun upsetting them.
But how ignorant he’d been… it was obvious that not all Guardsmen were swaggering fools like those in Gnash; Rowan’s story and the scars he bore were the proof of it.
He watched as Rowan walked cheerfully around on his hands. Cris wasn’t bad at acrobatics himself, and he thought he might try some in a few days when his horse riding stiffness had gone. He didn’t think he’d disgrace himself too much, though he didn’t have quite the same fluid grace as Rowan, and he certainly didn’t have his strong sculpted physique. Of course, he thought to himself, he hadn’t been in hard training for half of his life either.
Rose gave Rowan a hard shove as he went past and he collapsed in a laughing heap in front of them.
“Oh... that wasn’t nice, Rose!” he said, trying hard to look stern, “Just for that, I should leave Soot as he is.”
They all looked across at the horse which was happily rolling in the sand with all four legs waving ridiculously in the air.
“You know, some people say that a horse is more valuable if he can roll right over from one side to the other...like that!” said Rowan thoughtfully, “I’ve never quite understood why... there’s lots more important things to look for in a horse than that, I think… but I suppose it means he’s more agile or something... right now it only means a bit more sand I’ll have to brush off...”
All the horses were very sandy indeed, as Rowan had foretold, but eventually he and Cris had them sleek and glossy again, and they were ready to travel the Road of the Gods.
When they reached the place where the road ran through the notch in the hills they halted and turned to look behind them. Sunset Wash was grey and sullen, the sky leaden, and the causeway and its spiral were as enigmatic as ever.
**********
20. “I suppose we’re pilgrims of a sort...”
They were coming out of the hills, each busy with their own thoughts, when Rowan noticed something ahead.
“What’s that, Cris? It looks like... I don’t know, a farm or something,” he asked, “But I thought no-one lived along the road now.”
“No, they don’t, as far as I know. I don’t know what that is...” Cris replied, but as they moved nearer, he remembered something he’d heard from a traveller.
“I think... I think I remember somebody telling me that there are old ... um... ‘waystations’ along the road. Well, that’s what he called them, anyway,” he said, “There’s a few old buildings and pens and things.”
“How convenient,” said Rose thoughtfully, “I suppose if pilgrims were travelling this road a lot, they’d need something.”
“You don’t think it would have been better for their souls if they’d had to rough it a bit?’ Rowan said, laughing as his sister pulled a face at him.
They stopped a little further along the road to investigate the ‘waystation’. It consisted of a large flat area that was overgrown with weeds and grasses: there were three stone buildings on one side, a fenced area on the other, and in between was a long two-storied stone building. The buildings were in reasonable shape considering their obvious great age, though one had no roof, and the back wall of another had a large hole in it; the drystone fence around the area opposite was crumbling in places too.
“I suppose that was a corral for the horses,” said Rowan thoughtfully, “And in the middle there was a stable and storage shed of some sort, for hay and grain and saddles and things.”
“And these others might have been sleeping quarters, dormitories perhaps, and maybe a little place to cook and eat,” said Rose, peering through a doorway. “It’s not too tumbledown either, all things considered, some of these buildings would keep the rain off,” she added, “Did you say there were a few of these on the road, Cris?”
“I seem to remember someone saying that they’re about half a day’s ride apart and that they’d found them all the way to Dimlit Marsh. I don’t know if there’s any beyond there or not...” Cris replied, trying to remember more, but failing. It’d been quite a while since he’d spoken with this particular traveller, and the man himself had been more interested in drinking as much of Bimm’s fine ale as he could than talking to an inquisitive ratcatcher.
“Maybe we can use them too, then. I suppose we’re pilgrims of a sort...” Rowan said, “’Twould certainly be more comfortable in here than under a tree, if this weather breaks...”
Break it did, a couple of hours later. They’d gone a good distance down the road; it was in surprisingly good condition and Rowan wasn’t one to dawdle along. He wasn’t one to overtax his horses for no good reason either, and he was well used to pacing them to conserve their strength. He was also very good at judging the abilities of other riders, and Cris was again pleased to find that he and Bess kept up with the others quite well.
Now the road was running through gently undulating open country with scattered stands of oak and ash and firewheel trees. Every so often they saw quite large herds of cranu, fine golden-coated beasts with long slim bodies and legs made for running. Many of the cows still had well-grown calves at foot and the bulls were protective, tossing their long twisted horns and making short charges at the travellers as they passed.
The rain that had been threatening all day finally began in the early afternoon. A slight drizzle at first, it soon became quite heavy, and the wind became stronger and cold.
“There’s not much shelter around here,” Rowan said, pulling his cloak more tightly around him, “I hope we find another of Cris’s waystations soon.”
Cris was hoping the same thing as the rain began to trickle down the back of his neck. He looked enviously at the twins’ hooded cloaks and cursed silently to himself.
“What’s that ahead?” he said suddenly, trying to see through the driving rain.
A little further on the road
seemed to be covered by a single layer of rough blackish boulders - a few were as large as a melon, some quite a bit bigger, and most were higher than a man’s waist. They were loosely scattered about and they covered the way ahead for quite a distance, extending off the road to both sides.
“There aren’t any other rocks around here...” muttered Rowan, who was riding a little ahead of the others, “Where on earth could they have...” his voice broke off as Mica suddenly bounded forward then reared, snorting fiercely and lashing out with his forefeet.
The nearest boulder rang like a gong as the steel-shod hooves connected, and suddenly it shot out a long sinuous neck, its round head topped with a pair of glowing red eyes waving on stalks above a gaping mouth filled with needle-sharp teeth. Mica danced backwards, then lashed out again, catching the creature on the side of its head. As it fell back the horse sprang forward, snapped at it with his teeth, then trampled it beneath his great hooves. Rowan wheeled him on his hindquarters and came back to where Soot was rearing and fighting for his head; the black stallion would have been up with Mica already if Rowan hadn’t called to him to wait. Rose and Cris were stunned at the horses’ sudden ferocity.
“Gods! What’s happened? What are those... those things?” Cris stammered, staring at Mica’s gore-covered hooves in horror.
“I’m not sure... but Mica obviously doesn’t like the look of them, whatever they are. Cris, keep a tight hold on Bess and Max... Rose, give Soot his head, he’ll protect you, but keep a really good hold on his saddle and his mane, that’s what they’re for,” Rowan warned, his voice calm.
The group of two hundred or so boulders had now all sprouted long necks topped with menacing, stalked red eyes and wide hissing mouths. They grouped themselves closer together, the smaller ones in the centre, then began to glide towards the travellers, still hissing ferociously and spitting a thin venom.
“They look like... like huge snails...” said Rose a little shakily as Soot aligned himself with Mica, ready to do battle. She realised suddenly why Rowan always put the clan braids in the lower part of Soot’s long, thick mane; just where she could grab them and wrap them around her hands for extra grip if needed. Silently she blessed him for his foresight.
“Aye, but they’re not like any snails I’ve ever seen. Gran didn’t have these in the garden at home,” Rowan said, drawing his sabre and neatly lopping off the head of the nearest creature as Mica reared again.
“Do you think we can get past them... or around them?” Cris said anxiously. He was holding tightly to Bess as she flattened her ears and started backing away from the creatures.
“Aye, I think we can get around them all right, they aren’t that fast... but be careful, I think they could be poisonous,” Rowan replied as one of the biggest creatures spat venom at Mica’s flailing hooves. “You go first Cris. Take Max and give them a wide berth. Don’t go to that side, where they’ve come from,” he added, indicating a wide path of glistening silvery slime to their right.
Bess and Max willingly headed off the road and around the creatures, keeping well away from them as Rowan had said, but Soot and Mica were a little more reluctant as both had scented a battle in the making. A solid kick from Soot connected with one of the slightly smaller snails, splintering its shell badly before Rowan dispatched it. He grabbed Soot’s bridle and led him away. They all rode on for a bit and turned to look back at the snails, if indeed that was what they were.
“I’m sorry I ordered you both around like that,” Rowan said, unhappy with himself, “Force of habit, I suppose…”
“It’s all right, Rowan, don’t worry about it. I don’t think either of us would have known what to do otherwise… I certainly didn’t,” Rose replied, pleased that she’d managed to stay on Soot’s back; she was a good rider, but she simply hadn’t realised how strong and determined the horse could be if the situation demanded it.
“Oh, Gods, no… I’m… I’m just glad we’re past them,” said Cris, patting Bess’s sweat-streaked neck, “But what made Mica attack like that in the first place, Rowan?”
Rowan was carefully cleaning Mica’s hooves before moving on to do the same with Soot and checking to be sure that none of the horses had been splashed with venom. He cleaned his sabre with the same care and resheathed it.
“He’s battle-trained, as I told you... he must have sensed some danger from those creatures,” Rowan said slowly, “I think we might have been lucky that he did, too, we would have been in trouble if they’d suddenly come to life like that when we were in the middle of them...”
“Don’t even think of it!” said Rose with a shudder, remembering the tooth-filled mouths and the waving red eyes and the demented hissing.
“And look...” said Rowan, pointing to where the glistening slimy trail became a wide black swathe of destruction, all the vegetation killed by the creatures’ passing.
They rode on in the rain for another hour before they came to the next waystation. It looked much the same as the first one, three buildings on one side and a fenced area on the other, and a long double-storied building in between. The three smaller buildings had no roofs, but the long central one looked to be reasonably intact.
“So long as you don’t mind sharing with the horses and a few cobwebs, I think we’ll be fine in here,” said Rowan, looking around.
“I don’t care who I have to share with, just as long as it’s dry,” Rose said quickly.
Luckily, it was fairly dry except for a big puddle in one corner, and there was plenty of room for the horses at one end and the travellers at the other. The men looked after the horses as Rose set about making a warming drink and a meal for them all.
“Do you think those snail things will come here?” wondered Cris nervously as he rubbed Bess down. He’d found himself starting to shake every time he thought about the creatures.
“No, I doubt it. I certainly hope not, but I’m sure the horses will warn us if they’re anywhere near,” Rowan replied.
Cris looked at him curiously. Rowan seemed perfectly relaxed as he tended his horses.
“Weren’t you afraid today, Rowan? Does nothing ever frighten you?”
Rowan looked at him, surprised.
“Of course it does… but, well, not beasties, generally. Still, I’d be lying if I said I’d enjoyed our little meeting.” He shook his head slowly. “Remember, Cris, only fools are never afraid of anything. Daft I might be, but not completely stupid as well, I hope.”
**********
There were no alarms in the night, but Cris woke to the sound of hoofbeats in a regular rhythm close by. He got to his feet, pleased that he was much less stiff than the previous day, and went to the doorway. Rose was standing there too, wrapped in a cloak and cradling a mug of tea in her hands.
“Oh, a good morning to you, Cris, there’s hot tea there if you want some,” she said; then seeing his rather confused look she added, “It’s all right, it’s only Rowan... he realised yesterday that he’s been a bit lax with the horses’ training.”
“With their...?” Cris said, still half asleep. He looked outside. The sun was barely up and the flat grassy area outside was still gloomy and full of mist.
Mica cantered slowly out of the mist like a great grey ghost, his pace so fluid and controlled he seemed to be floating; Rowan sat easily on the horse’s bare dappled back, the pair of them moving as one. They came around the end of the square, Mica changing stride so that he appeared to be skipping, then they set off on the diagonal at an elegant trot; a long figure-of-eight brought them back to the centre, where they paused, Mica lifting his hooves high as if marking time. Suddenly he leapt forward and upward, forefeet tucked under his chest and hind feet lashing out. He landed neatly, spun on his hindquarters and then repeated the manoeuvre, seemingly effortlessly. He backed away for a few paces, his head nearly on his chest, then sank back on his hindquarters, lashing out with his forelegs. He hopped a couple of paces forward on his hind legs, his forelegs tucked under his chest, and then he spra
ng upwards again. As he landed he spun around twice then set off again at a lovely extended trot.
Cris was amazed at the performance.
“I’ve never seen anything like that! It’s so graceful... and truly, I’ve never seen anyone ride like Rowan, it’s like he’s part of the horse, ” he whispered to Rose, who had been watching as intently as he.
“Yes... It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I love to watch them, it’s as if Mica is dancing. Soot is good too, but Mica and Rowan together are very special,” she replied. “You don’t have to whisper, either,” she added with a laugh, “Nothing puts them off their game, but I’d advise you very strongly not to leap out swinging a sword!”
“No fear of that,” Cris said, thinking of the swift dispatch of the creatures the day before. He also hadn’t forgotten the story of the hapless Thallassians.
A few minutes later, horse and rider came back to the doorway where Cris and Rose were still standing. Rowan smiled as he saw them there.
“Sorry if we woke you up. I realised after Mica dealt with that creature yesterday that it’s been a bit too long since we’ve done this. As good as Mica and Soot are, they still need to practice... so do I for that matter. Certainly not every day, when we’re travelling like this, but a bit more than I have been.”
“That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen... it was just beautiful,” said Cris, wide-eyed with the wonder of it.
Rowan leaned forward and patted Mica’s dappled neck.
“Thank you. Mica and Soot are both very good at this... I think they love to show how clever they are,” he said, as the grey bowed gracefully to them.
“Will you ride Soot now?” Rose asked him.
“Aye, I’d like to, if... er…would you mind walking Mica about a bit and rubbing him down?”
“I’d be pleased to, if you think he’d let me,” said Cris before Rose could reply. He’d decided it was time he overcame his timidness around the stallions. If the stableboys at Bimm’s could handle them without any problems, so could he.