Red Rowan: Book 2: All Gone, the Gods

by Helen Gosney

  In light of this, he refused extensive treatment to his shoulder & of course he’s right to. There’s little point in causing any more damage trying to fix the damage that’s already there when we’ll all be killed tomorrow anyway & it will only further impair his ability to fight. He is ambidextrous as all Siannens seem to be [and interestingly, so few others are. I wish I’d realised this before] so will use his left hand as he has for most of the day, but still the injured right shoulder will hinder him enough as it is without me adding to it. I’ve cleaned & dressed the wound as best I can & removed as many embedded chainmail links as I could see in our poorly lit tent.

  He’s sent a report to the Commandant requesting the troops held in reserve at D.S. be sent to us urgently. He knows it will be too late for any of us, but he hopes there might somehow be one or two survivors & if there are, they will certainly need help.

  ***

  Next day

  We are still alive. Except of course for the very many wounded men who’ve died overnight. Rollo & his men simply never came to kill us. Capt. Rowan took some men over to his camp & found many dead men, but little else. Most had died of their wounds, but there were some 200 or so less badly injured men who’d obviously been murdered. There was no sign of Rollo & his remaining troops. None of us can understand it at all. Perhaps the man truly is mad.

  Capt. Rowan has sent a second report to Den Siddon telling of our reprieve & again asking for urgent assistance. Surely we will have help in a few days at the most.

  He’s taken a small volunteer troop in an effort to catch Rollo before he can leave Wirran soil. Injured as they all are, I fear for their safety but I realise it’s necessary to at least try to capture Rollo & make him accountable for his terrible actions.

  ***

  A week has gone by & still there has been no word from D.S.

  Lt. Cholli, in command of the camp in the Captain’s absence, has sent another request for urgent assistance, but we’ve heard nothing. I don’t understand it. We lose more men every day & our medical supplies are being depleted at an alarming rate. Our healers are doing their best, but they’re exhausted by the sheer numbers of injured men they must tend to. The less-wounded troopers help us when they can. Capt. Rowan & his men haven’t yet returned. I have grave fears for them.

  Soon, very soon, we must leave here with any of the men who are still able to ride. We can’t transport the very ill men & I fear we must leave them behind so that at least some of the troopers might get back home. Their morale is very low & it may already be too late to make the attempt.

  Lt. Cholli is a good man who is doing his best under dreadful circumstances, but he struggles with the responsibility of his position in the Captain’s absence and he simply cannot make this terrible decision. In truth, I am not certain that I could make it either, having tended these poor brave men for so long. I am very grateful that it is not my decision to make. Knowing what must be done & actually having the courage to do it despite its horror, are not the same thing at all.

  ***

  We are still at Messton & conditions are horrendous in spite of moving our camp as far as we could. We only managed about half a mile, the men are simply too dispirited, weak & miserable to get any further. I can’t imagine how we can possibly hope to get any of them home. Our medical supplies are all but exhausted.

  ***

  Capt. Rowan & his men have returned. One man has been killed in a battle with Rollo & his men & several are injured. Rowan is seriously wounded & I’m surprised he’s survived, much less got his men & himself back from Trill. Most of the ribs on one side of his chest are smashed & he has a long sword wound around his body. He’s very lucky the wound wasn’t a bit deeper as it would certainly have killed him outright. As it is, he’s lost a lot of blood, is in a great deal of pain & struggles to breathe, but he’s astoundingly determined to get his men home to D.S. I suppose his superb physical fitness has enabled him to keep going in spite of his injuries, but he is suffering a great deal, poor man, & we have few potions to help him.

  Sgt. Cade Pendtsen, who’s been tending the wound in the field, produced a bag & gave it to me. I must have gawped at him. “Just open it, Sir,” he said with a big grin, “Capt. Rowan said you might be needing it.” It was a bag of willowbark. A bag of willowbark that they’d gathered on their way back from Trill at Rowan’s direction. By their own admission none of the men of the little troop would have known a willow tree if it bit them, but Rowan is a forester. Thank the Gods. At least we can help the worst injured men now.

  ***

  Rowan & his men have seen dreadful things at Trill & they are haunted by them. He has somehow managed to stay strong for his men & stopped them from simply giving up as our men here at Messton have, but of course he is distressed too, & he says they all suffer from terrible nightmares. I wish I knew how to help them.

  He can’t believe we’re all still here, can’t believe at least one request for help hasn’t got through & he is furious at what he sees [quite rightly in my opinion, and that of the officers & men] as dereliction of duty by the Commandant.

  He is determined to get all of his men home somehow, even the very ill & badly hurt ones. I don’t see how he can hope to do it. Even if he were unhurt it would be impossible.

  ***

  Rowan gathered the men together & spoke to them. “We have 2 options, lads,” he said, “We can sit here in this stinking bloody mud & wait to die, which I have to tell you I’m not too keen on, or we can try & get back to Den Siddon. Some of us won’t make it; truly a lot of us won’t make it, & it’ll be the hardest, most horrible thing you’ve ever tried to do. But some of us will get back to our homes & our families & back to make the bloody Commandant pay for abandoning us here. And we’ll show the bastard the true glory of warfare. So, get up off your backsides, lads. We leave here tomorrow, all of us. Nobody will be left behind & we’ll keep going as long as we can. If we stick together & help each other, we can do this. We’re not a mixed troop now, we’re one single troop.”

  The men were stunned. They stared at their young Captain, a man as exhausted, ragged & filthy as any of them & more badly hurt than most, though they didn’t realise it. They stood as best they could & saluted him & shouted his name. “Red Rowan!” and then “Red Rowan’s Troop!” they shouted & for a moment he looked distressed. But he is so strong & so determined. He will get his men home if it’s the last thing he does. The problem is that it may well be.

  The men don’t know the severity of his injury, but I do.

  ***

  I remonstrated with him as he struggled through the mud on foot one morning. He was followed by a herd of horses simply following him along – some saddled, with a relatively able-bodied trooper walking beside them holding onto a stirrup, some with no harness at all but still happily ambling along behind him. He was at his own horse’s head, absently stroking its face with his good hand.

  True madness, I thought it, particularly as Rowan could scarcely breathe.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Captain?”

  He looked up at me, puzzled.

  “I’m saving my horse as much as I can,” he replied, “They’ll need all their strength to keep going.”

  “So will you! You’ll bloody kill yourself like this!”

  He shook his head & smiled, his battered face guileless.

  “No I won’t. I may be daft, but I’m not that damned daft.”

  “Captain, please… if you must ride a cursed horse instead of travelling in a cart, then ride the bloody thing, don’t walk in the mud beside it…”

  “Aye, I will soon. But with all due respect, Farran, how much do you know about looking after horses?”

  I must have gaped at him like an Abadonian jawfish.

  He nodded.

  “Aye, I thought so,” he said with another charming smile, “Then leave it to someone who does. I’m all right for now, and when I’m not, I’ll ride again. But I do thank you for your concern.�
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  Truly, his stubbornness knows no bounds. He & his strongest, most able-bodied troopers plodded past me, many of them from Trill. I noticed the horses were simply following Rowan as they all plodded along with the troopers holding the stirrups & I thought it odd, but he is Horse Master after all. One of the men dropped back - Sgt. Cade, who’d tended Rowan’s wound at Trill, & knows the seriousness of it if anyone does.

  “There’s no arguing with him, Farran. He & I’ve been friends a long time & truly he’s a bloody stubborn bugger, always has been & always will be.” He looked at Rowan’s retreating back, “But he’s a good man, & he does this because he won’t ask the men to do something he’s not going to do himself, that’s why he struggles along beside them… & it really will help conserve the horses’ strength. The farm carts are just too bloody heavy for them, laden as they are & in this cursed mud. And if the horses fail, we’ll all fail.”

  I shook my head, worried,

  “If Rowan fails, we’ll all fail too. I think the men will just give up again & stop.”

  Cade smiled sadly.

  “No, we from Trill will keep going to honour him & I truly think the others will too,” he said with certainty & much of the tenacity of our brave young leader.

  “I hope you’re right, Cade. I truly don’t know how he does it, how he keeps going…”

  “No more do I, Farran. But he does, and he will, and for far longer than you or I think he can…”

  Rowan is incurably stubborn & has little concern for his own wellbeing, but he worries about his men & is far kinder to them & the horses than he is to himself. The troopers’ loyalty to this quiet, brave, indomitable man is a wonderful thing among such horrors as we have seen.

  ***

  The sheer courage & determination of all the troopers is astonishing. Of course they have their times of despair, but not one of them will give up & let their brave Captain down. He still leads us, I’m not sure how. I think it is only his physical fitness & sheer stubbornness that has got him so far, but he is simply unstoppable.

  ***

  Rowan was right & I was wrong but he is too polite to remind me of it. The horses struggle to drag the heavy farm carts through the mud, though the teams are changed often and certainly they need all the strength they have as their condition gives out.

  ***

  I went with Rowan on his nightly round to see his troopers. He & the men are very weary, but they are still struggling bravely on & their fury at the Commandant’s betrayal is undiminished.

  I was shocked to overhear some of the truly dreadful plans the men have for the Commandant. I looked at Rowan & his poor battered face was sad.

  “Aye, I know,” he said, “Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it? Mind you, they’d all have to take their turn after me.” He smiled suddenly. “Don’t worry, Farran. Not one of us could manage to do much more than spit in the bastard’s face, but plotting like that keeps them occupied and keeps their minds off this bloody nightmare for a bit. Sometimes I truly think it’s all that keeps any of us going.”

  I looked at him again, still so strong in spite of everything, & I thought about it. He was right, I decided. Besides, there were a few things that I’d like to do to the bastard who’d allowed his injured men to suffer & die as they have, when he had the power to save at least some of them.

  “Can I be next after you, do you think?” I said.

  He laughed, for probably the first time in quite a while, but cursed fluently at the sharp agony in his ribs.

  “Aye, why not? I’m sure you can come up with something interesting for him, with all those damned blunt knives of yours. I don’t think the lads will mind so long as you leave a bit of him for them,” he said when he’d got his breath back.

  ***

  Rowan has just come to see me & asked me to convey his personal thanks to the healers for their brave efforts, & he has told me in confidence that he will not be staying at Den Siddon when we return tomorrow.

  Of course I tried to dissuade him, indeed told him that it was sheer lunacy to attempt to continue, but he & I have had quite a few arguments over his wellbeing & I haven’t won one of them yet. Truly it is said that there is no-one more polite or more stubborn than a Siannen forester, usually at the same time, & Rowan is the proof of it. I believe he’d be considered bloody stubborn even by Siannen standards.

  But when he told me the reason, I could argue no more. He has lost his wife & newborn son in the recent tragedy that befell Wirran, when so many newborn & unborn babes were lost. His sheer courage in the face of such a loss, followed so closely by the horrors of Messton & Trill is humbling & heartbreaking. He’s fought so hard to get his men back to D.S., but it’s not his home any more. Rowan’s home is in the forests of Sian, & that’s where he wants to be. It is as simple as that.

  He is exhausted, but seems to have regained some bodily strength in spite of his wounds & certainly his strong brave spirit is unbowed. If anyone can do this, it is this man. In any case, there is nothing that I or anyone else can say or do that will stop him, short of tying him up, and I doubt even that would delay him for long. I think the troopers wouldn’t allow it anyway… there would be mutiny or worse if I were to try it.

  And I cannot truly say that I blame him. I want to be home in Den Kallen with my family more than I can say.

  What I can & will do is give him the best chance of getting home, as he did for his troopers.

  After he has confronted the Commandant in Den Siddon, as he most certainly will, I will bind his chest, tend to his other wounds & give him sufficient potions to help him to keep going. And I shall pray for him, though I know that he no longer believes in the Gods. After all that he has been through, perhaps he is right not to, but I shall pray for him all the same.

  Farran Endelsson

  ***

  I must record this final outrage of the Commandant. Our little convoy has struggled through the Gates of Den Siddon, to be met by the relief troops lined up neatly and the Commandant waiting for us in full dress uniform, with a tray full of medals. Medals! I truly believe medals are the last thing on our men’s minds. Rowan was furious, as we all were. He halted his horse in front of the Commandant, fully prepared to tell him a few home truths and the cursed man drew his sabre against him. The entire garrison was shocked and appalled at such an insult to both Rowan and his brave survivors, and I’m not the only one who feared the men would riot. But their discipline held. I don’t know how Rowan stopped himself from killing the man, and even with his injuries I’m sure he could have, but he is the Champion in all regards and he was strong enough to resist the provocation. His horse flew at the Commandant’s mount and that poor beast nearly fell. The Commandant fell heavily, parting company with his sabre, and was fortunate indeed to merely be kicked in a sensitive area, though he may not have felt so; however, Rowan did not draw a weapon against him until he finally drew his own sabre, simply to encourage the Commandant to stop his noise.

  And then Rowan said what he’d come to say. He is a good clear speaker in spite of his difficulty in breathing, and nobody who was there was left in any doubt about what had happened and the shamefulness of the Commandant’s actions.

  There was stunned silence in the Parade Ground. Rowan relieved the Commandant of command and then relinquished command of the garrison to his 2i/c, Lt. Fess Aaronson, now Capt. Aaronson, the man who carried the initial request for help to the Commandant. Rowan kicked the Commandant again, and who among us would not have done the same? And then he tore the insignia from his sleeves, dropped them and the medals on the Commandant and turned away. He asked that the dead at Messton and beside the track on the way home be buried with respect and all honours and then he simply walked away.

  ***

  The Commandant is in chains in the dungeon, awaiting courtmartial, as he should be. The injured men are finally being taken care of properly and Rowan has slipped out of the garrison, headed for home.

  Farran Endelsson


  ***

  Excerpt from private journal of Lt. Fess Aaronson

  The Commandant has refused Rowan’s request for urgent assistance for his men at Messton. It is inconceivable, but he has refused it.

  I begged him to send the reserve troopers, even though it is virtually certain that there will be no survivors, but he will not. Not even to try & pursue Duke Rollo & avenge our brave men. He will not explain his refusal & has ordered Thom Blunt & Bryn Harssen & myself to have no contact with the garrison as our wounds are treated. We’ve arrived back from Messton, exhausted, injured & distraught with the knowledge that our friends and comrades are surely dead, but we’d certainly expected that they would be afforded the respect, honour and dignity in death that they deserve.

  I cannot believe it. He has refused the request. Why would he? It is beyond comprehension.

  ***

  The Commandant has remained steadfast in his refusal to send the backup troops to Messton in spite of all I can say or do. Rowan sent me, as he believed the Commandant would only listen to an officer. But the bastard won’t listen to me. I’ve failed my best friend & I’ve failed the troopers too.

  ***

  Sgt. Crenna Piersson of Den Mellar has returned to the garrison with Tr. Sammi Avensson of Den Tillot & Tr. Thorl Thorsson of Den Col, and the incredible news that many of our men at Messton are still alive. Of course there’ve been deaths from injuries received in the battle, but there’s been no further attack by Duke Rollo’s forces & the man has retreated towards Plait after murdering his own wounded troops. It is as incomprehensible as everything else. Rowan has repeated his request for urgent assistance to our injured men & it seems that he’s taken a small force in pursuit of Rollo, hoping to capture him before he can escape from Wirran. Brave, brave man. He’s injured as all of the men at Messton are, and I fear he and his little troop will not return.