The Apprentice (5 page)

“It was
a poor decision on my part to shelter in your home, and it was black luck that
you saw what you did. Now you will be a liability or a responsibility.”

Rowan
wondered what the knight meant by ‘a liability or a responsibility.’ He waited
but no more discussion seemed forthcoming. He thought of speaking, breaking the
silence to try and force the conversation to continue, but he found that he did
not know what to say. There was nothing left unsaid.

Sensing
that their exchange was at an end, Rowan wet the tips of his finger and pinched
the candle wicks, extinguishing the lights one by one. Darkness filled the room
as the last light went out. Rowan lay his head on his pillow, shifting about as
he tried to find a comfortable sleeping position.

Rowan
kept his eyes open, though it was far too dark to see. A silence filled the
room that Rowan found discomforting. It was not a peaceful silence, for outside
the wind still howled and he could hear many strange sounds. Branches scratched
against the walls, trees groaned and creaked, and the occasional thunderclap
echoed loudly. Yet something was missing. It took a moment for Rowan to realize
that it was the absence of a sound—the steady breathing of a sleeper—that he
noticed.

He
shifted his position and looked towards the knight. By now Rowan’s eyes were
able to make out vague shapes in the darkness. Everything was shades of gray,
but he could see the man's outline. The big man lay facing away from him, so
Rowan could not see his face. The man’s chest rose and fell with a steady
rhythm, but Rowan guessed that he was not asleep.

“Boy?”

Rowan
started at the sound of the man’s voice, thinking that he had been caught
staring.

“Boy?”

The
knight spoke again, his voice little more than a whisper, as though he hoped
that Rowan would not hear him. Rowan watched, but the man did not move.

“The
worst of this storm has passed. I will leave in the morning,” the knight said.
Rowan could not tell if the man knew that Rowan was awake and was speaking to
him or if the man was talking aloud to himself. But his next words were clearly
meant for Rowan.

“Estoria
is a long ways south from here, all the way past the plains. It is a very
difficult journey to make, and I travel fast and hard.” He paused. “If you
truly wish to leave, I have decided that I am willing to take you with me. I
expect your answer before I depart.”

Rowan
said nothing, although his mind raced. He could finally leave. It would not be
in the manner that he had expected, nor would it be in the best of company, but
he would be leaving. He shut his eyes and allowed dreams of the morrow and the
future to fill him.

Chapter 5
                           
 

The next morning found Rowan unsure
of what to do. Had it been a normal day, he would have risen, eaten, and begun
his chores. But today was different. He was leaving, and that meant many
things.

He woke
early but found the knight already risen and gone, as it had been the day
before. Rowan was glad to be alone. He did not look forward to dealing with the
consequences of his decision. He lay abed for a while thinking on how he might
talk with his father. Brennon would forbid him from leaving, but Rowan was not
going to allow words to stop him. He considered avoiding the issue and simply
leaving, but knew that he could not do such a thing. He would face his family
and tell them the truth, no matter how difficult it was. And it
would
be
difficult.

Rowan
rose from bed and went about preparing breakfast. As he made his meal, he was
joined by Petar. The two spoke very little as they sat down to eat. Rowan
glanced at his brother a few times, wondering if it would be better to tell
Petar about his decision now or if he should wait until he had to talk to Brennon.
He was close with his brother and talking to him would be considerably easier.

“So are
you going to leave?” Petar asked, pushing his breakfast to the side and staring
at Rowan. “I heard you talking with the stranger last night and I know you’ve
wanted to leave for a while.”

The
question caught Rowan off guard. He took a moment and gathered his thoughts,
deciding what to say.

“Does
Brennon know?”

“I don’t
think so,” Petar said. He waited before continuing. “So you’re really going to
leave?”

“Yes. I
just haven’t figured out how to tell Brennon.”

“Tell me
what?”

Rowan
and Petar both turned in surprise. They had been so focused on each other that
neither had noticed Brennon entering. Rowan sat in silence, debating whether or
not to speak.

“What
was I going to be told?” Brennon prompted.

Rowan
waited several moments to see if his father was going to focus his attention
elsewhere before he finally resigned himself to the coming conversation.

“The
knight offered to let me travel with him.”

“I
assume that you told him no,” Brennon said. “After all, with the harvest right
around the corner—”

“I
haven’t told him anything yet,” Rowan interrupted. “But I intend to go with
him.”

“You
will do no such thing!” Brennon shouted. He waited a moment before continuing
in a softer tone. “Rowan, I understand your desire to leave; I felt the same
way when I was young. But my father needed me and I stayed in order to help
him. Just like my father needed me, I need you to stay and help me and Petar
run the farm. Perhaps in a year or two we’ll be able to manage without you, but
for now you have to stay here.”

Rowan
listened to his father, angry at the decision that Brennon was forcing onto
him. He stood up and stormed down the hallway to his room, leaving the
remainder of his breakfast behind.

Rowan
slammed his door. He did not want to stay, and he knew that in a couple of
years the situation would remain
unchanged. His
father would likely need even more help then. If he did not leave now, he never
would. Brennon’s stubbornness was only making his decision harder than it had
to be. He still planned on leaving.

Why
can’t he just wish me well and approve of my decision? I don’t want to leave
fighting with him.

It did
not take long for Rowan to become too restless to sit still, so he focused his
energy on deciding what to take with him. He looked around his room, taking in
all of his possessions. There wasn’t a lot that Rowan actually owned, but even
so he could not take it all. He got up and paced around the room. Everything he
kept was precious to him, and he began to realize just how much he was going to
leave behind.

He
picked up a scroll and opened it, running his fingers along the parchment,
tracing the runes. Petar had given this to Rowan several winters
ago. It was Petar’s first, and last, attempt at
writing anything of his own. The writing was more shapes and blots than
anything else, but the effort was clear. The memory brought tears of fondness
to his eyes, yet Rowan returned it to where it had been, knowing he could not
take the scroll with him. Parchment like that required care, and Rowan would
not be able to keep the scroll safe while journeying. He looked about again,
but he did not have anything special from Brennon that he could bring with him.
Brennon’s gifts were usually practical items or advice. On his twelfth
birthday, Rowan recalled that his father had given him an empty box and an hour
long seminar on farming. He could laugh at the memory now, but at the time he
had been quite disappointed.

The
opening of his door brought Rowan back to the present. For a moment Rowan
thought that it was Brennon, but the footsteps were too heavy. It was the
knight.

“You’re
finally up,” Baird stated. “Have you made a decision yet?”

“Yes. I
am coming with you.”

“Good. I
thought you might accept my offer, but I could not be sure. I leave within the
hour, so have everything you need packed by then,” the knight said. “And you
should also take that time to say goodbye to your family. You will regret it if
you leave things unfinished.” The knight quickly packed up all of his
belongings and moved towards the door, pausing before he left.

“I’ll be
waiting for you outside,” he said. With that, he left Rowan to pack and say his
goodbyes.

Packing
was easy, but Rowan took much longer than he needed to, trying to postpone the
farewells. Finally, Rowan decided that he couldn’t wait any longer and,
grabbing his bag, left the room.

Brennon
and Petar were both waiting for him in the kitchen. Rowan found it hard to make
eye contact with either of them, so he stared at the floor instead.

“So
you’re really going to leave us?” Brennon asked.

“Yes.”
Rowan met their eyes as he replied. It felt strange to think that he might
never again set foot in this house or be with his family.

“I am
going to miss you,” Rowan continued, “but I made my choice. I want to travel
and see what the world has to offer me. This is not a reflection upon the life
that we live or the bonds we share.”

Brennon
sighed. “I still oppose your decision,” he said. “And I’m going to miss you,
but I suppose I can’t, and shouldn’t, stop you from doing what will make you
happy.”

Brennon
turned away. Rowan thought he was leaving, but his father turned back around
and held something out to Rowan.

Rowan
accepted a large, folded piece of cloth. He held it out and it unfurled,
revealing a woven cloak that was soft, light, and warm. It seemed to be made
with many different materials that blended together, changing and shifting
colors as Rowan examined it, making it hard to tell whether it was green,
brown, grey, or black. Rowan stared at the gift, transfixed.

“May
this cloak keep you warm and shelter you in your travels. It was to be a future
gift, but as you are leaving, I see no reason to hold onto it. It is made with
the finest material available. It is very durable and incredibly warm.”

Rowan
did not know what to say. He stared at the cloak for another moment and then
stepped forward and hugged his father tightly. As the embrace ended, Brennon
pressed something else into Rowan’s hands.

“It’s
not much, but hopefully you can spend it well,” Brennon said, stepping back and
leaving Rowan holding a heavy purse.

“Thank
you, Father,” Rowan said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

With
that, Rowan turned to his brother. He tried to find the right words to say, but
nothing came to him.

“Just so
you know, Brennon isn’t the only one who decided to give you something,” Petar
said. “I want you to have this.”

Petar
handed Rowan a carved bow and a quiver of arrows. Rowan recognized the work as
soon as he saw it.

“But
this is your bow,” Rowan protested. “You have been working on this for so long,
etching it and making it as fine as it could be.”

“It is
your bow now. I taught you how to shoot, and perhaps that will help you to
learn just a bit more. It is not as well finished as I would have liked, but I
think it is a good parting gift.”

Rowan
placed the gift on the table next to him and embraced his brother.

“I will
miss you.”

“I’ll
miss you too, brother.”

And with
that, Rowan ended the embrace. He pulled Brennon’s cloak about him, noting the
many pockets sewn inside. He tied the purse to his belt, and he slung the bow
over his shoulders before walking out the front door. His father and brother
followed him outside to watch him leave, but the final farewells had already
been said.

Outside,
he met the knight, his new companion.

“Are you
ready to leave?” the knight asked.

Rowan
nodded his assent, glancing back at Brennon and Petar.

“Good,”
the knight replied. “We have a long journey ahead of us and much to do.”

The
knight turned to address Brennon and Petar. “Thank you for your hospitality and
for allowing the boy to accompany me. I give you my word that I will watch over
him and make sure that he does well. Now we must be off.”

The
knight shook Brennon’s hand and then turned away and began walking. Rowan
jogged after him, shouting goodbyes over his shoulder to his father and his
brother.

Chapter 6
                           
 

The path between Rowan’s home and
Corrinth was well known to him, even though he did not travel it frequently. He
knew the Vale well. This was his land, and he had memorized every part of it.

When the
stranger—as he still considered Baird—took the lead, Rowan was taken aback and
found himself somewhat annoyed. He had lived in the Vale for the entirety of
his life; he knew the quickest and the safest ways to travel. Yet Baird ignored
this.

Rowan
held his tongue for fear that the man might change his mind and send him back.

Baird found
and followed the path to Corrinth quickly and without assistance, and Rowan
easily kept pace.

“Did you
know of the path leading to the village?” Rowan asked.

“No, but
I know how to find a well travelled path. Where others have travelled, there
are always signs left behind to follow,” the knight answered simply. He did not
break stride and seemed uninterested in further conversation.

When
Baird turned and left the path, Rowan hesitated. He wondered why the man would
wish to forsake the easily travelled path for the wilderness of the hills.
Baird, however, showed no indication of stopping to wait, so Rowan quickly
followed into the overgrown brush.

They
walked without speaking. Rowan found the silence awkward, yet he didn’t know
what to say and the large knight seemed to prefer the quiet. When they came
near the edge of a small bluff, Rowan was offered a view down into the valley.
They had gone further south than Rowan expected, and Corrinth was a short
distance away.

The town
seemed much smaller to Rowan than it ever had before. Now that he was leaving,
it was no longer the boundary of his world.

As he
watched, he could see smoke rising from chimneys and he could almost hear the
sounds of the villagers as they went about their business. He took a moment to
memorize the view. He knew he was not likely to return for a long time.
I
will return,
Rowan vowed.
Even if this journey lasts for many years,
someday I will return.

The two
travelers made their way past Corrinth, leaving it behind as they angled down
the hill and towards the floor of the valley. More than once he turned to watch
as the hills slowly hid Corrinth from sight. The village was not his home, but
it was all that he had ever known, and now that he was leaving, for some reason
he could not take his eyes away from it. The trail before him was fresh and
new, but until the hills completely hid the village from sight, Rowan could
only look back. He wanted to make sure that he would never forget what his home
in the Vale was like. The smell of the trees and the sound of the woods. The
autumn winds brushing against his skin and sight of the hills rising up all
around him, enclosing him in a valley. He was finally leaving and it would be
behind him.

With
Corrinth at their backs, the pair climbed down the hills and made their way
along a weather-beaten path to the trading route that led out of the Vale,
which traders and travelling caravans used when visiting the village. He often
wondered whether the road had been created for them or by them.

Rowan
had seen the road before. He had even travelled it for a distance, just to see
what it was like. But the valleys and the hills and the forest stretched on far
and he had never seen where the road would take him, where it ended.

“The
king’s road is so worn here that it has become little less than a dirt
pathway.” It was the first time the knight had spoken without any prompting
from Rowan.

“The
kingsroad?”

“The
king’s roads,” Baird said, pronouncing the words clearly, “are all of the roads
and highways throughout Atlea that are kept and maintained by King Alden. They
run throughout the land, connecting many of the major cities. I have seen
sections in disrepair, but it seems this northern road has been forgotten
entirely. Not more than two or three centuries past, the Vale was a prominent
area. Now it sits isolated and forgotten.”

“Two
hundred years!” Rowan found it difficult to think of the land so many years
ago. He tried to think of how many generations that would be. Had his family
been living there for that long?

Once on
the main roadway winding through the Vale, travelling became considerably
easier. It was little more than a widened path, but less brush grew where they
walked and it was not terribly rocky. Rowan was grateful for a beaten trail to
walk on. When walking the slopes of hills they did not need to worry as much
about their footing. The recent rains had been heavy and left everything damp
and muddy, but the road held firm. Baird the knight might have found travelling
on the road easier as well, but he gave no indication if he did. He travelled
in silence.

The day
was good for travelling. The trees around them offered shade and the sky was
filled with clouds, none of which were dark and heavy with rain. The storm was
gone and the weather was fresh and cool.

For
hours they walked, traversing the winding road through and over the hills. Off
to the side they passed areas where the hills opened into other valleys. There
were others living in the Vale, Rowan knew. The Corrinthian Valley, though
large, was but a small part of the whole. There were a few other farms and a
small village or two, but the land was not ideal for living. They saw only a
single farm off in the distance and though there were no people about, Rowan
could see signs that the area was lived in.

As they
travelled, the landscape slowly began to change. It was subtle, only noticeable
to someone who was very observant or who had lived amongst the forested valleys
of the Vale. The trees, which had grown so thickly that Rowan could have stood
at any point and been within arm’s reach of multiple trunks, began to thin.
Brush covered the ground more thickly. It made Rowan even more grateful for the
road. The great path was covered in weeds and stones aplenty, and there were
often sections overgrown with brush, but the ground was even and solid.

Rowan
struggled to keep pace with Baird, though the knight carried far more weight.
They took few breaks and Rowan grew tired and sore as the day wore on and the
sun began to fall. He was no stranger to labor, nor was he out of shape. He
worked hard on the farm and was used to standing for most of the day, every
day. His father always told him that it was a good kind of pain because it
meant something had been accomplished. But walking for so long without pause caused
Rowan’s legs to burn and grow sore. He massaged them, though it did not help
much. Yet for all of his pains, he did not stop. He refused to quit first.

They
marched onwards through the great valley, ever alone on the path. The
Corrinthian valley was not often visited and the road, though well worn, was
not often used. Most often the pair walked in silence. Though Rowan travelled
with the knight, they exchanged few words. Rowan could tally the sum of their
daily exchange using only his fingers and his toes.

As the
sun began to fall lower in the sky, Rowan began to wonder when they were going
to stop. It was not until after the sun had set that Baird led him off the road
in order to make a camp. Rowan had slept in the wilderness before when he was
out tracking and hunting, but never before had the prospect of sleeping outside
on the hard ground been so appealing. After the day’s journey, Rowan was
grateful to be off his feet.

Wordlessly,
he helped Baird gather wood for a fire. It was easy work as there were still
trees aplenty, and most had many small branches perfect for kindling. While
Baird set about starting a fire, Rowan tossed his pack on the ground and sat
down to massage his aching muscles. His feet throbbed and his legs felt as
heavy as lead, but the soreness was bearable. Tomorrow would be the real
struggle, for that was when he would have to make the same journey with his now
aching muscles.

Supper
consisted of meat warmed by the fire and cheese with bread from home. Rowan ate
the small meal quickly and wished for more. After a full day of travel, the
food only left him wanting more. He eyed his pack, where the rest of his food
was kept, but he restrained himself. Instead he drank deeply from his water
skin. While they were still in the Vale, water was readily available and the
liquid helped to fill his belly.

For a
while, Rowan simply rested his body and his mind while the fire warmed him
against the evening chill. His cloak was wrapped tightly around him and gave
some warmth, but the heat of the flames was immediate and powerful. He looked
to Baird, but the knight remained silent and aloof. When it seemed to Rowan
that he would have no conversation, he reached for his pack and brought it near
his head to use as a pillow. He shifted onto his back and gazed up at the night
sky filled with stars. The moon was out, not yet full but still well into its
cycle.

“You
should sleep. We rise early tomorrow and I will not slow our pace if you grow
weary.”

Rowan
looked across the fire to where the knight sat, staring at nothing and
everything. The man made no move to follow his own advice and the set of his
body told Rowan he was not interested in further talk. The man stared out into
the darkness that surrounded them while Rowan turned away and pulled up the hood
of his cloak to sleep.

*           *           *

A heavy nudge startled Rowan into
consciousness. He blinked his eyes open and shifted, wondering if he had
overslept. Petar never came to wake him unless he had overslept. He did not
remember falling asleep the previous night, and now he felt drained and wanted
to let himself fall back asleep. Just to rest for a moment. He lay his head
back down and as he did so, he was met with another sharp jab to the stomach.

“Wake
up!”

It came
to him suddenly that he was not home, and this was not Petar. The voice
belonged to the stranger. As the haze of sleep lifted, Rowan remembered how he
had left with the knight named Baird.

Baird’s
voice was harsh, but his blow was not meant to harm, only to force a reaction.
Rowan rose quickly, wanting no more surprises.

“I was
awake, I just wanted to rest my eyes.” With his eyes open, Rowan could see just
how early it was. The sun would not rise for some time yet, and the sky was
still half dark with the shadow of night. Brennon had always made Petar and
Rowan rise early, but never this early.

“You’ve
rested long enough. It is a good thing you got up when you did. I was about to
douse you with cold water. I almost regret your waking, as the water would have
served you twice, once for waking and again for a bath.”

Rowan
did not know if the knight was joking, but he didn't find out. He shivered with
chill as he rose and pulled his cloak tightly about him. As he moved to ready
himself, he found his body stiff and aching. He felt as though rocks had grown
under him during the night, digging into his back and making it painful to
bend. His legs protested his weight even before he shouldered his pack.

As he
gathered his belongings, Rowan noticed that the fire had been put out and
covered and their campsite had been cleaned and cleared. He realized that Baird
must have done this while he slept and he felt a tinge of guilt.

“Are you
ready to go?”

Nod.

With
that, Baird shouldered his pack and began walking. Rowan followed. His muscles
ached and he wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he did not complain. The
movement and the cool morning air slowly began to wake him. The road, as it
could now properly be called, was not very hard to travel, though it was hilly.
Much like the day before, they met no one while they walked.

Very
quickly, Rowan’s stomach began to growl. “When are we going to eat?” Rowan
asked. In response, Baird opened his pack open and tossed Rowan a slice of meat
and a stale bit of bread. Rowan stared dumbly at the food in his hands

“We will
eat while we walk to save time,” Baird said.

Rowan’s
expression soured. Not only was he losing rest by eating on the move, his meal
was pitiful. Yet his stomach was insistent and he ate quickly, taking some
small pleasure in knowing that by eating from Baird’s pack, he had saved some
of his own food. That would mean a better lunch or supper.

“Starting
today, I will begin your training. Perhaps I will start by showing you how to
use that bow you brought. Once we have left the Vale behind us and cross into
the grasslands, food will be scarce. I do not expect that we will need to hunt,
but it is better to prepare for the worst than to expect the best. Besides, if
we run out of supplies, I will not do all of the work.”

“I know
how to shoot a bow,” Rowan stated. This knight may be more experienced than him
in many things, but Rowan knew how to shoot a bow. Living in the mountains, it
was a necessary skill. He was not as good as his brother, but even so, he
rarely missed a target.

“You may
be able to shoot well,” Baird said, “but I can teach you to be better. I can
teach you much and more, about many things.”

“I know
how to shoot a bow.” Rowan repeated stubbornly. He met the knight’s stare and
after a moment it seemed that the matter was settled.