The Apprentice Read online

  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 smel
l 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 covere
d 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.”