The Apprentice Page 6

  “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.

  They continued to walk and the land around them continued to change. Shortly before midday, they reached a place that forced Rowan to pause. He stood staring up at the Sentinel, a massive stone that stood alone at the crest of the tallest hill in sight. It was the farthest point he had ever travelled from home.

  Several years back he had thought himself ready to leave home, and this was as far as he had made it. He had taken enough supplies to go further and nothing had held him back, but in the end he found himself turned around and heading home. Going any further seemed to mark the true beginning of his journey and the growth of his world.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Baird had noticed that Rowan had stopped walking. His tone held no sense of urgency, but his stance indicated that he wanted to continue on.

  Rowan glanced back at the Sentinel.

  “Something caught my eye, but it is gone now. It is behind me.”

  “Then allow us to continue. I hope to be well into the Lost Hills by nightfall and in Attica within a day or two.”

  “Is that a village like Corrinth?”

  “Attica is a city. A small city compared to many, but you will not think it small when you see it. Compared to Corrinth, everywhere might be considered a city.”

  “Corrinth is a fine village.”

  “I did not say it wasn’t. But it sits nestled deep within the Vale and is well removed from the world. In Attica, we will be able to buy supplies and mounts.”

  “Why do we need horses?” Rowan asked. “Can’t we walk?”

  Baird laughed.

  “You will see soon enough. Trust me, boy, we’ll need horses if we do not mean to spend months on foot.”

  Rowan was silent for a long while, but with nothing to do, he made an effort to get Baird to talk with him. At first his words were met with silence, but eventually he began to elicit responses. He learned little, but was able to find out that Baird was an influential captain and he had been sent to another country as a diplomat. Now he was returning to Estoria.

  “What did you have to do to become a knight?” That was the first question that Baird answered with more than a nod or a curt “Yes” or “No.” Rowan knew the man was a knight, but he had little idea what such a thing meant or how the title was achieved. There were tales aplenty of great knights and their deeds. Some stories had them using magic or enchanted items that gave them strength. They were sometimes heroes and other times they were princes. Occasionally they were smallfolk who had risen to greatness. Those were the ones that Rowan enjoyed the most. Yet his father had often told him that stories are not truths. In every tale there is a grain of truth, but the nature of stories made them unreliable.

  “I did many things in order to rise to my station, some of which are well known and others that are secret to all but myself. I will not speak of my trials. I was honored with the title by my friend, King Alden Haerth. The better question is what do I do, since I doubt you know anything more of a knight than what you've heard in tales.”

  Though the man assumed correctly, Rowan could not help but feel belittled. Still, he could not keep himself from asking the question.

  “What do knights do?”

  Baird grinned.

  “A knight does many things. What you hear in stories—the tales of heroic deeds and battles of honor—all of that is false. Oh, it might have held some truth in ages past, when the world was smaller and everyone was always warring. In such an age, it was easy to produce heroes. Not anymore. There is a reason that stories and legends are filled with knights and that is because they belong to an age gone by. To be a knight now means little more than having a title. I am one of the few exceptions, but I am something of a rarity.”

  “Then there are no more knights?”

  “There are many knights, a number of them nobility who bought the honor, the rest soldiers and swordsmen who earned the rank by skill. But for them it is a title, an honor, not a way of life or an occupation. There are very few true knights remaining, and amongst that number I stand alone in what I do.”

  “Why? What changed?” Rowan’s question was vague, but Baird seemed to know what he was thinking.

  “Knights are wanderers. They are men who move and act with authority and see to justice, yet they are not tied to the army. They uphold peace and act for the king. But such a position can be the cause of many problems.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Then allow me to explain. How do you know that I am a knight?”

  “You…you said that you were.” The way that the edge of the knight’s mouth tugged upwards into an almost grin annoyed Rowan. “Your blade,” he said, pointing to the sword that Baird wore at his waist.

  The knight, for Rowan knew the man had not lied about that, shrugged. “Perhaps I killed whoever owned it before me.”

  Rowan shivered at the mention of murder. The memory of the dead man came back, but he pushed it out of his mind. Baird must have noticed, for his almost grin faded and he continued.

  “What proof do you have that it is mine?”

  “You know how to use it. You know its name. You carry it as though it is a part of you.”

  “Knowing how to use a blade doesn’t make the blade mine, nor does knowing how to read its name. But the issue of ownership is irrelevant. A blade does not make a knight, not even one as fine as this. Do you see the problem now? You have no way to identify me as a knight.”

  “I have your word.”

  “That is worth little.”

  “There must be some means of identification. A badge or something.”

  “Any badge would be no different from the sword. How could anyone truly know without a doubt that the man who carries it is the man it was given to? A true knight should be skilled enough to fight off any who would kill him, but no man is invincible. However, identification was a small problem. The true issue was accountability. A knight answers to the king, but who else does he answer to? A knight could condemn a man for his crimes and issue justice as he saw fit. He was bound by oath to do so with honor, but many protested such unchecked power. All it took was a few controversies and a small number of knights acting dishonorably and it became an issue too big for the king to ignore. Not our king, of course. All this happened long before anyone in this land was even born. But it did happen.

  “Now we get back to the original question. What is it that I do? I act as the king’s hand and I do what is required of me. A vague answer, but my duties are quite broad.”

  Rowan had learned much about the knight and no longer cared for a detailed answer. He would have more questions later, but a new question had taken hold of him.

  “You have met with the king?”

  “I have. I suppose I take for granted that I know him so well. You probably do not even know his name, having lived in the Vale all your life.”

  “His name is King Alden,” Rowan said proudly. Of course he knew the name of the king. Everyone must know that.

  “Indeed it is. I was fostered and trained with Alden during my youth. Not in all things, of course. He had many tutors and learned much that I did not. Things for a young prince. But we were, and are, good friends.”

  “Baird, what is the king like? What kind of person is he?” Rowan asked.

  Baird hesitated before answering, struggling between what he should say as a knight and what he could say to be truthful.

  “King Alden is a good king. If you met him without knowing who he was, he would not seem extraordinary. What makes him special and worth serving is how he rules this country. He has fought wars with the other nations, but never has he done so unnecessarily. As I see it, he has gradually been leading our country towards peace. Our relationships with the other lands in the East have improved and the country has been slowly growing more and more prosperous.”

  “Will I get to
meet him?” Rowan asked, curious. He could imagine being able to boast of meeting a king, though he found it hard to imagine himself in a palace.

  “I suspect you will meet him when we arrive in Estoria, and perhaps the princess as well.” Rowan began to fantasize about meeting the king of the entire country. Baird called him back to reality. “Don’t expect very much. Alden is a busy man and you’ll be lucky to meet with him for any extended period of time.”

  They continued talking and walking, slowly leaving the Vale behind them. The landscape continued to change. The trees and bushes became sparse, giving way to grass and brush. The ground began to slope and the pair was forced to climb up and down the hills that now covered the land. The extra effort that the hills required put an end to their conversation as both grew tired and began to breathe heavily. As he reached the top of the largest hill yet, Rowan gasped as he saw what lay before them.

  The hill sloped downwards into a vast expanse of plains that stretched as far as the eye could see, fusing into the sky. The entire land was a uniform brown, covered in nothing but dry grass and rocks. Rowan suddenly understood why Baird planned on buying horses. It would take weeks, maybe even months, to journey across this plain on foot, and Rowan could see no source of water or food.

  Far to his right, the dominating mountain range that had formed the valley of his home faded off into the distance, surrounding the land and creating a natural barrier that stretched upwards into the sky like a jagged row of teeth. To his left, the hills continued onwards, marking the beginning of this vast expanse into nothingness.

  “The plains are always a stunning sight, especially the first time you see it,” Baird said as he reached the top of the hill and joined Rowan. “Do you see now why we are going to need horses?”

  “Yes,” Rowan replied. “But where are we going to get them? I don’t see anything anywhere.”

  Baird chuckled and then pointed.

  “Look just beyond the edge of the plain to the east. Do you see anything?”

  Rowan examined the area that Baird indicated. He saw nothing but the blurred horizon at first. Then he noticed a dark patch between the fading hills and the plains. He tried to make out a shape or a landmark, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even judge the distance.

  “Do you see it?” Baird asked.

  “I think so,” Rowan said. “What is it?”

  “Those are the Bjorn Mountains. They are a small cluster of mountains that surround Lake Loche near the border of the country. That is where we are headed. The city of Attica and several other towns and villages lie in that region. From there we will make our way along the edge of the plains and hopefully reach Attica within the week. There we can take a brief break to get horses and supplies before crossing the plains to the capitol.”

  Rowan suddenly thought of something.

  “Is Estoria somewhere in there?” he asked, pointing towards the plains.

  “No,” Baird reassured him, laughing. “The plains are a largely uninhabited part of Atlea, save for the nomadic tribes and a couple of small reclusive villages near the mountains that mark our land’s western border. Estoria lies beyond the plains in a much more suitable environment. We will only skirt the edges, and even then only to save some time.”

  Rowan and Baird made their way down the hill and kept on for a ways before taking a short break to rest and eat. The short respite was much appreciated by Rowan, whose legs were exhausted. While they rested, Rowan looked back the way they had come. The rise of the land behind them marked the mouth of the Vale. Rowan was surprised at how close he had previously come to actually leaving. The Vale twisted and turned, seeming to go on without end. Had he but travelled a couple more miles, he could have boasted setting foot beyond the border of his home. Now having left, he did not yet feel the sensation that he thought he would. Not yet.

  Time passed quickly while resting and after what seemed to Rowan like only moments, they were once again pressing onward.

  As they walked, Baird and Rowan continued to converse. Baird was much more open with Rowan than he had been previously. The knight told Rowan about the capitol and the country, since Rowan was curious and had nothing more than second hand knowledge of the places beyond the valley. Much of what he knew was wrong, exaggerated, or dated. And knowledge was no substitute for experience. Fortunately, Baird was well travelled and knew nearly as much as Rowan did not. He knew much about Atlea and the neighboring countries.

  Rowan’s supply of questions was endless, and slowly he gained a basic understanding of the country. He learned that, contrary to what he had believed, the capitol was not the largest city. It was important because that was where the king ruled and where most of the politics went on, but the majority of trade happened elsewhere. The large cities—Rowan had trouble picturing them since he had nothing for comparison—were the military and merchant cities: Torrin, Estion, and Oscilliath. Torrin was by the sea far to the south and Estion, the city of trade, lay just northeast of the capitol. Baird said that they would pass by it on their journey and that Rowan would be able to see the great watchtower of the city from many miles away. Rowan looked forward to the experience, but it was Oscilliath that fascinated him.

  The entire city, if it could be called that, was built as a fortress and protected by the garrisons of soldiers who lived there. Baird said that it was by far the most powerful and well defended area in all of Atlea. It lay between the capitol and the border, acting as a shield that protected most of the country in case of war. Baird, who had been there on several occasions, struggled to impress upon Rowan what it was like. The entire city was surrounded by a massive wall, and on the outside were rows upon rows of barracks. It would take an army, he said, to take that city.

  Now that they were out of the Vale, the landscape seemed constant and unchanging: hills to the left and the vast sea of amber to their right. The only noticeable change throughout the day was the dark patch on the horizon, gradually growing bigger.

  As the sun sank towards the horizon, Rowan became very glad that he had his cloak. Outside the protection of the hills and trees, the wind made the air seem much colder than it should be during the summer.

  He looked out at the shape of the mountains, which were now close enough to rise above the horizon, and tried to judge their distance. They still appeared very far away to Rowan, but Baird seemed in no hurry so he didn’t question it.

  “We are making good time,” Baird said after a long while. “If I remember correctly, we will pass a town or two before reaching Attica. The city itself is just over a day’s journey from the Bjorn Mountains. We will stop outside of the first village we see and make camp and then continue on in the morning.”

  “Why not ask if anyone could spare a room for the night?”

  “These are small villages. I doubt that anyone will have the space to house two guests, and there will be no inn where there are so few travelers.”

  “It would still not hurt to ask.”

  “I do not wish to impose myself on others, and I do not wish anyone to see us as anything more than a pair of travelers. It is safer to remain distant and unknown.”

  Rowan disagreed, but he did so silently. They travelled onward. It was not long until they saw the lights coming from a small village sheltered some distance away between the hills. Baird led Rowan up and over the hill to their left, saying that they would be able to avoid the worst of the wind by using the hills as a barrier. When they found a suitable spot that was relatively flat, Baird dropped his pack and left, telling Rowan he would return shortly.

  Rowan cleared a space to sleep while he waited for Baird to return. A short while later, Baird came back with several twigs and branches of wood, which he tossed on the ground by his pack. He sat down and began examining the branches. He selected two long, straight ones and set them aside.

  “Where did you get the wood?” Rowan asked curiously. He saw no good trees anywhere nearby, though the rolling hills made it impossible to see for any great di
stance.

  “It does not matter,” the knight told him. “Fetch me a couple of handfuls of dry grass so we can make a fire.”

  While Rowan grabbed several fistfuls of grass and weeds, Baird dug a pit and began to lay out the discarded branches. Once some grass was added, Baird quickly had a small fire burning. Rowan was about to lay down when Baird threw one of the two remaining sticks at him.

  “There will be no early sleep tonight,” Baird said. “I have decided that I will teach you how to wield a sword. We will start with these.”

  Rowan stared at the stick in his hand and then looked up at Baird, who stood towering over him.

  “You want me to fight you?” Rowan asked incredulously. There was no chance that he could fight someone like Baird, a man not only bigger and stronger, but also already very well trained.

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t know how to fight,” Rowan said, taking a step back.

  “Too bad. Now defend yourself!” Baird shouted, lunging forward and swinging his makeshift sword at Rowan, who jumped backwards. Baird moved very quickly for a man of his size, and his arm was a blur of motion as he struck. Rowan tried to dodge it but was too slow and he cried out as the stick struck his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him tumbling backwards.

  “You have a weapon, use it!” Baird shouted, waiting for Rowan to get up.

  Baird attacked again and this time Rowan managed to block the blow, leaving his arms numb.

  “Good,” Baird said, “but don’t stop.”

  The knight pressed forward, assaulting Rowan with a constant barrage of hits. They kept this up for almost an hour. Unfortunately for Rowan, Baird was the kind of teacher who believed that the best way to learn was through experience. Occasionally he would stop and show Rowan how to block a certain move or execute a specific attack, but for the most part he used Rowan like a practice dummy that he was trying to break.

  By the end of the lesson, Rowan was utterly exhausted and drenched with sweat. He threw his stick to the ground. Even though Baird had gone easy on him, he was covered with bruises and had not managed to hit Baird a single time. He was tired and frustrated and all he wanted was some rest.