The Apprentice by Alexander C. Hoffman Page B

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