Book One of the Heretic Chronicles: The Awakening

Chapter Sixteen

The night air cooled considerably since Nogart and Hark left the farm.  It was cold enough to snow.  Thankfully, the winds died down to a gentle breeze.  He watched the surrounding trees and listened for movement as his traveling companion slept.  It had taken some effort to convince him to sleep.  The boy insisted upon keeping watch, but Nogart knew that if an attack were to come, Hark would not have known about it, until it was too late.  He had neither the training nor the experience for any of this.

The White Knights were not always the noisy war machines that destroyed everything in their path.  Sometimes they were smart and silent like a hawk.  They could be all around you and you would never know it, until it was too late.  Except, Nogart was ready for them.  He placed warning indicators around their camp.  They were simple, yet effective.  He already snagged a rabbit.  It was not much, but at least there would be something for breakfast.  The warnings would not offer much time, but thirty seconds should be long enough for him to act.  His hand firmly gripped the hilt of his father's sword.  Although, he supposed it might be his now.  He wished he had a second one.  Alexander always fought his best with two.  If there were more than twenty White Knights, neither Hark nor he would survive unscathed.

While Hark slept, Nogart built a small fire, invisible at fifty-feet, even in the darkness.  It was a trick he learned in a previous life.  He had been Cadell at the time, a strong and resourceful man who became the top general of the King's army, proving his worth countless times on the battlefield.  His soldiers only followed the King because he did.  Cadell could have usurped the royal family if he wanted, but he was not that kind of man.  Those men would have followed him until death.  Nogart wished some of them were with him now.  He needed their help.

One name from that past life stuck out in all of Nogart's memories: Tobin Naster.  The man was a vicious savage, a brutal warrior who took no prisoners.  The two of them had fought together and won many battles.  One incident endured above all others.  They were returning from a week's rest when they stumbled upon a Glyakian patrol's encampment.  Their two kingdoms had been at war for what seemed a lifetime.  The two of them were considered war criminals by the opposition.  One of their heads could bring a hefty fee, but both of their heads could buy a kingdom.  The patrol consisted of nearly thirty men, all of which were heavily armed and covered in armor.

Nogart laughed as he pictured himself and Tobin with only their swords and the clothes on their backs.  Going around them had never entered their minds.  They should have died that night.  If more than half the camp had not been asleep, they would have met their end.  Instead, thirty men died, littering the forest ground with blood and guts.  Once the battle was over, if it could have been called that, since it was more of a slaughter, they searched the dead men's possessions for clean, bloodless clothes.  The forest creatures would soon be arriving to feast on the carnage.

All of the clothes they found contained the Glyakian emblem.  Where the markings could not be removed, they covered them.  Cadell found a well-suited shirt and trousers.  Tobin, on the other hand, did not succeed.  His shirt and trousers were too small for his figure.  The two of them ran from the camp, as the hungry forest creatures approached from all directions.  They had to slay a handful of beasts to get away.

Hark's snoring brought Nogart back to reality, dragging along with it, his desire for battle.  The sensation raged inside him.  It called to him, begging him to draw blood—not caring whose.  His fingers ached to caress the sword's hilt.  The grip felt too comfortable in his hand, almost a perfect fit.  Instead, he searched the woods with cautious eyes.  Nothing, but the sound of their own breathing.  If anyone were out there, they were better at disguising it than he was at sensing it.

A wolf howled.  Then, another and another.  From the sound, they were a good distance to the south.  A fourth howl woke Hark.  As he leapt to his feet, he drew his sword, still in the scabbard, and nearly hit his traveling companion.  Nogart, however, had been alert and easily avoided the blade.

"Wolves!"  Hark's breathing was labored as he held the sword awkwardly.  Every bit of him shook from fear.  At this moment, he was more dangerous to them than the wolves or the White Knights.

"They're miles to the south.  Put your sword away, before you hurt yourself or me," Nogart said, gently.  He kept a close eye on their surroundings.  None of the trees were thick enough to hide a man, but the shadows were too damn convenient.

Hark carefully put the sword down.  "How do you know how far the wolves are?"

Nogart had to be careful.  Alexander's experience was talking.  He coughed, then cleared his throat, giving himself time to think.  "Because of the hills, the farm sits in a slight valley.  If they were closer, we would have heard an echo.  But, there was no echo."  He paused when he saw his friend's face.  "Don't worry, Hark.  We'll be long gone before they get here, if they even come this way."

"Will they come this way?"

"I doubt it.  There is not much game around here."

"I hope not."  Hark stared nervously into the woods.

"Why don't you get more sleep?  There are only a few more hours until first light, and we'll need to move on."  Nogart wanted to sleep as well, but Hark was too rattled to keep watch.  He would jump from every little noise.

Hark got comfortable, again, but held onto the hilt of his father's sword.

Nogart was thankful for that.

"Nogart?"

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you scared?"

"Yes," Nogart replied.  Alexander was more annoyed than anything.  "Get some rest, Hark, tomorrow is going to be a very long day."

"Yeah, okay."  He yawned.  "Are they going to find us?"

"Not if we can help it, now get some rest."  Nogart's words comforted Hark enough that he laid back down and instantly fell asleep.

Nogart watched him for a moment, feeling envious.  He had to devise a way to get his young friend safely to the inn.  There would only be death for him on this journey.  Nogart did not know this for fact, but he had been through it before, thousands of times.  He did not want the boy to end up like the others.  Hark was a good kid.  He deserved a happy life with a good wife and kids.

Charlinda!  Charlinda, what have I done to you?  The Creator has chosen the worst possible time to awaken me.

"It could have been worse, Alexander," Norman said, his voice cutting through Nogart's mind.  "You could have been husband and wife with a family."

"Do not torture me."

"You need sleep, Alexander."

"I will sleep eventually, my friend.  Until then, I must stay awake."  Nogart could feel sleep trying to take him.  Once the sun rose, he would have been awake for an entire day.  It was nothing new for Alexander, but Nogart's body still had to adjust.

"Sleep, Alexander.  The forest is safe.  I will watch over you and your friend.  I will wake you if danger nears.  So, sleep, Alexander and dream of your true love."

Nogart leaned against the thick tree trunk behind him.  Sleep took him the moment his eyes closed.