Book One of the Heretic Chronicles: The Awakening

Chapter Thirty Nine

"I don't see why we don't stick to the road, Nogart.  We'd get to Morbin a lot quicker," Hark said.  "At this rate, we could walk faster."

Nogart turned around in his saddle.  He thought about what he should say and how to say it.  Hark should know this.  Studying the younger boy's face, he reaffirmed what he already knew.  Hark was not meant for this kind of life.  Nogart did not want this kind of life either, but he at least knew how to survive in it.  His friend's chances were not good.  He did not look forward to having to bury him.  The hardest part would be facing Mistress Larden.  She was counting on him to keep her son alive, even if she did not know it.

"We have no idea how quickly the White Knights have been able to amass their soldiers.  They could have set up checkpoints all along the road to Morbin."  He paused when Hark looked more confused than not.  "If we travel by road, we could be walking into a death trap."  Nogart righted himself in the saddle.

"Yeah, but—"

"Your father and mother expect me to keep you alive and that's what I intend to do."

Hark huffed.

Nogart understood his friend's feelings.  He would feel overwhelmed as well, if he had not been awakened to his true self.  The forest terrain was rough, but at least they were able to ride their horses.  The sun was actually out today, making it feel warmer than the past couple of days.  The air felt heavier, too, as if it were going to rain.  Patches of blue sky broke through gloomy clouds. The breeze from the north was gentle and soothing.

Nogart tried to estimate the distance to their destination.  They had not yet reached the Bel River, which was the halfway point between the farm and Morbin.  At this pace, it would be another full day's ride before they reached the river.  Hark had been right, at this pace they would never make it.  But, it was better to be safe than sorry.  Nogart almost screamed as an image of Mistress Larden crying over Hark's grave popped into his head.  He shook it off and focused on the forest ground.

Nogart could feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier with every passing moment.  Keeping them open became a struggle.  He slept poorly the night before.  It had been Hark's turn to keep watch, but he still did not trust his friend to stay awake.  He did not have the experience.  Nogart was surprised to discover that he had indeed stayed awake.

"Alexander," Norman's voice spoke softly in his head.

"Is the Creator ready?"

"No."  He paused.  "You need to sleep, Alexander."

"I'm fine," Nogart said, sharper than he intended.

"You're not fine.  You're barely staying on your horse.  If you're not careful, you'll fall and break your leg, if not your neck."

"I said I was fine.  I've gone weeks without sleep before.  I can do this standing on my head."

"You're not in the Death Corps anymore, Alexander.  Your body is not endowed with the strength and stamina of that lifetime.  And, this body has not yet adjusted to the warrior's lifestyle."

"I'll be fine!"

"Temper, Alexander.  I'm only here to help you.  Remember, you have more than yourself to look after."

Nogart looked back at Hark, who was moving over unstable ground.  "Are you all right, Hark?"

"I'm—I'm okay."  He sounded nervous.

"Let's dismount and walk a ways," Nogart said.  "The ground is unstable."

"No.  I'll be fine."