Book One of the Heretic Chronicles: The Awakening

Chapter Forty

Nogart spent a chunk of the day gathering wood for the stretcher and Hark's splint.  The forest was sparse of the materials he needed.  Most of the trees were dead or dying.  Something had infected them.  He found a healthy tree and felt bad for having to cut into it, but there was no other choice.  Hark could not be moved by any other means.  An axe would have been nice.  His father's and Master Larden's swords took a beating.  They were not designed to chop branches and tree limbs.  He used the dagger up his sleeve to strip the leaves and needles from a bush he found with long strands.  Luckily, he brought a sharpening stone with him.  Master Larden's sword gained a couple of nasty nicks.  Nogart would apologize later.

The rest of the daylight had been spent building the stretcher.  The frame took very little time, but weaving the shaved branches into a sturdy backing took forever.  Nogart was not a weaver, nor in any of his previous lifetimes.  He did the best he could.  The only time he stopped was to hunt for food.  The two rabbits were not very big, but the three squirrels helped.  If they could make it to the river by tomorrow, they could have fresh fish.

Nogart paused from weaving and looked at the sky.  The sun would set soon.  He had maybe another thirty to forty minutes of sunlight left, at least the stretcher was almost finished.  The hard part would be getting Hark onto it and getting him out of the forest.  The ground was uneven in a lot of places.  The ride would be bumpy until they got onto the road.  Traveling the road would be dangerous, but what choice did he have?  Hark was in no condition to continue through the forest.  He hoped his friend would be able to make it to Morbin, returning to Lorden Plains was out of the question.

"Nogart?"  Hark's weakened voice cut across his thoughts.

"I'm here, Hark."  He frowned.  The daylight seemed to be fading faster than he hoped.  "I'm just finishing your ride."

"No.  You have to leave me.  I'll only slow you down."  Hark coughed.

"Nonsense.  I'm not leaving you here."

"Leave me!"  He started a coughing fit that did not seem to end.

Nogart kneeled beside him and gave his friend some water.  Hark calmed down.

"I'm taking you out of here and that's the end of it."

Hark closed his eyes.

Nogart returned to the stretcher.  He attached the straps to Abner's saddle.  After finishing the weave, he roasted the rabbit and squirrels.  He seasoned them with some salt that he brought with him, and a couple of herbs he found while tracking down the wood.  It was not much, but it should hold them until morning.

Nogart sat back and watched his friend.  Hark was awake and sitting up with discomfort.  The splint he made for him at least held his leg in place.  He used the leftover strands from the bush he massacred to bind the splint, and prayed that it would hold.  Nogart knew what was to come next and frowned.  It would have to be done, there was no other choice.

"What's wrong?" Hark asked.  His eyes were wide with worry.

"I have to put you on the stretcher."

"Oh."  The sorrow in his voice sounded dreadful.

Nogart got up and approached.  "This will hurt a little, but not as much as before.  I'll be as gentle as I can.  I promise."

"Okay."  Hark braced himself for the coming pain.

Nogart slipped one arm under Hark's shoulders and the other under his thighs.  When he lifted his friend off the ground, he could feel his body tense and his eyes well up with painful tears.