Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh (37 page)

The master healer whispered up, “Frederick, come down here and we’ll send up Diana and Ellen. Stuart?” The round boy quickly untied his ropes and, giving one to Aeden, the two let the other ends down and hauled the two women up. Frederick jumped down. The master healer whispered out again, “Remember your goal. Find and stop the warlord at all cost. Of one mind and heart!”

“Of one mind and heart!” they all whispered in reply, and parted ways. Aeden and his companions crept to the rear of the second floor portico and approached the door. Arturo cautiously opened it and peered through.

“Come!” he whispered. They slipped through the door into a large hallway with doors lining it on either side. Several candles in the wall sconces lit the hall and cast long, jittery shadows as they approached. They came to the first set of doors and nudged them open, looking through into the spaces beyond, which from the light in the hallway they could see were storage rooms. Moving on to the next set, they opened them and saw an office full of parchments and books on a few desks, and a bedroom with several sets of bedding laid about on the floor. The next set of doors revealed two more bedrooms.

Stuart remarked, “Seems rather deserted …” Arturo snapped back at him with his finger to his lips. They approached the door at the end of the hall. Under the door they saw the flickering light from several candles. They opened the door and passed into a very large room with a tall ceiling. A long table stood in the center, cluttered from a recently eaten meal, and doors lined each wall. A staircase descended at the other end of the room, but in front of them, seated at the head of the table sat a man.

He stood. “Welcome.” He was tall, a little grey in his hair, and powerfully built. A sword was sheathed at his side and he wore a light leather armor. His face looked weathered, but noble and knowing, and sported a short beard and moustache, also graying slightly.

Arturo took a few steps forward and drew his sword, raising his voice, “Lord Shiavo. Surrender to us, or you will die.”

The man held up his hand and said, “I’m afraid I am not Lord Shiavo, my friends. I am a rohva, just like you.”

Arturo continued stepping slowly towards the man. “Are you his associate? Regardless, surrender to me now and your life will be spared.”

The man chuckled and spoke, “You will be doing no killing today. I am … Lord Shiavo’s lieutenant and personal protector. Tell me, friends, what did you hope to accomplish today? Did you not see our army outside?”

Aeden and his companions looked at one another. Arturo paced closer. “We are here to stop your master’s reign of terror across our land. This is your final chance. Do I have your surrender? Or are you giving me the pleasure of forcing your submission?”

The lieutenant drew his sword. It sparkled and flashed with energy as it unsheathed, and he answered, “You may certainly try.”

Arturo charged. To that day, Aeden had seen many great sword duels. In the capital city itself he had watched in awe as the greatest swordsmen in the entire kingdom of millions displayed their skills with cunning ferocity. He had witnessed rohva sword duels between Betha and Arturo and Stuart and Frederick and Darla and Rupert, but all of them seemed like children playing with sticks compared to what he witnessed now. The two men circled one another in a flurry of lightning, metal and inhuman speed. Their blades clashed and sparked, glowed and flashed, their stray blows arcing energy to the stone floor, shattering it, to the wooden table, lighting it afire, and occasionally hitting the other’s armor, making it sizzle. But in one swift motion, the lieutenant parried a blow and his hand darted out to touch Arturo’s head, and when his finger just barely making contact, Arturo dropped to the floor, unconscious.

The lieutenant, chest heaving, turned slowly to face the rest of them. He smiled, and said nonchalantly, “Next?”

The master healer, Betha, Darla, Frederick, Edwin, and Gregory opened the large front door of the stronghold. Inside they saw a row of soldiers seated on each side of the great hall they now entered into, and without a noise they all stood and approached the intruders, drawing their swords.

The six leaped into action, successively parrying and blocking and shocking the two rows of soldiers. Each society member, with one or two strokes managed to shock the sword out of each drone’s hand, and reaching out to touch their heads, entered and quickly disposed of the copy of Shiavo that controlled each. In thirty seconds or so, the six of the company dropped about twenty men and women, each falling harmlessly to the ground, though Darla’s final freed victim bashed his head against the stone wall as he fell, leave a dripping red gash.

“Ooo, that’s going to hurt when he wakes up … Sorry!” she said, walking over to the others now assembled in the center of the hall. The great room was lined with doors and hallways leading off to the right, left, and straight ahead. They searched the rooms, seeing them to be either barracks, larders and pantries, or other storage rooms, some stocked with hundreds, possibly thousands of rough looking swords and cheap pieces of armor.

They then searched the hallways. The corridors on the right side of the great hall were lined with rooms similar to those lining the great hall itself. The hallways on the left were a different matter entirely. In several of the rooms sitting on the filthy floor sat dozens of people, chained to the wall, staring around themselves with blank looks. The company entered the first room and the master healer laid his hand on one of them.

“This is Lady Markham, of Elbeth.” He looked up and said, “These people are all from Elbeth. We have no time for them right now …” And he left the room with the others, confirming that the remainder of the rooms in the hallway were similarly stocked with prisoners.

They returned to the main hall and approached the hallway opposite the front entrance. They entered the first room and stopped. They stared at the table in the center of the room. A man was fastened to it, leather straps tying down his legs, torso, arms and head. He was twitching, shaking, moaning, struggling to get out of bondage. The master healer strode across the room and looked the man in the eyes. “Are you alright?” The man did not reply, did not even look the master healer in the eye or acknowledge his presence in any way, but continued his moaning and shaking. The master placed his hands on his head. A minute passed, and the others looked at each other in alarm since, accounting for the difference in time perception when in another’s mind, the master healer would have marked that an hour or more had passed. Betha and Gregory entered as well. Once inside, they shielded their eyes, for all around them the scenery constantly flipped from one image to the next, often confluences of several scenes meshed together, often bright and at other times dark, but always changing and flickering.

They approached the master healer who stood before the man’s wall, specifically at the portion that held the central source instructions for the man’s mind. The master healer murmured,
Shiavo has been busy. Look.
They looked at some of the screens scattered about this section of wall, staring at the indecipherable writing displayed on them. Many of them had sections of writing that were highlighted with red light, some of them flashing, displaying red text that was foreign to all present. The master healer went on,
He’s been tampering with his central source instructions. Irreparable harm has been done to this man. He will never recover.
He placed his hand on one of the screens, saying aloud,
I don’t dare try to fix him. What greater evil will I inflict upon him? I don’t even know where to start.

They stared in silence at the flashing red lights, before Gregory said
, Let’s go. We have a mission to complete.
They exited the mind and left the room.

The master healer spoke again, “Lord Shiavo must be bringing prisoners here to experiment upon, to try to learn how to successfully manipulate and change our source instructions. This is … worthy of disgust.” The man said, in a tone of understatement.

They searched the other rooms, finding similar situations in each. In one, the woman in bondage was drooling, her eyes red, her mouth hanging open. In another, a man strapped to a table repeated, “All on time all on time all on time all on time all time all on time all on time all on time all on time all …” In another, a woman screamed when she saw them, continuing hysterically until they left the room. Finally, they came to the end of the hallway, from which some stairs led upwards to the second floor. “Perhaps our companions have had better luck …” murmured the master as they ascended.

Stuart stepped forward, raising his sword to the smiling lieutenant. “And now, a boy to challenge me? Really, I am somewhat insulted.” He raised his sword as well, and lunged at Stuart. Once again, a flurry of steel and light pierced the candlelit room, sparks flying, blades clashing. Aeden watched in awe, marking the rotund boy’s fluid and graceful motion as he contended with the older man.

Like in the first duel, the lieutenant parried a blow from Stuart and reached forward to touch his head, but Stuart spun in place and slashed at the man, who leapt backwards, though not soon enough to avoid receiving a large gash on his arm. A look of shock flashed over his face, he stared at his wound, then, as his eyes defocused somewhat, they saw the cut stop bleeding.

He stared at Stuart. “I’m afraid I shall have to make you pay for that.” He charged again, and they clashed, lightning arcing between their swords. The lieutenant, with a forceful swipe, knocked Stuart’s sword momentarily to one side, and he struck out with his fist, punching the boy square in the face with a forceful blow. Stuart stumbled backwards, holding his nose which had erupted in blood. The lieutenant slashed his sword out of his other hand and darted forward, ending the duel almost as quickly as Arturo’s.

Aeden took a deep breath. He thought of Betha, He thought of Priam, and he thought of Rupert, and at once the emotions from his poor friend flooded back to him as he grabbed his sword from behind his back. He looked up at his prize—the gift of the lord of Elbeth himself. He reached back within himself to his wall, and to his shock it instantly came to his view, as if to his real eyes. He extended his hands to the controls, simultaneously extended his sword arm, and spoke. “This is your final chance, sir. Surrender, or I shall regrettably have to kill you.”

The man laughed maniacally. “Your friends each fell in less than a minute. And now the youngest of you all presents himself to me? Run, boy, or I’ll slaughter you.”

Aeden used his shock controls, building up some energy as if to prepare a mind shock as the master healer had taught him, but this time preparing to dump it all into his sword. He marveled at the ease with which he could split his attention: he felt divided, and yet more whole than ever. He was in the present. He was aware of his mind, and mindful of his body.

He looked up to his raised sword—the elegant design, the metal hilt, its sharpness and perfection, all now crackling with a charge of energy. He charged, as did the lieutenant. He slashed, and released the energy all at once. The swords connected, and both exploded in a spray of molten metal. The two combatants screamed, their hands burned, and they closed their eyes as the metal sprayed them. Aeden opened his, and smiled at the older man. “You don’t look so big without your sword.” And he charged again, crashing into the man, punching and striking as hard as he could. The lieutenant fell backwards with Aeden on top of him, the powerful boy managing to straddle the man’s torso.

Aeden rained blows on the man’s face, but the lieutenant reached forward with one hand, sending a thundering shock of energy out of his fingertips directly into Aeden’s chest, who flew backward, striking the wall and falling to the floor. The lieutenant, bleeding and laughing, slowly got to his feet. Aeden struggled, dizzy and disoriented, Diana and Ellen shouting incomprehensibly at him. He reached back into his mind and examined his wall, adjusting several controls as he rose to his feet, trying desperately to heal his equilibrium before the lieutenant attacked again.

He steadied himself, looked over at the man still chuckling and spitting out blood, and started to sprint. He reached a terrific speed, and, leaping, flew through the air, arms outstretched. The surprised lieutenant raised his hands, charging up his attack. Aeden, still flying towards the man, grabbed one of the hands and pulled it aside while in the same motion aimed his other hand at the man’s head, while the lieutenant brought his free hand close to Aeden’s face. Aeden fingers touched the man’s forehead and, diving inside it, the world froze. He at once found himself on a dark plain with a moonlit sky, as well as still frozen—suspended in the air with one hand wrapped around the lieutenant’s wrist, the other hand’s longest finger barely touching his head, the man’s other hand within two inches of Aeden’s face.

He looked closely at the real world, though objectively as if from a great distance. The lieutenant’s free hand was moving, perceptibly, barely, a hair’s breadth every second. He felt the fingertips charge with energy. In the mind, he looked around, and saw the man standing behind him.
Congratulations. At least you made it this far. Very well done!

Aeden walked towards him slowly,
I haven’t even started yet. Do you surrender? Or do I need to kill you?
He looked around as he approached the lieutenant, now much more massive and powerful looking. He saw the man’s wall, and, strangely enough, saw no image of Lord Shiavo manipulating controls. Curious, he continued,
Where is your master? Are you not a puppet like the rest of them?

The man laughed,
Heavens, no! I’m here of my own accord, to fight for a worthy goal. Tell me, young princeling, how does it feel now to be at the mercy of others? Tell me how it feels to have your home taken away from you, your fields raped, your livelihood destroyed? Not so fun to be a nobleman these days in Elbeth, it seems …

Aeden looked at him, puzzled,
You think I’m a noble?
He looked at the unfolding scene in the outside world of the chamber and watched energy sprout from the man’s fingertips, jumping the space to his own face instantly. Searing pain bore into Aeden’s mind, but he observed it objectively, as calmly as he observed the scene itself.