Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh (7 page)

The crowd of young men and women divided themselves into two lines. Sir Jack drew his sword and bellowed out to them all, “When you approach, clearly state your name. Begin!”

 The first woman in the line approached Sir Jack and shouted out, “Shawna Ruthinburg!” and drew her sword. She lunged at Sir Jack, the man easily parrying her blow, and the two tangled in a flash of swords. Aeden looked over at Katrin and the man she dueled, a short, stocky young man with a shaved head. Within seconds, he witnessed Katrin block several powerful strokes from the man, and in turn managed to score three solid hits against his torso before he even realized what was happening. When the minute was up, the short man had received seven hits and only managed to score one hit against Katrin. He swore as the judges held up their hands, motioning for them to stop, and marched over to the stream, hurling his sword at the ground.

“I’m glad we’re in his line.” The man behind Aeden murmured in his ear, pointing to Sir Jack. His opponent had managed to get in two solid blows on him, but before the minute expired, he also racked up five hits against her.

“Next!” Sir Jack yelled.

The man in front of Aeden stepped forward, drew his sword and announced, “John Hillrest!” He stepped towards Sir Jack and the two circled each other for a moment before going at it, striking and dodging and blocking. A minute later, the man emerged with only two hits against him, though scoring none against Sir Jack. Aeden readied himself.

“What are you waiting for?” Sir Jack called, and Aeden stepped forward.

“Aeden Rossam!” He drew his sword and bounded towards the man. In one deft motion, Sir Jack swatted his sword aside and struck Aeden on the shoulder. Frustrated, Aeden withdrew and circled the man, coming in more measuredly the second time. After a quick flurry of swordplay, Sir Jack landed another blow, this time across his chest. Grunting in anger, Aeden rained down a series of strikes on the man, scoring a hit, but getting his sword knocked out of his hand in the process, getting hit twice more before he could recover. In the final few seconds of fierce dueling, Sir Jack even managed to reach out and touch Aeden’s sweaty head. The judges held up their hands. Aeden frowned, and bowed to the man before walking away, heading towards the stream for a drink. Priam sat on the bank, having also just finished his bout.

“I didn’t even get in a hit!” the boy cried. “The man I was fighting was twice my age and nearly double my size!”

Aeden collapsed next to his friend and sighed, “Yeah, mine was pretty good too. I got in one hit. But he connected four times.” He crawled to the stream and drank deeply, reaching down to gather water to splash his face. “So what do you think? Did you get a good look at your competition tomorrow?”

“They all seemed pretty good. I only got to watch three of them fight, and none of them scored against the city guard either, so it’s hard to tell. But from the looks of them all, I might be able to take them.”

The two boys returned to watch the others in their respective divisions fight, taking mental notes about each individual’s fighting style, stance, and preferred maneuvers. After an hour, the pre-trials concluded and the crowd reassembled in the center of the great lawn. The Swordmaster approached them all and announced, “The results will be posted this evening. Until then, get rest! Do not practice the rest of the day like a bunch of amateurs, wasting your strength instead of saving it for tomorrow. When you arrive, you may wait among the spectators until the match previous to yours, at which point you will sign in and await your own match by the judges’ table. When your match is concluded, you will stand and face your opponent, bow, and shake the other’s hand, no matter how thoroughly he wiped his arse with you.” The younger men snickered. “At the conclusion of the tournament, the lord of the city will descend to the lawn here and crown the winner of each division, and present to him whatever other prize he has chosen. Good luck.” The man walked away from the crowd, and it dispersed. Aeden and Priam turned to walk back to the Rossam’s house. They spent the rest of the day lazily lying under the trees in the orchard, discussing the competition they had scoped out that day, talking over dueling strategies, and mulling over their future plans yet again.

Priam spent the evening with the Rossams, and Lady Rossam invited the boy to stay for the night, as his parents decided suddenly to go on another hunting trip. After dinner, the boys retired to Aeden’s room to get to sleep early, wanting all the rest they could get before their big day. “Just don’t roll over and cuddle me like you do with your mom,” Aeden jeered at Priam as they got into bed.

Priam mock-laughed before abruptly sneering, “Shut up,” and rolled over.

***

The crowd at the tournament was enormous. Thousands packed into the stands, and thousands more stood on the hill overlooking the grounds. Tournament organizers had divided the vast lawn into four dueling areas, such that all in the crowd could see all four at once. The Rossams sent a servant the previous evening to check the schedule, so the boys knew that they both could sit in the crowd for about an hour before Priam started his duel, and another half an hour before Aeden started his. Each duel actually consisted of a series of three duels, each of five points, or until one combatant was disqualified in a manner described the day before. The winner of two rounds won the match, and the tournament was single elimination: one loss ended the day for a combatant.

The first several matches enlivened the crowd—which roared its approval—cheering the winners, who ran around the rings with their arms raised to coax more noise from the people every time they won. The smell of cooked meats, hot breads, and beer permeated the air, as a jubilant cacophony of cheering, singing, shouting, booing, and laughing swirled about. Most of the lords had given their workers the day off to attend—though the stands were, in practice, reserved for the nobility while the general populace watched from the hillsides. Aeden and Priam sat outfitted in their armor with the Rossam family near the middle row of the stands. The two boys watched the matches intently, critiquing the fighting styles of the warriors with Aeden’s father, who generously bought Priam food and drink from the vendors since his parents were absent.

A gasp went up from the crowd as a man screamed. They looked around, and Priam pointed to the ring on the right on the other side of the lawn. A man had fallen, clutching with his left hand his right arm, which spurted blood. They looked closer and saw the lower half of the arm laying on the ground, the steel bone glinting in the sunlight. A healer rushed forward and his assistants quickly wrapped the wound, pressing on it to staunch the bleeding as two guards quietly approached his opponent from behind and grabbed him, holding his arms to his side as he struggled and protested.

“Who is it?’ Aeden asked. His father shrugged. The other duels had paused to watch the commotion. A messenger from the city guard ran up the steps of the stands and approached the lord of the city.

“Oh no.…” Priam muttered.

“What? What’s wrong?” Aeden asked in confusion.

“He’s a commoner. The wounded man is a noble. His opponent is a commoner. Oh no....” Priam murmured. The messenger ran back down the steps and towards the waiting city guard. A discussion ensued, and Aeden could see the master healer approach the men. He argued with them, waving his arms, though Aeden could not hear the discussion over the murmur of the crowd. One of the guards pointed up to the lord of the city, who nodded grimly. The master healer fell silent and stormed off, still visibly angry, though contained. The two guards holding the common man turned him to face the lord of the city. One guard lifted the man’s right arm firmly to the side. The man dropped to his knees, sobbing, pleading for mercy from the lord. A third guard behind the man raised his sword high into the air. The lord, still grim faced, raised his arm, and held out his hand flat. The crowd fell silent, the mob of people on the hillsides hushed their murmuring and watched the fate of the poor man. The guard behind him, sword still raised high, swiftly brought it down at the man’s arm.

The sword stopped an inch over the quivering skin. Slowly, the guard dropped the sword the rest of the way and nicked the man’s arm, wounding it to the bone. The man screamed and the gash spurted blood onto the ground. The guards released him, and the swell of people on the hillsides burst into a rapturous cheer and applause, tumultuously voicing their praise to the lord of the city. The man, now covered in his own blood, rose to his feet and, still quaking in pain and fear, bowed low to the lord of the city, thanking him and proclaiming his lord’s grace and mercy. The healer rushed over to the man and assisted him with his injury, wrapping the wound and touching his head to heal him. The scene apparently over, Aeden looked over at his friend. Priam clutched the edge of the bench, knuckles white, and trembled, an evil look covering his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Priam jumped, startled out of his thoughts, and looked at Aeden as he released the bench from his iron grip.

“Oh. Nothing. I just felt sorry for the poor man. I mean, he didn’t mean to cut the guy’s arm off. Accidents happen.”

“Yeah. But imagine if it happened to you. I’m sure you’d want the other guy’s arm off too,” Aeden retorted.

“Sure I would. But it wouldn’t happen because I’m technically a commoner too. And if I was that poor man,” he paused, looking at the still-celebrating commoner, “I would not have dropped to my knees and begged for mercy, and my arm would be there on the ground right now. If that man was a noble, nothing would have happened to him at all.”

Aeden fell silent, not wishing an argument, and focused his attention on a duel that had just resumed. Priam continued, “Sorry. I just felt bad for the poor guy. Ok?”

“Ok. Hey look. They’re starting again.” Aeden changed the subject, pointing to the ring in front of them.

Twenty more minutes passed before Priam jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to go. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Priam!” the Rossams all called out to the boy as he ran down the steps towards his ring. He paused by the judges’ table, conversing with his opponent as they waited for the current match to end. The crowd cheered, and the boys looked up from their conversation to see a girl stand tall and strong over her fallen opponent, who, face bleeding, clutched his arm as well, the girl having lightly cut it moments before. Two wounds now received, the match was hers, and she ran around the ring pumping her fist into the air, drawing ecstatic cheers from the crowd.

The judges looked at the boys, one of them saying, “Ready.” The two duelists walked to the center of the ring. They shook hands, bowed to each other, and drew their swords. They circled slowly for a moment or so, and then the other boy charged Priam, who deftly swiped the sword aside and tripped the other with his foot, twisting around to give him a boot to the pants as he stumbled past. A laugh went up from the crowd as the boy regained his footing.

“He’s a real crowd pleaser, your friend is.” Lord Rossam leaned over to his son.

“I taught him everything he knows.”

In just another minute, it was over, Priam taking just one blow to the shoulder (“He scratched my armor!” yelled Aeden) before he went into a flurry and landed five scoring hits to his opponent in rapid succession, ending the round. The two rounds that followed were equally swift, and Priam managed to make the other boy trip once again, eliciting yet more laughter and applause from the crowd. Red in the face, the boy stood before Priam and bowed. Priam mirrored him, and grabbed the defeated boy’s hand and shook it vigorously. The two then turned and bowed to the lord of the city, and the crowd cheered. Priam ran back up the stands and collapsed next to Aeden.

“Phew! I’m beat! What’s to eat?” Without waiting for a response, Priam began to devour the food the elder Rossam had purchased for the boy. The man laughed and slapped Priam on the back.

Lady Rossam leaned over to Aeden, “Don’t you think you should get down there?” she asked. He nodded, grabbed his helmet and got to his feet, walking confidently down to the judges’ table. There, he saw his opponent, who he recognized as John Hillrest from the previous day.

“Hello. I’m Aeden.” He said, holding out his hand to the young man, who grasped it, replying,

“I’m John. You’re a little young …” the man said, looking him up and down, “… sorry, I don’t mean to offend, you actually look very fit—muscular, even. Just … young.”

“I am. I was permitted to join the higher division.” He yawned, “Something about my superior skills with a blade … or something like that. They weren’t too clear, really.”

The man laughed, “And you’ve got sass. I like it. But don’t be offended when you only get half a minute of dueling time against me.”

“These aren’t timed. We’ll have far longer than that.”

“No you won’t. It’ll be over very soon.” The two continued their good-natured banter for several more minutes before the previous match finished up, and the two approached the center. They shook each other’s hands, and bowed low to the other. “Good luck.” John said.

“You too,” Aeden answered, and drew his sword. The man instantly lunged, and Aeden skillfully knocked the blade away. John charged once more, and again, Aeden parried the blows, getting in two scores before the round had even reached a minute. The crowd cheered him on. He circled his opponent, who circled as well, and Aeden dashed forward, slicing his way through the man’s defenses. John’s sword knocked against his shoulder, and Aeden swatted it away, spinning in towards the man as he knocked the sword out of his opponent’s grip, elbowing the him in the stomach. John stumbled backward, the wind knocked out of him. The crowd went wild, and Aeden finished off the round swiftly, his opponent unable to defend himself.

The next two rounds followed just as quickly, ending in victory for John the second round, with Aeden claiming the final round. The pair shook hands, John looking clearly disappointed. “Congratulations, Aeden. You are truly skilled,” he said. They bowed to each other, then turned and bowed to the lord. Aeden sheathed his sword and bounded up the steps to his family and Priam. His mother pulled him in close and hugged him. His sister cheered, and his father firmly shook his hand.