Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

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"... and they did write them, every one their own, so that their sons and their daughters might have the knowledge of their mothers and their fathers ..." -Beginnings, 9:12

  Aeden had not expected the halls of the citadel to be occupied so late at night, and yet there he was, shrouded and crouched in a darkened alcove deep within the most fortified structure in the entire city of Elbeth, hiding behind a sack of potatoes. Their earthy smell worked its way into his nose, flared wide from panting—the result of sprinting down a nearly pitch-black corridor away from an unexpected contingent of guardsmen. And as if having his plans go awry was not bad enough, a raspy voice whispered in his ear, “See? I told you so! But no, do you ever listen to me?”

Not bothering to respond but instead focusing on the ominous sounds of the approaching soldiers, Aeden pulled his black hood up over his head and leaned in tight against the stone wall, indicating for his friend to do likewise. Glancing to his left from under the hood, he nodded with approval at Priam’s hiding place next to him amidst sacks of cabbage and onions, and with the clomps of the soldiers’ boots growing louder he started to cover his face when noticed something near his feet glinting in the approaching torchlight.

His sword. On the ground, just out of reach.

Eyes wide, he hesitated. It must have fallen loose when they hurriedly rounded the corner, running from the hopefully still oblivious patrol of guards. Would he have time to retrieve it? He listened to the approaching boots, saw the sword glitter a little more brightly, and reckoned he had little choice. Letting go of the black cloak covering him, he leaned forward and grabbed the sword, careful not to let the brilliant metal scrape against the dusty stone floor.

Holding it close to his chest he wrapped the cloak around himself once more, and not a moment too soon. The guards marched past. Oblivious and unconcerned. They didn’t so much as glance down the alcove at the two misshapen bundles of black cloth nestled in between the sacks of vegetables.

Aeden held his breath, willing their gaze forward, imagining himself to have some magical power that could divert their attention. It was a game he often played—thinking up new and strange ways to magically manipulate objects and people around him—games his father, Lord Rossam, would surely disapprove of. Moments later, the flickering of the single torch disappeared down the hallway and around a corner, bathing the pair in blackness once more, now seemingly darker than before as the light had now dulled their vision.

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this. What is it with you and sneaking into places?” Priam, the other boy crouched next to Aeden, scrambled to his feet, and with what Aeden imagined to be a look of extreme frustration, clicked his tongue and began wiping off his cloak. From the smell, Aeden could tell his best friend had sat on a few rotten onions. No bother—one of the servants could clean it when the other boy was done with it.

“Because, friend, if we can see where we’re placed on those brackets, that ups our chances of winning the sword tournament. If you win, that’s an automatic ticket for you into the royal guard and the nobility. If I win, well, father’s noble already, but at least that would get him off my back. But if I do poorly, it’s off to the priesthood for me. And seriously, can you imagine me as a priest?” Aeden knew Priam could barely see him, but he held out his hands skyward, mimicking the high priest of the city of Elbeth and put on his most grim-looking face. It worked: Priam chuckled.

“Fine, let’s just get this over with. You know that if we’re caught, you get a slap on the wrist, but my wrists get slapped in irons. I’m not noble yet, remember.”

“Hey! Don’t sell yourself short! You’re the son of the twenty-sixth duke of Elbeth! That’s not nothing, you know,” Aeden fiddled with his sword, trying to get it re-strapped to his torso.

“Need I remind you that each city has only twenty-five dukes, and yet father somehow earned the favor of the lord of the city? Trust me, it’s an honorary title only. And by honorary I mean that nobody cares. If they catch me here, I’m a goner. Then what will I say to Geraldine?”

Aeden smirked, and pulled tight on the strap around the hilt of the sword. He began to wonder why he’d brought it in the first place.

“Still after her, huh?”

“Not anymore if we get caught. She’s daughter of the nineteenth duke. I think I embarrassed her when I asked her to the spring ball. Imagine that, a commoner asking a nobleman’s daughter to the ball!”

“Hey, she went with you, didn’t she? Maybe she felt sorry for you.” Even in the darkness Aeden could feel his friend boil, but with a tug he guided Priam down the hallway, in the opposite direction the guards had come from. With a hand trailing along the cold, stone wall to guide them, he counted the openings indicating the presence of branching hallways and doors. At the fourth opening he paused. “This is where we came in. The Swordmaster’s office should be three down from here.”

“How do you know so much about the inside of this place?” Priam’s voice sounded suspicious, but his voice always sounded suspicious when it came to things that Aeden could do and know and Priam couldn’t because of his status.

“Easy. I met a fine young officer at the pub, and bought him several rounds of ale.” It was mostly true. Aeden had bought him several rounds, but had also bribed him, which in his inebriated state the officer was far more likely to accept. Aeden’s father surely hadn’t noticed the absence of a few coins from the pile that had accumulated in the family’s vault over the years. His father may only be the sixth duke of Elbeth, but he was also the holder of the ancient scepter of King Rossam the Second, an ancient name that still held weight in the kingdom, figuring as it did so heavily into the Chronicles.