Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

3.2 Instruct

Priam left, leaving Aeden to mull over the idea of the master healer inviting Priam to join the society unconditionally, but only consenting to Aeden joining if he could prove himself. To his mind, it seemed unfair. It was true, he had lived a life of privilege—his father was the sixth duke of Elbeth and holder of the ancient scepter of King Rossam the Second, and they never lacked for money or food, while Priam’s family, though not starving, were always scrounging for every last morsel or piece of clothing. But Aeden was prepared to be independent. His father had taught him that, at least. He was ready to go out into the world. Wasn’t he?

He awoke at dawn, quite uncharacteristically, and leaped out of bed. He hurriedly dressed in some light underclothes and wriggled into his armor, strapping it to his body and belting the sword to his waist. With helmet in hand, he ran down the two flights of stairs, grabbing a hunk of bread and a small wedge of cheese from the kitchen as he dashed out the door. The pre-tournament started at half an hour past sunrise and he had no desire to be late.

Seeing the sun rise over the white granite of the lord of the city’s estate in the distance, he sprinted down his street, and within ten minutes arrived at the tournament grounds near the citadel. He saw a crowd of men and a few women gathered already as he approached, and looked over their heads for Priam. His friend had not arrived yet, so he mingled with the crowd, greeting those he knew and making small talk until the event began.

“Hey Aeden, how’s it going?” Thomas, a tall, lanky nobleman’s son who often accompanied Aeden during his visits to the pub approached him.

“Good, Thomas, quite good. You? Say,” he continued, without waiting for a response, “have you seen Demetrius? You know, Demetrius Dydonna? Lord Dydonna’s son?”

“Nah. I heard they both got called away to the capital city. Urgent business from the king’s steward himself.”

“And Joseph? Joseph Emry? Lord Emry’s son?”

“What, you didn’t hear?”

A lump formed in Aeden’s throat. “No.”

“Joe was walking through the southern quarter last night in a rougher neighborhood, and some thugs attacked him. Stabbed him all over. Good thing someone found him and took him to the healers or he’d be a goner. No chance he’ll be there tomorrow.”

Aeden felt sick. Had his father arranged this? Lord Dydonna, sure. But poor Joe Emry? Father didn’t even know any thugs.

Soon, the Swordmaster, who also served as captain of the city guard, approached the crowd. Where was Priam? The burly, mustached man faced them all and gruffly called out, “Alright ladies! And … you too, ladies,” he added awkwardly, acknowledging the armored women who had also assembled. Aeden heard a whisper in his ear.

“Did I miss anything yet?” Priam huddled up close to his friend.

“No. He just called you a woman. But you knew that,” he whispered back.

The Swordmaster continued, “Today, you will all be fighting a member of the city guard. You will be observed by yet more members of the city guard, who will then rank you and place you within your age group. The lists will be announced this afternoon.”

“Now then. Those entering the sixteen- through nineteen-year-old division, stand over there by that wall,” he said, pointing to his right. “Those entering the twenty to twenty-five division, stand behind me by the stands there, those entering the twenty-six to thirty-five division, stand over there by that wall.” He pointed to his left. “The thirty-six through fifty-fives stay here, and the rest of you grandpas go stand by that tree.” The crowd dispersed, Aeden and Priam separating since Lord Rossam had not made similar arrangements for Priam as he did for his son, and Aeden approached a tall, well-armored warrior who looked to be in his late twenties.

“Hey, you look younger than nineteen!” said the man, looking Aeden up and down.

“I’m seventeen. But the Lord Caldamon gave me special permission to compete in this division. Ask him yourself.”

The man muttered something about nobility under his breath, and said, “Alright then, it’s your burial. Now, pay attention all of you, I don’t want to repeat any of this. My name is Jack. Sir Jack if you know your manners. Each of you will fight either me, or my lovely assistant here, Katrin.” He motioned to a short, armored young woman at his side, who flashed a bubbly smile and waved at them all.

“And those people over there,” he motioned to a table at which were seated two formidable women, and a man, whose face Aeden had hoped not to see that day, “will judge you. We only need to duel for a minute. Do not worry if you lose before then, you will continue until the judges are satisfied.”

The judges. They were the judges. Those two women, one petite but whose imperious manner suggested horseplay and foolery would not be tolerated, the other larger and with bright red hair tied back in a ponytail, and him. The younger Lord Bleak. An unnatural, toothy grin splayed out over the man’s face when he saw Aeden looking at him.

“The rules,” said Sir Jack. He looked at them all with an intensity of someone who adored rules. “You lose if you sustain five direct, solid hits on your armor by a sword, or if you sustain two bleeding wounds anywhere, or,” he paused, “if you yield, if you fall and cannot get up, or if you flee the battlefield. You may laugh, but I actually saw it happen once.…” Some of the men chuckled.

“And, needless to say, if you die—” he added quickly, almost as an afterthought, “—please don’t kill each other. Remember as well, according to ancient tradition, touching your opponent’s head with your hand grants you two points, but only once per round. And if your opponent falls, you may deliver no scoring blows until he gets on his feet. Let us begin. Form two lines, one for myself, one for my lovely assistant—I assure you, she is much deadlier than she looks, ladies and gentlemen!” Katrin smiled and waved at them again, and, seeing Aeden, put her hand to her lips and mockingly blew a seductive kiss.

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!”