Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

3.3 Pierced

 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 nobleman 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 bald 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, a woman and an aggressive fighter by the looks of her, 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. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone at the judge’s table stand up.

“If you don’t mind, Sir Jack, I will take this one.” Sir Jack wheeled around to face Lord Bleak, who held up a hand to ward off his protest. “No, I insist. Just this one. Really, man, you can’t expect me to sit here all day and watch this action without getting some myself. Take a break, sir.” He motioned to his now vacant chair.

Reluctantly, Sir Jack heaved into it. He looked Aeden. “What are you waiting for?”

“Aeden Rossam!” He drew his sword and bounded towards Lord Bleak. If the fool wanted a fight, he’d give him one. One he wouldn’t soon forget. In one deft motion, Aeden swatted the other man’s sword aside and struck him on the shoulder-guard of his armor. Lord Bleak brought his sword down hard on his arm—still extended from the blow—and it was that moment that Aeden noticed the other man’s sword was sharpened far more than a dueling blade should be. It cut deep into his forearm. Several spectators gasped.

Gritting his teeth, Aeden withdrew and circled the man, coming in more measuredly the second time. The grip of his sword felt wet, but he didn’t look down. After a quick flurry of swordplay, Lord Bleak landed another blow, this time across his chest, but it bounced harmlessly off his breastplate.

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 on his armor before he could recover. Blood streamed from his arm, and in the final few seconds Lord Bleak thrust his sword at Aeden as he reached down for his own blade, plunging it deep into his shoulder.

Aeden bit his tongue. There was no way he’d give the dog the satisfaction of seeing him cry out. Worse, as Lord Bleak yanked the sword back, Aeden could hear the sickening sound of metal on metal—the metal blade had gone straight to the metal bone. The judges and Sir Jack held up their hands. Aeden grimaced, and bowed to the man before walking away, heading towards the stream for a drink, aware of the warm trickle down both his upper and lower sword-arm. Behind him he could hear Sir Jack protest Lord Bleak’s ruthless performance.

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 winced, “Yeah, mine was pretty good too. I got in one hit. But he connected four times. Two a little more deeply than the others.” With a grunt, he unstrapped his armor, revealing the ugly gash on the forearm and the pierced shoulder. Priam gaped.

“Yours did that to you? What for? Seems a little harsh.”

“It was Lord Bleak. The fool that caught us last week in the barracks. Seems he got his revenge.” Aeden dipped the bloody arm in the stream, holding his breath as the cold crept into the oozing wound. His shoulder bled less, but he knew by the feel of it that Bleak had cut clear through his shoulder muscle.

“Are you going to be able to fight in the tournament like that?” Priam couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Aeden’s gory shoulder.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Aeden wanted to believe it, but in truth he could hardly feel his arm anymore. His fingertips tingled, and his shoulder had gone numb. He glared over at the judge’s table, where Lord Bleak had reassumed his chair and now lazily watched another duel, a faint satisfaction on his face. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”