Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

4

"And Galen spoke unto them, saying, ‘Thunderspeak I am, for at the mountain of thunder I abode and from my lips proceed the words of the Creator, for he filled me with his power and his strength, revealed to me my inner spirit and my true self, and showed me the beginning and the ending of all things …” –The Lay of Galen Thunderspeak

The crowd at the tournament was simply 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 duels 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 first duel, and another half an hour before Aeden started his.

As Aeden explained it to Cassandra, his sister who bobbled along beside him on the way there, 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. He tried explaining more, but her constant chatter and prattle made him give up.

He couldn’t feel most of his arm. His fingertips had stopped tingling, replaced instead with a dull, heavy feeling, as if they were frozen and just now thawing. Harvey, the steward, had wrapped up both wounds tightly, and had strapped his armor on for him, but he could hardly lift his sword without sharp pain in his shoulder. He resigned himself to fighting left-handed, which meant death for him in the tournament, or worse, last place.

As the family ascended the steps to their seats in the noble section of the stands, a robed figure caught his eye with a wave. Aeden’s eyes went wide at the sight of the master healer, the memory of the man’s frightful demonstration still fresh on his mind. The man waved him over. Reluctantly, Aeden approached the man.

“Well, Aeden? I’m looking forward to seeing you duel. Are you all ready?” The man clapped his hands together.

“Yes, sir. I’ll try not to disappoint.” He turned to rejoin his family, but an arm grabbed his.

“Aeden? Is something wrong with your arm? It’s wrapped.” The master healer looked down at his forearm. Aeden saw that a spot of blood had seeped up through the cloth. With a thumb, the master healer pressed on the spot, and Aeden couldn’t help but wince. Stabbing pain like this only came with infection, Aeden knew, and he yearned for the day to be over already, though it hadn’t even begun yet.

“May I heal it?”

Aeden could tell that the look on his own face told the master healer what he really thought. “Um…”

“Come now, Aeden. I’ve healed you before. Look, what I did the other day, it’s nothing mysterious. Nothing dangerous. Nothing evil.” He pulled Aeden in closer, speaking almost in his ear. “All it means is that you are special. You are more than just a noble, or just a commoner, or even just a man. The fact that you could hear me so easily means that you have the potential for power. You don’t need to fear me.”

Aeden forced a thin smile. “I don’t. Really, I don’t.”

“Then let me heal you.” Aeden had no reply, and so the man released his arm and touched him on the head. Almost instantly, the heaviness fled from his fingertips, and within moments, he noticed he could feel his entire arm again. A minute later, the man opened his eyes, and smiled. “There.”

Aeden lifted his arm and rotated his shoulder. No pain. Not even a hint. He ripped off the cloth covering his forearm and inspected it. Nothing. No blood, no cut—just a faint scar where the wound had been.