Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

22.1 Guardian

"Are you writing this all down, my daughters? I am old, and I am wise, though those two don't always follow one another. But you shall write all, as if it were prophecy from Tilda herself, for I fear the day when the one in opposition to the Creator arises, and shall suckle the nations with nectar, opening their eyes and changing all, to the destruction and sadness of many..." -Wisdom of Rutha, 4:21

  

AEDEN HELD HIS HEAD, feeling slightly dizzy, but it quickly passed. The man continued his work without even turning around. Aeden took a step forward.

   The man sprang out of his chair and wheeled around, eyes wide in surprise. "You're ... up!" Aeden looked at him, instantly recognizing him as the man inside the minds of all the drone soldiers he had met thus far. 

   "Surprised?" Aeden took another step.

   The man stuttered a bit, "Well, yes. I sent a shockwave that should have disabled every rohva in this building. And yet here you stand. Interesting."

   Aeden stepped forward again. "Lord Shiavo, I presume." Another step. "You killed my sister. You killed my father. You killed hundreds of good people of the fair city of Elbeth."

   The man composed himself, and replied, "I did. Unfortunately, I was unable to snuff out all of the nobility of that city, as evidenced by your presence here. No matter. I shall soon remedy that."

   Aeden stepped again, nearly closing the gap between the two men. "I've looked forward to this day for three months now. I've dreamed of the revenge I would have on you, making you feel what I have felt and my mother has felt."

   A flash of disappointment covered Shiavo's face. "I missed another one, did I? I'm getting sloppy. Oh well. You'll die now." The warlord shot his arms forward, lightning arcing from his fingertips, which appeared blackened to the steel bone. Aeden charged as well, hands extended, lightning springing from his own fingertips, burning his flesh. The energy from the warlord ripped across Aeden's body, and he prepared to scream as before, yet felt nothing but a tingling sensation. He reached for the man's neck, shooting energy out of his hands. The lightning ripped across the warlord's neck, but similarly caused no apparent damage.

   The man knocked Aeden's hands away and plunged his sharpened metal fingertips into the flesh of Aeden's abdomen. He gasped as the warlord lifted him up into the air by the metal claws dug deep into his midsection. Energy coursed through his body, which Aeden felt as a peaceful ripple, though the punctures in his stomach burned. The warlord threw him across the room and he crashed down onto another table, tumbled off onto the floor, landing near Frederick. He reached behind him and grabbed the other sword, the one Betha's father had given him with the armor-balanced, graceful, hilt of the finest metal and leather, deadly sharp-and leapt up, stomach and fingers burning in pain, his armor singed and smoking. The warlord grabbed his sword which lay on the table and met the young man's charge.

   Blades flashed and sparkled, casting jittery shadows throughout the room as the two men dueled, shocking and slashing and kicking and punching at one another, a tangle of arms and flesh and metal and blood and hair. A parry by the warlord and Aeden's sword flew to one side as the warlord crashed his down onto Aeden's shoulder. It glanced off but left a partially melted shoulder guard from the energy that spewed out of the blade. The boy answered the blow with skill of his own, won by long hours practicing with Priam. They dueled like two masters, their rohva skills apparently, inexplicably, of no use on the other. Within a minute, however, it became apparent that Aeden was the more skilled with a blade. He grew more confident of his impending victory, riding high, flashing his sword around with a flourish. Unexpectedly, the warlord knocked his sword aside again, and the blackened sharpened metal fist found his face, bloodying it, and as Aeden brought his hand up to staunch the flow the warlord's foot kicked and swept Aeden's out from under him. He landed flat on his back, and the warlord, still feet away with his sword, lifted it vertically over Aeden's chest, preparing for a killing blow.

   Betha, disturbed by the clang of metal on metal, and the yells and taunts of the two duelists, groggily opened an eye. She saw Aeden fall to his back, just a few yards away, the warlord standing triumphantly over him. She panicked, and dragging herself to her knees she called forth previously unknown stores of energy, directing it at the space between the two men. The sword jabbed down, and, inches from Aeden's chest, a sparkling barrier flashed into existence, freezing the sword as if it hit brick. The warlord cried out in pain, releasing his sword, Betha fell backward in exhaustion and the shimmering curtain disappeared, and Aeden, still winded from his fall, thrust the sword of the shopkeeper of Ramath up, plunging it straight into the screaming warlord's abdomen.

   The warlord jerked, gurgled a bit, and collapsed to the floor. Aeden, chest heaving, stomach in searing pain, blood flowing from wounds, looked down at the man, who also heaved and spit blood. Aeden kneeled down by the man's head, and calmly said, "Your reign of terror is at an end, my lord."

   He grabbed the warlord violently by the hair and raised his sword to slice the head off.