Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh (12 page)

Aeden stopped running. He turned, watching as the men on the wall frantically cut ropes to stop the oncoming horde of men and women climbing the wall, but their efforts were overwhelmed by the sheer number of attackers. Hundreds surged onto the wall, slicing through the defenders and hurling them off into the crowd below. The invaders then directed their attention to the men and women guarding the gate itself, hurling rocks and the scalding oil at the terrified defenders. Over one hundred jumped down and busied themselves trying to open the gate from the inside, or defend those who did. Aeden ran back. “If they get through that gate, we’re all dead anyway …” he told himself. As he watched, the invaders working on the gate found success and the large metal doors swung open with the horde pouring in like the ocean through a pierced dike. Aeden rushed forward, joining a company of the city guard, yelling ferociously as he plunged in.

It was like the tournament, only far more intense, bloody, and deadly. He hacked his way through a group of enemy soldiers, and his stomach turned at the sight of the blood belching out of the wounds he inflicted. He noticed that the enemy soldiers were not particularly skilled, and wondered at that in the back of his mind, seeing the look of almost unconcern on their faces. Stone-faced, as Priam’s parents had said.

He plunged his sword into one man and then pulled it out to block the blow of another, spinning around and slashing at the woman’s stomach. She doubled over, wretching up blood. As the bodies piled up around them, for the first time Aeden began to have a little hope. But the incoming masses pressed on, their numbers almost incomprehensible as he looked over their heads, out the gate, and saw a massive sea of stone faces.

Through the gate now came more men and women, different from the others. These had fearsome faces, and yelled battle cries as they approached. They mixed themselves in with the regular soldiers, and wherever they assisted, the resistance seemed to melt away. Every time they struck with their swords, the force must have been tremendous since showers of sparks shot out from the defenders’ swords, and they dropped the blades, clutching their hands in pain before being cut down.

The gruesome bloodbath continued for some minutes, the wall of enemy soldiers slowly pressing the city guard and the nobles’ men back across the great courtyard in front of the gate. The cries and screams of the defenders pierced Aeden’s ears, but he continued his work of death, slashing, piercing, cutting, hacking, skewering, and bashing all who found their way in front of his sword.

Suddenly he found himself face to face with one of the more skilled soldiers. The man charged him and swung, and Aeden quickly ducked and booted the man, making him stumble from the momentum that carried him forward. Aeden though, distracted by this more capable threat, felt pressure in his shoulder. He looked down and saw a blade extending out of it, red with his own blood. He gasped, and as the stone-faced soldier withdrew the sword, readying a killing blow, Aeden spun around and with his own sword, the one awarded him by the lord of the city, found the woman’s neck. He collapsed, looking back up to the warrior he had sent stumbling, who by now had recovered and charged toward him again. Aeden weakly held his sword up, then watched in amazed relief as the man’s head flew off with a spurt of blood. The body collapsed, lifeless, revealing behind him Swordmaster Arino, whom Aeden recognized from the tournament, and who was to begin instructing him the next day.

“Run!” the man yelled. “Run now!” The Swordmaster turned and hacked his way through another group of unlucky stone-faced soldiers. Dizzy, Aeden dropped to his knees, lookeing down at the blood oozing out of his shoulder. His arm hung limp, but he willed himself back to his feet. He turned and ran back to the buildings that faced the courtyard, looking back to see the awful plight of the defenders. Half had fallen already, and those still standing were drowning in the sea of invaders. He prayed silently as he continued his run, bumping into a man running the other way. The man grabbed him and put a hand on Aeden’s head. Bewildered, Aeden looked up, and saw the master healer’s face, eyes closed, in deep concentration.

Seconds later, he opened his eyes and forcefully commanded: “Find your family! Gather who you can! Get to the front gate, and make for the city of Ramath! Go now!” Before Aeden could react, he ran off towards the tangle of combatants still battling in the courtyard.

The line the defenders had formed was now long breached—hordes of stone-faced soldiers rushed past the dwindling city guard and remaining nobles’ men. Aeden resumed his dash to the south. He looked down and saw that the bleeding had stopped and the wound had partially sealed. It ached, but the searing pain was gone and the feeling restored to his hand.

He sprinted south, sword raised to hack through any stray enemy soldier he encountered. The eleventh through the twentieth nobles’ warriors now were having their turn at the invaders, taking them down in ones and twos, ambushing them from the alleys and side-streets, but Aeden did not turn to the left nor right as ran straight south towards the Markham estate. He raised his eyes and watched the southern city wall. From a distance he could see a steady stream of invaders haul themselves to the top of the wall and jump down. His heart surged into his throat as he realized that the whole time he had been defending the gate, the rest of the army had been vaulting over the city walls, filling the city from all directions. He came upon a group of soldiers with their backs turned to him, concentrating their attack on a pair of defenders. With just four quick strokes Aeden felled them all before continuing his mad dash. He caught a glimpse of himself in a store window as he passed—Madam Rutkin’s Confectionary—his breath caught as he saw the grim figure soaked in blood. He looked down and saw that his own blood had run down his left arm, but the rest of his body was bathed in the blood of his victims. He pressed forward, encountering at least thirty more attackers in groups of threes and fours, swiftly killing them all before he finally arrived at the Markham estate. He gasped. There in front of the estate, past the gates and swarming all around the grounds, the enemy pressed on the beleaguered defenders. He saw the desperate men and women successfully cut down many invaders, but they were overwhelmed. The enemy seemed to be concentrating more on the estate than on any of the smaller homes he had passed on that street. He sprang forward, plunging into the chaos within the estate’s gates. He lopped the head off an attacker, sparing a fallen woman who had raised her sword in a feeble defense. He helped her to her feet, and she looked at him, exclaiming, “Champion!” and smiled broadly before crying out, “Look out!” He wheeled around and blocked the strike of another stone-faced man and whirled his sword again, chopping the arm clean off and finishing the deed with steel through the poor soldier’s chest. He worked his way through the courtyard, assisting the besieged wherever he could, running this way and that, seeing the numbers of the onslaught slowly diminish. When he could count no more than twenty attackers remaining, he left them to the ten or so defenders still standing and ran to the mansion. The doors had been bashed in and he heard commotion inside. He encountered more enemy soldiers in the front receiving area and sliced his way through them, looking down the great hallway, the massive crystal chandeliers dominating the huge airspace above him. The view was a grizzly scene of chaos. Fifty or so people fought one another, stepping through a mass of bodies on the floor, which was one large shallow pool of blood. He looked down around him and saw the wreckage of bodies: elderly men and women, armored defenders, enemy soldiers, and many children.

A rage built inside of him, pushing aside previous feelings of intense purpose and a little fear. He heard a woman screaming, and his gaze flashed across the great hall. He saw his mother covered in blood, dealing death to a group of soldiers surrounding her. Her grey hair was tied back in a ponytail now tipped in red that whipped around and around as the woman spun and lunged and hacked, stone-faced men and women falling all around her. She screamed with every blow, a crazed, shrieking scream that disturbed her son. He charged forward to his mother, skewering several soldiers, and came to her side. He reached her as she felled the final woman soldier, and she spun around, readying her sword to strike him, but froze as she saw his face. She collapsed into his arms, screaming.

“My baby! My baby! My baby!” She went on and on, Aeden eyeing a few soldiers that were drawing closer.

“Mother, I’m ok. Let’s get out of here, now!”

 She did not move. “My baby! My baby is dead!” she screamed into his chest, sobbing. The realization finally dawned on Aeden, and the rage released itself. He heard his own blood-curdling cry as he dashed toward the nearest soldier, cutting him down and moving onto the next, and the next, and another, then another. Within a minute, he had worked his way around the vast room, purging it of the filth he saw before him. At last the room lay quiet, except for the moans of the wounded and the weeping of the living. He stood over the broken body of his last victim and yanked his sword out, breathing rapidly, blood dripping from his fingers and sword. He turned and saw his mother clad in her armor, sword still in hand, lying on the ground still screaming. He rushed to her.

“Mother. We must leave now. We have to leave NOW!” he yelled in her ear, as he noticed a few more stone-faced men enter the hall.

She did not move, but shook and screamed, “I can’t leave my baby here!”

“Mother,” Aeden knelt next to her and raised her face up to meet his gaze, “if she is dead, then we must go. There is still a chance to escape, but only if we move. Now!”

She did not move, but, shaking, brought her bloody hands up to his face, tears streaming down her cheeks and said in wonder, “You’re alive. My son.” She frantically looked all around her, “My baby! She’s gone! My baby!”

He grabbed the hands on his face and held them tightly, “Mother. Now. Please come with me. I can’t lose you.”

She looked at him again, falling eerily silent. She spoke in a deadened voice, “I saw them cut her down. I was working my way through them, but some got around us and aimed for the children. I ran back to the little ones, and she lay there. I lifted her head. She had no breath. It was … it was … it was.…” She trailed off. He stood, and dragged the woman to her feet. Seeing the entering soldiers take down another defender, he ran forward and killed the intruders, beckoning to his mother.

“Please, mother. It’s time to go,” he said as calmly as he could, despite the raw rage seething within. He turned and saw a man fly through the door, landing in a heap at his feet. He looked up and saw another enemy soldier, this one with an evil, twisted look on his face, approaching another defending woman. He raised a hand as he approached her, and not quite believing his eyes, Aeden saw a bolt of lightning shoot out from the fingers, striking the woman who flew backward with a scream. The soldier advanced quickly, finished her off with a sword to the neck, and turned his gaze to Aeden. Aeden lifted his sword high and charged as the man raised his hand, pointing it at him. He saw another man rush forward toward the soldier from behind, and suddenly the enemy fell in a heap before the blast could escape his blackened fingertips. Aeden paused in wonder, and saw the master healer standing before him, hand outstretched still from touching the soldier’s head.

“Master!” Aeden rushed forward. “All is lost. What do we do?”

The healer grabbed Aeden and looked in his eyes, firmly saying, “Aeden. I’ve been to the castle. It is overrun. I am sorry, your father is dead, as is the lord of the city and everyone else there.” The boy stared blankly back at him.

“And so is my sister,” he said, overcome with numbness. “And hundreds, maybe thousands of others.” He turned toward his mother, who walked slowly toward him, still shaking and silently sobbing. The master healer quickly touched both of their heads, and Aeden instantly felt a calmness pass over him, and his mind focused. He looked at his mother—a similar effect had come over her.

“We must go. I will not lose you too,” she said.

The master healer looked at the remaining survivors and announced, “If you want to live, come with me now. I will help you escape, and you will find refuge in the city of Ramath. Move!” He led the way back into the courtyard where a few soldiers remained fighting as more surged down the street towards them.

Aeden assisted the defenders still on their feet before yelling “Follow us!” They rushed out the front gate and made a desperate dash to the west as several approaching attackers sprang in their direction. Aeden and a few of the defenders held off their attack, felling several of them and allowing the bulk of the group to escape west down the street. They wheeled around and sprinted after them, running ahead to keep the path clear of the enemy.

The master healer ran next to Aeden and spoke to him in a low voice, “If I’m not mistaken, I believe they are aiming solely for the nobility. I believe the rest of the people may be safe, for now. Gather all that you can, and go to Ramath. I will follow after, though I may not arrive for a week or two.”

Aeden looked at him in surprise, “What will you be doing?”

The old man answered, “There is much to investigate before I come to Ramath. I need to find a few of these soldiers and rummage around in their heads to discover who is behind this. I believe I will be safe here, since I am not nobility.”

Aeden replied, “Very well. Master?” He turned his head to look at the man in the eyes, “Will you keep an eye out for Priam?”

“I will. You and he are actually rather high on my list of people to save today. Go now and make extreme haste. Of one mind and heart!” he cried out as he turned, running down a side street.

“Of one mind and heart.” Aeden murmured as he watched the man go. He resumed his run towards the west gate, clearing a bloody path with the help of those few still able to fight so that the rest of the group could go through unharmed. As he passed the houses of the nobility that he recognized he gave a quick shout out, warning any present to join the escape immediately or else surely die. Only occasionally did a few terrified people emerge from the houses to follow the group, which had slowed to a brisk walk out of sheer exhaustion.