Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh (14 page)

They entered the mansion, a large, white granite building with substantial wooden rafters bound together with straps of iron, supported by square granite pillars running down the length of the wide hall. The vast hall was mostly quiet, the only people present being the lord himself standing near the rear of the room talking with a handful of advisors. They looked up as the refugees entered, and the lord’s steward approached.

“Lord Whitehall is not holding court today, do you wish to make an appointment for next month? He is quite busy.…” He trailed off as he saw the blood still staining Aeden’s armor. Aeden approached the man, repeating what he told the guard outside, and the steward quickly summoned the lord, who was still in deep discussion with his advisors. As the steward mumbled in the lord’s ear, the man stiffened up straight and stared at the newcomers. He wasted no time in rushing over to greet them.

“My steward tells me you have disturbing news. Please, come sit with me.” The lord motioned toward a collection of chairs near the side of the hall and bade them sit. “Now. Tell me all,” he said, leaning forward on the edge of his chair.

Aeden spoke: “My lord. I am the son of the sixth duke of Elbeth. This is my mother, Lady Rossam of Elbeth, and these people,” he motioned to the others among them, some of whom stood due to limited seating, “are possibly all that remains of the nobility of Elbeth.” The lord stared grim-faced at the group, numbering thirty or so, mostly mothers, youth, and children. Aeden continued, “A week ago, in midmorning, we received word that a vast army, numbering greater than twenty thousand, was descending upon our city from the mountains to the east. There was no warning, and we knew not from whence they came. Their appearance suggested a northern origin, but even the master healer could not know for sure.”

The lord interrupted, “The master healer. Is he with you?”

“Alas, no. He remained behind to attempt to learn the origin and motives of this army, and to discover its lord. Based on what he had seen when I last talked to him, he seemed sure that the main target of the army was the nobility of Elbeth, as the castle and the greater houses attracted large numbers of soldiers, and the common people seemed to be untouched.”

The lord stroked his beard. “I don’t doubt the word of the master healer, but an army targeting the castle and the great houses first by no means proves they only target the nobility. Have you no word from the city since the invasion?”

“No. We fled as the city fell, and travelled swiftly here at the urgings of the master healer.”

“And he will remain there?” the lord asked, aghast. “Utter madness. The master healer never struck me as the foolish type.”

“He assured me that he would follow us to Ramath within a week or two. We cannot but trust his word. Or his abilities.”

“You must have more knowledge of his abilities than me. He is a very powerful healer, second only to Clara herself. But by no means is he a warrior or a tactician. He will be surely killed if tries to meddle with the invaders as he apparently plans to do.”

Lady Rossam, listening in silence the entire time, cleared her throat. “My lord. All these good people you see here are refugees, having lost countless loved ones, passed through unimaginable grief, and travelled long miles in the wilderness with few provisions. I beg you now to give them support and sustenance until that time that they may return to their homes.”

The lord looked at the disheveled and filthy people with pity, and motioned to his steward. “Of course, my Lady Rossam. I have many smaller houses here on my estate that are currently unoccupied, or, if they are, I will temporarily relocate the servants who live there. You will all have homes and beds tonight, and food and drink to satisfy you. I have many relatives among the nobility of Elbeth, and this news pains me greatly.”

Aeden said, “My lord. I do not know if the lord of the city was able to get any messages to the king before the disaster. I assume he did so, but it might be a good idea to.…”

The lord nodded quickly, “Yes, yes. You are right. I will send a messenger at once to the king. It is three days of hard travel for a man to reach the capital city from here.” He gestured to the steward again, and with a look commanded him to summon a messenger.

Aeden arose, “My lord. We thank you most impassionedly for your hospitality. We will take no more of your time.”

Lord Whitehall stood as well. “Lord Rossam … your father died in the attack, I presume?” The boy nodded, “Then Lord Rossam, for sixth duke of the city of Elbeth you are now, and possibly its future lord, I bid you farewell. My steward will see you all to your lodgings. And Lord Rossam,” he looked at the boy in the eye, grasping his hand, “Be not surprised if I call on you occasionally in the coming days—I will no doubt require more details of your knowledge of current events as I prepare this city for the coming storm. Well done my boy.” He finished, slapping Aeden on the shoulder and releasing his hand.

The lord’s steward summoned several more servants to attend him, giving instructions for them to show the refugees to the unoccupied buildings on the grounds of the estate and to refresh the stores of provisions in the houses from the larder in the castle. The servants led the ragtag group of people outside and showed them to their new lodgings. Aeden and his mother were led to a small, two-room brick house surrounded by a lush vegetable garden, lined with rows of leeks and onions, mounds of potato plants, veritable forests of tomato bushes bearing fruit of nearly all colors, carrots, beans, cabbages, squash, and many other unfamiliar fruits.

After the servant left, they dropped their meager possessions on the floor and collapsed on the two beds, having travelled hard for many days with little sleep, nobility being quite unused to sleeping on the hard ground. Within minutes, they slept deeply, unaware of the servant that brought food, or of the next servant that brought sets of fresh clothing as a gift from the lady of the city. Most of the day they slept, their dreams still punctuated by the cries of their sister and their daughter, their husband and their father.

Aeden awoke in the late afternoon, and seeing the food newly delivered, began at once to prepare a meal for them both. He ate, allowing his mother to sleep, for she in particular had restless nights on their journey, and dark circles ringed her eyes. He unstrapped his sheath from his back and laid the sword—the prize from the lord of the city of Elbeth—on a trunk at the foot of his bed, and began unstrapping the armor he wore still since the invasion. He had no opportunity to find fresh clothing during the journey, and his mother had only packed his Chronicles, a quill and ink, a few pieces of dried meats and olives, his tinder, one set of fresh underclothes, and a few important documents—an official copy of his family’s line of descent proving his nobility, copies of contracts with several of the families in the service of the Rossams, and a few other papers, along with a small bag of coins.

He placed the filthy, bloodstained armor off to the corner of the room and rifled through the clothing the servant had brought, selecting a white tunic and fine blue leggings. Catching a draft of ripe odor as he undressed, he quickly dressed in the new clothes, pulled his boots back on and left the small building to find a bathhouse. He walked all over the estate, finally finding the bathhouse that the servants used, and entered. The large bath itself was empty, apparently in the process of being cleaned, so he undressed, found a bucket of cold water and washed himself. As he redressed, a servant entered the house, and, seeing Aeden’s fine clothing said,

“My lord. Please come with me and I will show you the bathhouse that I am sure the lord would have you use.”

Aeden waved his hand, “No need, my man, this house was sufficient—it is more spacious and fine than my own bath back home.”

The servant hesitated. “Very well, my lord, but please, let me show you the other one so that next time you may at least have the choice. I insist.”

Aeden relented and followed the older man out the door. He led the boy out towards the castle itself, passing the Rossam’s temporary residence on the way, and wrapped around behind the large granite building, revealing a stone paved courtyard with a fountain, a small orchard, and another building, larger than the one the Rossams stayed in, which was the bathhouse of the lord of the city himself. The man pointed, saying, “The lord insists that you use his bath while you are a guest here. You, and your mother, and any of the other visiting nobility that desire also to use it.”

Aeden thanked the man as he returned to his duties, and decided to linger a bit in the courtyard. It reminded him somewhat of his own courtyard back home, only larger and much more magnificent. The orchard boasted many lemon, orange, and grapefruit trees, several peach and plum trees, and a large expanse of long rows of raspberry bushes. He sat down on the lip of the short rock wall surrounding the fountain and swirled his finger around in the water as he watched the cascading liquid splash the stones below.

“I come here every morning. The sound of the water and the beams from the newly risen sun bring me comfort and refreshment.”

Aeden looked up at the speaker. A tall, dark haired woman approached the fountain, stopping just feet from the boy. She continued, “I heard about Elbeth. I’m sorry. It pains me greatly to think of all those people, many of them kinsman to us here in Ramath.”

“Are you the lady of the city?”

“I am. I was born in the capital city, but came here when the lord asked for my hands in marriage. I have lived here for forty years. Do you see that orchard?” she asked, pointing to the grove of trees to the west.

“Yes”        

“That was my wedding gift from the lord. I’ve always loved fruit, and trees, and my father and mother owned many large orchards south of the capital city that I often escaped to, and I did not want to leave them, so my condition for marriage was that the lord plant for me an orchard, and have water flowing near it. So the fountain was also a wedding gift. Do you like it?”

“It is very beautiful, my lady. The trees as well. My family likewise had a small orchard near our courtyard. I would lay under the trees often for hours as a youth,” Aeden reminisced.

“But young master, you are yet still a youth! I am eighty years old and to my eyes, you look but a small child.” She laughed, an elegant, delightful laugh. “But ‘tis so with life. The young long for maturity, the mature grasp at their youth, and the elderly …” She paused.

“Yes?” Aeden prodded.

“Well, I am not elderly as yet, so I do not know what I will pine for. My mother, however, she is one hundred and forty eight, and desires nothing but prunes!” She laughed loudly, clearly pleased with her stale joke. “But my mother tells me she longs to repeat her life—to go back and right the wrongs she had done, to live better. And wiser.”

“My father’s parents moved out to the sea several years ago. When he turned one hundred and fifty, my grandfather abruptly stepped down from the lordship of our estate and decided he wanted to spend the remainder of his days by the sea. They live there still, though we have not seen them for years. It seemed odd, though, for most lords keep their estates and holdings until their deaths, not parting with them until the last possible moment, but my grandfather just walked away from it all. Which I suppose I can’t complain about—from everything I’ve heard he was truly awful. Mistreated the servants, beat my father when he was young, all sorts of horrible things.”

“That is remarkable, young man. And honorable. Not the beatings, of course, but leaving his estate—I do not think I would do so, but I admire it nonetheless.” She sat next to him. “You are the Rossam boy, correct?”

“I am, my lady. Aeden Rossam.” He nodded curtly.

“I am Lady Whitehall. My parents are the Lord and Lady Churchill, in the southern quarter of the capital city—if you ever find yourself there. Tell me, young man. What are your plans?”

Aeden stared at her, and shook his head. “I’m afraid I no longer know, my lady. I had planned on joining the royal guard in a year or so, and serve there until my father either died or gave up his title. The priests also invited me, as well as the healer’s society—”

She interrupted, clapping her hands, “Oh, the healers! Clara is simply a delightful woman. Not nobility, but I always feel she is when I am in her presence. Very graceful, commanding. Beautiful, too. If they invited you, you would not do wrong to accept.”

“I had thought to turn them down, in fact. The day before the invasion, just a week ago—it’s almost hard to believe—I won the swordsman tournament, for my age group of course, well, the age group above mine—long story—and I was to start training with the city’s master swordsman to complete my training to join the guard. The morning of the invasion, I almost changed my mind when I discussed the matter with the master healer, but then I saw the blood, and the bodies …”

“And you wanted to be able to defend your kingdom? I understand.” She nodded.

“No, I looked down at all the old men and women and children lying there on the floor in the Markham estate, and I wanted only to kill those responsible.”

She seemed taken aback. “Oh. Well, I’m not sure you’ll get your chance with the healers, they tend to clean up after violence, not cause it.”

Aeden continued: “They killed my father, and my sister, and now my poor mother seems to me as another woman, wracked with silent grief. If there is a road ahead that will let me visit vengeance on the captain of that army, I will take it gladly,” he said with a quiet ferocity.

Wishing to change the subject, the woman asked, “So, you were approached by the master healer? Odd man, he is. You know the society’s headquarters is here in Ramath? Well, he and Clara established it here many years ago, at least one hundred I think, though what he contributes to the pair I am not sure. He is disorganized, often dirty and disheveled, sometimes rude, whereas she is the picture of delightsome company and manners, full of confidence and grace.”

“He seemed okay to me. Sure, his office was quite … cluttered … but he seemed a decent fellow.”