Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh (3 page)

Everything was just as he remembered from his earliest years, unchanging, almost stagnant: the benches all oriented towards the central dais, the priest saying the same words. The priest said that the communal hall was over ten centuries old, and he believed it. And the constancy, the steadiness, the sameness felt safe. His head snapped back to the priest as he heard the name “Rossam” from the elder priest.

“And now, Lady Rossam will read from the Chronicles.” The old man bowed to her and stepped aside. The lady stood tall and graceful as she approached the central dais surrounded by benches filled with the nobility of Elbeth. Finely clothed people with proud, content faces looked up at her as she began her recitation—not read, as was customary for a lector, but memorized, loving the holy book as she did.

“The Adventure of Ilien. Excerpts from the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters.

“
My people, come, come now and listen to the conclusion of the fated tale, prophesied in ages past. Ilien the fair, swept away from country and home, was found in a far country. The companions, men of valor and skill, pressed them to their goal. Elusive it was, and frightful the journey, for strange men made of the very stone of the earth arose and hindered their path. Witches lured them and babbled their spells. High magicians muttered their incantations and wizards peeped, yet the friends endured, suffering travails and privations. Winter fell and the journey stretched on, shadows lengthened and friendship flickered. Presently, the sun fell to the south, died, and was straightaway reborn, and aged anew, pursuing its journey to the north. The earth warmed, strife cooled, and friendship endured, until at last the sun approached the zenith of heaven and smiled down upon Ilien, and went before their faces, illuminating the hearts of men and reconciling their adversaries to them. Darkness to light, ice to healing fire: the hero and friends prevailed, and the world was changed.

“The Prophecies of Tilda the scribe. Excerpts of the final chapter.

“Behold I say unto you, my good halves and yet whole, grave days lie ahead.

“Yet grace be before you, blood be through you and water submerse you and grant you victory. The little fire shall turn from ice and reclaim the lost, shall pair with the second, and proclaim its coming, shall feel its immanence, and, imminently prevail.

“The world shall change, for the better, for the worse, to the glory of the Creator that sits at the mountaintop. Of one mind and heart.
”

The assembled crowd repeated aloud, “Of one mind and heart.”

The elder priest stood again, and spoke. “Thank you, Lady Rossam. Truly beautiful. And your son—is he ready?”

Aeden, once again paying attention to the girls, snapped his head back to the priest and said, “Now? I mean, of course, now, if you’re ready.…” The priest nodded patiently and stepped aside. Aeden stood and strode onto the raised dais. He cleared his throat.

“Spring has gone, come gather around,

The sun draws nearer here to the ground,         

Friends are near, and friends abound,

The summer days for now are found,

For now are found,

For now are found.

Harvest beckons but now we are crowned,

With loved ones gathered all around,

Friends on earth and heaven are found:

The summer sun, its grace profound,

Its grace profound,

Its grace profound.    

Deathless lands to us beckon: come,

Forsake thy fields, thy family and home,

Fly o’er land, o’er Zouree and from

thy maker find peace, renewed become

Renewed become.

Renewed become. 

Golden fields and vines strewn along

The trees that gather and carry the song,

Dear one, come, and march along,

And taste now the fruit, thy life prolong,

Thy life prolong,

Thy life prolong.

Here, my friend, and join in the throng,

Of those that gather and sound the song,

Sun of heaven, its rays far strong,

Will lift us together, and draw us along,

And draw us along,

And draw us along,

And draw us along.”

When Aeden finished, all around the hall nodded approvingly, and he took his seat once more. The priest stood: “Let us now perform the sacred communal prayer.”

The assembled arose and ordered themselves into a great circle centered around the circular raised dais in the middle of the great room, its strange elevated markings catching the slanted rays of the sun, casting shadows over other recessed symbols. The priest stood at the head of the circle, and lowering to one knee, called out, “My brothers. My sisters. My friends. My family. Let us begin.” Each of them placed a hand on the head of their neighbor. Aeden looked to his left and put his hand on his father’s head, looked to his right and rested the other on the short head of his sister, each of them likewise touching his head with their hands.

The setting sun cast its golden beams through the windowless openings in the wall, illuminating the faces of half the circle, but washing out the faces of the others in its glare.

***

The vast army sprinted. The tireless lieutenant in front spurred them on, though occasionally a soldier or two would keel over, retching or even fainting from the exertion. Several men and women perished during the terrible run to the south, but otherwise they maintained their steel-like, empty gaze on the path before them. The lieutenant wiped his sweaty brow. His master would be pleased with his progress—his scouts running to the sides and before the vast army reported no stray travelers that might betray the army’s swift advance—at least none that survived their encounters with the scouts. All proceeded according to his master’s plan. He grinned as he contemplated the coming victory. He would right all wrongs, dry all tears, avenge all injustices. The master had forseen all. The world will change.

     Chapter Two

“And there was one who fell among thieves, being left for dead. He did lift the poor man up and carried him to his house, placing his hands on him, calling forth the power of the mountaintop on his behalf. The man that same hour jumped from his bed and praised his healer and Creator …” —The Lay of Galen Thunderspeak, 7:54

“Aeden! Aaaaeden!” A tall, curly-haired teenager stood outside the imposing Rossam estate, looking up towards a third story window. He called out again, “Aeden!”

With this latest call, a saggy-eyed Aeden appeared at the window and, rubbing his eyes, called down groggily, “waddayawant, Priam?”

“I thought we were practicing this morning! I told your steward three days ago!” Priam hollered up.

Aeden paused, and sighed. “Right.” He closed the window and appeared moments later at the front gate. The large estate stood at the end of a cobblestone lane near the middle of the city, with other, smaller houses leading up to it, though most appeared rather well-to-do.

They stopped at the kitchen, where one of the servants was preparing lunch for the household, and picked a bit at the provisions until the servant shooed them off, huffing “Just because you sleep through breakfast doesn’t mean you get to ransack my kitchen!” At this, Aeden grabbed one last morsel before running after Priam who had already escaped out the back door to the courtyard.

Priam had come wearing some armor—tattered and rusted—for they were to practice their swordsmanship that morning in preparation for the trials to be admitted to the royal guard, and for the upcoming tournament. As small children they dreamed of it—going together to watch the annual dueling tournament in the city, cheering the victories, jeering the defeated, and both vowing to be master swordsmen when they came of age, with such skill and valor that they would be accepted with great praise into that small body of men that protects the king himself.

Aeden grabbed his practice armor and strapped it on, picking up his sword that lay on the ground where he had carelessly tossed it after their last practice. Priam was bent over adjusting his boots when Aeden smacked him on the rear with the flat of his sword, eliciting a yell from his friend and threats of painful retribution. Aeden laughed mockingly, “Don’t make me soil my armor!” and with that, the two duelists approached each other as they had for years now, swinging, parrying, blocking, sometimes with a blur of movement, sometimes pausing for a more deliberate attack, their swordplay often punctuated by the banter of teenage wordplay.

 “So I saw Geraldine at the market yesterday …” Priam lunged.

 Aeden parried, “Running errands for your mummy, were you?”

 “Funny. Actually I was running … errands … for … my mummy, oh shut up!” Aeden had burst out laughing and Priam used the moment to bash Aeden’s chest with his shield and charge with his sword swinging. “I was ...” swing, block, “there to deliver …” swing, block, “a contract from my father ...” swing, miss, “to a merchant …” swing, block, “to sell the wine …” swing, miss, “from our vineyards next season.” Swing, miss, swing, miss. Aeden finally recovered his balance, still chuckling, and began his counterattack.

“So your father can’t afford to hire a servant and sends his son to be his messenger boy instead?” Aeden said before charging with a flurry of swings, all effortlessly parried by the taller Priam, who grunted.

“Well. The twenty-sixth duke of the city certainly is not as important and rich as the sixth duke of the city. Your majesty.” On Aeden’s final swing, Priam managed to knock his sword out of his hand, and kicked him in the pants as he turned to retrieve the fallen blade. “A little rusty this morning, Aeden?”

Aeden smirked, “Imitation is the greatest praise, no?” and charged again. After an hour of this, the two exhausted, sweaty boys dropped their swords and collapsed under a lemon tree. Aeden rubbed a bruise he had received from Priam’s dull practice blade. He looked over at his friend. “How was the hunting trip?”

“Good. We caught a buck. Father says we can use the skin to make new boots for me.”

“Those old ones I gave you wore out?”

“No, my feet just grew too large. Anyway, the tanner will have the leather ready in a few weeks, and mother will make them then. By the way, we found something quite interesting in the mountains. We went high this time, higher than we usually go since we had little luck down in the lower foothills. We were hiking up this ridge towards a peak when we came up to the bottom of the mountain, which formed a sort of rock wall. In the middle of the wall—we almost missed it from the moss dangling down in front of it—was a doorway.”

 “What was behind it?”

 “I don’t know. We couldn’t open it. It had no handle or hinges. Just a big flat rectangle set into the rock wall. It was made of metal, but another curious part was that there was no rust on it. It must be very old, but for it not to be rusted is quite strange.”

 Aeden tossed a fallen lemon up into the air, catching it with his other hand. “Is your father going back to try again?”

“Yes,” the boy replied, “next year after the spring planting. He’s going to take a metal worker with him, and a locksmith, even though there was no handle or lock. My dad is nuts sometimes.”

Priam trailed off and after a moment Aeden remarked, “So I hear the master healer arrived in the city yesterday. Priest Anthony told me.”

Priam nodded, “He sure does not seem to like the healers, especially the master healer. I wonder why?”

Aeden paused in thought. “I suppose because they think their healing power is unnatural. Or maybe even from the Evil One himself.” He made a sign of warding with his hands at the mention of the evil name. “I heard Priest Anthony call the master healer a witch once, but he hushed up and would not repeat it when I asked him what he was talking about. The healers are popular. Maybe he didn’t want to get an earful from the lord of the city, who I think adores the master healer.”

Priam sat silent, then, making the decision to confide in his friend, lowered his voice, “The master healer called at our house yesterday. He asked if he could meet with me later today. I am to go to his study at the castle this afternoon.”

Aeden glanced at him sharply. “You? The master healer wants to recruit you? Well. Congratulations, I guess.” He looked down, picking at the dandelions in the grass.

Priam hesitated, “Well, I just thought you’d like to know. Anyway, who wants to join the healers when there’s a royal guard out there that is just begging, begging, for two fine swordsmen, such as ourselves—”

“Such as ourselves!” Aeden interrupted, raising his sword.