Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh by Endi Webb

it to his body and belting the sword to his waist. With helmet in hand, he ran down the two flights of stairs, grabbing a hunk of bread and a small wedge of cheese from the kitchen as he dashed out the door. The pre-tournament started at half an hour past sunrise and he had no desire to be late. He sprinted down his street, and within ten minutes arrived at the tournament grounds near the center of the city. He saw a crowd of men and a few women gathered already as he approached, looking for Priam. His friend had not arrived yet, so he mingled with the crowd, greeting those he knew and making small talk until the event began. In a few minutes, the Swordmaster, who also served as captain of the city guard, approached the crowd. The burly, mustached man faced them all and gruffly called out, “Alright ladies! And … you too, ladies,” he added awkwardly, acknowledging the women who had also assembled. Aeden heard a whisper in his ear.
    “Did I miss anything yet?” Priam huddled up close to his friend.
    “No. He just called you a woman. But you knew that.” He whispered back.
    The Swordmaster continued, “Today, you will all be fighting either myself, or another member of the city guard. You will be observed by yet more members of the city guard, who will then rank you and place you into a bracket. They will be announced this afternoon.”
    “Now then. Those entering the fifteen- through eighteen-year-old division, stand over there by that wall,” he said, pointing to his right. “Those entering the nineteen to twenty-four division, stand behind me by the stands there, those entering the twenty-five to thirty-five division, stand over there by that wall.” He pointed to his left. “The thirty-six through fifty-fives stay here, and the rest of you grandpas go stand by that tree.” The crowd dispersed, Aeden and Priam separating since Lord Rossam did not make similar arrangements for Priam as he did for his son, and Aeden approached a tall, well armored warrior in his late twenties.
    “Hey, you look younger than nineteen!” the man called out to Aeden.
    “I’m seventeen. But the Lord Caldamon gave me special permission to compete in this division. Ask him yourself.”
    The man muttered something about nobility under his breath, and said, “Alright then, it’s your burial. Now, pay attention all of you, I don’t want to repeat any of this. My name is Jack. Sir Jack if you know your manners. Each of you will fight either me, or my lovely assistant here, Katrin.” He motioned to a short, armored girl at his side, who flashed a bubbly smile and waved at them all. “And those people over there,” he motioned to a table at which were seated two formidable women and a rather large man, “will judge you. We only need to duel for a minute. Do not worry if you lose before then, we will continue until the judges are satisfied. The rules.” He looked at them all carefully. “You lose if you sustain five direct, solid hits on your armor by a sword, or if you sustain two bleeding wounds anywhere, or,” he paused, “if you yield, if you fall and cannot get up, or if you flee the battlefield. You may laugh, but I actually saw it happen once.…” Some of the men chuckled. “And, needless to say, if you die.” He added quickly, “Please don’t kill each other. Remember as well, according to tradition, touching your opponent’s head with your hand grants you two points, but only once per round. And if your opponent falls, you may deliver no blows until he gets on his feet. Let us begin. Form two lines, one for myself, one for my lovely assistant—I assure you, she is much deadlier than she looks, gentlemen!” She smiled and waved at them again, and, seeing Aeden, put her hand to her lips and playfully blew a kiss.
    The crowd of young men and women divided themselves into two lines. Sir Jack drew his sword and bellowed out to them all, “When you approach, clearly state your name. Begin!”
     The first woman in