Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh Read Free

on the table and glared at Aeden momentarily before resuming his meal. The smile melted from Aeden’s face and his heart momentarily froze—he loved his father, but the man often flashed his temper at random times, and though not as violent as his own father, Lord Rossam was both loved, and feared in his house.
    Aeden sought to distract him from his anger. “Sir, may I practice with Priam later today? With the tournament upon us in a week, we want to get in all we can.”
    “You may. Just remember that list of responsibilities I gave you last week—how will you ever become the lord of this estate if all you do is sleep in and practice dueling all day?” His father shook his head in faint disgust, his wrath having now cooled.
    The family finished their breakfast and scattered to their various duties. Aeden, wanting to check at least one thing off the long list his father had given him so as to be allowed to practice his swordsmanship, left the estate to go to the Markham mansion to coordinate with the steward of their house the delivery of the wheat grown on the Rossam farmlands to the market owned by the Markhams. Almost every farm, store, kiosk, herd, flock, and smithy in the great city of Elbeth was either owned by the nobility, or taxed with the proceeds going to the lord of the city, who then divided it up between the king—who reigned in Puertamando from the capital city by the sea, the nobility, the priests, and himself.
    The streets bustled with the activity of merchants hawking their wares and foods and customers carrying their purchases home. Along one of these streets Aeden walked, the smell of freshly cooked beef wafting to his nose from a nearby vendor, soon replaced with the aroma of lavender incense from the next vendor. As he looked ahead down the street and saw a crowd assembled he realized it was last day of the month—judgement day—the day the tribunal executed the sentences upon criminals. He wandered among the crowd and looked up to the raised platform.
    He saw the rows of stocks, customarily filled with an assortment of commoners accused of petty crimes—not paying their rent on time, speaking ill of a noble, petty thefts—these were about half filled, and a few in the crowd occasionally threw a rotten vegetable at the humiliated individuals. Aeden, however, was far more interested in the main attraction—a man was to be executed that day. He walked to the judgement board and read the description of the crime the man was accused of. Murder. The accused had entered into a contract with another commoner, the man did not uphold his agreement, and the criminal, now kneeling on the platform in front of the tribunal, killed him in a rage.
    The man was hooded and naked except for a rag covering his groin. Ropes bound his wrists and ankles, and the executioner guided the quivering man’s head down to the block before him. The crowd waited in breathless expectation. The man wept openly and shook. The executioner raised his axe high, held it aloft for several seconds, aiming so as not to cause the man undue pain, and brought the blade down swiftly and cleanly. The customary sparks of lightning flashed out as the axe severed the neck—the man’s soul—and the body fell limp.
    The crowd cheered, glad to be rid of a murderer in the community. Aeden nodded his approval. When will people learn? Thank the Creator for the tribunal and their swift punishment. Good thing father is not on the tribunal, or he’d arrange for the criminal’s family to be punished as well, sold into slavery or beaten or eaten or something vile. He shuddered, and continued on his walk to the southern edge of town.
    Still, though, the poor wretch will never fly east over wind and zouree. The adversary owns him now. His victim didn’t get the chance to make his final pilgrimage either, but at least his soul flew east. Probably better for him that he didn’t have to walk the whole way to the deathless lands.
    He found the Markham