Thom spent a week waking only long enough to eat something, fill his bedpan, and take more medicine. On the eighth day he awoke to find he had a visitor sitting in a chair facing his bed. It was Master Grahm, but this time he had only food and water for Thom. He spoke while Thom ate.
“Your pain should have subsided enough for us to try something experimental. That M’kesh did some serious damage to your leg. Normally such an injury would leave a man unable to do little more than hobble the rest of his life. But you are lucky to live in such an age,” Master Grahm smiled to himself just as much as to Thom as he stood and walked out of the room.
A few minutes later Master Grahm returned with a metal contraption with leather straps. He set it on the table next to the bed and pulled Thom’s blanket back. Thom pulled at the edge of his nightshirt to cover himself before remembering that Master Grahm had seen more cocks than a chicken baron and was wholly unfazed by such matters. Thom let his eyes wander to his knees. The right one was the same as always. The left one was swollen and didn’t have the right angle it should. There was dark bruising halfway up the thigh and midway down his calf. At the edges it was yellow, but most was an angry blackish purple.
Master Grahm traced a line from the top of the bruise on the thigh to the knee, shifting his angle as he went to the bottom portion on the shin. Thom knew the damage was bad, but seeing the bend in the line like that made it seem all the worse. Master Grahm reached into his pocket and pulled out a long needle and a small bottle.
“You are no doubt familiar with splints, yes? They are a handy thing to have been invented. But your knee is meant to bend. Were I to fix a splint to it, your knee would heal, but the joint would heal stiff and you would walk with a terrible limp the rest of your life. Fine for an inn keeper, but a shite deal for a knight.”
He pricked the skin in several spots. Thom winced in pain, but did his best to not move. Master Grahm pressed on the skin around the pricks and a dark liquid seeped out. This he wiped away with a clean rag he produced before pouring the liquid from the small bottle into each small hole. Thom’s pain abated almost immediately, his face showing the relief. Master Grahm noted the change in expression and smiled. Reaching over, he grabbed the contraption and set it on the bed next to Thom’s leg. He lifted the battered leg slowly and slid the contraption beneath it, then lowered the leg into place. Next, he began lacing the straps. Thom steeled himself for the inevitable pain. It arrived, though was less than expected. Master Grahm snugged each lace tight, pulling Thom’s knee into place.
Looking at his leg, he wondered why Master Grahm had gone on about the problems of splints when it seemed that’s what he just gave him. Master Grahm seemed to sense this question and lifted a hand to stop Thom from asking.
“Right now, your knee is held secure and you cannot bend it. But…” Master Grahm trailed off as he fiddled with the contraption, pulling and flicking at it, “There you go.” And with that, Master Grahm grabbed Thom’s knee with one hand and the ankle with the other and bent his leg.
“To the seven!... That didn’t hurt. Why didn’t that hurt?” Thom asked.
Master Grahm began to laugh, softly at first, but it grew louder and louder.
“It worked! Oh thank the seven gods, it worked!” Master Grahm exclaimed. “I mean, I read that it should, but to see it with your own eyes is different!”
Thom could see that the old man needed a minute.
Finally Master Grahm calmed down enough to explain, “You see, this is no mere steel and leather. The metal is called mythril. Dwarves mine it, or so the tales tell. I really don’t know the specifics. And the leather is made from wyvern hide. They’re a nasty creature, similar to a dragon - though don’t ever tell a dragon that! If the legends are to be believed, hoo boy, they do not take such comparisons well. Anyway, these materials, along with the sap of the yggdr tree - which as you know is unique among trees for healing itself when woodsmen attempt to cut it down - have bonded to your leg and take the place of your natural knee. Your knee is still there of course, but as far as your body is concerned, the device is doing all its work!”
Thom looked at his knee, which was still as dark and painful looking as it had been. When he touched the skin, the pain was minimal. He pushed on the skin and a wave of pain cascaded across the knee as well as the brace. He was confused as to how he felt the brace. He pressed on the metal and he could swear he could feel the tip of his finger through it. Master Grahm laughed again.
“I told you, it’s bonded to your leg. There were also some strange runes carved into the mythril, though they face your leg so they cannot be read by others. I think that’s part of the magic. To be certain, I have no idea how it works, only that it seems to.” Master Grahm pulled another small bottle from his pocket and handed it to Thom saying, “Well, I think this is enough excitement for today. Drink this and sleep. You will awake in three days and we can begin teaching you to walk again.”
With that Master Grahm exited the room. Thom looked at the bottle, and then at his knee. He uncorked the bottle and drained it in one swig.
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I hope you're enjoying this story. I also have a zombie e-book on Amazon that I'm rather proud of.
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