It had been over an hour since Thom fought, and he grew restless. While he was still several hours away from any ill effects of taking springthyme, his focus was waning from lack of action. Even watching the duels was growing tiresome. He looked around and saw M’kesh lying on the ground, not watching the fights. How could he be so nonchalant?
“The next match will be between Thom and M’kesh,” announced Lady Matilda.
M’kesh casually sat up and then stood. Thom already had his sword out and was in a ready stance. M’kesh seemed to be waking from a nap, based on his luxurious stretch and yawn.
“Begin!” yelled Sir Patt.
Thom hoped to overtake his opponent before he could properly arm himself. He charged with his shield in front, his sword arm coiled. M’kesh finished yawning and looked around for his shield, which was apparently not where he left it. Just before Thom would have connected, he spotted it several feet away and walked toward it, dodging the charge handily. Thom tried to stop, but was going too fast. He regained his footing and spun toward his opponent, who was now carrying his shield on his back like a turtle shell. Thom’s anger boiled at the lack of respect his opponent seemed to be showing him. Thom advanced, but kept his eyes open for any tricks. M’kesh pulled his sword out, carrying it underhanded, and crouched low as if to pounce. Thom now understood why the shield was on his back. Thom thought back on his training. To fight a tiger, which is what he imagined M’kesh as now, spears were much more suitable. He needed to draw M’kesh into pouncing at the wrong time. Thom advanced, trying to exaggerate an opening. M’kesh took the bait, flinging himself forward, swinging his sword at Thom’s legs. Thom was ready, and hopped to the side, then spun and struck M’kesh across the back of his thigh. Had the sword been bladed, it would have been hampering. Still, cold steel did not feel nice against flesh, even when blunt. M’kesh landed clumsily. He began to stand, when Thom struck a blow against his back. The shield helped, but still it was a powerful blow. M’kesh tumbled away, trying to find time to properly make his own offense. Thom did not chase after the rolling form, but instead took a ready stance and calculated his next move. M’kesh stood and slipped the shield off his back and carried it in his off hand, sword in the proper position. He hoped the normalcy of his equipment would give Thom pause. It did. Thom saw how well M’kesh could handle sword and shield combat with his offhand, and wondered how much better he might be using his proper sword arm. M’kesh advanced, but with a slight limp. Thom smiled, knowing that his strike had found home. They both charged, shields smashing into each other. M’kesh was knocked back a couple of steps, and Thom pressed his advantage of strength. Thom bashed M’kesh’s shield and swiped at his leg. The steel connected and M’kesh collapsed on the spot. Before Thom could claim victory, M’kesh struck his knee. Now both were on the ground, but Thom was on his back. Thom tried to back away, but his knee spiked with pain. It was a serious injury, unlike M’kesh’s, which were merely painful. M’kesh advanced to place his sword on Thom’s neck, but Thom lurched forward, striking M’kesh in the eye, rupturing it, as the dull metal forced its way inward. M’kesh screamed out and swung wildly at Thom’s head, missing only just.
“Halt!” yelled all three knights in near unison.
M’kesh no longer cared about the rules and flung himself at Thom. Thom was in no position to defend himself and quickly found M’kesh atop his body, trying to strangle him. Thom tried to break M’kesh’s hold, but could not. As the air in his lungs became old, he lost consciousness.
***********************
When Thom came to, it was night. He was in a bed that was not his own and pain radiated across his body when he tried to move. He decided to lay there and hope someone came to his aid.
Some minutes later, a door opened.
“Don’t try to get up. You’ve been through a lot and need your rest,” a voice said. It sounded familiar, but he was unable to focus well enough to figure it out.
The person moved into sight. It was Master Grahm, an apothecary appointed to overseeing the knights’ well-being. He carried a small bottle, which he uncapped and put to Thom’s lips.
“This will help with your pain and let you sleep.”
Thom opened his mouth and swallowed the oily liquid. It hurt greatly to swallow and he hoped it would take effect soon. Master Grahm placed his hand on Thom’s shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze and then left the room. Thom was asleep before he heard the door close.
***********************
Thom woke up in much pain, and with a full bladder to boot. He felt only slightly better than he was when last he opened his eyes. There was no way he was going to be standing on his knee any time soon. Groping around the ground below his bed he found a chamber pot. Thankfully, it was empty and clean. He worked himself into a sitting position over the edge of the bed and managed to mostly make it all into the vessel. He pushed it back under the bed before wiping his hands on the foot of the blanket. There was a small bottle on the table next to the bed and he uncapped it before swallowing the contents. It tasted different than the last one, but he assumed it was medicine all the same. Laying back down, he tried to go back to sleep when he remembered the springthyme. Had he managed to sleep past its ill-effects? He fell asleep hoping so.
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