With a concerted effort, Tom willed his uninjured eye open. The hooded swordsman had closed about half of the distance between itself and Alice, appearing to have no hurry about finishing the approach. The senator herself stared with widened eyes and a pale face, clearly unsure whether to dismount or attempt urging her horse to flee. Either option would be foolish on her part.

Tom groaned and attempted pushing himself to his feet. He failed. Agony flowed through his veins and sapped his strength, mangled eye screaming as shocks of fiery stings pulsed on the left side of his face. A disgusting amount of his blood reddened the grass below.

His second attempt to rise also ended before it properly began. Alice prodded her horse to bolt away, but the mare continued grazing without a care. The saber-wielder drew ever closer.

When Tom strained to push himself up again, he felt blood rush to his head and subsequently out of his wound. He cried out and dropped down for the third time.

Helplessly, he watched his insistent foe close still more of the dwindling distance between itself and Alice. His head swam in the sea of torment, and he found himself groping for strength even to hold it upright, let alone rise and assist the senator.

Why should I push myself? he questioned himself, Surely I've already done my part...exerted myself more than enough for that ungrateful snoot. Tom winced. I think I've earned a moment...to sit here...and relax a little.

The wound stabbed him again, and his spine jolted straight. With the improvement of posture came a shift in the track of his thinking. You idiot! he chided himself, It's not about you and what you get out of it that you do righteousness. You do good because you should. Does she deserve it? Maybe not. But nonetheless, nobody appointed you judge. Get up!

Tom drew in a deep breath, feeling his lungs' expansion and the rejuvenation of air filling his body cavity. He shifted his mentality, regarding the torturous throbbing of his eye as an encumbrance no longer, and instead using it as motivation. With a war cry, he leapt to his feet and charged at the masked figure.

The unmarked swordsman had almost reached Alice, who struggled to dismount with the clear intent of fleeing. But Tom's scream snatched its attention, and it was forced to contend with his incoming blow. The fighter barely raised its saber in time to block, and even still, the force sent it stumbling away. The robed figure only evaded a return strike with a backward leap.

Tom rained wild and heavy blows on his opponent, fueled by pain and an undertone of determination. His longsword blade proved too powerful to block with the one-handed saber, forcing the cloaked figure to constantly retreat.

The saber blade swung at Tom's chest, but he made no attempt to block it, as his descending strike already would knock it away. And that it did. Nearly thrown to the ground, Tom's foe committed fully to the momentum and rolled backward on the grass.

Tom gritted his teeth and swung down again. He missed his opponent, instead hitting the ground and flinging mud upward. The masked swordsman took advantage of the opening and aimed an attack at his arm. Tom blocked, sloppily but still successfully.

The saber-wielder attempted another attack, which Tom batted away with such a force that the curved blade spun out of its owner's hand, dropping in the creek and cracking on the rocks. He followed up with a kick to the chest.

Tom's hooded foe dropped to the ground with a squish on the muddy ground. With a growl, the Monteraynian knight swung his blade down, hovering the tip over his vanquished opponent's throat. Even underneath the many layers of fabric, the person's trembling could be clearly seen. It raised its hands in a placating gesture when the longsword's point inched closer.

Tom's chest heaved up and down as he stared into the abyss that was the figure's hood. His arm twitched, as if eager to thrust the sword through into the flesh below the folds of cloth. But his heart urged him otherwise. Something held him back, and he contemplated shattering those chains.

"Consider yourself dead." Tom grunted after several moments, "But also count yourself blessed that I refuse to strike a defenseless man down. Now run along before I change my mind. Go!"

All too eagerly, the disarmed figure obliged. It leapt to its feet and bolted to the bridge, sprinting its length and tearing across the countryside. The black cloak fluttered behind its wearer as it made its getaway.

Tom sheathed his sword and immediately dropped to his knees. A low groan escaped his lips as his mind shifted back to the sensations of his body, foremost of which was the constant burn of his wounded eye, punctuated by a sharp sting that throbbed, as if his flesh were being stabbed again and again. He wished to cry out, but lacked the strength to do so.

Alice appeared in his field of vision, stooping down and grimacing as her brown eyes darted over his face. "That looks nasty."

Tom nearly glared at her, but that would hurt too much. He settled for a tightening of his lips. "It feels that way too."

The senator sighed and rolled her sleeves up. "Follow me to the riverbank."

With another groan, he dragged himself after her, feeling his strength wane with each step. "Why're we going here?" he asked.

"Along a bank such as this, one can often find hesparia."

"What's that?"

Alice's eyes brightened. She hurried her steps toward a small plant with a dainty stalk and broad leaves. "It's an herb." she explained, "Excellent for numbing wounds, as well as keeping the foulness away."

"Sounds like exactly what I need right now."

"Indeed."

Tom rested himself against a sapling and watched as Alice gathered a handful of the vibrant leaves. Then she groped about on her person, as if searching for something, and then she removed her handkerchief from an inner pocket and laid it down in the grass. Scattering the herbs over its surface and subsequently breaking them apart to release the juices inside, she created a poultice.

Finally, she offered it to Tom, and with a grimace, he took the cloth from her hands. Placing it against his flesh, he winced. A tingling sensation overtook the open sore, spawning a great itchiness. Tom nearly snatched it away from his sensitive tissue, but Alice held up a hand to stop him, and he reluctantly obliged.

By and by, the tingling ceased, and a strange nothingness took its place. The stinging faded away, and a tension disappeared from the side of his face. Soon, all but a tinge of a dull ache had disappeared, and vigor returned to Tom's muscles.

Using a branch of the sapling for support, Tom pulled himself to his feet with one arm, the other hand still occupied in holding the poultice to his wound. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned Alice to follow him back to the horses. Let's get this over with.

****

A/N: Our boy overcame and defeated the bastard! Is it just me, or is this cause for celebration?

(Well, feel free to begin the festivities by voting and commenting! 😂)

I really don't have a whole lot to say here, and I've got another chapter to post as it is, so I'll skedaddle.