Masagh growled and punched his fists together, spinning on his heel. If Cleon pulled ahead while he had this issue he would not survive long. The older knight was far more seasoned, and it seemed like he had figured out that Masagh wasn’t fully recovered from his head blow.
Sabrione reset them and far too soon the knights were stepping back towards each other. Blades flashed and armor whined in protest and the two knights struck and bound their blades up. Masagh blocked and felt there was too much give in the bind. He ducked back just in time to watch the tip of Cleon’s blade twist and spring forward at his face. The knight had aimed for the same side of his head that Arthur’s golem had stuck.
He did know.
Masagh had to figure out a way to use that. If Cleon would continue to press his advantage high, Masagh would have to go low. When next his companion pressed his attack Masagh let him fall into a rhythm. Then Masagh stepped forward and bound the blades, locking close to Cleon. He felt the pressure in the bind diminished and knew another thrust was incoming. Clenching his jaw, Masagh dropped to one knee as Cleon’s blade darted towards him. It passed just over his helmet and Masagh brought his own blade down hard on Cleon’s shoulder.
They both stepped back as Sabrione said “Point to Sir Masagh.”
“Good hit.” Cleon said pleasantly.
Masagh dipped his head again, wincing at the motion. He would just have to keep it from his mind and deal with the pain afterwards. He couldn’t try to minimize it while also focusing on winning against Cleon. Ride the pain and get two more hits on the bastard and he’d be done either way. Masagh was feeling a cold elation at his core though, through all the dull aching pain. A sharp and crisp sensation cutting through the vagueness of the aches of the day.
He had scored a point against Cleon. They were matched.
Sabrione initiated the bout again and again they stepped forward.
Cleon bound forward with long steps, shifting back and forth. Masagh raised his blade and whipped it forward. Their practice swords clattered as they struck and were brought round again. Cleon was shifting his tempo and weaving feints into the mix. Masagh snarled in frustration. The older knight was forcing him out of the rhythm of a tempo. Constant adjustments had to be made just to deflect Cleon’s blade.
Cleon was showing his prowess as a master of the claymore. Masagh took a grim satisfaction in matching the man blow for blow, even after facing the golem made by Arthur. What would this match look like if he had drawn another instead of the most formidable Bonecaster? Masagh brought his blade up and thrust forward. In the last moment he shifted his strength and bound up Cleon’s parry. Locking the tip against his own cross guard, Masagh thrust forward. Cleon was forced to spun out of the bind and retreat a step.
As Masagh moved to close with him, Cleon reversed direction and thrust with his own blade. Masagh brought his blade up to block the strike, but Cleon’s blade was no longer there. He had dropped low and thrust forward again. Masagh batted the sword out of the way and brought his own down at Cleon. Blades clashed and Cleon twisted. Sliding his blade along the length of Masagh’s own Cleon struck him in the forearm even as he slid out of the way of Masagh’s own blade.
Sloppy. Masagh could have easily brought his blade’s tip to the back of Cleon’s neck, a much more dangerous touch than the forearm. But this was not real combat, and so Cleon had shifted his style to play for the riskier move. It was not how they ever trained with Sabrione. She always trained them to fight as if their lived depended on it. So a thrust that exposed the back and neck to a counter while achieving a strike at the forearm had come unexpected from Cleon.
“Point to Sir Cleon!” Sabrione yelled sardonically. She clearly disapproved also. Cleon gave a chuckle and a shrug as he stepped back.
“Fair enough, Champion.” Masagh teased through gritted teeth. He wished he could remove this damned armor and sit.
They began again and again Cleon moved with the chaotic tempo. Masagh decided an aggressive approach was called for. He thrust and parried with a surge of strength, ignoring the erupting pain in his head as he jolted around. He achieved a backward step from Cleon as their blades rang out across the Grand Hall. He feinted a thrust, struck upwards and feinted another strike. Then he stepped forward viciously and thrust downwards again with intent at Cleon’s thigh. Cleon brought his sword down to deflect and Masagh rushed forward. Bringing his blade in close, Masagh ran the edge across Cleon’s chest as he stumbled backwards.
Cleon cursed and punched the air.
“Point to Sir Masagh!” Sabrione said. “Next touch wins!”
Elation, joy, relief. Emotions be a t at the inside of his ribs. He was a single touch away from besting Cleon. He could do this. He could earn that ring.
The final signal came from Sabrione and the crowd seemed to draw in towards them with anticipation. Cleon stepped forward and Masagh charged in. He was riding high with the looming victory and thrust towards the other knight. Growling and spitting, Masagh tore the air with his blade, tempering his fury with the precision of lifetimes of discipline. Cleon matched each stroke with his own. His demeanor was impassive in the faceless helmet, the eyelet dark and unreadable.
Masagh brought his sword forward and Cleon bound it up. Masagh pressed hard forward until their hilts locked before them. Then Cleon spun both blades above him and Masagh was forced to stumble or lose his grip. He moved past Cleon and swiped horizontally as he turned to face him again, knowing the other man would be pressing the advantage. Cleon’s blade was above his own and the man struck the flat of his blade in the center. The reverberation sent the tip downward. Masagh watched in dismay as Cleon’s foot came down to pin his sword down. A quick tap of his blade against the side of Masagh’s helm ended the entire tournament.
“Point to Sir Cleon! Sir Cleon is the champion!” Sabrione yelled and the crowd surged forward to congratulate him. Cleon pulled his helm off and grinned at Masagh as people gathered around him. Masagh pulled his own helmet off and gave his old friend a sardonic grin.
