Chapter seven is here! I know I said I would have it out soon. Er... sorry. College is a bitch and a half, with a little shit thrown in for good measure. Regardless, here's chapter 7, and I'll try to have chapter 8 out this weekend. But i've learned not to promise.
Parry. Parry. Duck. Feint high. Low swing. Parry high. Middle thrust.
Ganondorf's sword swam through the motions, an extension of himself. The sword was part of him—it breathed through him. To an untrained eye, his movements would have appeared relaxed, almost lazy, but his opponent knew that every attack was focused and precise. Kirandorf had trained Ganondorf for fourteen years—becoming the father that most Gerudo children never had, to replace the mother that Ganondorf could never have again. That a boy of only seventeen could possess as much finesse with a blade as his pupil did was unbelievable. He was nearly a match to Kirandorf, and Kirandorf had over a century of mastery behind him.
Sweat poured from Kirandorf's body, the moisture threatening his grip on his sword. His chest heaved with every exertive breath. Though he saw that Ganondorf was equally vexed, he knew the boy had more endurance than him. He was the strongest, and oldest, king the Gerudo had ever known, but 120 years of life took their toll on him, no matter how hard he tried to resist the weaknesses of age. He had to end this battle now.
Kirandorf leaned around a vertical chop, then fell to his back to avoid a horizontal return. As he fell, he reached his legs forward, attempting to entangle Ganondorf's legs. Ganondorf jumped backward from the old king's grasp, flipping in the air, and leapt forward the instant he touched down, sword extending toward Kirandorf's prone form. The elder thrust his sword at the boy's, twisting as his crossguard met the blade. Ganondorf's sword was propelled toward the ground, and he with it. Releasing his sword, he allowed his momentum to roll him in the air, then shoved his feet off of the ground, and struck the bottom of his sword hilt with an open palm. The sword broke past Kirandorf's crossguard, who bent his head backward barely in time to avoid being impaled through the face. The side of the blade grazed his forehead, and he knew he could raise the count of his almost innumerable battle scars. Ganondorf used his master's distraction to twist around, planting his foot firmly in the old man's gut. As Kirandorf reeled, Ganondorf grasped both blades and stepped backward, allowing the now-weaponless man to stand.
"This will be fun," he managed between breaths.
Kirandorf smiled in agreement.
Ganondorf resumed the battle, both swords swinging in a complex attack pattern. Kirandorf's arms were a blur, deflecting the blades with the gold alloy bracelets all Gerudo wore (though most Gerudos' were only bronze), designed specifically for that purpose. As Ganondorf's swords came in horizontally from both sides, Kirandorf swung his arms out to meet them, putting all of his strength behind the parry. As the bracelets met the blades, both were halted for the briefest of instants, then with a bulge of Kirandorf's massive muscles, Ganondorf's arms were thrown apart. Kirandorf used this opening to leap into the air, kicking Ganondorf in the face with enough force to propel the boy several feet backward, the swords falling to the ground halfway between the warriors.
Both fighters recovered quickly, running toward their weapons. They reached them at the same time, leaning to retrieve them, and each swung his sword simultaneously. Ganondorf's attack was a horizontal chop, aimed at where Kirandorf's midsection would have been had he stood. Kirandorf, however, remained on the ground and sent his sword at the back of Ganondorf's knees, connecting with the flat of his blade. Ganondorf fell backward hard, his head impacting with the stone floor, stunning him. As Kirandorf's blade arced over the old man's head, Ganondorf knew he had lost. He did not flinch as the blade cut toward his face, stopping as the tip lightly tapped the bridge of his nose, drawing a dot of red.
The sword sat motionless at Ganondorf's face, Kirandorf holding an unreadable expression. Ganondorf smiled.
"Another win for you, old man."
The sword withdrew, and Kirandorf returned the smile. "I have to enjoy wins while I can. I don't predict I shall experience them for much longer." He walked toward the wall where they had been tallying their fights for the last twelve years. Using his sword, Kirandorf scratched another notch in his column, bringing his wins to 4132, to match Ganondorf's 224. That this boy could win at all against Kirandorf's 110 years of experience never failed to amaze him.
Ganondorf looked at the wins Kirandorf held over him. "I don't think I'll ever be stronger than you."
Kirandorf shook his head. He remembered, so distantly, being seventeen. When it seemed like you knew all there was to know; that you had reached your physical and mental bounds. "I am 120 years old, Ganondorf. You are only seventeen, and you nearly match me in strength and skill." He paused to let this sink in. "I can only dream of the power you will one day possess."
Ganondorf was not as confident as the King, but the rare compliment caused him to swell with pride. It was then that they felt the presence of another. After years of residing in the Desert Colossus, the giant temple hidden in the Haunted Wasteland, they were so attuned to the structure as to sense anyone present.
"Nabooru is here," Kirandorf said. "Let us greet her."
Ganondorf nodded, and both headed in the direction of the temple entrance.