Chapter 19: The Duelist
Once the satchel of iron ore was paid for and secure in Leppria's pack, the cats decided to split up so Lion-O could continue gathering supplies while the leopard sniffed out food and medicines. He had Snarf for company as the vendor accepted his handful of coins, throwing the supplies bound together with reeds over his shoulder.
"That should just about do it," he said to himself, starting to walk away to find his companion.
"An impressive victory," another stranger made himself known, his dark hair swept back over his pale face, pulling focus to his stark red eyes. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am the Duelist, and you, my friend, have something I desire."
His smile and outstretched hand put Lion-O on edge, but he didn't let it show. "Sorry," he said, "Snarf's not for sale."
The Duelist didn't laugh, or frown, only kept the uncanny upturn of his lips. "Your sword against my best blade, winner takes all."
He slightly turned his chin behind him, gesturing to the many swords decorating the scabbard on his back. They were each beautiful and looked formidable in their own right, but Lion-O didn't want them. What could they possibly do that the Sword of Omens could not? He wouldn't part with his sword, not for any proclaimed best blade on all of Third Earth.
"Not interested, I already proved I've got the best sword in town." He said, leaving no room for further argument.
The Duelist didn't seem to get the hint, smiling wider as he stepped closer to the cat. "Indeed, the Sword of Omens is legendary even in these parts, but it's not your sword that needs to prove itself… it's you."
Lion-O knew what he was doing, trying to pull on his pride, but he wasn't falling for it.
"I said no."
Red eyes squinted as he hummed, "I wise decision," he said, leaning close enough for Lion-O to smell smoke and iron and see the pinched edges of his smiling eyes. "Perhaps if the last owner of that sword shared your cowardice, he'd still be alive."
He was goading him, he knew he was, but the shamelessness of his disrespect of Claudus, the king who had given his life for his people, his sons, burned hot in Lion-O's stomach. He knew he was giving the Duelist exactly what he wanted, but he couldn't force himself to swallow his pride, not now, not over this.
"You're on," he growled, glaring. "Might as well hand over your best sword right now."
"The town square, high noon." The Duelist left him there, smiling still as if he had already won and making Lion-O's fists turn white as he clenched them.
The vendor, who had apparently been eavesdropping on the whole thing, whistled, "You've sure got guts, the Duelist is a legend around here, those swords on his back are all trophies from people who've fought him and lost." He explained, shaking his head at Lion-O in pity. "He is without conscience or morals, and won't stop until his thirst is slaked… and now he wants your sword, and it will be his."
Lion-O bit his tongue, screaming at himself that he was a fool who had played right into the Duelist's hands.
"Whiskers."
The town square was deserted, and he wondered if his opponent had cleared it out just for their fight, either to spare himself the humiliation of defeat or to get into Lion-O's head even more; showing how much status he had in town, everyone so afraid of him that they made themselves scarce when he challenged another swordsman.
Lion-O chose to believe the former.
"Snyah…"
"Run?" Lion-O scoffed, swinging his sword. "I'm no coward Snarf, besides, someone needs to teach that guy a lesson."
The kittypet seemed to tilt his head skeptically, watching the lion practice his stances, each of his movements striking with disciplined control over his sword and his body. Lion-O was a great swordsman, but falsely assumed he was the best because his sword was the best.
Of course, Snarf wasn't thinking about that, it was just so obvious.
"He may be tough, but nothing the Duelist has in his scabbard can beat the Sword of Omens!"
"There's that ego kicking in again…" someone scolded. Lion-O looked up to see a familiar dusty old drifter hanging from a tavern sign. "Mind helping me down?"
Without helping him, Lion-O looked up at him, lowering his sword to hang at his side. "Drifter, I know what you're gonna tell me… I shouldn't have accepted his challenge."
The long-eared man shrugged, "What do I care what you do? You're the one who's going to lose his sword, not me."
"I can swing steel a lot better than you think." He defended, twirling the Sword of Omens until it was pointed to the sky.
His grin was wide with pride, but it quickly fell when he heard the Drifter snort under his breath. "You could've fooled me with those moves," he said, "You couldn't even split this reed."
The barley stalk between his teeth slithered in the wind, and Lion-O stiffened, thinking his proposal an insult.
"You're crazy! Did you see what this sword did to that boulder?"
Drifter hummed, a tired smile on his face. "If only I had your spirit, but the fight left me long ago… I'll give you three swings."
"I'll do it in one."
Lifting the Drifter off the sign he hung on, he watched him float to his feet on the ground, no heavier than a leaf. Lion-O gripped his sword, feeling its weight in his hands and finding strength in its familiarity. It was as much apart of him as his own arm, so when he lunged for the Drifter with a roar and promptly missed, he stumbled in confusion.
"That's one," he said, billowing in the wind, "Could've warned me first, but you're impatient, I can tell."
Lion-O blinked, realizing that he had not defeated the rabbit in one swing like he'd so confidently declared. Frustration singed beneath his fur, a growl building in the back of his throat as he lunged again, the Drifter once again dodging him easily.
"Two, there is such a thing as trying too hard, that's why I prefer not trying at all."
His taunting made the cat's hackles raise, roaring and trying to strike him again only to pathetically miss. The Drifter offered him three swings, but he took a fourth, and a fifth. The Sword of Omens cut nothing but air upon the sixth swing, Snarf squealing in surprise as he avoided being slashed in half.
"Well that was more than three, but I don't care, I made my point." The Drifter said, twirling the reed in his teeth, boredom in the wrinkles of his squinted eyes.
Lion-O huffed, breathing heavily from the extremely one-sided scuffle. "There was a point?"
"Willows are weak." He said, removing the reed from his mouth and holding it up, Lion-O watching as it delicately moved even as the wind stopped blowing. "Yet, they bind other wood. Just some advice, take it or leave it; a weakness can be turned into a strength, a lesson you won't understand until it's too late… you're just like he was…"
"The Duelist?"
"No," he said, making Lion-O arch an eyebrow. "The owner of the sword the Duelist now uses, the Sword of Hatanzou."
The cat watched him, watching his eyes squint with emotion for the first time since he'd blown into his path. It was sad, and angry, something Lion-O was extremely familiar with.
"Forged by a man who some called the greatest sword-maker of all time, the sword-maker lived a lonely life, devoted only to his craft, but this particular blade was more than a sword, it was a work of art, his most prized possession, and proudest achievement, the Sword of Hatanzou." He smiled at the fond memory, or perhaps an unspoken joke, Lion-O wasn't sure. "Like you, he felt a sense of oneness with the weapon, and with it he was unstoppable… he thought."
The cat leaned forward, intrigued. The Drifter saw this and turned away, leaning against a fencepost and rolling the reed between his teeth.
"Word spread of the legendary blade, one day, the Duelist appeared and challenged the sword-maker to a fight, the sword-maker accepted the challenge." The reed stilled, stiff for only a moment before the wind began to carry it again. "In his hubris, the sword-maker believed the strength of his sword would overcome his weakness as a warrior… he was mistaken, and it cost him the one thing he valued most. To know that his work of art, his masterpiece, would be in the hands of a villain like the Duelist… crushed him. He never made another sword, while the Duelist went on the become the greatest swordsman to ever walk the land."
"Whatever became of the sword-maker?" Lion-O asked.
The Drifter shrugged, "Who knows? Some say he just drifts around, blowing wherever the wind takes him… a shell of the man he once was."
His ears perked, eyes widening at the realization of the meaning of the man's story. "You…" he whispered, "I'm fighting against a sword you forged!"
The long-eared man didn't react, the dust falling from his clothes and the breeze ruffling his long hair the only movement upon his person at all.
"I need your help," he admitted, the words sour in Lion-O's mouth. "How can I beat the Sword of Hatanzou? How can I beat it?"
The Drifter scowled, "You can't, understand? Nobody can."
He left the cat there, fists clenched and brow beading with anxious sweat. He suddenly wasn't feeling as confident about his upcoming match, but he couldn't back out now that he'd already made a promise.
Lion-O had to beat the Duelist.
He didn't have a choice.
A nearby work whistle shrieked, marking high noon as the sun settled in the center of the sky.
The Duelist grinned as Lion-O walked into the square, shoulders broad and expression stony. He licked his lips hungrily,
"Punctual, I like that." Scanning him from head to toe, he watched as he pulled the Sword of Omens from the gauntlet. "Whenever you're ready."
"Whenever you are."
Frowning, the Duelist fell into his own stance, feet locked together with his swords extended downward, each one held delicately yet firmly in each hand. "Fine, draw."
Lion-O was the first to strike, but the Duelist jumped, avoiding him easily as he swung his own twin blades. The cat narrowly dodged by rolling away, but his slimy opponent did not give him the chance to draw breath before he was on him again, meeting the Sword of Omens with clang after clang of metal on metal.
Arms shaking with strain, Lion-O bit his tongue when his back met a wall, the Duelist smiling maliciously as he made his final strike. He twisted his sword around the Sword of Omens like a snake, thrusting his arm to the sky and ripping the ancestral weapon of the Thundercats from its king's grip.
Catching it effortlessly, he used it to tilt Lion-O's chin upwards, making the cat look him in the eye as he bested him. Watching the horror of defeat fill the once cocky lion's gaze filled the Duelist with a pleasure that couldn't be obtained through any other means, the pleasure of complete and utter victory.
With no words to spare him, only leaving him in the venomous arrogance that had effectively poisoned him, the Duelist slipped the Sword of Omens into his own scabbard.
Lion-O dropped to his knees, dread pooling through his entire body as he watched the Duelist walk away with his sword, his father's sword, his people's sword… and it was all his fault.
He understood the Drifter's warning now with painful realization; he'd warned him that hubris would come back to bite him and he'd been right, Lion-O was just too stubborn to accept his advice, and it had literally caused him to lose something irreplaceable.
The cat suddenly swallowed his tongue, eyes widening as very real fear sent a chill throughout his body, Snarf cocking his head curiously and sympathetically beside him.
"Leppria's gonna kill me…"
Lion-O literally scrambled for a solution, deciding to make his own sword and get the Sword of Omens back from the Duelist before Leppria found out, finding a nearby forge and getting to work immediately.
He liked to think he knew enough about smithing to make a decent blade, but he was really just improvising, throwing a pile of ore together and hammering at it until it hopefully became a sword that could beat the Duelist.
Snarf flinched as an ember landed on his nose, sneezing wildly and mewing. Lion-O didn't notice, too absorbed in his work; he had to get Omens back, not only to heal his own pride but to regain his people's most prized possession, the weapon that would end the war against Mumm-Ra.
Also, if Leppria found out that he had no only gambled the Sword of Omens, but lost it too… well, let's just say he didn't want to know what she'd use to hit him now that she didn't have a wrench on her belt.
A throat clearing temporarily distracted him, blue eyes narrowing as the Drifter leaned against the forge entrance.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
Lion-O turned up his nose, going back to hammering. "You may be content to flop around feeling sorry for yourself, but I'm not, I'll make one hundred more swords if I have to, I'm going to defeat him!"
"Not that I care," the Drifter replied, rolling his eyes, "But you're doing it all wrong, you need to…"
"Thanks, but I can handle it." He cut him off, his hammer making a sizable dent in the hot metal, essentially ruining any hope of a sturdy edge.
A patch of soot attaching itself to the scarlet hair framing his face, Lion-O blew his bangs out of his eyes, something he'd seen Leppria do when she was deep in work. Raising the hammer up again, he suddenly froze, body rigid with fear as he heard a familiar voice calling for him.
"Lion-O? Are you in there?" Leppria came into the forge, arms loaded with bundles of supplies. Her verdant eyes scanned the forge, passing over Snarf and the Drifter before landing on Lion-O. "Apparently there was some fight that happened in town, sorry it took so long for me to…"
Her voice trailed off as she took him in, hammer in hand, fear in his expression… and an empty Gauntlet of Omens on his hip.
Leppria smiled, left eye twitching.
"Where is your sword?!"
Lion-O screamed as an unknown force shook the entire forge.
I'll spoil it right now, Leppria hit Lion-O with the hammer, but he's fine.