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“Again.”
Tri-Klops lifted his longsword. Across from him the swordsman held his position, gripping He-Man’s sword in both hands in front of him. Both were very aware of Skeletor’s watchful, hollow gaze.
Tri-Klops lunged forward, slicing the air in front of Blade, driving him back. Blade moved like liquid, slinking just out of reach before closing the distance between the two of them. The slice of Blade’s namesake whistled through the air. Tri-Klops was just able to block the thrust. Metal clanged, and Blade retreated back to a defensive stance.
“Your form is strong,” Blade said. “Good balance.”
Tri-Klops studied the sword in Blade’s hands. It was He-Man’s sword in shape and weight, but it was not. Tri-Klops had no small familiarity with the original blade, and he knew this was only a facsimile. But it was a good one. In length and shape, it would fool most — if not for the color. Where He-Man’s was a grey and silver beauty that held an elusive simplicity, the facsimile in Blade’s hands was a green the color of jade.
Blade lashed out at Tri-Klops, but his attack was deftly countered. “I’ve held swords in my hands since I was a child,” Tri-Klops said.
“Any child can carve a steak,” Blade spat out dismissively. “Only a man of edge commands the cut.”
“Philosophy from a bladesmith,” Tri-Klops shook his head. “How does the sword feel?”
“It’s wrong. The weight is off.” Blade said. He brought the sword down, but Tri-Klops deflected it easily. Blade spun, using the momentum to drive the blade toward his opponents midsection, but Tri-Klops was already out of reach. With a shift of his foot Tri-Klops aimed his own slice for Blade’s head but he knew in the attempt it was sloppy, and the swordsman barely gave it a second though as he batted it away.
“As I told you, you won’t replicate He-Man’s sword with journeyman techniques.”
Blade never smiled, but there was a crease at the corner of his mouth that could almost be counted as the ghost of one. “A month’s labor. Pure-fired Eternium. Dragon’s embers. Quenched in waters brought from the deepest ocean of Eternia — waters with properties unknown. This sword is the finest sword I have ever crafted.”
“It is not He-Man’s sword,” Skeletor said finally, his voice shivering down from his dark throne. “None are like his sword.”
“No,” Blade agreed. “It is a fine sword… but He-Man’s sword is special.”
Tri-Klops hammered a fierce blow onto Blade’s weapon. “Don’t be a fool buying into myth. His sword is only steel. Steel bends. Steel breaks. Like men. Like He-Man.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you had held it in your hands and felt the weight of it, the perfect balance, the poetry of it.”
Tri-Klops lowered his sword. “Very romantic. Men in love have never been so eloquent.”
Blade shrugged. “A good sword will outlast even the comeliest woman.”
“I’ll take my chances with the lady,” Tri-Klops said. “Nevertheless, I have held the hero’s sword in my hands.”
“And?”
“A sword. Nothing more. The skill is in the man, not his steel.”
“The skill is in the man, but the steel is more than steel.” Blade said, turning his lone eye down to the blade he had forged. It shimmered in the torchlight of Skeletor’s throne room. It was the greatest sword he had ever created, but it was a disappointment.
“Blade… is correct,” Skeletor said. “He-Man’s blade is more than shaped steel.” Skeletor stood. “Stand aside Tri-Klops.” Blade turned as Skeletor descended from his throne. Something gleamed in his hand. Blade backed away from the dark lord as he halved the distance between them somberly. “Show me,” Skeletor said. Blade shared a glance with Tri-Klops who quickly moved aside and sheathed his sword and then raised his blade. Skeletor barely moved his own. It raised a bare inch from his thigh. Blade’s head cocked and Skeletor nodded. “Show me.”
Blade hesitated for only a fraction of a second before he attacked. He feared no mortal man that walked this planet — including He-Man himself — but he was not sure if Skeletor could truly be called a mortal, and he was definitely uncertain if there was trace of man in him. Blade had cut down demons in his time as well, but Skeletor sent ice through his tendons and numbed his fingers.
Skeletor met Blade’s attack with his own sword — a sword that looked much like He-Man’s own. It was a deep purple-black that seemed to devour any light that reached it. Blade felt the impact ring up his arm as Skeletor matched thrust with thrust. Skeletor’s movements were quick, as fast as any swordsman Blade had defeated. There was a quality to the way he fought that rang in his memory. He had fought a man with skills like this long ago, when both eyes had rested unscarred in his head. It had been a simple contract job at the Royal Palace. Blade had dispatched with several guards, but a hooded man had matched blades with him and had succeeded in driving him off.
Skeletor’s skill with a blade reminded him of that man. But there was no reason the Lord of Evil would have been at Eternos.
Blade never forgot a stance.
Nor a blade.
After yet another parry met steel with an impotent clang, Blade recovered quickly, feeling the reverberation of metal on metal in his wrist and elbow. “That blade. It rings like He-Man’s own. Swords sing notes unique to their own song. I can feel the weight of it through my arm, like He-Man’s. It puts this mockery I hold in my own hands to shame. Where did you get it?” Blade was captivated by the blade Skeletor held. It was a silky shadow that made his palms tingle to grip it, made his heart beat faster.
“It’s a shadow,” Skeletor said. Blade barely avoided his stab and the thrust he regurgitated was weak and easily countered. “Nothing more. It has nothing of the power of He-Man’s sword; therefore, it is useless to me as anything but a weapon. There is no key in this sword. But even shadows hold the shape of greatness, if not the soul.”
Yet another impact of sword on sword clanged through Skeletor’s throne room. The note was clear, sharp, it rang again and again and Blade memorized it, hummed it in his mind.
Then the sword Blade held — the greatest sword he had ever crafted — was split in two by the shadowed blade Skeletor wielded effortlessly.
Skeletor put the tip of his sword to Blade’s throat. “Your sword is a failure, bladesmith, and by extension, you. And all of Eternia knows Skeletor’s patience for failure. Why should I not open your mercenary throat and be done with your failing?”
“Because the note, Skeletor,” Blade said, matching the hollow eyes with his solitary one. “I hear the note in my head. I couldn’t hear it before, but now, it’s clear. I can replicate the note, and thereby, the sword. I believe I can make He-Man’s sword for you now.”
“Then proceed.”
Skeletor took his tip from Blade’s throat, and retreated to his throne again, to brood. Blade didn’t bother to spare a glance at Tri-Klops.
Yes, he believed he could do it. All he had to do was remember that clear, sharp note, and replicate it in sword form. The right metals, the right fire… and he could make He-Man’s sword.
And he would face the champion on the field of battle as an equal, man to man, skill to skill, blade to blade, no advantages between them. And then they would see whose edge was the sharpest.
He had been waiting a long time for that.
