A Tale of Two Rivals

Thus goes the tale of two adversaries, ever destined to duel most furiously...

Once upon a midsummer’s day, two rivals met at a crossroads. At the sight of the other, both immediately unsheathed their swords and circled each other, glowering. Anacharsus, a dark-haired man with a tall and lithe body, moved smoothly and surely, confidence emanating from his piercing eyes. Miphersus was shorter and stockier, but the same determination followed his movements, and his sandy hair itself seemed to give off a vengeful air. After circling each other once, the duel began. Miphersus was the first to strike, his sword glinting in the afternoon sun. Anacharsus dodged easily and laughed, an abrupt chuckle.

“Huzzah!” quoth he, whipping out one hand in a grand gesture, keeping his thin sword pointed at Miphersus’ heart. “Twas close, Mippy, very close.” His rival gritted his teeth angrily and lunged again with his deadly rapier. “Aha! Thou art of marvelous skill!” Anacharsus exclaimed mockingly, leaping out of harm’s way and flashing his own sword skillfully. “Indeed, and yet thou canst no more touch my expertise than a cub can a great lion.” His smile was devious, and his expression sly.

“Thy vainness is the exact reason thou art mine archenemy,” Miphersus replied haughtily, ever attempting to nick the other’s hide. “Nacky, thou fiend, I shall not forget thy insult! When thou didst meet me that summer’s eve, and speak monstrosities ‘gainst mine own kin, I vowed to revenge myself upon thee!”

“Aye, nor can I forget thine towards me!” Anacharsus threw himself into the offense, and the two men danced to and fro marvelous quick, their flashing blows and parries ringing like bells. “Your words are like a slimy frog’s, and they do leap quite ridiculous from thy tongue!”

His challenger’s countenance darkened. “This shall I wreak upon thy soul,” quoth Miphersus. “Terror and fear! Thine eyes shall widen, and thy mouth fall agape! None shall see your face but loathe it with utter disgust.” Their dancing feet stirred up dust in the bright sunshine, and the sun looked down upon the two with surprise and suspense.

Anacharsus grinned marvelous cunningly, for he thrilled to fight as they did, sword to sword and skill to skill. “That is nothing to the terrible revenge I shall exact upon thee -” he began to reply, when his sword slipped through Miphersus’ defenses and gave him a bloody cut upon the upper arm, where it was unprotected by any armor. When he saw this injury upon his foe’s body, he cried out victoriously, with much gloating. “Aha!” He said. “I have wounded thee most grievous! Feel the pain of my ire!”

Miphersus staggered back in dreadful agony and clutched his arm, dropping his sword with a sudden clang upon the ground. “Alas,” he groaned in misery, looking up at the sky with despair. “Alack that my days are numbered so… that my death must cut my glorious life short…”

Anacharsus looked upon him in triumph, a feeling of great achievement filling him upon the vanquishment of his archenemy. “Vain were thy foolish words, O nemesis of mine!” he cried, spreading his arms. “For as the trees and the sky witness, I have won our deadly duel by the skill of my muscles and the extensive expertise of my hand!”

In his dying throes, Miphersus fell heavily to his knees and looked to the wondrous sky with a face of sorrowful acceptance. “Farewell, cruel world, that hath used me so sore, and promised me much, only to take it from my very grasp – for I shall not see another bright day, and must go to the cloudy sanctuary of heaven in this unexpected passing of my soul…” Anacharsus ceased to gloat and began to look concernedly upon the dying man on the ground before him. “Yonder now I see a golden light…” continued Miphersus, reaching out a feeble hand to some unseen holy glow. “I feel the deep yearning to follow it… to see my dear lady mother again, who looketh down upon me with so much pity and gentle love… to drift off of this dreary earth and leave behind all vestiges of glory and power and vain fame…”

“I say,” quoth Anacharsus, musingly. “I believe I did not e’er conceive of losing so worthy and skillful an opponent so soon, like a flower that withers the next day after blooming. We had but just begun our glorious antagonising.” He pursed his lips in sorrow for a man matching in his own strength, lost too soon to the waves of Fate’s ocean.

“I must bid thee a tearful fare-thee-well, ‘Nacky,” Miphersus flopped onto his back with misty eyes. “For my life flees my very body… Pray that thou’lt find another opponent so brave and true as I.”

“Why, Miph!” exclaimed Anacharsus, in exceeding distress. “Thou must not leave me alone, with no one to refine my expert skills upon!” He knelt by his companion and inspected the cut on Miphersus’ arm most carefully. With hands exceeding gentle, he cleaned and bandaged it using strips of his own shirt. At last, the color returned to Miphersus’ cheeks, and the strength to his muscles, in a marvelous recovery. The wounded man sat up, looking about him with great surprise at his survival. Anacharsus helped him stand, and for a moment the two looked at each other, grass stains upon Miphersus’ person and straw bits in his hair. Birdsong, that beautiful chorus of springtime, poured melodious from the throats of the song sparrows in the trees about them.

“See,” quoth Anacharsus, “thy terrible wound was not a grievous mortal one. What folly hast thy foolish young brain embraced? Hast thou lost thy senses entirely, thou guttersnipe?”

“Evil foe!” cried Miphersus. “Though thou hast saved me in my dying hour, thy mouth speaks but offenses! Do not insult my constitution nor my brain – have at thee, thou hawkmoth!” The two swords clashed again, the enmity between the adversaries lunging them into a duel once more.