Blood and Scales

Chapter 5 – Slaughter in the Swamp

Count Antipolis stood at the edge of the swamp, 300 men at his back, he knew that the horses wouldn’t do well in the mud, so he ordered everyone to dismount and left 30 men to care for the horses. The army of Vanardis marched into the swamp in orderly columns. Their orders to kill every living thing they came across.

Their progress through the thick undergrowth was slow. Sometimes the mud and water were deceptively deep, and a whole soldier would disappear suddenly. Hidden roots and vines tripped up his men at every opportunity. It didn’t help that sometimes what they thought was a vine turned out to be a massive green snake.

It was maddening, and did nothing to help Antipolis’ anger. He was more annoyed than challenged by the large dog-like scaled creatures that sometimes sprung from the water. This also did nothing to soothe his anger, which burned in his blood and was barely under his control.

After hours of this grueling slog through the overgrown swamp, they came into a clearing. There were 11 Lizigoths conversing lazily as they searched the ground around them. He wasn’t sure what they were looking for, but soon they would find death at his hands.

At the sight of the small group, Antipolis’ soldiers began charging, but he stopped them. He could smell her blood. She had been here. These must be the animals that had slaughtered his only daughter. The anger that had been seething under his skin filled his vision with red and he acted without thinking. He let out an animalistic yell, that scared even him a little bit, but not enough to stop what was about to happen.

The first two fell before their swords cleared their sheathes. Antipolis’ longsword cut through them like a hot knife through butter, leaving barely recognizable pieces in his bloody wake.

The next three managed to block some of his blows, but were thrown back from the sheer force of them. They recovered relatively quickly, and hesitantly threw themselves back into the fight. They lasted barely a minute before succumbing to the relentless, merciless onslaught of the enraged count.

“Surround him,” the biggest of the group ordered.

He must be the leader, Antipolis thought, I’ll save him for last and toy with him.

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Surrounded on all sides, the count had finally found a bit of challenge. He dodged brutal swipes from wicked sharp curved swords. A few managed to make superficial contact but left little more than thin scratches, which quickly healed.

A woman slashed at his throat, and the count dropped narrowly dodging the blade and pushed his longsword through her knee. She screamed and fell to the ground, but was quickly silenced when he swung the blade up across her abdomen, and finally removed her head.

The rest of those surrounding him fell back slightly, giving him the space he needed. He dispatched them one by one, with brutal swings of his sword. The count’s face was covered in blood, when he faced down the last man. He was large, the count noticed. The next thing he noticed was that he was not as slow as his size would indicate.

To the count’s surprise, the last man was holding his own against him. He was deflecting nearly every blow, and dodging the rest. The others had barely managed to keep up with the ferocity and speed of Antipolis, but this one was keeping up and was actually counterattacking.

The count easily managed to avoid every counterattack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one soldier raise a spear to strike his opponent.

“How dare you disobey my orders,” he shouted at the man, and turning, cut him down, “You will not interfere!”

The large Lizigoth took advantage of this distraction, and viciously stabbed the count in what would have been the throat but ended up being his left shoulder. Antipolis’ opinion of his opponent improved. The sharp determined glint in the man’s eye set something ablaze in Antipolis, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to thoroughly and soundly defeat this man.

Count Antipolis started strategizing the downfall of the man in front of him. He skillfully set traps in his bladework, allowing him to score several minor cuts. This was his favorite method of defeating what he considered worthy opponents. There was something about slowly bleeding your foe through shallow cuts that Antipolis found especially satisfying.

His opponent fell to his knees covered in shallow cuts. The change in his face from brave defiance to terror briefly amused Antipolis, but then he remembered his daughter. His enjoyment of tormenting this poor creature soured by his loss. His stomach turned with the conflict of the respect he had formed for this man, and the anger and sorrow he felt at his loss.

The man trembled under his blade, and for some reason he didn’t know what to do. Never before in his long life, had Count Antipolis been unable to make some sort of decision. Was it always the right one? Probably not, but he had always been able to make it.

He wanted to best this man in even combat, but killing him now wouldn’t satisfy him because he’d be killing him in anger. He couldn’t let this man go, but he also couldn’t bring himself to finish the job. What was worse, was he had all his men around him. He couldn’t show weakness here, and every moment he delayed his decision, his iron grip over his troops would begin to slip.

The man looked up at him after a moment in - was that hope? That was what had finally made the decision for him. Count Antipolis could not allow any trace of hope to survive in this man before he killed him.

“Run,” he spat at the trembling flesh kneeling bleeding in front of him.

Count Antipolis smiled cruelly as the large Lizigoth ran for his life, and he gave chase shortly after. It was time to hunt.