The Sword Saints

29. The Path of Wrath

(Gelion)

"When one consorts with the agents of evil, it is said that the Vices themselves will whisper into your ear. They fill one up with intricate schemes and horrible plots, and sullied the hearts of the darkest of men. If you hear such voices, then it is already too late."

- Commentaries on the Vices: by Sedrick Thomas.

The rain beat down on the Goldstrider and soon it would be a red rain that soaked the earth.

Gelion spurred on his mare, ignoring the pain throughout his body as his injuries protested such heavy riding. The rain pelted him all over and stabbing at his face, the wind icy and terrible. It took all of his strength not to fall off the horse, but he kept his bloodlust boiling and that, at the very least, gave him some warmth.

It didn't take long for Gelion to reach the slaver's camp. He knew of the cave that Kennyard spoke of and it only sat a few miles west of the town. He broke the tree-line and came into a small clearing in which the cave sat. There hadn't been a clearing last he remembered, but with stumps all around, it was clear that the slavers had been busy building their base.

A few tents and empty cages filled the area. A couple of men clad in fur and leather armor tugged at the locks of a few wooden crates. As Gelion's horse neighed, they turned their heads and locked their gazes on Gelion. The Sword Saint hopped off the horse and started to make his way towards the men.

"You better shove off mate. You aren't welcome 'ere," one of them said. Gelion didn't respond. He unsheathed Helgenin and advanced on them.

The slavers knew they were in for a fight. They brought out their weapons. One of them shouted, "We've got company lads. Let's show him a good time!" Half a dozen men materialized from the largest tent and a dozen men streamed out of the various others. Finally, twelve or so more flooded from the mouth of the cave, all nasty and weapons drawn.

He didn't waste time with subtly. He was far too furious to play around with these men and they would die by his poison or by the strength of his blade. It mattered not which. They outnumbered him by more than two dozen, but he didn't flinch. Gelion survived fights like that twice over and he wasn't about to hesitate. Sword Saints were known to butcher entire armies; he thought it appropriate for yet another example of the fact.

They came at him, sluggish and cold, the rain stinging them. Gelion was ready. Heads rolled – literally. He ducked the first flow, slashed out, head gone. In came another. Side stepped, slash, their entrails spilled out. Parry – parry. Limbs were strewn, and blood sprayed through the air like a mist. The rain became red with it.

His wrath was great. His arm flared with pain, but he bit down and ignored it, let his pain and rage fuel him. The slavers, though numerous, offered him naught a challenge. He weaved between them and wreaked havoc. He ducked a blade, spun and severed the wielder's leg. Another parry and another dead man. He tripped one, plunged his blade into their chest, pulled it out and went after the next.

The stitches of his wounds strained against his movements. He soon found himself bleeding profusely, the blood soaking into the mud at his feet. He didn't feel the pain anymore though, for he was a vengeful spirit bringing its righteous fury down upon the heads of the wicked. The irony of that line of thinking was not lost on him; Gelion was almost as wicked as the slaver's he gruesomely butchered – almost.

At last, his sword glided across the neck of the last man standing, a torrent of blood that soaked him to the bone following. He stood still then, his body shaking as his rage slowly faded, a moment of reprieve. His wounds were still throbbing, and he didn't need to exert himself too much. He remained unmoving and allowed the rain to cleanse him of all the blood. It ran off his body and pooled in the mud at his feet.

He took a breath; Gelion strode forward and entered the cave, the darkness enveloping him. The rain was gone and soon silence gripped him. Good – silence was good. It meant he would be able to hear their screams.

Gelion gripped his sword tightly and found a smile forming reluctantly. There was more killing to be done.