Wilder
Wilder slammed his sword hilt into a man's head. The light dimmed from his eyes and he crumpled to the ground. Breathing heavily, Wilder twisted to face the next attacker, but there were none left. He dropped his sword, worn out from facing the flood of men. He looked at Sparrow, his clothes were blood-splattered and fatigue darkened his face.
"Thank you," Wilder said.
Sparrow nodded.
"Sparrow!"
As Sparrow left at Alwyn's summons, Cyrus bounded up the stairs to the quarter-deck, moving to the helm. Wilder wiped off his sword and sheathed it, letting out a breath. The fight was over. When he turned around, he found Lydia pressed against the railing, eyes squeezed shut.
Wilder tried not to think of the fiery, adventurous girl she once was, but in that moment that's all he could see. A girl who had been robbed of her spirit.
"Ly," he said, coaxingly. "It's okay. It's over."
Lydia opened her eyes but let out a gasp and recoiled. Hurt lanced through Wilder's chest. He surveyed himself and saw blood splashed over his clothes. How many men had he'd killed tonight? Shame trickled into his bloodstream as he realized how easily he'd managed it all. How many lives would he end, just to save one?
There was no number. Lydia meant everything and therefore he knew he would stop anyone to protect her.
"It's not mine," Wilder said, hoping that was why Lydia recoiled, not because she was horrified at what he could do. What he'd done.
"Are they all dead?" she asked.
"No, some are wounded or unconscious."
Lydia scanned the ship. Bodies lay sprawled on the deck, some moaning in pain while others stared lifelessly up at the night sky. For a second, Wilder caught a glint of fire in Lydia's eyes.
"They should all be dead," she whispered. There was venom to her words that touched at her grief.
But the fire died as Sparrow and Joric crossed the deck. Between them, they held a board with Zavier draped on it. Lydia sucked in a breath at the blood coating his shirt and his dark skin an unnatural pale shade. The pair ducked into the stairway, Alwyn and Fynn trailing behind them.
When Lydia followed, Wilder did as well. Zavier was taken to the captain's quarters and laid out on the desk. Fynn sliced away Zavier's shirt exposing the wound. Lydia stumbled back into Wilder. He put a hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her. Part of him wanted to pull her out of the room, she'd already seen enough death to last a lifetime, she didn't need to be here for this.
"Is he going to live?" Lydia asked.
Alwyn shot Lydia a fierce look, her face tense.
"He better or I'm never forgiving him."
"Get a lamp," Fynn said.
The room shrank as Sparrow and Alwyn raced about, doing at Fynn ordered.
"We should go," Wilder said, tugging on Lydia's arm.
She shook her head. "I want to know he's okay."
Before Wilder could protest, Lydia claimed Cyrus's bed, curling up, wrapping her arms around her legs. Wilder paused, looking to the pile of blankets on the floor that acted as his bed. Though exhausted and wishing to fall onto them, Wilder left. There was still work to do.
When he reemerged on deck, the silence felt unsettling. Minutes before screams and the clashing of swords had crowded the night. Now, if he closed his eyes he could almost imagine it never happened. But it had. He could smell the blood on him and see every man he'd struck down.
All of them would join the line of men he'd kill that marched through his dreams.
"Wilder."
At the helm, Cyrus beckoned to him. As Wilder ascended, he saw the enemy ship behind them, unmoving. Most of, if not the whole crew must have been sent over for the assault. At least this meant they wouldn't be pursued.
"We need to get rid of these bodies," Cyrus said. "They're weighing down the ship. With the damage we took, he can't carry them."
Wilder found the torn sail. The wind pushed against the canvas but escaped through the massive rip in the center. Mick and Simon unfurled the other sails, but they were all smaller in size, and even as they filled with the wind the ship barely moved faster. Without being told, Wilder knew what this meant.
"We're not going to make it to Loria," he said.
"No, I'm taking us to the Seau islands. It's closer and we can repair the damage there. Also if Zavier needs a healer better than Fynn we have the best chance of finding one there."
"Very well."
Wilder descended to the main deck and grabbed hold of the first sailor he saw. Taking hold of the man's shirt front, he dragged him to the railing and heaved him over. He crashed into the ocean below, now food for the fishes. One by one, Wilder hauled the men to the edge, blood smearing the wood as he went. Mick and Simon aided him, none of them saying anything.
Wilder stopped when he came to one particular sailor. Weary, he sank to his knees.
Bates watched the sky unblinking. Blood from his wound had seeped into his hair, dying the white-blond a sickening crimson. Wilder bent his head and placed his hand on the sailor's chest. The air felt thick and heavy, bearing down on Wilder as if trying to crush him.
This. This is what his father meant, the burden of training men knowing that they will die. He gripped Bates' shirt, unable to understand how his father carried this weight. How did it not grind him down? How could he stare into the eyes of his soldiers knowing that he would lead each one to their deaths one day?
The grief that he'd been responsible for Bates' death pounded against him.
"It was my fault," Simon said.
Wilder raised his head. Simon stared at Bates with a deep etch between his brows.
"I was his partner..."
Standing, Wilder laid a hand on Simon's shoulder. Even though Simon was older than Wilder, in that moment Wilder felt like the oldest man alive.
"You did what you could," he said. "We were outnumbered. Everyone fought as best they could."
Though the words reassured Simon, they didn't ease the weight in Wilder's chest. Instructing Simon and Mick to care for Bates' body, Wilder went back to the quarter-deck. A collection of sailors waited for him there. Most of them cut down by his hand.
Some of them were still alive and regained consciousness when they hit the water. Their shouts went unnoticed by Cyrus and Wilder. Only one man remained on the deck. Instead of tossing him over to join his crew, Wilder threw him over his shoulder.
"What are you planning to do with him?" Cyrus asked.
"Get answers."
Fury flared inside Wilder as he walked over the bloodstains. Bates's blood. None of this had to happen. None of it. Men didn't have to die. The wrongness of it all darkened his thoughts as he cut down the passageway and into the mess room.
Snagging a chair, he dropped the man into it. The man's head lulled to the side, but he didn't wake. Wilder secured the man to the chair and lit a lantern, positioning it so it left him in shadow. He dumped a bucket of water on the man's head and sat down on the edge of a bench.
The sailor jerked awake growling with anger. He let out a string of curses that, even growing up around soldiers, Wilder hadn't heard before. As the curses turned into vivid threats, Wilder felt like the man sucked away all his anger, keeping it for himself. It left Wilder feeling drained and exhausted.
The man squinted into the dimness, locating Wilder. He sneered as he took in the little he could see.
"You're just a boy," he half laughed, though it was a laughter that mocked.
Wilder said nothing. He might have been a boy, but that was a lifetime ago. In a matter of days, he'd aged years. His childhood was gone.
"You think you're tough," the man snarled. "You know what I'm going to do to you?"
The man went off again, his blackened teeth adding a degree of disgust to the vicious words. Wilder kept his peace, thinking of his father. His father had shouted when he'd needed to be heard, but never when threatening. Threats were issued in low, even tones. Tones tied with a vow.
As Wilder bore the man's useless words, he wished his father were here. He wished he wasn't alone with the burden of death and duty. At the thought, he cringed. It was cowardice to want to give someone else the task handed to him. His father trusted him to protect Lydia, he could not give that away.
Finally, the sailor stopped talking.
"Are you finished?" Wilder asked his voice deadly calm.
The man glowered, his eyes twin fire of rage, but he didn't speak.
"I want to know who hired you to come for Princess Lydia," he said.
The man shifted in his chair. "And what makes you believe I'd know anything about that. I'm only a lowly sailor."
Wilder let the silence that followed stretch until it formed a wordless accusation. The man ground his teeth.
"You're the captain," Wilder said. "You were promoted after I killed your captain. I remember your face from the last encounter. You also came aboard at the end and fought better than the rest." The brief flicker in the man's eyes told Wilder he was correct. "Who hired you?"
The man stared Wilder down, the set of his jaw so tense Wilder wondered how he hadn't broken a tooth. Rising, Wilder stepped into the lantern's light. The man saw the blood that tainted his clothes. Wilder rested his hands on the arm of the man's chair, holding his wrists, close enough the captain could smell the blood of his men on Wilder.
"Not all of your crew is dead," Wilder said, slowly. "Some were merely injured. But all of them have been thrown into the sea. Right now the sharks are circling, closer, closer, tasting the blood seeping out of their wounds, growing hungry for their flesh. Bit by bit they will tear away pieces of them. If you listen you might be able to hear their screams of agony. There will be so many screams."
Despite the fierce glare, Wilder noticed the color drain from the man's face. Wilder backed away, disinterested.
"I don't care where I throw you overboard," he said. "Whether it be now, into the ocean. Or at the port of the Seau Islands."
The captain swallowed and worked his jaw as if hating the weakness he found in himself. Wilder settled back on the bench, letting the images of being ripped apart sink in. Even as he displayed indifference he felt nauseated of how easily he could find a way of feeding this man fear.
He'd grown up imagining traveling with Lydia, working to bring peace wherever they went. Now he could scare a man three times his age with more years of fighting experience than he'd been alive. He didn't know if his father would be proud of him or horrified. At least with him gone, Wilder knew he couldn't disappoint him.
"His name is Slade," the captain said. "He hired our ship two weeks ago. Said that we were to follow and attack any ship that left the West Isles port after the Lorian Prince's welcoming ball."
"Where were you when he hired you?"
"North Isles port."
Wilder balled his fists, that explained the assassin's lighter complexion. He speculated that that meant the North Isles King was behind the assassination. How the King expected to take over the West Isles and not face revolt, Wilder couldn't understand.
"Is he or the king the one behind the assassination of the royal family?"
The captain grunted noncommittally. "Can't say."
"How did you know that Princess Lydia was on this ship?"
"Man told us before he went after you. Told us to get the Princess."
Wilder narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. His heart kicked up speed in his chest as a sickening dread invaded him.
"What did he mean by 'get the Princess'?"
"Told us to kidnap her. Wanted her alive."
Wilder turned cold. After killing the whole royal family, why did the king of the North Isles want Lydia alive?
**********************************************************************
"Captain, iceberg ahead!"
(Still works, cause it's Ice Age quoting Titanic)
Oh boy! That was intense! I mean Wilder is hard core! Man, I would not want to face him when he's pissed. Thoughts?
Not going to lie, again Wilder keeps earning my heart bit by bit....or like by boulder sized chunk by boulder sized chunk!
I'm really curious, this book is more complicated than my others so go ahead, give me your craziest predictions on what you think will happen!
Question for you: What old song do you love even though it's not popular now?
Reader question from Christine136: What kind of shows and movies do you like? Which is your favorite?
Antwort des Autors (German): Action, Action and more action! You can't go wrong with action, it's always satisfying. So I like movies like the Mission Impossibles, anything with Jason Statham, Marvel movies.
For tv shows I like crime and mystery. So Sherlock, Bones, and The Mentalist. I was watching Criminals Minds for a while it got so disturbing I had to dip.
Vote, comment, follow because let's face it Wilder needs support and love and so you're really doing it for him!