Kingdom's Vice Series: A Voyage of Vengeance ( #2 2015)

Chapter One: An Account From the Wind

The man's breath is thick with the scent of wine, the cheap kind only Katan stocks in its inns. The Stagg's Inn is a tavern many men frequent, with its ale and bread fit for a King's banquet. Pay particular notice to the man in the navy blue coat, a dirty rag sprawled across his neck and tied with a knot. He looks like a sailor. You see his green eyes and dark hair? That stubble that seems to have attached itself to his cheek and chin? That is Wayland Serhorn, notorious pirate known to have a ship along the coast of Katan, over the North Sea.

He sits with a pint of ale in his hand, guffawing with two other men, clad in the same navy blue. They drink a while longer, their mouths full of hot stews and torn off pieces of bread. They are merry. A woman in a dress laced at the front sits on his lap and kisses him.

'Come now, wife,' he says with a drunken affection, 'Join us for an ale or two!'

She shakes her head, her hands wrapped around his. 'No, no!' she cries, before resting her hands on her plump belly. ''Tis not good for the baby,'

The man puckers his lip and releases her with a sigh. She leaves without a word, just a smile. He turns back to his merry men and says, 'The baby is due soon,' he whispers in heavy breaths as the men lean in closer. 'I shall drink all the ale I can afford before the bastard drains every drop of my sweat and blood!'

More guffawing. Whether or not he looks forward to fatherhood is another matter entirely. He grew up many years ago, on this very island. He was but eight years old when his Father left him to set sail for unknown lands in search of treasure. His Mother had passed shortly after his birth, and so, his entire existence was a constant reminder of his Father's loss. His Father's final words were cold and harsh, along the lines of 'I wish never to see you again, for every time I see your face, I see hers. Away with you, you little runt!'

And so, the boy wept day and night for his Father's return, only his Father never came home again. He received a letter on his eighteenth birthday, explaining that his Father's body had been found overboard after he and his crew were ambushed at sea. Wayland did not understand what the contents of the letter entailed, for his Father had already been dead to him since the moment he set sail.

Here he sits in the Stagg's Inn, drinking away the life he had with his Father, the life he missed with his Mother, and the life he will have with his wife and child. Perhaps it is all too much for him to bear, perhaps it was a mistake to marry Jasmine of Renharlow. She was a pleasantly girl, a girl-maid from a family of poor-bred folk who kissed the feet of the wealthy. He married her, not for social prospects or anything of the sort; he married her because she was as beautiful as she was kind; despite her living.

'Wayland!' a man calls to him from the counter, waving a dirty rag in the air. Wayland's head shoots up in alarm, his merry men too.

'What is it, Martin?' he asks, gripping his pint tighter, his words slurring.

'There's someone here to see you, there is!' Martin replies in a loud, booming voice. He s waves towards the door, where a man clad in black leather wearing a malicious grin stands in the doorway. Wayland's whole body tenses as he recognizes the maiden in the man's grasp: his wife. He stands up so quickly the entire room comes to a halt, all the conversations ceasing. All eyes are on him now as he moves quietly and swiftly to the doorway, past Matrin, whom he exchanges a cautious look with. Marin gives a acknowledging nod and moves aside, calling on some Inn customers to stand guard in case they are needed.

'Look who it is!' the leather-clad man exclaims, pulling the pregnant woman with him, until his back is up against an old crate. 'The great and powerful Wayland Serhorn comes to the maiden's rescue!'

The woman squirms in his hold and her breathing is rushed, panicked. 'Please,' she pleads, 'Let me go,'

The man tightens his hold on her arm and jerks her back by the hair with his other hand. 'Quiet, wretch!' he yells with a hiss into her ear. She is terrified into silence now as she looks to her husband with sad, pleading eyes. She fears that she will die; it is written on her face, so readable, so true. And it could end here, now, at this very moment.

'Let her go,' Wayland says in a calm voice, his hands outstretched in an effort to portray reason. But the weapon in his hand betrays his intentions. 'Whatever bad blood you have with me, you have with me alone. Let her go. Call it mercy.'

The man scoffs and jerks the woman back again. 'Mercy?' he exclaims, pain spilling into his words, even though he does not seem to recognize them. 'What do you know of mercy, pirate? You know nothing of mercy, or of loving another soul more than your own!'

The woman clutches her belly when she hits the ground with a thump and a cry. Wayland rushes to her side in an instant, his hand touching her belly, but she is weeping. Shock registers on his face the moment he realizes what has happened. His shock turns to rage as he physically starts to tremble, a bottle still firm in his grasp. He is going to kill him.

~.~.~.~

The inn dwellers remain inside as the man's body is dragged into the crowd, blood spilling from the man's head and neck. He has pits of shattered glass inside the surface of his skin, his eyes glazed over in a waxen state: wide open. Wayland's face was the last he ever saw. What became of Wayland and his wife after the man's death we cannot see, but we fear he has sailed afar, nearing the realm of Alleria. What they seek there, we do not know. Whether or not they will find what they are looking for, we do not know. There is much that lies in between certainty and uncertainty. But, there are of course, those who do know of things that happen before they occur. One of them happens to be the King's daughter. My daughter.