I left the slave camp to organize themselves. I had freed some people that could take over, which would make sure that everyone was unchained. Like Khadon, the [Smith]. He had shaken my hand with his own, big and strong like frying pans. But his gaze had not lingered on me, he had studied the darkness and the lights within, teeth grinding in barely suppressed anger, as he took a hammer from the tools I had distributed, and broke manacles with one strike each. There was Fjora, a [Chargehand], who immediately took control of the people around her, organizing them into smaller working groups, speeding up the task of cutting the ropes. There was Gideon, the [Guardsman], who pointed out the fighting classes around him, freed and armed them, and had led the charge on the campfires of their captors. The freed men and women were ready.

The air was electric as we stared into the night. Loaded with the anger and the promise of violence that hung in the air. The people were scared, excited, ready, and pressed against the line of light that held them back. We would not brave the darkness. We would not brave the Nightmares. I could escape those creatures, barely, if the past has taught me anything, but they were huge and ferocious and would tear the slaves apart in droves, especially in larger and uncoordinated groups, with not a single piece of armor between them. We had to time it right.

So we waited. And waited. Staring at the swaying lights of the ships. A hundred feet between us and our goal. Of course, we had been seen. They could see our lights just as well as we could see theirs. Just that we had no walls or structures to hide behind. We stood on open ground, amassed around the fires, only a few of us armed. They knew we were there. Of course, they knew. They would be waiting for us. They would be well-rested, well-armed, geared, and prepared. They were not hungry, not cold and they were warriors, experienced in the battles that had led us to this moment.

A few arrows had zipped through the night, clattering on the stone between us. We were not quite in range to be hit with certainty. But they had thought to try. That meant two things: They had bows and they had enough arrows to spend them recklessly.

I was too excited to think straight. How many had I killed? How many were still left? 400 or so? The anticipation of the battle itched in my bones. I wanted to move, I wanted to act. But we stood still. Time crawled. Every moment that passed seemed to be slower than the one before.

Suddenly, a fire erupted in the darkness, figures burning bright on top of the pile of ships, bathing more of the structure in erratic light. A few screams reached us, even over the roaring of the waterfall. They fell down, waving their arms in terror, hitting railings and masts on their way down, until they could be seen no longer. What was happening? Were those the actions of the wounded humans, I had carried out of that bloody hold of horror? Had they been found? Were they acting on their own? I cursed inwardly. I had not thought to return to Veneir and the others, to let them know. It had seemed to be way too much risk for not much to gain. Nothing I could do now, but to curse the sun for rising so damn slowly.

Dawn was close.

In the darkness over the sea something stirred, something moved. The color of the night changed with subtlety, gradually lightening up. What had been pitch-black a moment ago, was now softer and less harsh. And where the darkness had consumed everything before, now shapes and shadows could be seen.

The Albatross racing over the churning waters, working through the waves, a couple of sails proudly billowing under the wind. Twilight rose over the bay, slow at first, but followed by the sun in our back, throwing warm and red streaks of light over the water and the frigate. The ship was close but would take a few more minutes to reach its destination. But even now I could see the silhouettes of the people on board, waiting on the deck, climbing over the rigging. And on the bow of the ship, proudly standing with one foot on the beam and one of the railing, gripping a line with his left and a cutlass with his right, was Captain Locksley. And the sun rose over the horizon.

I pulled Kingsbane from my back, rolling my shoulders. I looked around. All eyes were on the enemy or the ship. The time had come.

There would be no speech. No animal needed a speech to fight, if driven into a corner it had no way of escaping from. None of these slaves needed moral to fight for their lives.

"Get ready.“ I shouted, lifting my sword in the air, catching the sun on Kingsbane’s dark metal. A few glanced my way, all of them slightly changed their posture, bending in the knees, balling their fists, getting ready to run.

On the sea, Locksley raised his cutlass as well. We could see the crew raising fists and weapons in a cheer, that the wind would not bring to our ears. What we could not hear, the waves seemed to obey, as the bow wave of the ship grew in size and power, suddenly leaving the Albatross behind, as if it was winning a race. Waves jumped up and over the massive bow wave like dolphins, but in the shape of giant birds, the namesake of the Albatross.

The wave rose and rose until it was level with the deck of the ship, crashing into the wooden structure with a force that shook it all violently, seconds before the frigate, already turning and cushioned by its own massive bow wave, rammed the other ships with its side. We saw nothing of the impact because the ship pile was between us, but we saw the wave splashing around and over the massive structure.

The crash was loud enough for even us to hear. Whatever clever thing I had planned to say drowned in the roaring and shouting of a thousand voices. We sprinted as if the devils were on our heels. And they were because arrows rained on us the moment we began running. People fell left and right, getting trampled by those who followed. We did not hesitate or alter our path.

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I was at the front, easily making the distance to the others with [Improved Speed], making a target out of myself. But I could not have, for the life of me, restraint my efforts. Arrows flew by, misjudging my speed, sliding off my vambraces, and then I was there. The bottom layer, as seen from the dry land, were a couple of broken and overturned ships, because they had taken the brunt of the impact and the weight of the others, and thus we did not have to climb much but instead were presented with plenty of openings. The Wyldlings did not come out to face us in a proper battle line, but instead waited for us behind chokepoints and barricades, while the archers had climbed a few ships on top, raining death from above.

The plan was as simple as it could have been. Hold the Wyldlings in place, while the crew of the Albatross sweeps through the lower parts of Shipwreck Bay. They were sailors, the crew of a proper warship, with Skills to help them with navigating, moving, and fighting on ships and the sea. They had the advantage. Furthermore, they would not face organized resistance. The Wyldlings had awaited us, not expecting the ship to even be taken over, much less ramming the structure to board it. We just had to hold until the crew got here, catching the Wyldlings between hammer and anvil.

But that was not good enough.

I barreled into the group of Wyldlings holding a vertical opening of a cargo hold, stolen human weapons pointed at me. It was a climb of a couple of feet, not much, but unarmed men climbing that step under the assault of armed warriors...it would be a blood bath. I needed to break it. I jumped, [Airwalk], jumped again, and before I came down onto the snarling, wickedly grinning faces of the Wyldlings, who were smelling easy prey, my ghostly crows erupted out of the shadows of my cloak, as I invoked [a Murder of Crows], racing and hungering for the beating hearts of the living. Chaos and pain descended upon the group of Wyldlings, and then I was among them, Kingsbane slamming my target against a wooden wall, breaking the collarbone and impaling the man.

[Wyldling Warrior defeated! Reward 12 EP]

Chaos, I just needed chaos. A chance for the slaves to catch up. Pulling Kingsbane free, I sliced wildly through the air, hitting something. Screams arose all over the area. The humans had crashed into the fortifications. The battle had begun. There were others now, climbing up, grabbing after ankles, pulling the distracted Wyldlings down.

One Wyldling stood at the edge, screaming in pain as the shadow crows picked out his eyes, and yet he did not stop swinging his axe after the hands that tried to grab him. I jumped him, kicked him in the lower back, sending him flying into the masses of angry ex-slaves pressing in after us. The Wyldling was ripped apart by bare hands.

Then it was over and we poured into the opening like a flood, all dams broken, spilling over to the sides, to find the other fights. It all happened so quickly. Death had a field day as both sides hacked each other to pieces. No more strategy. No more battle lines. We pushed them back into the labyrinth of ships, was the battle dispersed into countless skirmishes. Our reinforcements must have arrived somewhere, because the pressure on us eased considerably, as we pushed them back. I used [Inspire Courage] once, as I saw a group faltering under the assault of a war beast, turning to run. But that would just have been their death sentence. Instead my Skill hit them, they turned, screamed and went at it together, holding the beast at bay. Until I could get over there, and behind the beast, sinking Kingsbane deep into his neck.

[Wyldling Behemoth defeated! Reward 18 EP]

I was immediately tired after my first two fights. In the nooks and crannies of the piled ships, all time and sense of direction lost meaning. I just never stopped fighting. I had lost Kingsbane somewhere. I stumbled around as something hit me on the side of my head. Where was my sword? My head was ringing like the bell of a ship, as I fell to my knees, crawling around, looking for my sword. A Wyldling fell in front of me, with a human woman on him, strangling him with both hands. I threw myself on him as well, pulling out my dagger and punching the metal through his eye. I left it there for the woman to grab as I rolled off him. Where was my sword?

[Wyldling Scout defeated! Reward: 11 EP]

I saw Wyldlings running for me, clubs and axes raised. So much hunger for blood in their eyes. I tried to get up, tried to grab my hammer, but my arms were so tired. Someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me on my feet. I knew that face. A woman with a scar on her face. Her left eye was nothing but a blood-crusted hole. I had found this woman earlier, bound to the table on Barak’s ship. She wasn’t even looking at me, she just pulled me behind her and walked towards the group of oncoming Wyldlings with a sneering grin, lifting a belaying pin she had salvaged off a wreck, swinging it like a club.

Veneir was there as well, looking out of place, his gaze above his veil wandering over the chaos with wild fear, gripping a metal spike, while held another man upright that was missing a leg and a couple of fingers, his arm slung around Veneir. The man was slim, malnourished even, but in his dirty face glowed two embers of sharp eyes, scanning the crowd, while his body convulsed in pain every few seconds. I had carried him up to Veneir, when he had been nearly unconscious. Our eyes met over the battlefield, then his widened and he hastily raised his healthy and free hand, mumbled something and snapped with his fingers.

A Wyldling approaching me from my blind spot burst into flames, crashing to the ground in front of me, while I still whirled around.

The other two that had been tortured by Barak and chained to his wall, before I had brought them up to the clear sky, were here as well. A bigger man who also was missing an eye, and had terrible burn marks on his face and shaved head, wore a good, old door in both hands, slamming it into attackers that dared to approach Veneir or the mage. The other woman I knew to be missing her tongue, from when I tried easing her pain with my Skill and had hundreds of crisscrossed scars on her back. She darted around the bigger guy with the door, a table knife in each hand, cunningly using the openings, the man with the door created for her, slicing throats and taking eyes.

They looked like walking corpses. They had been closer to death than to the living when I had used [Reinvigoration] on them and left them in the care of Veneir. They were wounded, bleeding, tortured, and maimed. And they fell on the Wyldlings attacking me like a pride of lions. Yes, they were wounded. Yes, they were maimed. Yes, they were crippled. But they were lions. And only mice tried to stop them.