The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  “But those are the best people to kill,” he said. “If you can’t enjoy killing them, what’s the point?”

  In spite of everything, she snorted. She knew people like Scifer Olc—warriors who took a little too much pleasure in battle. Men and women who treated life and death like a game without a care in the world. Jagger had been like that at times.

  “I …” she said. “I’m not like that. I don’t … enjoy it like that.”

  “That’s all well and good,” he said. “But what happens if it comes down to saving your boy and repeating that scene in Gain?”

  That was it, wasn’t it? She saw that terrible abyss before her again, knowing Jagger was the only thing keeping her from falling, and had to wonder: what might she have to do to find him? How much worse than Carmine was waiting to stand in her way in Seba?

  “I just want to find my friend,” she said, finishing her cigarette. “Nothing else matters.”

  They approached the inn as evening darkened to night. Thick drops of rain drizzled from the sky and hit the ground with loud plops. But Katrina heard other sounds beside the falling rain—shouting, banging, and someone crying.

  She stopped to glance around a nearby corner and saw at the end of the alley a pack of four Goblins around an elderly man and younger woman. The Goblins were laughing and stomping on the bleeding man as the woman—his daughter perhaps—begged them to stop.

  “Goblins run rampant in the Three Sons,” said Scifer. “The Brute Squad is supposed to keep them at bay, but they—”

  She didn’t listen. She didn’t stop to think. Without saying a word, her sword was drawn, and she charged down the alley.

  The fight was brief. The Goblins didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. Within moments, all four were writhing on the ground, clutching at their broken or missing limbs and crying out for mercy. The impulse to kill them was there, but Katrina resisted. Had she been drunk, she was sure she would have.

  The old man and his daughter thanked her with tears in their eyes. Someone watching from a nearby window gave her performance applause and laughter. Scifer stood back and watched the whole thing. She couldn’t tell if he was impressed, amused, or both.

  “Just want to find your friend, eh..?”

  26

  After Lock and Seria found Bane’s Gauntlet, they left it in the yard. Getting it out of the house felt better—the evil emanating off it seemed less potent in the open. They returned inside and sat in the kitchen, but there was a sense of unease hanging in the air. It felt like the scene of some terrible crime was across the yard and Lock and Seria were trying to figure out how to cover it up.

  “So,” he said, trying to break the silence. “What do you think?”

  “I’m curious how and where your brother got ahold of Bane’s Gauntlet,” Seria said. “But I think top priority should be getting it as far away as possible.”

  He sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. He wasn’t sweating anymore, despite the heat, but his hair was greasy, and he could feel it stand up.

  “So what is Bane’s Gauntlet?” he asked. “What are we dealing with here?”

  “Roderick Bane was a powerful sorcerer,” she said. “Probably the greatest master of the dark arts of our age. They say—”

  “I know who Bane was,” he cut in. “They taught about him and Grant Nolan in school. I mean what is this thing?”

  “Yes, sorry,” she said. “There are different stories as to why, but it was believed Bane transferred a portion of his power—perhaps even a piece of his soul—to his gauntlet. Legend says he hid it before he died.”

  “So what is it supposed to do?”

  “I cannot say. Perhaps the one who wears the Gauntlet can access his power. Maybe they’ll become possessed by him. Maybe he was planning or hoping to be resurrected and the Gauntlet is necessary for that.”

  “Nothing good, essentially.”

  “I expect so,” she said. She looked out the window to the corner of the yard where they left it and shivered. “I’m in no particular hurry to find out.”

  “Neither am I,” he said, standing up to stretch his legs. “What do you think we should do with it?”

  “I suppose the safest thing would be to get in touch with the Guardian Mages,” she said. “They can destroy it or, failing that, hide it where it won’t be found again.”

  “You think Deck knew what it was?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do we tell Cassie?”

  Seria’s eyes widened, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to her until he mentioned it. “I suppose we …” she said, tilting her head back and forth. “That is to say, I think she should be made aware of …”

  “Can you imagine telling Cassie some sorcerer’s evil relic is being kept in our house? I think she has enough excuses to not want to be here.”

  Seria let out a small laugh—the first since they found the Gauntlet, which made Lock feel better. “Let’s wait and see what Troa and Deck think.”

  So they waited. They kept quiet when Cassie returned home and struggled through an uncomfortable dinner. When night fell, fearing the wolves would return, they brought the Gauntlet back inside after Cassie went to bed.

  It was late before Deck and Troa returned. Lock and Seria waited for them in the den, sitting in silence beside the fireplace. Bane’s Gauntlet lay on the table between them, wrapped with a sheet. Although neither said it, they shared the same urge to throw it in the fire or smash it.

  “I can’t believe he would bring this thing into our house,” Lock growled, feeling agitated. “Deck has always had that, I don’t know, adventurous streak in him. You know it, too. He’s always wanted to go out and be the hero.”

  “I won’t speak for Deck,” Seria said. “But I know your brother would never put you or your sister at risk. I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

  Lock grimaced, not believing that.

  “The important thing,” she continued, “is we’ve found it and will be rid of it before any damage has been done. Who knows? Maybe this was for the best.”

  He looked at her, cockeyed.

  “By finding it,” she said. “Deck might have prevented it from falling into the wrong hands. Now we’ll get it to the Guardians and that will be that.”

  “Assuming he lets us,” he grumbled under his breath.

  “He would never do that,” she said. “I understand if you’re angry with your brother, Lock, but you can’t think he intended to use the Gauntlet himself.”

  They heard the front door open and close. Deck and Troa entered the front hall, and they went out to meet them. To their shock, both were in shambles. They were sweating, ragged, and Deck’s shoulder was wounded and bandaged.

  Lock had told himself to keep calm, follow Seria’s advice, and allow his brother a chance to explain himself. But upon seeing Deck and the condition he was in, an anger he hadn’t anticipated exploded in his gut.

  He thought of the attack they suffered outside Aster’s wall. He thought of the woman he was forced to kill. He thought of the evil thing his brother brought into their house and imagined the horrors Deck would allow for the sake of “adventure.”

  Before Deck could say a single word, Lock greeted him with a punch to the face.

  “Lockhart!” Seria shouted. She hadn’t called him that in years.

  Deck was much bigger than his younger brother, but he was tired and caught off guard by the strike. He stumbled backwards and almost fell to his knee. Lock didn’t press any attack, but Troa stepped in between them. Deck turned, his lip bleeding, and fury burned in his eyes.

  “What the hell was that?!” he snarled.

  “Our home!” Lock screamed. “You brought that thing into our home! What were you thinking?!”

  Deck charged, but he was held back by Troa. Seria grabbed Lock, even though he wasn’t advancing. “No!” Deck screamed, trying to get past the Eldér. “No, let us go! So Lockey thinks he’s a big man now? Let him prove it!�
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  “Stop it!” Seria shouted. “Both of you!”

  “ENOUGH!” Troa bellowed, shoving Deck against the far wall. Seeing the normally calm and collected Troa roar, his stern face contorted in anger, silenced the two brothers and even his sister. “Deckard, you were a fool to bring that thing into this house! Lockhart! That’s no reason for you to act like a bigger fool!” He paused, taking a breath, and his cool demeanor returned. “Now,” he said, sighing. “Where is it?”

  “In the den,” Seria said. “Troa … I think it’s Roderick Bane’s Gauntlet.”

  He hesitated, and his face paled. In all the years Lock had known him, he’d never seen that out of Troa Veltaishi. “You’re sure..?” he asked, his voice in a whisper.

  “Almost certain,” she said. “If you think it’s something else, I might actually be relieved.”

  “Show me.”

  The two Eldér went ahead. Lock lingered for a second—his hand throbbing from punching his brother. His anger dissipated, and he felt ashamed of himself. Throughout their lives—even though they’d had plenty of arguments, as brothers often do—neither Lock nor Deck had ever hit one another. And the idea it should be Lock who did it first made him feel ill.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Deck glared at him, wiping blood from his chin. He turned his gaze from his brother, grumbled something indistinct, and joined Troa and Seria in the den.

  Troa was inspecting the black gauntlet. He looked ill holding it. “That is Bane’s emblem,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “Terrible power contained within. I feel it.” He looked at Seria. “Have you?”

  “I don’t even want to touch it,” she said. She turned to Deck and asked, “How did you find this?”

  Deck told his story about finding the massacre and fighting the troll. He explained how he was able to sense there was something hidden in the cave. Lock paced around the whole time, growing more and more shocked over how reckless his brother had acted. But he kept calm and allowed Seria to ask the questions he wanted to scream.

  “What could possibly have made you think to bring it here?” she asked. Her voice was gentle, but Lock could tell she was as outraged as he was.

  “Look,” said Deck. “Going through that cave and finding the Gauntlet, that was all impulse. Hell, the damn thing probably was calling to me—I’ll admit it.” He paused to look at it, and Lock could’ve sworn he shivered. “When I did find it … I’m not stupid, all right. I knew that, whatever it was, it was something bad. Evil.”

  He paused again and looked them each in the eye.

  “What should I have done?” he asked. “Troa, you saw what happened today. Those men that died, they were buying or exchanging it. And I doubt they were planning anything good with it. Should I have just left it there so someone could eventually find it and use it for gods know what?”

  “Wait,” said Lock. “What happened today? Where were you two?”

  This time it was Troa who did the explaining. Upon learning whoever wanted the Gauntlet had sent more men to retrieve it made Lock want to punch his brother a second time. Fortunately, again, Seria spoke before he could do anything.

  “Deck,” she said. “What if more are sent? What’s to stop them from finding their way here?”

  “They won’t.”

  “Deck, have you not been standing around this damn thing?” Lock said. “Cassie and I could barely sleep without even knowing it was here. Troa and Seria sensed it. I’m sure if someone wanted to track this thing down, they could figure out a way of sniffing it out.”

  “Lockhart is right,” Troa said. “If the people behind this still want the Gauntlet—and I believe we’d be fools to think they won’t—we shouldn’t assume they can’t find their way here.”

  “All right,” Deck said, throwing his hands up and turning away. “So what do we do now?”

  Seria turned to Troa and said, “I think the best thing would be to get in touch with the Guardians. They’ll know what to do with it.”

  “I agree,” he said.

  “Can we do that?” Lock asked. “We can just notify the Guardian Mages and tell them, ‘We found an evil gauntlet. Come pick it up.’”

  “More or less,” said Troa. “I can arrange a message to be sent tomorrow. It may take time for them to respond, however.”

  “I don’t want this thing in the house anymore,” said Seria.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’d rather we found someplace to keep it that will be safe, but away from our home.”

  “Should we contact the Sheriff?” Lock asked. “Just leave it with the militia until the Guardians get here?”

  “I think it’d be safer if we keep this to ourselves,” Deck said.

  Lock frowned and was about to argue, but Troa said, “We should consider it. In the meantime, where can we hide the Gauntlet that will be safe?”

  Silence fell over the group for a few moments. Finally, Deck said, “The cemetery on the edge of town. There’s an old church there.”

  “That might suffice,” said Troa. “Holy ground would be the best place for it.”

  Deck, despite his injuries, stepped forward and said, “I’ll go.”

  “I’m going with you,” Troa said.

  Lock said nothing, feeling irritated and angry. It was Seria who asked, “Do you want us to come, too?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Troa replied. “You two get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

  Deck was already out the door.

  When they were gone, Seria plopped down on the couch, rubbed her eyes, and sighed. With the Gauntlet out of the house, an intangible weight seemed to dissipate. Lock, however, was still standing by the fireplace and felt no better.

  “Did you see that?” he asked.

  “See what..?”

  “He doesn’t want to contact the Sheriff,” he said. “He rushes out to hide the Gauntlet. He wants to handle this himself.”

  “Lock …”

  “He finally found his great adventure,” he continued. “This is a game to him.”

  Seria sighed again, as though she had a headache. She looked tired and worn out. “Yes, Deck was reckless,” she said. “Yes, he should’ve thought this through better. But the important thing is no harm was done. We’ll get in touch with the Guardians, they’ll know what to do, and that will be it.”

  He grumbled in response and went upstairs to sleep. He thought of Deck’s face when they discussed what to do about the Gauntlet—hearing his tone when he spoke. It was the indifference of someone who never acknowledged danger or believed something could go wrong. It was a trait he found both admirable and infuriating at the same time. It was the exact trait that would inspire his brother to fight a troll and steal some dead sorcerer’s evil gauntlet.

  He was headed to his room, when he heard behind him, “Lock..?” He turned to find Cassie standing at her doorway. She was dressed in her sleeping gown and holding a single candle. “Is everything okay?”

  “Cassie,” he said. “What are you still doing up?”

  “I heard you yelling downstairs,” she said, approaching him. “I saw Deck. He got into another fight, didn’t he?”

  “We—uh—Deck and I … we …” He trailed off. He didn’t know what to say and what not to say and was too exhausted to figure it out. “It’s not your problem, Cassie. Don’t worry yourself.”

  She came closer, and there was something in her eyes that haunted him. “Lock,” she said. “Earlier today, I was talking to Lord Westen’s daughter. We were talking about the bandits you and Deck fought.”

  “What about it..?”

  “Did you kill someone?” She stared at him in the dim glow of her single candle, and he could see comprehension on her face. He knew she could see it in his eyes. “You did, didn’t you? You … you had to kill one of them.”

  “I …” he started and realized again how disgusted he’d felt when it happened. “Yes. One of them was about to kill Deck. So I—”

  She pl
aced the candle down and hugged him. There were no tears shed, but in that moment, Lock remembered how much he loved his sister. Perhaps not remember—that would imply he forgot—but it was easy to take family for granted. As little as Cassie involved herself in his training or Deck’s dreams of adventure, she knew both her brothers.

  “This was never for you,” she said. “Deck was always the fighter. You should never have been forced—”

  “I’m okay,” he said, and to his surprise, he meant it.

  Standing there, knowing the evil thing they were trying to hide, thinking of who or what else might come looking for it, Lock felt his will strengthen. How or why they got into this mess didn’t matter. Cassie needed to be protected. Perhaps she could be a little spoiled or superficial at times, but she was his sister and he loved her.

  If nothing else, she was the reason he needed to keep his sword.

  “I’m okay,” he repeated. “Try to get some sleep. Things will be better tomorrow.”

  * * *

  With a handful of candles lit, Deck eased into the tub, trying to work out the stiffness in his shoulder without reopening the wound. Despite the lateness of the hour, when they returned to the house, he wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath. Between his lingering injuries from fighting the troll, riding around all day, digging through said troll’s body, getting shot with an arrow, and nagged by everyone, he welcomed some peace and quiet.

  He and Troa had encountered no one on their way to Aster’s cemetery. The sky was moonless, and only a few of the street lamps were still burning. The cemetery was located at the northeastern part of town, past a natural wall of trees and bushes. It was large and looked older than the town itself. In the far back was an ancient church with a caved-in wall and narrow tower that looked like it might collapse. The graves surrounded the ruin in concentric circles with tombstones of various size and design.

  Troa hid the Gauntlet, wrapped in a bundle of sheets, in the church while Deck waited outside. In the dark of night, the graveyard and its ruin had looked eerie and uninviting. It seemed like the type of place children would tell scary stories about. The kind he and his friends would dare each other to enter when he was young. He always won those dares.