The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  At this rate, he thought. I wouldn’t be surprised to find Arkady’s undead body hunting me down for revenge next.

  “I am on a mission from the one true god,” Lucas said. “My penance must be complete, and the world must be cleansed. You, Krutch Leeroy, are a foul thing who brings horror everywhere he goes!”

  “You’re not wrong,” he muttered.

  “Before I end you,” Lucas continued. “Tell me where Jessica is.”

  “Who..?”

  “I knew you would be trouble the moment I laid eyes upon you. Jessica is a lost soul. A temptress who seeks the worst in men. She almost led me astray, but I vowed to save her. I knew you would tempt her back into her wicked ways and, she too, would inspire the worst from you.”

  “The hell are you … oh! You mean Audra!”

  “Once you’re gone, I shall find her and—”

  “Honestly, she’s pretty much done with me. You don’t even have to—”

  “Enough!”

  Weapon at the ready, Lucas leapt into the air with a diving chop. Krutch rolled out of the way and felt the impact of the blade as it crashed into the pavement just behind him. With a roar, Lucas raised the halberd again, but Krutch kicked at his shin and stumbled the Brother. With another kick, he sent Lucas into a crowd of fighting men and Goblins.

  Wasting no time, he scrambled to his feet and ran. After evading attacks from Elliot, Audra, and now Lucas, he was feeling almost proud of his reflexes, when Audra sideswiped him with a thrusting kick to his ribs that knocked him to the ground. He rolled along and came to a stop at another brick wall with the wind knocked out of him.

  “We’re not done yet, Krutch,” said Audra, grinning.

  “What happened to Lee?” he asked.

  “Good question,” she said, raising her sword to strike.

  “Jessica! No!”

  Brother Lucas came forward, his halberd dripping with blood and the bodies of men and Goblins around him.

  “You again..?” she said, sneering. “I thought I was done with you.”

  “You cannot turn me away, Jessica,” Lucas said. “You need me … you said so yourself …”

  “Look, old man,” she said, turning to him and forgetting Krutch. “I thought you were some bad-ass warrior! I thought we were going to be bopping around the countryside taking what we want and doing what we want! But then we got to that mission and all of a sudden you start yammering on about salvation and shit!”

  “The Faith showed me the error of my ways. When I killed the Brother who ran that mission … you can’t know how it felt. I was lost … an evil man with no path, and I was willing to drag you down with me.”

  At this point, Krutch knew he should’ve been running away—but he stayed where he was and watched.

  “We still have a chance, Jessica,” Lucas continued, dropping his weapon. “Don’t you understand? We are each other’s salvation! The only way I can escape my old ways is by saving you! The only way you can save yourself is if you let me!”

  He reached for her shoulder, but with a hiss, Audra slashed his throat with her sword. “My name’s not Jessica,” she snarled as he sank to his knees. “And I don’t need saving!” She drove the sword into the center of Lucas’s head and continued hacking at him with defiant madness in her eyes.

  Krutch decided he’d seen enough and used the opportunity to flee. He didn’t stop running until he was at least six blocks away from Mannix Square. He was sweating, his heart thudded, and he ignored the stabbing pain in his thigh, aching in his limbs, and cramp in his sides.

  He came to a stop in an alley just outside Roller’s Place. His breathing was haggard, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. Looking back the way he came, he felt some relief Audra wasn’t chasing him.

  His relief didn’t last, as he saw crowds of people looting the casinos nearby. Some were fighting in the streets. The smell of smoke and fire was all around him. It was then he realized the chaos wasn’t limited to Goblins and Mannix Square—all of Seba had been consumed.

  “More reason to pack it in,” he muttered.

  Krutch knew he was a few miles from the western gate. He didn’t know if the riot extended into the Three Sons, but he supposed that didn’t matter—that was his best chance. The question was what he would do if he ran into trouble along the way. A lot of madness stood between him and escape, and even if he wasn’t wounded and exhausted, he was no fighter.

  He looked around, and although he had never gotten used to navigating his way around the city, he was confident he knew where he was. Unless he was mistaken, he’d been in this area before—and that gave him an idea.

  Limping, he used the back alleys and steered clear of trouble. It seemed the worst of the riot was elsewhere—probably in Roller’s, the Square, and Tramp Road. If people were looting, they’d try to fight their way into Oasis Slope.

  He soon reached the tiny alley of garbage and rats he hid himself after escaping Vident. He brushed aside the pile of trash in the back corner and found the small crevice he had stashed his friend.

  Even unloaded, it felt good to have the pistol in his hand. With his weapon once again in his possession, Krutch at last thought of a name for it. Perhaps not ideal, but he considered it a decent tribute to his ally and reminder to himself:

  “Good to have you back, Arkady.”

  56

  Katrina entered Seba through the south. By then, there was nothing left of the Slums but the skeletal remains of burnt shacks. The smell of fire was everywhere, and smoke and ash filled the sky. As she made her way deeper into the city, the screams and shouting became a constant, unending static. Bodies littered the streets.

  If Seba was a collection of the worst of Graylands, the inmates had been turned loose and gone berserk.

  She made her way to Mannix Square, guessing if Jagger was anywhere, he’d be near Clock’s tower. She stalled from time to time helping civilians get to safety. She occasionally came across a leering thug who thought she’d make for a fun time, but made quick work of them.

  Otherwise, most of the combatants in Seba were focused on themselves and paid her little mind. It wasn’t until she passed the burning Malison Coliseum that the threat of panic hit her.

  Terror shot through her in a sudden jolt, and for a moment, she thought her heart had actually stopped. A man in armor had rushed by, and for a split second, she thought it was one of Armand Tyrell’s soldiers.

  Taking a breath, she brushed it aside and pressed on. When she reached the Square, most of the buildings, inns, and taverns were on fire. Goblins had been everywhere, but they seemed concentrated in the center of the city and were slaughtering everyone in sight.

  She was hit with another jolt when she saw a pair of Goblins in the corner of her eye and thought they were Tyrell’s orcs. On the other side of the Square she thought she saw some of her own people fighting.

  Not now, she thought. Please, not now …

  Her hands started shaking, and her heart felt like it would rend itself in two. The ground swayed beneath her, and she feared she might vomit.

  All of a sudden, she was back in Vigor’s capital city. Clock’s tower was Tyrell’s fortress. The Goblins were his orc legions. It was the final battle all over again.

  She drifted through the fighting—half in a trance, half in a rage—tugging at her own hair. It was happening again, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The strength in her legs melted away, and she nearly collapsed, on the verge of tears.

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to kill. It was all flooding back, and she couldn’t take it.

  Then Katrina saw herself—young, determined, and full of hope—cutting through her enemies and fighting her way into tower.

  Don’t, she tried to scream, but no sound came. It’s all wrong! You’ll kill them all! Please … please, not again …

  “So you’re still alive?”

  She saw Jagger. She saw him as he was then, and as he was now. She saw the young ma
n she loved. She saw the ruthless killer who hated her. She felt as though she was on the precipice again—looking into the abyss. Where her life went from here depended on her next move, just as it had with Tyrell.

  “Jagger …”

  “Is gone,” he said, brandishing his spear. “My name is Vident, Rien.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said, the sword in her right hand shaking.

  “I buried you alive, woman. I think we’re beyond forgiveness.”

  “No,” she said, approaching him. “No, we’re not. Jagger, these past years—since Vigor—I can’t imagine what they were like for you. I can’t even begin to explain what they were like for me. But we can start over … the both of us. Clock is dead. You owe him nothing. Vigor’s gone. We can let it go. Jagger, please … please … I loved you. And you loved me.”

  He was staring at her, but she couldn’t read him. His face was like stone, but she saw something in his eyes. She extended her hand and touched his cheek. His skin was rough and dry—so not like the man she’d known—but he was still there.

  “Jagger,” she said. “We don’t have to hurt anymore.”

  He looked at her, but said nothing. He took her hand from his cheek, and for a moment, she thought she got through to him.

  He held her hand … and then squeezed.

  Her vision blurred as blinding pain exploded in her hand. She tried to pull away, but Jagger kept his grip on her. She sank to her knees as the pain traveled up her arm into her shoulder. Nausea hit her stomach, and she was certain she would throw up at his feet.

  “Stop calling me Jagger,” he said. “I already told you, Ghost Princess, that life is gone.” He squeezed her hand harder, and she felt a crunch. “It’s not coming back.”

  He finished with a knee to her face. Her jaw took the worst of it, and the taste of blood filled her mouth as she fell onto her back, clutching her throbbing hand. Tears filled her eyes, and her stomach continued to churn. She attempted to clench her hand, but only got excruciating pain for her effort.

  Jagger circled her, spear in hand. His eyes were as ice. His face was a scowl of disgust and contempt. The man she loved truly was gone forever. In his place was this cold-blooded machine.

  “And I never owed Sebastian Clock anything,” he said. “It was Trayze Kilnerova who freed me from the gladiator pits. He was the one who had me working for Clock. It was him who made me see the truth about you.”

  He kicked her while she was down.

  “Our homeland taken by a madman with an army of orcs at his command, and who do they entrust to set us free? Who do they put the fate of an entire kingdom on the shoulders of? A fucking girl! An entitled brat who had everything handed to her in the name of ‘destiny’ and ‘fate.’”

  Another kick.

  “Is it any wonder things turned out the way they did? They left the future of our country in the hands of a girl and counted on everything working out just because she had a famous name and a ‘destiny!’”

  He spit on her.

  “No, Rien,” he continued, raising his spear to strike. “We can’t go back, and we can’t start over. You sicken me. Everything about you—everything you represent—sickens me. You are everything that is wrong with this wretched world. Now die, and this time, stay dead!”

  The spear came down, but she rolled out of the way. She heard the blade crash into the street and grabbed her black-bladed sabre. He tried to strike her again, but she dodged and, with a swipe of her sword, created some distance.

  Her left hand was throbbing, but she ignored it. She grasped her sword and stared at the twisted mockery of the man she once loved standing before her. She felt coldness in her blood, but it wasn’t the seething hate she felt in Daredin’s tower. She felt clear—focused.

  “Don’t call me Rien,” she said. “My name is Katrina Lamont.”

  * * *

  Deck and Cassie left the dungeon and made their way to the front hall, although Deck was apprehensive. When they reached the entrance, he ordered Cassie to stay behind him as he looked outside, and it was worse than he feared. All of Seba was ablaze. Bodies littered Mannix Square. Fighting was everywhere. The evening sky had turned to a dark shade of red behind thick clouds of black smoke.

  Deck didn’t doubt he could fight his way out of the city, but his concern was for Cassie. He looked at his sister, and her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. She was clutching his shirt and trembling at the sight of the riot going on outside. Aside from fear she might get hurt, Deck didn’t want to subject her to any more violence than necessary.

  He considered waiting and letting the riot burn itself out. The fighting had to die down sooner or later. Once the worst of it was over, he could get Cassie to safety that much easier—assuming they could stay alive until then.

  “Cassie,” he said. “If we go out there, can you make it?”

  She looked at him, then out to the city, and back at him. She was sweating, and she gulped. She opened her mouth, and he barely heard her. “I … I don’t know.” She looked out and gulped again. “I just want to go home.”

  He wiped a tear from her eye. “Stay close to me,” he said. “Whatever happens, I’ll keep you safe. We’re going to make it, I promise.”

  There was resolve in her eyes as she nodded. At that moment, Deck was as proud of his sister as he’d ever been.

  He led her across the drawbridge and immediately to the right side of Mannix Square, passing Katrina and Vident without notice. His sword was in one hand and the other locked with Cassie’s. Most of the remaining people in the Square were occupied with their own private issues and paid them no attention.

  As they neared the end of the Square, a snarling and bloodied Goblin charged. Deck felt Cassie’s grip nearly crush his hand, but he fought off their attacker and cut the head clean from his body.

  Wasting no time, they continued their flight. Deck was tense, but confident. At the rate they were going, they should make it out of Seba without too much trouble, get a ship out of Frank, and make it home.

  “Evening!”

  They reached the end of Mannix Square and standing before them was a lanky man with spiked hair. His unshaved, grinning face was lined with scars. His eyes were bloodshot and yellow. He was dressed in black and wore clawed gauntlets on his arms.

  Keeping Cassie behind him, Deck raised his sword and said, “Stand aside. I have no quarrel with you.”

  “Then you came to the wrong city, boy.”

  He stared at the grinning, scar-faced man, and thought there was something familiar about him. “Who are you?”

  “I am the Jackal.”

  At once, Deck remembered. The scars and claws matched Lock’s description. Gripping his sword, he said, “I know you. You’re the one who killed Aster’s Sheriff. You attacked my brother.”

  “Deck,” Cassie whispered. “Deck, let’s find another way …”

  The Jackal looked puzzled, but upon noticing Cassie, he grinned again. “Oh, I know who you must be. That’s right—you’re the fancy hero family who had Bane’s Gauntlet. You must be the brother.”

  “Deck, please,” said Cassie, tugging at his arm. “Let someone else deal with it.”

  “Is that your sister?” the Jackal asked. He licked his lips. “She’s cute.”

  Anger flared in Deck, but he didn’t attack. As much as he wanted to wipe the smile from the lunatic’s face, he needed to think of Cassie. Without taking his eyes off the Jackal or lowering his sword, he backed away.

  Seeing this, the Jackal frowned. “Aw, don’t tell me your brother was the fighter of your clan. He didn’t last at all.”

  Deck stopped. He told himself to ignore it—that the Jackal was only trying to provoke him. But he demanded, “What did you do to my brother?”

  “He put up a fight,” said the Jackal. “Not much of one, but a fight. More than the Eldér bitch he was with anyway.”

  “You lie!”

  “You think so?” he said, holding up a leathe
r satchel. “See anything you like?”

  Deck looked at the bag in his hand and tried to tell himself he was lying. That it was a bluff. But he couldn’t deny the familiar chill in his blood. The Gauntlet was in that satchel, and if the Jackal had it …

  He nearly charged, but he felt Cassie’s weight still clinging to his arm. “D-don’t listen,” she said, though her voice was weak and trembling. “He’s lying. He must be. Lock’s fine. He couldn’t have …”

  Deck tore his hand away from her and said, “Cassie, take cover. No matter what happens, stay there. I’ll deal with this murdering son of a bitch.”

  “What a hero,” said the Jackal, clapping his claws with a metallic clang. “I love making heroes bleed.”

  “I love making villains die.”

  * * *

  As Krutch hoped, when he reached the Tombs, the rioting had spread out to the rest of the city, leaving the area mostly deserted.

  He did find evidence of what happened when the Goblins broke free, which was unsettling in its own way. He passed a building that had been on fire, but now was a smoldering pile of burnt wood and stone. There was an overturned wagon in the middle of the street—the horse that led it a block away, dead.

  It seemed as though fighting was going on just around the corner or somewhere nearby, but unseen. Every so often he saw someone scurrying by in the distance. Shouting and screaming would echo from somewhere far away, as would a Goblin screech. Something would crash or explode. The sound of metal striking against metal was constant.

  It made the Tombs seem like it was haunted—even more so.

  When he reached Building 237, it looked like it had been ransacked. When he had been there last, it was packed from end to end with lines of boxes piled on top of one another. Now it was only a vast, empty building with a mere handful of crates remaining. The windows were broken, shattered bits of wood were strewn about, and sawdust coated the floor.