The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (43 page)

Ewan felt he was supposed to be intimidated by his foe, but he showed no emotion, his face as cold as a stone. There was nothing to be afraid of. In fact, Ewan felt like he was cheating. They did not know he was invincible. But then, they all deserved to die. And there was no other way he could save Constance. Lar would forgive him.
If he’s still alive
, he thought.

“Get them ready!” the shipmaster proclaimed. A cheer of bloodlust exploded on the deck. Men started betting instantly; no coin was tossed in Ewan’s favor.
All the better
, he thought, palming the single gold he intended to bet on his soul.

Ewan had heard of Sleeper while working in the docks. He had been terrified of the story then, but he had no illusions anymore. It was a cruel game that perfectly suited the cruel life at sea.

They undressed. Ewan remained in his undergarments. The big pirate was completely naked, showing off his muscular, tanned body. In contrast, Ewan looked like a scarecrow, with thin, corded muscles stretched over his lean frame, pale skin and acne on his back. The pirates laughed maniacally, pointing at him, jeering, calling him names. He ignored them. Constance stood nearby, watching him with tears in her eyes.

“What are the odds?” he asked the shipmaster.

“Ninety-three to nil,” another man said, hissing with glee.

“Make that ninety-three to one,” Ewan said and handed the single gold coin—his last—over.

Pirates came forward to prepare them for the challenge. They bound each man’s legs tightly and then tied each of them to an anchor. The rules were simple. They would be tossed into the water together. The weight of the anchors would pull them down. They needed to untie themselves as quickly as possible, then head for the surface. The first man to taste air would be thrown a knife and then use it to kill the other guy, if he ever surfaced, that was. To spice things up, the pirates would toss fish innards into the sea to attract sharks.

Ewan realized the pirates were going to cheat. He noticed the other anchor was much lighter than his, and they slipped a knife into the bundle of rope. No matter, he thought. He would defeat the pirate anyway.

Next, the Oth Danesh poured bloody leftovers of fish and squid into the water. The sea turned maroon like diarrhea. Time stretched while they waited for sharks to smell blood and drift closer. Half an hour later, a single tiger shark was nipping at the offal. The pirates seemed disappointed.

“Get them up,” the shipmaster called. Another roar boomed across the ship. The two contestants hopped to the edge of the deck.

Ewan turned toward the crowd. “If any of you touches my wife while I’m out there, I’ll kill you when I get back,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone. A few men cursed him, but they were definitely annoyed by his unnerving display of calm. Even their muscular, tattooed friend did not seem to evoke any scary effect.

“Ready?” And they pushed them off.

Ewan hit the water first. How convenient, he thought. With the heavier ballast, he would sink faster, reducing his chance of ever catching the other man. For most people, Sleeper was an agonizing death sentence. You drowned while your eardrums and lungs burst in the total underwater darkness.

But he was ready for the trick, and he flailed hard with his arms, countering his descent. The big man plunged in a rush of bubbles. He pulled the knife immediately and started sawing at the ropes. Ewan did one simple thing; he grabbed the man’s ankle.

The pirate realized what Ewan was trying to do, so he stopped cutting the rope and swung at him. The knife blade sliced over Ewan’s forearm and did nothing. It just slid off, as if he were made of stone. Ewan pushed closer. The pirate tried again and again. His panic mounted as they sank deeper, his motions turning rapid and erratic. The knife raked against Ewan’s belly, but it sounded like a piece of metal clinking against granite.

The murky water turned dark. Ewan glanced up and could no longer see the surface. His enemy was flailing, his mouth open in agony, tiny bubbles of air pouring out. Then, there was blood coming out from his nose. And then, there was stillness.

Ewan pried the knife from unresisting fingers and worked on cutting his own ropes. They were thick and crusted with old salt, taking a long time to sever. No human would ever stand a chance of surviving the ordeal. You would have to remain utterly calm, retain your coordination and strength in almost total darkness, even as the numbing cold gripped your muscles and a terrible pressure mauled your lungs.

Luckily for him, he was not human.

And he was free. The anchor continued its lazy drop. Ewan started ascending. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it must have been minutes. By now, a lucky human would be out of air and trying to reach the surface as soon as possible. Which would be a fatal mistake. Ewan had heard the stories about pearl hunters who would sometimes forget this crucial fact and come out coughing blood, their ears ruptured. He swam past the dead pirate, who kept sinking down. The Oth Danesh would never get to see their comrade again.

The surface rippled above him, pierced by shafts of light, so enticing. The shark was swimming in circles, outlined as a black silhouette against the glare of the sun. When Ewan came near, it moved away. Its primitive senses told it Ewan was not on the menu.

Ewan surfaced. He didn’t even bother to gasp for air. He just breathed normally. Not that he needed to, he recalled with bitter sadness and familiarity. Almost five minutes underwater, he guessed. No man could manage half that, let alone while fighting for dear life.

The pirates stopped cheering when they realized it was him. Their leering faces turned somber and worried. Very worried. Some scrawny land-loving child had just defeated their champion, even against all the trickery.

Ewan climbed the ladder and stepped onto the deck, shaking water ceremoniously. He threw the chipped blade onto the planks. He smiled. “My winnings,” he said simply.

Silence. Utter silence.

The shipmaster nodded. The quartermaster handed him a single bag of gold. Carefully, slowly, Ewan sat down on the deck and counted the pieces, one by one.

“Ninety-eight,” he said dryly. “Two missing. And another ninety-three for my bet.”

They handed him another bag. He counted again, made a mistake, counted over. Someone dared a curse, but his comrades quieted him.

“Let’s go back to the shore.” Ewan commanded the situation now. “You come with me,” he told the shipmaster. There were no jeers or taunts as they climbed down into the boat.

The raiding party soon learned the bitter truth when they saw Ewan returning. Their cheerful, aggressive mood turned sour when they realized something fundamentally wrong had just happened. Like a bunch of confused sheep, they stood and stared.

The shipmaster jumped off the boat early, wading toward the shore ahead of the rest. He conferred with one of the pirates. They spoke in a hush, with lots of nervous gestures. “Horses,” Ewan managed to overhear.

Constance was shivering. Ewan hugged her gently. He watched the pirates around him, looking for any signs of treachery. He would not put it past these savages to try one last dirty trick. If they could not hurt him, they might try to hurt Constance. It was terrible, terrible bad luck to forgo a treaty, but some might be too drunk or too desperate to appreciate the gravity of their oaths. Or they might not be superstitious enough.

But there was no nasty surprise, only bitter awe and true fear. The Oth Danesh were afraid, he realized. He had just bested their champion and humiliated their shipmaster in front of his crew. He had robbed them of their wealth and dignity. And not once did he show any fear.

“Your horse, as agreed,” the shipmaster murmured.

Ewan shook his head. “That’s no horse. That’s a pony.”

The shipmaster growled, “What’s the difference, landman?”

The boy smiled. “About three feet shoulder height and five hundred pounds.”

The shipmaster spat in disgust. “I give you another horse.”

“No, I want something else instead,” Ewan said and pointed.

The woman he had seen being led before. What else could he do? Let her die or become a slave?

The shipmaster was livid with anger. “No. She got golden hair. She’s worth lot of money!”

“All right, I’ll buy her off you,” Ewan suggested. “How much?”

Slowly, the pirate realized he was being manipulated and possibly humiliated once again. He opened his mouth, but then he quickly closed it and let his mind work. “Y’know, landman, you’re a tricky one. Smart head, strong body. I could use a man like you. What do you say? You join me, we raid these shores together? I give you half my hoard, eh?”

Ewan decided to be cruel. “Why do you think I would settle for half when I can have it all?”

The other man just swallowed and said nothing. A vein was pulsating on his temple. There was temptation again. What would happen if he asked his men to strike? Would they obey? Worse, would they win?

“Bring the children over. And that woman.”

The raiders obeyed. Ewan dug into one of the bags and produced a handful of gold.

“Listen to me, children,” he spoke to the bleary-eyed crowd. “You take the gold now and run far, far away. And if anyone comes after you, you show them the gold, and you say the Sleeper landman protects you.” Ewan had no doubt the rumor would spread like wildfire. It would not save the children from Caytorean brigands or other monsters, but it would keep the pirates away.

Their tiny hands accepted the gold, and they stared dumbly at the shiny coins. But they did not move.

Ewan felt his chest constrict with despair. Could these children survive on their own? What would they do? Where would they go? What would they eat? He saw himself eighteen years ago, outside Chergo, contemplating the horrors of the world.

“Run now, kids. Run!” he shouted.

They scattered.

“If any one of you ever comes after these children, I’ll know. I’ll find you and hunt you down. And I will curse your families for seven generations,” he warned.

Moaning with outrage, the pirates around him made warding signs.

“Miss?” he finally addressed the woman.

She had been roughed up, but she looked lucid enough. She seemed to understand what was happening. “Thank you,” she sobbed.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Take me with you, sir,” she pleaded.

Ewan swallowed. He looked at Constance, but she hardly registered anything. She had withdrawn into her private bubble of safety and would not come out. First Constance, now this woman. But what could he do?

“Fifty gold,” the shipmaster dared at last.

Ewan smiled. “I’ll give you twenty and spare your lives. Fair deal?” He threw the coins down deliberately, forcing them to scoop them up from the wet sand. Like a pack of crows, the pirates flocked toward the gold, scuffling, cursing.

“You are a warrior, landman,” the shipmaster admitted.

Ewan felt no sympathy, but he relented. “I’ll remember that.” He offered the tiniest sliver of dignity. “If ever I need sea voyage, I’ll ask for Shipmaster…?”

“Underlord Calad of Cape Brown,” the man said. He seemed utterly relieved.

“By this, I find our treaty sealed,” Ewan said. The shipmaster sighed. His nightmare was over.

Ewan helped the battered woman mount. Then, he helped Constance onto the other horse. He secured the bags with the gold one to each saddle, so if they lost one of the animals, they would not lose everything.

“Thank you, sir,” the woman whispered again, trembling. She seemed to be in a mixed state of stupor and terror.

“It’s all right,” he said, watching her carefully. “What is your name, if I may ask?”

“Doris. Councillor Doris of Monard. The Caytorean High Council of Trade owes you a great debt.” She swayed in the saddle. Tears rolled down her eyes. “You saved my life.”

Ewan nodded. “I’m Ewan. Just Ewan.”
I’m a monster and a savior
, he thought stupidly.
What am I going to do now?

Doris leaned forward against the pommel, torn with exhaustion. She mumbled something that sounded like “children,” but he could not quite understand. He looked around. A hundred hostile eyes glared at him, baleful and hating and glazed with fear and wonder.

They rode off.

CHAPTER 27

D
amian sat on the cold ground, staring at the fire. There was something special about fire. Even gods never got bored watching one burn. The dance of the flames, the sinuous movement of sparks as they rose and faded, the soothing caress of heat and light. It resonated with some deep emotion inside him.

Around, his seven mercenaries shared a quiet evening meal after a long day of riding, skinning rodents and lining strips of bacon and onion on a grille that covered the blaze. Their journey was coming to an end. Only one deity was left alive. One divine soul separated Damian from his final, complete release.

He was glad for the mercenaries’ company, simple men with a simple creed in life. They excelled at what they did, they loved money, and they asked no questions. They were the finest trackers in the realms, and even gods were not beyond their reach. Of course, Calemore’s magic and influence played their part. Otherwise, the hunt would have taken years rather than months. With tens of thousands of informants and servants across the land, the White Witch commanded every secret and rumor that transpired between the Twilight Sea, in the Far West, and the Broken Isles, between Naum and Lerim Sah, thousands of leagues to the south.