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Devilspawn
Devilspawn
Devilspawn
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Devilspawn

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Duncan Miles set out to be the greatest merchant trader on the high seas, but destiny had other plans. After a fateful decision to save his life and his ship at the cost of his soul, Duncan pledges himself to the most fearsome pirate on the seas, embarking on a seven-year spree that only ends when he can stomach the captain’s cruelty no longer.

The ship, renamed the Devilspawn, sinks after Duncan’s eventual mutiny, but death, he realizes, is not the release he expected. Trapped as a spirit between worlds, he is caught in an underwater graveyard where souls wait in terror for the Lord of Bargains, a powerful voodoo Loa who seeks the one treasure that can make him unstoppable.

Duncan must harness his new-found abilities in this new realm before finding a way to stop the Loa—and potentially save his own soul in the process.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJan 18, 2017
ISBN9781540184948
Devilspawn

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    Book preview

    Devilspawn - David Sakmyster

    PART ONE

    1.

    The plan came to light as if it had existed in my head all my life, lying hidden under piles of moldy leaves, only now blown free. Several years earlier I had learned, through gossip among my father’s servants, of my suspected illegitimacy and the murder of my real mother. Most of the information came from the son of our blacksmith, a young man named Robert. I gained his confidence, and when my mind was set, I came to him and for three days we planned.

    He had been working on two magnificent curved swords, strong and sharp and smithed from the most tempered steel. On the night the weapons were completed, our true lives began. I said my silent goodbyes to the land I had known for seventeen years. I left a note in my stepmother’s belongings; I thanked her and wished her every happiness.

    Under the light of a strangely indigo-hued moon, Robert and I rode off to our destinies. In the morning, the servants would find the missing horses. They would search further, and realize both Robert and I had vanished. They would inform my father who, after his initial surge of fury, would recheck the estate. In the treasury, he would find that half the gold had also disappeared; and then he would find the note I left for him:  I know who I am, father. And I know you what you did. Do not come after me or I shall not only expose you, but I shall also most assuredly kill you. Make up a story to tell your people, and forget me. Goodbye.

    2.

    In six months’ time, after Robert and I had experienced the thrills and pleasures of four different countries, we decided to begin our dream—to take to the sea. With nearly two-thirds of our gold we purchased a magnificent two-hundred-foot galleon. Three masts, four decks, twenty-six cannon, and two thousand tonnage. We frequented the taverns around the docks and finally took on an acceptable crew. We obtained a trade license, and set off to the New World.

    I named the ship Prometheus. And, like its mythical namesake, I planned to steal the very secrets of life from the gods.

    The destination of our first outing was an as-yet unnamed island in the southern Caribe, where we were to bring aboard one hundred tons of sugar.

    Forever etched in my mind was that first moment–the shimmering dawn when Prometheus’ sails rose, the anchor lifted, and my hands settled on the wheel. How we cut through the waves that morning! Every hand on deck, hoisting the ropes, unfurling the sails. We gracefully coasted through the harbor, dwarfing every other vessel as we followed the sun’s golden path set out before our approach.

    I drew my cloak around my shoulders and gripped the steering knobs with every ounce of strength. Robert was at my side, silent, though surely he noticed the tears freely sliding down my cheeks. On that morning, the world was mine to control, and destiny was a circular apparatus made of wood.

    And so the feeling lasted for fourteen days.

    Halfway across the Atlantic, having weathered three violent storms, one accidental death and a ruptured sail, we encountered the pirates.

    3.

    Our downfall began with Robert’s call from the lookout station thirty feet above the deck. Three vessels approaching!

    All hands prepared. We had of course heard the stories, and many of the crew had been previous victims of such marauders. So far, we had been lucky. Gradually, the specks enlarged. With my naked eye, I identified the black flags moments before Robert confirmed the nature of our adversaries.

    I rained down orders upon the men, while Robert supervised the preparation of the cannon. We adjusted the sails to take us at a diagonal heading away from their line of advance. The day was cloudless and bright. The wind strong and from the east. By all rights, and with some prudent strategy, we should have been able to outdistance them, or at least take them out one at a time.

    But this was no ordinary attack, no chance sighting by the pirates. No, this had been planned weeks before.

    Just as we crossed a full league ahead of the foremost pirate vessel, close enough to fire a volley across their bow, our main sail fell with deadly precision, fluttering apologetically to the deck.

    I heard Robert shout and saw him dashing after a scrambling crewman. I remember the man–a strong and honest worker we had drafted on the last day before setting off. Suddenly he turned, and before I could move or even scream, Robert had been shot dead, right through the heart.

    The traitor tossed the pistol away, pushed past an attacking crewmember, then threw himself over the side. Unable to grieve just yet, I helped the men desperately try to reattach the sail, all the while glancing back at the approaching ships.

    Crippled, we sluggishly nudged forward, helpless to evade our approaching doom. A mate was balancing at the rail, straining to see something on the nearest pirate ship.

    IT’S JULIAN! he shouted. Julian, I heard someone whisper. God save us.

    A sense of futility settled like a shroud upon the crew, even as I ordered them to their stations. Behind my back I heard two men scramble over the rail, the water noisily accepting their bodies. I debated turning Prometheus about, firing the full power of the canons and then ramming our pursuers. But my glance fell upon Robert’s corpse, and I remembered our dream, the energy we fueled into this boat.

    Robert had died for Her. Could I willingly give up our dream, turn it around and send it into destruction against the first true obstacle we met? Was I ready to die, to follow Robert into the great dark so soon after we had begun? I looked to his eyes, as if I could receive an inkling of what sights they now envisioned; but I perceived only pain and loss.

    And so, we prepared to fight. Half the men I sent to repair the sail while the other half manned the cannon. The sun was at its zenith, alone and undisputed in the sky’s azure fields. I peered through the telescope until I located the wheel on the approaching vessel, the largest of the three. I saw a black-bearded, grinning man behind the silver wheel, and my hate surged for this man, this beast that could devastate my plans and my life and still retain such a grin.

    Cannon eruptions jarred me back to the present. Our first volley had ripped gaping chunks from the enemy’s hull. But she was coming on too fast, as if they harnessed a different wind, and they soon pulled even alongside us. Another vessel circled around the other side, while the third hung back, respectfully following in our wake.

    In the silence that followed, as my men reloaded, and as the men working on the main sail gave up their task to rush to the cannon on the other side, my heart sank further.

    I looked at the line of armed men against the rail, preparing to board us. Then I looked to the starboard, where the other ship swerved in toward us. They don’t just want our gold, I declared with anger surging once again, consuming my thoughts.

    They want Her.

    4.

    I shouted for the crew to await my commands as I took to the wheel. In the eerie silence, I glanced to the starboard side. Captain Julian stared back at me. Our bows were neck to neck. His grin had faded and his expression turned dark and unsettled—perhaps confused by my outward lack of fright. Nevertheless, as we sliced through the waves, he shouted an order and cranked the wheel hard into us.

    I yelled out the double order.

    Both sides of the Prometheus released a volley of cannon fire, decimating whole sections of either pirate ship. Flaming and mangled bodies hurtled into the depths.

    And at once, our anchor fell and our remaining sails dropped.

    A cheer rose from our deck as the anchor caught and tugged us back, while both enemy vessels careened toward each other, pulling away only at the last possible instant, their sides scraping and tearing. The ship on the aft side was quickly becoming a ball of flame, its hull shattered and its masts ablaze. Men leapt in swarms from one deck to the other, larger one, where Julian’s craft remained in damaged but still seaworthy condition.

    My exultation quickly faded. For now, we were indeed stuck. I had hoped to knock out both ships, leaving only one to deal with in man-to-man combat. But now we were attacked from the front and back, where both ships could remain out of our cannon’s line of

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