I sat in front of the hearth with my feet kicked up on a stool, peg leg thunking against the wooden seat. The rest of the tavern had gone quiet some time ago, the regular patrons either leaving or retiring to their rooms for the night, the stink of beer being slowly smothered by the barmaids as tables were wiped down and the hardwood floors were mopped. Three obviously new mercenaries stared at me with stars in their eyes, wanting to hear how I'd lost my leg below the knee and gotten a scar that ran down the left side of my face all the way to my chest. Recalling the event only made both the stump and the wound ache with dimly remembered pain. I didn't look at the three. They were barely more than children. Gods, I couldn't look at them without seeing corpses in their place.

  I stared into the fire, the firewood crackling, hissing, and sparking as its life slowly burned away. I took a long, slow, shuddering breath before drinking deep of the rum I'd ordered. "You want to know what to expect from the life of a mercenary, lads and lass? Well, this retired pirate can tell ye it's not all adventure and plunder. You may live to see a bit of coin in your day like I did, but the one thing that will never be in short supply? Death. Quick and clean, brutal and slow, violent and cruel deaths that shake your very soul." My voice had dropped to little more than a hoarse whisper as memories came back in flashes. Of James getting shot in the back of the head after questioning the captain of the ship I'd sailed on. The sight of Alex being disemboweled by wood shrapnel, his guts spilling out over the deck like so much length of rope.

  I took another deep drink before signalling one of the barmaids to bring me another mug. Thinking better of it, I asked for a bottle instead. "If I'm going to tell ye a story, I'm goin' to get good an' drunk for it. Just enough that I can warn ye away from the job ye be after." The three mercenaries sat in their chairs around the hearth, their expressions a bit nervous now. I considered that a good start. I did warn them that any stories I had to tell wouldn't be ones they wanted to hear. The children of Outcasts never listened though. Not until their friends started dropping like flies. The bottle came all too soon, a handful of coins being transferred from my pocket to the barmaid's hand. I started telling my cautionary tale.

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  It was a bright and sunny day, the clouds in the sky puffy and the salty wind blew through my hair and over my bronzed skin like a glass of fresh water. We'd already been underway for awhile, most of the important jobs left to the more experienced sailors. I was just meant to be up on deck to replace anyone who got tired. It was a peaceful day, with little more than the wind and sea around us.

  Captain Banore was at the helm, his first mate Nathan standing at his side, watching the rest of the crew. Nathan had saved my ass more than once in both boarding attempts and when I'd ran afoul of local militaries in the various ports we'd been to. He gave me a simple nod before going back to scanning the rest of the ship, looking for any irregularities.

  The ship itself wasn't anything special for a pirate ship. It was a brig that had been stolen from a merchant company awhile back, refitted with more cannons and slightly better reinforcements for the hull. I could see Mason and Victor hanging out on the rigging as they normally did, ready to spring into action in the event that something got stuck or tangled.

  I was about to turn my head away and watch the ocean pass us by for awhile when I saw his head lock into place, his gaze locked on something in the distance. A spyglass was in his hands only moments later, before he called out to the rest of the crew that there was a ship incoming. I ran to my station at the one of the swivel guns that had been bolted to both sides of the ship.

Stolen novel; please report.

  I never got to use it. There was no provocation. No request for parlay. Cannon shells rained down on us like metal fragments of Hell itself, tearing through the ship along with wooden shrapnel that did the same to the crew. I heard a loud snapping noise and saw one of the masts tilting to the side, the rigging stretching for a single swollen moment, before it finally snapped, ropes coming free and whipping around like angry snakes.

  The ship listed to the side terribly, the mast threatening to drown us all. Captain Banore shoved me forward while several others in the crew ran to cut the thing free. I only had a utility knife on me at the time, and I saw that some of the rigging had snarled up on one of the cannons. I stumbled to it, my balance horribly unsteady even as Mason joined me, his arm bent completely the wrong way. I guessed that he must have fallen to the deck and smashed his arm. He visibly winced as he knelt down and began cutting at the ropes with me. "Don't worry 'bout me lad. Just do your damn job and we'll all be fine." I reckon he was sweating from the pain of it all, though I'll admit I've never seen a more stubborn man. Kept cutting with me until the mast finally came free, moving so fast it knocked him right over the railing while the rope whipped out and sliced open my leg.

  It was pandemonium, cannon shells shredding our ship apart like she was made of paper. I saw Henry running back to the cannon he was meant to man just before one of the giant metal balls of death took his head off, his headless body flipping end over end from the sheer force of it all, only to land in a wet heap on the other side of the ship.

  I don't know how Captain Banore did it, but he managed to sail us out of that nightmare, only half of his crew remaining even as I was bleeding out and unable to move. I didn't even realize I'd been whipped across the chest and face until two of the crew ran over to me and started pressing cloth against my wounds. The captain said that I was already done for, but Nathan argued against him, grabbing one of the still burning bits of wood and pressing the flames against my injuries.

  It was the worst pain of my life, and I think I cried out for my mother a few times. Didn't help that she was already gone by this point, having succumbed to black lung not three years prior. Mercifully I blacked out after a minute more.

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  The bottle of rum was nearly empty now, the fire having died down to little more than embers. Thankfully the barkeep hadn't decided to kick me out just yet. "When I came to I was in a port hospital, being tended to by some clerics or some such. They'd taken me leg and I'd lost almost all sight in me left eye. Too much blood in it, they said. Can only see vague shadows now." The three listeners were silent now, not whispering to each other or gesturing in any way. Just quietly sitting there, listening.

  "Captain Banore didn't take me back. Said I was too much of a liability now. Not quick enough to man the cannons or strong enough to work with the rigging. Without me sight I was also unable to use the swivel guns. Just a waste of space at that point. I think I've come to hate him for it. But you wanted to be mercenaries, so I won't bore you with my sob stories." I turned to look at them, trying to muster up what was left of my will. I drank the last of the rum, feeling the warmth settle in my stomach almost uncomfortably so.

  "Yer days as mercenaries will be all fine and dandy, until one of ye gets as injured as I did, or you happen upon a group of the Chosen and they attack you without provocation or mercy. When one of ye is crying for mommy as I did, you'll understand that it's not fun and games. Take it from an old pirate who started out just the same as you are now." I turned back to the smoldering embers, the three quickly getting up and disappearing from my sight. Gods, what I'd give to not be an Outcast anymore.