by Ben Galley
‘Caltro.’ Nilith’s voice called me onwards, leading to a northward detour. ‘Night’s coming.’
And it was. Over what felt like a mile, the sun’s glare sank and died and dusk came to hang over us. It brought stars with it, but the city’s smokestacks blurred them and stole their light. No moon dared to show its face. It seemed to have no wish to watch the empress’s victory.
Our talk died the closer we crept to the Nyxwell, as did our pace. As the bustle of the streets faded after sunset, patrols of soldiers eagerly took up the mantle. More than once did ranks rush down adjoining streets with torches blazing or lanterns dancing on poles. We did our best to stay clear of them. When a group came thundering past, we were almost menaced with spears before a drunkard called the soldiers “a bunch of noisy cunts” and was immediately beaten for his opinion. We managed to slink away in the confusion, and meld into a crowd on a busier street.
Had I been alive, I knew my heart would have been in my mouth, and I could sense Nilith’s was. Neither of us spoke of the situation. It hung over us like a black and slowly closing umbrella. Our eyes were glued ahead. In my peripheries, against the bruise of dusk, I half-recognised the flanks and peaks of spires, though they seemed turned around.
‘What’s your plan?’ I asked Nilith once, but she just shook her head. She was set on marching on, putting the final few miles behind us. In some way I could imagine what this final stretch meant to her.
I guessed it midnight when we found ourselves alone and glimpsing the hornlike structure of the Grand Nyxwell. Between two towers and over the rooftops, we saw it. I heard Nilith gasp. She tugged Anoish’s reins. Wary, I followed, wondering where all the people had got to. The lamps were lit but only stragglers shared the flagstones with us.
To the smart trot of the horse’s hooves, we aimed for the Nyxwell. Lost and found it was between the buildings, over and over until we found a street pointing straight for it.
Pointy spoke up. ‘Where are the guards? If your daughter knows—’
‘Silence!’ Nilith ordered.
Farazar had sensed the tension and started to thrash in his prison of rags. I could just about hear him, like a madman shouting into a pillow. Anoish whinnied nervously.
‘Calm, now,’ Nilith whispered even as she led him on to the well. It sounded as though she were talking to herself. She laid a hand upon the pommel of the sword, as if she muffled Pointy. The empress threw me a glance, and in it I saw worry and determination wrestling. She pressed on.
For all our hurry, it was with ponderous steps that we came to the edge of the Nyxwell’s grand plaza. A vast wash of grey stone, descending in slanting steps to a great hollow in the earth. I gazed once more at the tusks of stone that rose up and over the Nyxwell. Clumps of lanterns dyed them a sulphurous yellow. It gave them an aged, bestial look.
Aside from a few wanderers and shuffling beggars, robed figures stood upon the dais at its centre. Half a dozen at most. The plaza was so quiet I swore I could hear the chattering of their voices. It was hard, though, over the heavy breathing of Nilith by my side.
She pointed. ‘Soldiers.’
She was right. Where scores of streets and alleys ringed the plaza, every so often I saw the gleam of metal and the glow of shades. I strained my weak eyes, and saw ranks of shields. They were motionless. Waiting.
Nilith shuffled backwards to the horse and began to unwrap the cloth binding Farazar and his body. The body came first. I saw the dark stains in its wrapping, and wondered morbidly what forty days of desert and travel did to a corpse. I was glad I’d been spared that.
Farazar came next, and with a sword an inch from his lips, he swallowed whatever words he had nocked to his vocal chords like triggerbow bolts. He was guided forcibly off the horse and made to stand next to me. He looked at me as if to complain, but my eyes met his with a resounding, ‘Fuck off’ written into them. The emperor looked to the Nyxwell, and I saw the bobbing of his ruined throat; the old habit of a lost body. Like Nilith, he knew his final moments were upon him.
The empress was busy draping herself over the corpse. ‘Caltro. You’ll lead the horse. Farazar, you’ll walk next to it. I will be right here, ready to chop something else off you if you think of opening your mouth.’
Farazar’s voice was cold even for a ghost. ‘Your threats are hollower now than ever before. This is how your great and epic conquest ends, I see? No great battle. No fanfare and trumpets. Just sneaking in the dead of night. And you call yourself an empress?’
Nilith patted him roughly on the cheek as she dragged rags over her. ‘You’re about to be immortal and free soon enough, husband dear. If I were you, I’d decide how I’d want to live that life. You’ve already lost a hand. How about a leg?’ She flicked the sword blade, making it ring as it slipped out of view. I could see its dark point hovering near Farazar’s knee.
I shrugged at him. ‘Take it from me, Emperor. When you’re dead, it’s better to hurry up and realise it.’
‘Do not dare talk to me, liar.’
‘My pleasure.’
I tugged on the reins, and the horse begrudgingly obeyed me. Every clop of his hooves seemed to echo dreadfully. I could almost feel the scores of eyes levelling on us: two shades and a laden horse. I concocted lies in my head. A pilgrimage of two free shades, perhaps. Would-be Nyxites. Or just plain lost.
Facing dead ahead, I watched for movement at the corners of my vision. I could see spear blades now, copses of them tucked into streets. Around some ranks, the stone glowed. It was my turn to feel like gulping. The runner in me placed a hand on Anoish, feeling the fast thump of his heart. Just in case, I told myself.
‘Keep going,’ whispered Nilith.
The hoofsteps were getting louder. Perhaps it was the silence around us deepening. I looked around for others in the plaza and found none. It was as if we were rowing a lake of stone, the shores of which were made of shields and spears.
Down the first step, then the second. I had just started to think luck was on our side when I heard the clank of the soldiers beginning to move. One column began to pour into the plaza from behind us. A torrent of steel and glowing vapour. Two more columns came from both left and right. They were unmistakably aimed at us.
‘Fuck!’ swore Nilith. ‘Run for it!’
Before I could react, the horse jolted forwards. Anoish’s hooves battered the stone. The march of the columns became an all-out sprint. Their silence became a rising roar of voices and clanging armour.
All I felt was terror, primarily at being left alone. I raced after the horse’s tail with every scrap of strength I had. To my dismay and shock, I found Farazar sliding alongside me, as if bound to Anoish with an invisible rope. He was already yelling at the top of his mist-filled lungs.
‘Save your emperor! Save your emperor! Stop the mad empress!’
I swung a punch for him, but a jolt from the horse rippled through him and he shifted out of my reach.
‘Nilith!’ I yelled, knowing she would do nothing but carry on.
More soldiers were pouring into the plaza now. Streams of them reached inwards towards the Nyxwell, like the tentacles of some great sea monster closing in on a ship.
My eyes raced back and forth, measuring, analysing. They had no cavalry. No carriages. No chariots. Just legs and the weight of armour. Nilith had a head start. As for me, I was being left behind.
I lunged for Farazar, hooking both arms around his legs and bending all my concentration on grasping him. I felt my vapours begin to meld with his, and held the haunting there, like an anchor.
‘Unhand me, peasant! Get him off me! Save your emperor!’ he bellowed in a constant stream of words, like a man suddenly allowed to speak after a decade of silence. I clung on.
Ahead, more soldiers were attempting to head us off. Anoish galloped for all he was worth. As I bounced around, I reconsidered my opinion on horses. The flagstones raced by, scraping the rags from my legs. I caught a brief glimpse of Nilith on her steed: she sat a
stride the corpse, one hand clutched to it and the other raising a sword to the faint stars. I could have sworn I heard an old Krass battlecry over the buffeting of wind and stone and the howling of a cowardly emperor.
The tusks of the Grand Nyxwell towered over us now. I could hear the shouting of the Nyxites, calling, ‘Calm! Calm!’ More of them had gathered in the commotion. In the lantern-light, their robes had taken on a red hue.
Anoish’s halt had zero grace. He practically tumbled to a stop, whinnying horribly as he crashed into the stairs that led to the dais. I was thrown free of Farazar, slamming into a block of stone. Nilith and the corpse skidded across the flagstones. In a blink, she was already hauling it over her shoulder, roaring at the effort. I scrambled to help her, but not before Farazar leapt on her. His blue fists were a blur as he pummelled her head and face.
With a flash, he fell away with a cry, a white scar lanced across his chest. I pushed him from the steps, and didn’t stop to watch him tumble.
‘Don’t stop!’ I yelled over the thunder of voices and galloping feet. I drove my scant weight into the corpse. Nilith’s face was a mask of strain, but she kept on, driving her legs up and up to where the Nyxites flapped their hands. A wind abruptly whipped at us, as if the very weather sought to foil Nilith’s efforts.
Nilith roared as she barged her way onto the dais. ‘I am Empress Nilith, and I present my claim to the throne! And I—’
Farazar hollered from below. ‘I am your emperor! Kill her!’
Guards advanced with short swords. With her free hand, Nilith lashed about with Pointy, sending one guard spinning and turning another into a bleeding heap.
‘—have had—’
I pushed as many Nyxites out of the way as I could in our dumb rush forwards to the edge, where the Nyx waited far below us.
‘—ENOUGH!’
With a bellow like that of a dying beast, Nilith pushed the emperor’s corpse off her shoulders and pitched it over the edge of the dais. I threw myself to Nilith’s side to watch it cartwheel end over end, down, down into—
Thud.
The only thing wet about that landing was the squelch the body made as it struck the riverbed. The ink-black, dry riverbed.
‘NO!’ Nilith cried, long and hard and with a tell-tale sob at the end. I simply stared at the bundle of cloth, my lip curled and my brow furrowed deeply in confusion, as the soldiers descended on us with copper clubs and nets.
Chapter 22
Only Business
Here lies Gawperal. He told you he was sick.
From an inscription on an ancient Arctian tomb
If there was one upside to being dragged to uncertainty with her head in a sack and her hands tied, Heles thought, it was the chance for a lie down.
The sacking smelled like old cheese, but at least it masked the rot of the gutters sweating in the sunlight. Heles knew how they could reek.
Chaser Jobey had remained silent enough, cursing now and again at passersby running to and fro – panicked, by the sounds of it, as if there was some ruckus befalling the city. Heles swore she heard mobs chanting in distant streets, their cries soft, loud, then soft again as the mouths of streets passed her by.
At least the great slavering creature was no longer with them. Heles had not seen nor heard it with them on the journey, and it was excuse enough for Jobey’s silence. The scrutiniser had relaxed thanks to its absence, watching through her rough sacking as the glow of torches passed them by, then the lightening of dawn, and now the shadows of spires and taller buildings as they took street after street.
Just as Heles was imagining herself in the Outsprawls, Jobey’s wagon and horses came to a lurching halt. Through the stench of the sack, Heles could smell the tacky, earthy waft of grain. Through the brown fibres of her blindfold, she glimpsed rounded towers reaching high into the sky, and Jobey jumping off the wagon to the dust. The jolt in the carriage confirmed it.
‘Overseer,’ Heles heard him say. ‘I’m pleased to say I’ve delivered the woman as promised.’
There came a tut. ‘What of the horse and shade?’
A sigh. ‘Vanished, I’m afraid to say. They were taken by authorities.’ A lie, on Jobey’s part.
‘The debt was two shades and a horse, Chaser,’ said the overseer, a woman by the sounds of her voice, and a stern one at that. Heles was glad, if not a little worried about what was to come.
‘I understand that, Overseer, but this was the best I could accomplish. Believe me, this catch is worth far more than the debt you speak of. Far, far more. Allow me to present her to the directors, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.’
The overseer laughed, a harsh striking of steel on flint. ‘Ha! And for what? For a measly river debt owed to those morons at Kal Duat? No.’
‘You have to trust me.’
‘You have not ear—’
‘This will be of the greatest benefit to the Consortium.’ Here, Heles heard Jobey pause, and swallow. ‘And to you, Overseer. I assure you.’
Heles had been offered many a bribe in her years, and she knew this wait. This arbitrary wait while the morals crumbled enough.
‘Bring her in. But I swear, Chaser, you better be on the silver.’
‘Where has the trust gone in this organisation?’
‘Proof is in the proof, as the directors say.’
Heles was dragged to the edge of the wagon by her foot, and casually dropped onto the dust. She wheezed from the impact, but Jobey had no reason to allow her to recover. Heles was dragged a short distance; rope was looped about her foot, pulled too tight for comfort, and a horse was smacked on the arse, or so the whinny and clip-clopping of hooves told her. Heles soon found herself being yanked forwards, first over sand and fine pebble, and then over smooth, cool sandstone. Cold shadow fell over her, and she felt the ground descend beneath her in ramp after ramp. Torchlight was scant. Her back began to ache, sore and grazed from the dragging.
‘Can’t I take this off yet?’ Heles called to Jobey. ‘And can’t I walk like a dignified woman?’
The chaser’s voice had taken on a reverent tone. ‘I urge you to pipe down, Empress. We’re drawing near.’
Heles smiled beneath the sackcloth. The ruse was still intact. Jobey was still a moron.
‘How very dare you,’ she said in a high-pitched voice. ‘I thought a man of business would have more respect.’
It was enough to make Jobey haul her to her feet, so she could be dragged along by the horse upright instead of on her backside. Heles took the opportunity to stretch out her aching muscles beneath her swathe of rags, feeling tendons and sockets pop with the strain.
‘You will behave. I may not have my ghast any more, but you have a triggerbow beneath your chin,’ Jobey warned. The butt of something solid prodded Heles’ jaw, making her bite her tongue. ‘I will not hesitate to pull it in the presence of the directors, should you get any ideas of escape or rebellion.’
Heles nodded under her sack, too busy massaging her sore backside to really pay attention. She just wanted to get this over with, and return to the Core.
‘How long?’ she sighed.
‘We’re here.’
Heles sensed a brush of warmth as she passed under the glow of a skylight. As far as she could tell from behind the sackcloth, the rest of the musty room was dark, lacking torchlight, and full of the murmuring of urgent voices.
The slither of armour and the unhitching of the horse informed Heles they had been admitted into the darkness of the room. Heles saw the starkness of tall pillars around her, bereft of light.
‘Who enters?’
‘Chaser Jobey, my lords. With a grand transaction for your perusal!’ Jobey’s voice echoed around the vacuous space.
Heles wanted to scoff, but she bit her lip.
‘Overseer?’
The woman’s voice came from behind Heles. ‘I recommend him, Directors.’
‘Enter.’
Heles was tugged further into the darkness, coming to a rest
somewhere she wagered was in the centre of the crown of pillars about her.
‘Speak,’ croaked an old voice, coming from above them.
Chaser Jobey took a deep breath before speaking. ‘I present to you a thrilling opportunity, Directors. One that has eluded this Consortium for quite some time.’
Another voice, chime-like and young, called out, ‘And that is?’
‘Royal backing.’
‘Our Consortium has survived for centuries without such luxuries. Why should we accept it now? We do not need such favours, Chaser…?’
‘Jobey,’ he answered, and Heles heard the gulp in his voice, as if his moment of glory had just been spat on from on high. ‘But believe me, Directors, when I say I see what this city is becoming. Riots brim at the doorways and gates of Nyxwells. Chaos reigns in the Core Districts. Preachers of the Cult of Sesh stand on every street corner. No doubt you have heard of smoke pouring from the Cloudpiercer’s summit? Yes? This city is becoming wild, Directors. Unpredictable, which does not bode well for profit. Instead, in such uncertain times, we need assurances. Allies.’
The silence was far from damning. It was thoughtful, ponderous. Heles was almost impressed by the man’s speech, even though she despised him.
‘Who have you brought us, Chaser Jobey?’ called a woman’s voice.
‘Who, indeed? Directors!’ Heles heard the shudder in his throat as Jobey took a breath. She wagered he had been waiting for this moment for some time.
‘I present to you, Directors, Empress Nilith Renala. The body she was dragging was none other than the emperor himself. She meant to take the throne, and now, she is our debtor!’
Jobey tugged away Heles’ sacking, revealing her dark raven hair, and in the faint light of the chamber, the black, swirling tattoos that wandered across her neck, jaw and bruised cheeks. Even though she wore nothing but road-filth, dried scabs and rags, the markings were telltale.
