The Chasing Graves Trilogy Box Set

by Ben Galley

  ‘Why are you so sharp, anyway?’ I distracted him, and myself for that matter. I walked perhaps slower than I had to, but at least I was walking. It felt wrong to knock on a door, rather than pick its lock.

  ‘They hone the soul as well as the steel. First with stone, then with copper. The soul gives a finer edge than any metal can. I cut into the spaces between things,’ Pointy explained.

  ‘That makes sense,’ I said. The pommel wore a squint. ‘I’m serious. Look at me, I’m dead. I can apparently haunt things. I get it. I also should have called you Sharpy instead of Pointy.’

  ‘Or you could use one of my actual names,’ he replied snippily. ‘The Black Death? Absia?’

  I merely chuckled. ‘Black Death.’

  The sword gave a metallic sigh. ‘If it comes to that – to fighting – what kind of swordsman are you?’

  I thought about that for a moment. I’d held a weapon before, here and there. Even wore armour once as a disguise for sneaking into a palace, but never had I swung a sword or gone toe to toe in a duel. I’d never understood doing something so moronic. I preferred better odds than fifty-fifty.

  ‘The kind that has no idea what he’s doing.’

  ‘Then fear not, Caltro. It’s you who’s in excellent hands.’

  ‘Erm. You don’t have hands?’ I stared at his pommel, examining his smug face, and in that moment my vapours seemed to pour over the crossguard and blade. In turn, grey vapour crept up my wrist. I tried to shake them off, but my arm stayed rigid.

  I heard a chuckle deep in my head, though Pointy spoke aloud. He changed the subject. ‘So, your plan for me?’

  ‘I keep you close. Hide you,’ I suggested.

  ‘No. Last time that was tried, I spent thirty years in a duke’s lockbox in Belish.’

  ‘Then I give you as a gift to Horix, then steal you back.’

  ‘No! She sounds as bad as Temsa.’

  ‘What’s she going to do, melt you?’

  ‘Most likely.’

  Grumbling, I waved him about as I thought. These were some of my best ideas he was shrugging aside. ‘What if I—’

  My words were stolen from me as a man in gold armour came sprinting past, knocking me aside. I got an, ‘Excuse me!’ for my troubles, but that was only because of my stolen robe, and the white feather I’d drawn onto it with stolen chalk.

  Something in the man’s face made me watch him run. It looked a lot like panic. That, and anyone bolting through a city street looks suspicious, even more so in Araxes. I looked around, but saw no chase. The soldier ran straight for Horix’s tower, disappearing behind its surrounding walls like a rat into a hole.

  ‘That doesn’t look good,’ said Pointy.

  ‘Not good at all.’ I turned around again, poking my head into an adjoining street. The mist had deadened most of the city noise, and it made me wary. I strained my poor ears, listening for the dull music of boots and armour. A name surfaced in my head and stuck there: Temsa. Horix had been his next victim after Finel’s and already several days had passed. No doubt losing me had spurred his plans.

  As I started walking again, faster this time, I heard the squeak of a wagon wheel. A dark shadow passed in front of a distant brazier, just a faint patch of light in the mist. My feet trod quicker, scuffing sand. The faint rhythm of marching feet reached my ears over the slam and clang of gates. I broke into a jog. The marching grew louder still.

  The widow’s tower loomed above me, dark and ominous, growing in detail with every long and hurried stride. As I drew nearer to its gates, the marching sound stopped abruptly. Like orange lightning coursing through clouds, an army of torches sparked into life in the street before me. Jagged silhouettes were cast on the mist, armed with spears and blades. Startled, I threw myself against some nearby stonework and hugged the lip of a wall.

  ‘Caltro? What’s happening?’ Pointy’s voice was low and tense.

  ‘I don’t know!’ I whispered. ‘But it’s fucking inconveniently timed!’

  I crept closer, peering into the mist. Two rough columns of soldiers filled the street in front of the widow’s tower, clothed in shining tabards. They were enough to make my mouth hang open. Tropical turquoise shone between threads of gold. Elegant glyphs lined their edges. The seal of the royal family was sewn in copper thread on their breasts and backs.

  ‘Horix is in trouble with the emperor?’ I asked aloud. ‘Surely not…’

  ‘Open in the name of the emperor and the Code!’ came a shout from the ranks, sounding a fraction slurred. Not a sound followed it. No retort, no insult. The widow’s tower remained as silent as an oak tree.

  Coming as close as I dared while the soldiers began to approach the gates, I watched them closely. It was then that I saw how awkwardly the tabards were being worn, hitched up in places, showing charcoal-black armour hiding beneath. What faces I could see were stern or smug.

  ‘It’s a ruse,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re too late!’ I snapped, cursing my procrastination on the rooftop. ‘He’s come for her. For my half-coin.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who do you think? Temsa!’

  The soldiers had begun to pound on the gates, repeating their claims of the emperor and Code. It was a fine ruse, if Horix had any respect for anybody but herself. It was a slim sliver of hope in this abruptly grim situation: Temsa didn’t know what he was up against.

  ‘That stunted bastard has got bigger balls than I thought, pretending to be royal soldiers.’

  ‘Or he’s got friends in high places, remember?’ whispered the sword. ‘I know a thing or two about tactics, and this is what they call pincered, Caltro.’

  The gates were so firmly locked they didn’t even rattle. I watched the soldiers shrug to each other until somebody screeched for a ram to be brought up the lines.

  ‘This is not good.’ Pointy voiced my thoughts.

  ‘Not good at all.’

  Hearing a cry, the kind that dying things make, I threw a look over my shoulder.

  ‘Wait.’

  The impatient clang of talons on flagstones made Ani and Danib flinch instinctively.

  ‘Where are the rest of them?’ Temsa yelled, arching his neck to peer over the heads of his soldiers. The confounded mist curtained off the streets, crafting a small, grey-walled arena around Horix’s walls and tower.

  Danib said nothing, focused on a dent in his battle armour. Ani seemed to share his impatience. She’d been injured at Serek Finel’s. One of the bear-like creatures had given her a cut that split her cheek almost to the teeth. It had been crudely sewn: bristles of spare thread poked out of her skin like a lost sideburn. It had put her in a foul mood; her first major injury in over a decade. Temsa could see the urge for violence brewing in her.

  ‘It’s the fucking mist. They should be here. They left first,’ she grunted, jaw barely moving.

  ‘Maybe it’s your doltish sergeants, m’dear. These soldiers are sorely lacking in training. You can roll a turd in gold dust, but it’s still a turd. No matter what tabards we put them in, they’re no army!’ Temsa growled. ‘Now get that gate open.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Ani strode forwards, battle-axes quivering at her sides, showing her frustration. She deserved to share a portion of his tension. Temsa carried enough problems for everybody in the street to have one. Maybe two. Why should he shoulder them all? He raised the large metal speaking-cone to his lips once again.

  ‘Open up in the name of the emperor and the Code!’ he bellowed. ‘Or suffer the consequences!’

  The battering ram had just reached the gates when a heavy thud came from above. Halfway up the tower, just below where the mist swallowed it, a column of light broke the sheer darkness of its walls. Temsa peered up at the black knife of a figure that came to stand at the balcony’s edge. Though she was a good distance away, he recognised the cowl, the crooked posture, and the glint in the charcoal eyes, catching the torchlight at her gates.

  ‘Boran T
emsa!’ came her shrill voice, cracked at the edges like old papyrus. ‘Your royal colours don’t fool me. What a pitiful ruse indeed!’

  Casting one last sour look over his shoulder into the darkness of the alleyway, Temsa walked forwards into the light, one arm held out and palm open. ‘You’ll find it’s Tor Boran Temsa now, you old hag!’

  ‘You should look at the crags in your own face, Temsa. And these are dire times indeed, if soulstealers like you can call themselves tor.’

  Temsa ignored the cheap jibe, and showed her the white of his teeth instead. ‘I have a feeling it might even be Serek Temsa by tomorrow morning, Widow.’

  ‘Finally come to add my coins to your collection, have you?’ she cried out.

  ‘A happy bonus. I’m here for only one coin, in fact, Horix. And one shade.’

  ‘And I told your lump of a bodyguard. I will not give up the locksmith’s coin.’

  Temsa waited to be heard over the first bash of the ram.

  Bang! The gates barely shivered.

  Ani returned to his side, her eyes trained on the widow. ‘Told you she was stubborn.’

  ‘Seeing as I’m here, I’ll make you one last offer. Send Caltro out with his coin and we’ll be on our way.’

  Temsa watched the widow duck into the light momentarily, and then emerge with her hands on her hips.

  ‘What game are you playing now, you weasel?’ she yelled.

  Temsa was confused by that, he had to admit. ‘Game? Why don’t you tell me?’

  ‘We both know Caltro Basalt is your prisoner, Temsa. Don’t lie to me.’

  Bang!

  Still no budge came from the gates. He suppressed a scowl. The widow had paid good silver for her fortress. ‘What did you say to her, Ani?’ he said to the woman by his side.

  ‘Exactly what you told me to say. That you want his coin, and she can give it up easy, or the hard way.’

  Temsa turned back to Horix. ‘I think you’re the game-player here, Widow! We’ll play it the hard way after all,’ he yelled, spittle flying alongside his words. The woman’s gall stung him. ‘Surrender now, or—’

  A regal voice soared over the ugly proceedings. ‘Or in the name of the emperor and the Code, we will see justice executed.’

  From the shadows of the alley, clanging steel emerged into the street, silver tanned yellow by torchlight. Shields and wide, forward-curved blades formed a fan around a striking figure of gold mail and turquoise silks. Etane walked beside the empress-in-waiting, his mighty sword across his back.

  ‘Bow!’ he yelled, and any soldier not manhandling the ram got to their knees.

  Temsa stayed leaning on his cane. He caught Sisine’s gaze, and hoped she could see the anger and irritation in his eyes. She was ruining his evening, his retribution. She was like a vulture swooping in on a dunewyrm’s carcass.

  ‘My, my,’ called Horix. No wit or insult came tumbling down from the balcony. The battering ram thudded once more in the silence. A lonely hinge squeaked, but there was no splintering.

  Sisine cleared her throat. ‘You were not known to me, Tal Horix, until you stood in my way. That was a mistake. Thankfully, this good servant of the emperor…’ She gestured broadly to Temsa, who wore a frown. ‘…was kind enough to inform me of your theft of royal property. One Caltro Basalt.’

  Horix’s voice was fainter now, coarser. ‘This is the sort of servant you consort with, Sisine?’

  Temsa stamped his talons on the ground once more. ‘Can we all stop saying “servant”? Open the fucking gates, Widow! Your stubbornness bores me!’

  Horix shook her head. ‘You speak of mistakes, Sisine. You have made a great one by coming here.’

  The empress-in-waiting bristled while Etane crept forwards through the soldiers, eyes narrowed at the balcony.

  ‘You dare to speak to me with such familiarity, old woman?’

  All that followed was a cackle as Horix vanished from the railings and the light was extinguished.

  ‘Break those gates!’ Temsa roared.

  The tempo of the ram increased. Five more times it was driven against the stout wood and iron, and on the sixth, even with little sign of give, the gates parted with a crunch.

  Under snarling orders from Ani, Temsa’s soldiers rammed their shoulders against the gates, rabid as winter-starved wolves. Within moments, they were sprawling in the dust, the two halves of the gate flying open easily. The gold and turquoise crowd surged inwards, carelessly trampling the fallen in their eagerness to spill blood.

  The courtyard disappointed them immensely. A long space lined with columns, it held nothing but dark shadows. A lone brazier stood at the top of the square steps, beside the tower’s door. Its light was hazy. The soldiers’ war-cries faded as they hesitated.

  Temsa was about to tell the idlers to get moving when he heard a strange crackle, like an abrupt gust of wind. It took him moment to recognise the sound of bows being loosed. Before he could flinch, screams filled the night sky. Body after body crumpled into heaps, pincushions for arrows.

  Men scrambled to be free of the courtyard, but Ani pushed them back in. ‘Get those fucking bowmen!’ she screeched. Danib waded through them all, broadsword held high. He cared little for the arrows, which stuck in his armour or lodged in his vapours. No amount of them seemed to slow him. Soldiers in silver armour broke from the shadows, charging the great shade with spears and blades and brave shouts. Danib parried, hacked, and bludgeoned, commencing the slaughter by himself. Wherever he moved, piles of dead were left behind him.

  Seeing the maelstrom that was on their side, Temsa’s soldiers regained their courage and began to flood into the courtyard once more, re-trampling those who had just peeled themselves out of the mud, dazed and bloody. Triggermen duelled with bowmen up in the towers’ higher balconies or shooting through tiny slits in the stone. Rocks came crashing down intermittently, crushing helmets and bones.

  It was a bloody half hour, but by the end of it, Temsa’s men had won the courtyard. The tor swaggered to the gateway, where the ram was being picked up, ready to tackle the door. The soldiers hoisting it up decided to give the weapon some momentum, and ran at the doorway full pelt. With an almighty crack, the ram bounced from the door, sending men sprawling on the steps. With a groan, Temsa clicked his fingers, and a nearby soldier with a forest of facial hair disappeared into the mist.

  Danib plodded closer, each footstep a resounding thud and clank. His broadsword was notched like the toothy edge of a saw. Temsa knew he was missing the soulblade Caltro had pilfered. ‘Hold this courtyard for as long as you must. Get grapples on the lower balconies if you can. Ah, here we are.’

  The hairy soldier had returned, now with a skinny figure struggling in his arms.

  ‘Ready, Tooth?’ asked Temsa. ‘It’s on you now. Find me a way in.’

  The locksmith pushed some matted hair out of her face and mumbled something, lips moving but no real words coming forth.

  ‘Good! You’d better!’ he said.

  Temsa pushed her forwards, making her whimper, and the soldier hauled her towards the tower. With his hulking bodyguards at his side, Temsa joined the royal entourage, who were working their way back into the alley, out of range of any other bows Horix might be hiding. Temsa caught Sisine’s eye through the raised shields of her guards.

  ‘Enjoying the show, eh, Your Majesty?’

  The look Sisine threw him was so cold Temsa was surprised he didn’t see his breath in the air. ‘I will enjoy it when I have Caltro’s half-coin in my hand, Tor!’ she called.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he muttered as his own guards folded around him. His aching wounds had reminded him of the value of leading from behind. If it was good enough for a princess, it was good enough for him.

  That lesson was immediately reinforced when he heard a rising roar coming from a side street. For a moment, he wore a beaming grin; the rest of his soldiers had finally found their way. But it was a short-lived thing, and it withered when he saw the large shape of a man c
lad in silver battle armour leading a hundred-strong charge of bellowing soldiers into their misty arena.

  ‘What the fuck is this, Tor?’ Sisine snarled at him.

  Temsa wished he knew.

  ‘We need to go!’

  ‘Don’t you think I know that?’ I snapped as the flood of silver armour filled the street. The arrival of the empress-in-waiting had been enough to make my jaw drop. I had wished for a distraction, not a war.

  ‘Now, Caltro!’

  I caught sight of the muscular figure at their head. ‘It’s Colonel Kalid. Horix’s man!’

  ‘Move!

  ‘No…’ I watched the men rush past me, recognising the seal emblazoned on their breastplates. They ignored the ghost curled in the gutter, focused only on their tower.

  ‘Now!’

  ‘Shut up!’ I hissed, waiting a fraction before bounding from my hiding place. Sand flew as I sprinted after the last rank of soldiers. ‘Now!’

  Being dead, I was naturally breathless, but I still felt the panic riling against my efforts to dim my glow. I ran with my lips clamped shut, an effigy of strain. Pointy bobbed frantically by my side, the face on his pommel as uneasy as my own.

  I must have been obvious, a streak of blue amongst a mass of flesh and bone, but none of Kalid’s soldiers seemed to notice or care once the blades began to clash, and what a thunderous collision it was. Skidding to a halt beside the gate’s ornate hinges, I watched the shining crowds roil about the courtyard. Ranks heaved against each other, what little space remained between them turned into areas of fierce butchery. Blood spurted in black arcs above the sea of helmets. The madness of it momentarily stunned me.

  ‘Dead gods, don’t just stand there!’ Pointy shouted at me.

  My eyes darted left and right as I ducked into the shadows, stepping over corpses littered with broken triggerbows. A soldier flew into the wall ahead of me, his unprotected skull painting the stone all kinds of colours. I flitted past him before his corpse could fall. A spear nicked me as it hurtled past. Its owner was too busy dying to use it. The snaggle-toothed woman’s blood sprayed my smock as her neck was split by a sword. Her dying moan somehow lodged in my ears, giving an eerie echo to the crash and roar of the courtyard.