The Chasing Graves Trilogy Box Set

by Ben Galley

  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 astride 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.

  As Heles’ eyes made sense of the dark chamber, she saw ten obscured figures, maybe more, wrapped in silks or rich cotton. They sat atop high pillars and tall-backed thrones, like gaudy crows upon perches. As she remembered to bare a smile and play her part, Heles wondered how on earth they ever got down from those lofty chairs.

  The rest of the chamber was stark, grand only in the size of its columns and domed roof. A lone, yet wide shaft of sunlight eked through a glazed skylight far above. Heles jutted her face and neck into its light, for what little warmth it gave her.

  ‘It seems you have brought us a scrutiniser, Chaser Jobey, not an empress.’ Now the tone was damning, and coldly so. Heles’ eyes were still having trouble focusing on the directors.

  ‘No, I… the slatherghast—’

  The chaser’s hands seized her, dragging aside Heles’ ill-fitting rags until her shoulders were bare. There, the tattoos swirled around her collarbone, accusatory.

  She felt the stiffening of Jobey’s grip on her halter rope, and the yanking at her collar.

  Jobey had been so eager to show off his prize, he had forgotten to check its worth by peeking under the rags to see her arm made of skin and flesh, not blue, cold vapour. Heles stared at him, eyes full of derision and a smug look on her face.

  ‘You are correct, Directors of the Consortium. I am in fact Scrutiniser Heles.’

  The crows in their perches squawked loudly over one another.

  ‘Time wasted is profit wasted, Jobey!’

  ‘Take her away. Dispose of her.’

  ‘And the chaser, too!’

  Unseen in the darkness between the pillars, soldiers clad in sea-green mail and hoods appeared, tridents in their fists. They encircled them in moments.

  ‘Wait!’ Jobey cried, robes flailing.

  ‘I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,’ called Heles, voice husky but loud enough to stall the directors. ‘You’re fond of bargains, I wager? I have one for you!’

  Fingers clicked, and in the darkness, blue flame sputtered, lighting the porcelain bowl of a pipe. The glow lit a face of broken veins and narrowed eyes. Tentacles of white smoke reached out from the darkness until they seemed to wither in the sunlight.

  ‘Speak,’ said the smoker, enunciating the word so hard it sounded as if he spat loose pipeweed.

&nb
sp; Heles shrugged Jobey off, hissing. She jabbed a thumb at him as she looked up at the dark shapes and shrouded faces above. ‘This man here may be a piece of worthless shit, but at least he’s right about one thing. The city is changing. You will need help to survive it.’

  The crows cackled.

  ‘We have weathered the whims of Araxes for centuries,’ said one.

  ‘Our ways protect us. Silver buys many resources half-coins cannot.’

  ‘Now we are stronger and more profitable than ever!’

  Heles nodded while they finished congratulating themselves. She knew the thirst rich men and women had; the thirst to be richer still. Wealth was a never-ending mountain, littered with the bodies of fools craving a summit. ‘And yet you could be more profitable still, couldn’t you?’

  Looks were traded between the crown of pillars. ‘Speak!’ came the order.

  ‘Empress Nilith has killed the emperor, and she goes to claim the throne as we speak. She might have already pulled it off for all I know.’

  ‘We care little for the games the royals play,’ said the one with the pipe, voice thick with smoke.

  ‘You might if one had it in their mind to abolish the Code.’

  Heles let that hook dangle, just as she’d planned behind the sackcloth. She might have been quick with a blade, given more punches than she’d taken, but the scrutiniser was at her most dangerous when left to think and plot.

  ‘You trade in silver, correct?’ Heles asked.

  One of the directors scoffed. ‘And have for a thousand years,’ she replied.

  ‘Then imagine a city that relied on silver instead of copper.’

  The director with the pipe took too eager a drag and spluttered smoke for some time. When silence was restored, doubts began to rain.

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘Lies!’

  ‘Why would a royal do such a thing?’

  ‘No noble would stand for it! Nor the Nyxites!’

  ‘Neither would the Chamber of the Code!’

  ‘They might,’ Heles yelled over their squawking, ‘if somebody powerful stood with her at the Grand Nyxwell when she scraps a thousand years of soultrading. Somebody like this Consortium.’