The Chasing Graves Trilogy Box Set

by Ben Galley

  To the beat of Temsa’s cane striking the steps, the killing proceeded with all the inexorable ambivalence of a turning cog. Gradually the fighting turned against the guards, and when Danib had broken the bars, Temsa’s soldiers trod over two-score corpses in their climb.

  Finding the next set of cage doors open, and the next, the soldiers grew thirsty for more. They rushed up the steps, which had become steeper and taller now they reached the peak. They panted like war-dogs, trailing blood in their sandy footprints. Ani called for control, but she was ignored, and overruled by Temsa. The tor continued to stamp his cane on the floor until the soldiers picked up the rhythm, barking or hammering on their breastplates with him.

  ‘Fetch, you hounds! Kill!’ Temsa roared, a mad cackle escaping at the end.

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than the clash of armour sounded from above. A dozen bodies fell screaming from the stairwell’s edges before Temsa made it up to the next floor, where a grand landing offered respite from the climb. Ani was already there, doing her best to carve a flank out of the wall of shields and spears that blocked their way. These house-guards were all shades, and they glowed through the joints in their armour. Danib waded through them like a farmer threshing crops. Blue bodies scattered before him, but few collapsed to smoke.

  ‘Boon, you dead swine! There’s no use fighting the inevitable!’ Temsa yelled. All secrecy had long since evaporated, and yet even as he uttered his challenge, he saw more shades coming to fill the gaps his fighters had cut. He wondered how many more shades were hiding between him and the next floor. He pulled a blade from his cane and stabbed here and there into the fray, or stamped on any half-lives that came stumbling through the shield-wall.

  On and on their battle raged, fierce and loud. Temsa was down to thirty soldiers when his smile crumbled. Within him was a deep urge telling him to walk away, the voice of a younger, less ambitious Temsa. But then he saw Boon’s guards breaking, scattering from behind their makeshift wall of shields. Thankfully, Temsa’s soldiers took their time instead of rushing in, picking their way through their fallen sword-fellows and wiping entrails from their hands. They looked exhausted. Silence had fallen again in Serek Boon’s tower. There came no shouts. No orders. No bells.

  Temsa shooed his soldiers forwards, up the last set of stairs and into Boon’s chambers. They were surprisingly expansive, given he lived in the slender part of the tower. The shaft, Temsa wanted to call it. He had thought it odd for the serek not to be at the peak, as most nobles chose, but the rich were known for their eccentricity.

  Temsa was the first to stride into the empty chambers, his remaining attackers spread out behind him. While he stared up at the engraved columns and painted statues of some dog-like creature, he made a mental note to hire more mercenaries come the morning. Too many had failed him tonight. Plenty more bodies would be needed for his final push.

  ‘Be ready,’ he muttered to Ani as she lumbered beside him, breathing heavily. She stank of death and shit, and left a patter of crimson drips on the glasslike marble where she walked. Temsa was glad the air was scented with perfumes.

  ‘I’m always ready,’ Ani growled. ‘But this is nonsense, Temsa. More than half our number are dead. You’d better hope we don’t have to fight our way out.’

  ‘I’d better hope? You forget yourself for the last time.’ Temsa’s voice was as sharp as a sandstorm’s breath. They traded dark and troubled stares for a moment before he drew himself up to his full height and said, ‘You, Miss Jexebel, have been treading a dangerous path. I warned you not to continue, but you didn’t heed my words, and kept up your insolence. I won’t tolerate it any more. Survive tonight, and consider your service ended. Go serve a noble of similar low ambition, and be happy.’ Temsa tapped his cane-sword on the floor, making it sing. ‘Oh, and I should wish you good luck, Miss Jexebel. I hear finding employment in this city can be murder.’

  Before Ani could reply, before she could even wipe the look of half-shock, half-hatred off her face, a voice boomed through an ornately carved doorway at the end of the chambers.

  ‘BORAN TEMSA!’

  ‘Move. Do what I pay you to do,’ Temsa snapped at the hulking woman, and Ani stomped forwards without a word. Temsa outwardly smirked, though trepidation grew inside him. This was the first heist in which he’d been announced into his prey’s chambers.

  ‘Serek Boon, I presume?’ called Temsa, following his soldiers into a darkened chamber. There was a feel of reverence to it. Gems studded the walls in the shapes of stars. A marble lectern sat upon a dais. A handful of white lanterns, filled with fluttering somethings, sat at its base, casting a weak glow.

  The only other light was Boon, standing with his elbow on the lectern, like a preacher about to deliver some wisdom. An animal sat at his side, a sharp-eared dog with a long snout. It was just as dead as Boon was, and its blue teeth were bared in a low growl.

  ‘You have made it at last. Took you some time,’ announced the serek in a charming tone.

  ‘Get him,’ Temsa whispered to Danib and Ani, but they did not move, and held the soldiers back with fierce glares. Not that they needed any encouragement. The word ‘trap’ was already spreading through the bloody ranks. Temsa felt sweat creep onto his forehead.

  ‘I said get him!’ he snapped. Nobody but Boon moved.

  The serek strode around the dais, his phantom plodding along behind him. Boon wore a sheer silk robe that shone blue with his glow. Gold chains hung around his chest, the kind that would have drowned a man in seconds had he jumped from the docks. His skin had been burned and charred before he’d died; it held a fractured pattern, and in places was darker than the rest of him.

  ‘Welcome to my home, Tor Temsa. I see you’ve already had the tour.’

  Temsa may not have been a champion of armour and swords, but he did know how to duel with wit. ‘You should have paid a prettier coin for your house-guards, half-life. They gave up easily enough.’

  Boon visibly prickled at the insult. He forced a smile.

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Tor Temsa. Rumours, mostly, but every rumour has a root, does it not? One just has to weed it out. And here you are, in the flesh… and gold, apparently. You’ve climbed to quite the respectable height on the Ledger, I must say.’

  ‘Almost a serek like you, Boon,’ Temsa snapped.

  ‘“Almost” being the operative word, Tor. There are no “almosts” or “maybes” in this game. You should know that. There are only numbers. Cold and simple as death itself.’

  ‘It’s high time you met yours. And this time, stay dead,’ replied Temsa. ‘You’ll forgive me, but I am not one for talk and banter this evening. It has been a long and arduous week, killing people just like you; people who think themselves safe from the knives of people like me. You can hide behind all the locks and shields you want, but there will always be somebody just like me ready to take what you have, as long as you have more and the ambitious have less. And here we are, and you’re stalling in the hopes you can evade the inevitable. Unfortunately for you, Serek Boon, I can’t be bartered with or turned away. Even if I had an empathetic bone in my body, this is not personal. It’s business. As I told the others, your name simply ended up on the wrong list. Yours ended up on two wrong lists, as it happens. Now, are you ready to get this over with?’

  Temsa clicked his fingers, but only Danib stepped forwards. Ani was rooted to the spot, staring past Temsa at Boon. She only moved when the pause became unbearable, sauntering forward with no haste in her step.

  Faced with these two bloodied champions – a pair who normally caused most opponents they met to wet their loincloths – the serek should have been quaking. Instead, he looked as if he were about to laugh. Boon seemed too confident, too calm for Temsa’s liking. There was a glimmer in his eye that deeply perturbed the tor.

  ‘Ah yes, the list. There were those who didn’t expect you to make it to the end.’

  Temsa took a moment to make sense of that. Ani threw hi
m a fierce look over her shoulder. ‘Excuse me?’ he said, his voice hoarse.

  ‘Some thought Finel would be the end of you. I am glad you made it. It would have been a shame otherwise.’

  The beads of sweat that had been gathering on Temsa’s forehead ran down into his eye, stinging him. When he blinked it away, cursing liberally, he became aware of a glow. Faint at first, grey in colour, but the brighter it became, the bluer it turned. Thick columns were carved out of the darkness. What Temsa had thought to be the edges of the room were thrown back, and what appeared to be a modest space was shown to be a large chamber. The gaps between the vaulted columns glowed fiercely now, and he caught the shape of hoods and spearheads.

  ‘Ani!’ Temsa yelled. The woman hefted her battle-axe, but although the soldiers took it as a sign to ready themselves, she stayed put. She had daggers in her eyes and they were aimed solely at Temsa. Danib also remained motionless, the point of his broadsword in the plush carpet.

  It was immediately clear they were outnumbered and surrounded. A hundred shades – maybe two hundred – emerged from every part of the room, clad in crimson robes and plate mail. They didn’t have the look of the house-guards, but the Cult instead. Though they kept their distance, it was no less menacing to be encircled by blades.

  Two lithe and familiar figures in crimson had joined Boon on the dais. Other shades gathered around them, faces shrouded with hoods. One wore grey instead of the Cultist crimson.

  ‘Ah, the Enlightened Sisters,’ Temsa greeted them coldly. ‘Of course.’

  Silence reigned. Hands gripping his cane to keep from shaking, Temsa dug his rings into his palm as hard as he could. Anything to find a distraction from what seemed a rather spectacular failure on his part. It was not a word that he usually entertained, but it now filled his mind like the pealing of a bell.

  Temsa looked around at his trembling soldiers, the waiting shades, and the cultists standing on the dais. No matter where his gaze moved, he saw nothing but imminent bloodshed. What troubled him deeply was that for once it might turn out to be his own blood.

  ‘Serek Boon,’ he said, trying a smile. ‘Surely you’ll do me the honour of enlightening me.’

  ‘Quite the apt word,’ said Sister Liria, stepping past Boon and unveiling her bald, glowing head. ‘And I would have thought you smarter than that, Temsa. It is quite simple. Serek Boon here has been a brother to the Church for more than a decade. He was always to be your last mark, and your last heist. It is fortuitous that our good empress-in-waiting loathes him as much as she does.’

  Serek Boon shrugged, his silks whispering. ‘I have that effect on many people. What can I say?’

  Temsa threw up his hands, still refusing to believe the obvious. ‘That’s it? You used me to cause a bit of fear and strife, but for what? To grow yourself an army?’

  Liria sighed, as if she dealt with a child. ‘You have such low expectations of us, Temsa.’ She gestured to one of the other hooded shades as she spoke, one in a grey robe. The figure stepped forwards. ‘When we have our sights set so high.’

  ‘What riddle is this, Liria?’ Temsa demanded.

  There was a whisper or two traded between the two shades, and then the one in grey threw back his hood.

  Temsa stamped his foot with a clang. He had been cheated, and if there was one thing in this life he hated – more than scheming half-lives, more than useless employees – it was being cheated. ‘Ha! Well, if it isn’t Caltro Basalt. We meet again!’

  ‘And this time under much more favourable circumstances. For me, at least.’

  ‘Are you enjoying this, Caltro? Enjoying playing both sides?’

  The locksmith looked around the chamber. ‘I have to say, it’s satisfying so far.’

  Temsa’s reply was a coarse growl. ‘I knew we’d make an Arctian of you yet.’

  Serek Boon had been trying to pick his nails. A habit of life, clearly. ‘This coming from the man working with both the Church and the empress-in-waiting,’ he said.

  ‘Then call us both the villains and backstabbers in this story, Boon. This is Araxes, after all,’ Temsa said with a dramatic sigh. Behind his casual exterior, his mind churned, counting figures in the glowing alcoves. Swords. Spears. Tallying, checking. He thought of the open door and sweating soldiers behind him. He looked between his hulking guards, one glowing, the other red-faced with anger. Backstabbing was a coward’s way. It was much more satisfying stabbing people in the front, and seeing their faces fade as the blood or vapour drained from them.

  ‘Ani. Danib. Fetch my locksmith back for me, would you?’ Temsa said, casually ringing his blade against his golden talons, as casual as a tal summoning tea with a bell.

  Only the shade moved. Danib heaved up his giant sword, making all the soldiers present bristle and set their jaws, ready to fight or die. But instead of a warrior’s stance, he slung his blade onto his shoulder with a clunk and strode towards the dais.

  For a moment, which Temsa dragged out as long as possible, he thought the shade was playing coy. It was only when Danib nodded deeply to the sisters and turned to stare back at him that the coin dropped.

  ‘Danib! DANIB! You dare to betray me? I am your master!’ Temsa’s teeth clamped so tightly he heard them crunch. He glared at Liria. ‘You’re making an awful habit of taking my things!’

  ‘Danib was never yours, Tor. The coin you hide in your private vault belongs to another shade, long gone.’

  Temsa whirled to face Ani, then each of his soldiers, but all of them wore the same desperate face with the word ‘No’ emblazoned across it. Ani shook her head, slowly, as if her neck were stiff. Judging by the ripcords of tendons tautening her skin, that was not far from the truth. Her eyes held cartloads of blame.

  Again, Temsa roved the chamber, his mind working over ploys, tricks and last stands. He didn’t like the sound of the latter. He forced a wide smile, tapped his cane on the floor, and tried to ignore that his world – so gleaming with promise only moments ago – was crumbling around him.

  ‘Well, then. We shall be going, and leave you to your duplicitous ways. It’s been a pleasure working with you,’ Temsa said. But even as he turned, the doors to the dark chamber shut with a bang, sealing them inside. Temsa had conducted enough tortures and executions to know what that meant.

  Head hung low, he took his time turning back to face the shades on the dais. A dozen emotions clamoured for his attention. Among them was hatred towards these half-lives who had conspired against him. Used him, even. There was a numbing disbelief. A frustration in his own failings, that his dreams were now dust in his head. And embarrassment, as the hot and accusatory eyes of his sellswords turned on him. Half of the soldiers were either white as marble or flushed red.

  And then there was Ani.

  He met her furious gaze for a brief moment. He had never seen so many types of hatred crammed into one pair of eyes. He had seen that look on her face many times before, but never aimed at him. It sent his stomach plummeting into guts that were already far too loose for comfort.

  Taking a breath, forcing a wide and genial smile, Temsa looked up to the Enlightened Sisters and put his faith and future in the hands of the only thing he had ever truly trusted. Coin. ‘Surely we can come to some sort of arrangement—’

  The scream that followed was so inhuman, Temsa thought a savage beast had broken into the chamber. It had come from behind him, and he was in the middle of turning around when he realised what had made it.

  The axe bit straight to his spine and kept going. It struck with such force and speed there was almost no pain. His throat was unnaturally cold, and all too abruptly he was falling. The world spun several times before he found himself rolling, mouth agape and leaking blood, eyes bulging. He saw Ani with a dripping axe, heaving with rage. He saw his own body, lying sprawled and spurting blood from the stump that had been his neck a few short moments ago.

  He was left with the cold, glare of Ani’s dark eyes. It wasn’t the reflection of his murder i
n them that escorted him to death, but her emotionless stare.

  Ani watched the blood pooling around her black boots. Temsa’s head lay in his own crotch, staring up at her with shock in his eyes. There had been a moment where she still felt him looking back at her, while his mouth gasped like a fresh fish on a monger’s stall. Those eyes stared through her now. To another world.

  Movement. With a snarl, she twitched her stray locks aside and stared at Danib. His sword was now in his hands, but between the eye-holes in his visor, she saw a look blanker than she had ever seen. There was a pause, and then the blade rested again.

  Ani didn’t want to admit how glad she was about that.

  She thumbed the warm blood sliding over her knuckles. She was barely tired, but still breathless. She couldn’t quite remember swinging the axe, but she remembered the snap that had drove her to it. She could not have endured another word from that lying, scheming, putrid mouth. A mouth from which she had never known a kind thing to fall. And even in his last moments, Temsa had put it to work, wheedling a way to save his skin.

  ‘My, my,’ said one of the sisters. Ani didn’t care which one. Caltro Basalt was staring at her with a mixture of shock and happiness. She rested her wet axe on the marble and raised her chin.

  ‘That’s saved you a job, I imagine,’ Ani said.

  ‘We have clearly misjudged you, Miss Jexebel. We thought you had little aspiration for anything except severing heads,’ said the sister.

  ‘Which you do expertly, it must be said,’ said the other.

  Ani snorted. ‘I think you’ve judged me well enough. I have no aspirations for any of this. Temsa paid me well enough to fight for him, but in the end, not well enough to die for him. I’d rather leave you all to it and walk out of this tower with clean hands.’

  The sisters took a step forwards, almost as one body. Caltro poked his head over their shoulders. Both ghosts wore a smile.