“Where are
we going?” Sudar asked after a few minutes of seemingly random turns down
narrow, twisting corridors. The path ran between sloping, overhanging timber
buildings of a much older design than the richer Lower East or the
sophisticated Upper City. Perin didn’t know either, having been driven to
follow his feet by nothing more than his love of walking.
A couple of
barefooted and tatter-clothed children ran out of a broader alley, their heads
down and legs flying behind them as they came around the corner. As Perin
opened his mouth in a soundless question, dodging up against a crumbling wall,
the shortest boy glanced up and yelled back as he passed, “Oh-gees, pal! Pick
another path!”
Sudar
glanced at Perin. As Borderers, no matter how bad the reputation of the
Observatory Guards, surely they were safe?
“Come on.”
On an impulse, Perin nodded and led the way down the alley from which the
children had come. Two corners later, with Medrivar cautioning alertness from
within, Perin stopped, listening to the clearer sounds that he and Sudar had
been trying to make out since the departure of the escaping children.
“No need to
take this one back. He’s a troublemaker already. City’d be glad to be rid…”
“…can’t
just decide that fast, man. Put some thought into it. We’ve got nothing in the
way of reason…”
“Come on,
boss.” This voice was different, indicating at least three people. All the voices
were audible over an occasional muffled groan. “Give us a chance. Haven’t put
my boot in something for a while, and I missed out on that last riot.”
“Look,
here’s how we do it,” the lead voice said, sounding bored. “I’ve nothing to
file him for. So far as I’m concerned, we leave him here to catch something
nasty. But you two enjoy yourselves. You dropped behind to…investigate
something and caught up with us later. All right?”
The second
voice sniggered. “We hear you, boss. See you back at the guardrooms.”
“Don’t take
too long.”
Perin
turned to see Sudar with an ugly expression on his face. The normally calm and
neutral Borderman clenched his fists, wincing at the sound of a whimper.
Whatever the scene was, it was taking place on the other side of a cluster of
communal privies.
The tramp
of three or four pairs of feet moving away was followed shortly by one of the
two subordinate voices rising again. “Nice bruise we gave you yesterday,
ratfilth.”
Perin and
Sudar’s eyes widened in horror, and as one, they began to move swiftly and
quietly along the battered fence. In moments, they were looking out and down
into a small, scrubby square designed as some kind of playground. A child’s
ball was lying against the far brick wall of a converted tannery, and some kind
of goal had been painted sloppily on the near wall of another unidentified
building. Also lying in the dust, his hands over his face and his legs pulled
up to protect his groin and stomach, was Aranyo.
“We did his
dad, wasn’t it, weeks ago?” One of the two Observatory Guards realised aloud,
turning to his partner, a taller, broader man with a similar expression of
vacant cruelty. “Same hair, same build, I could swear…oy, ratfilth! Your dad’s
a criminal, right?”
“They’re
all criminals in here, pal.”
“Well,
certainly. All right. Your dad—we done him before, didn’t we? Hey, ratfilth, answer
when I ask!” He kicked out and caught Aranyo across his shin. As if suddenly
motivated by his friend’s violence, the larger man put his foot on Aranyo’s
neck.
“We did do
his dad. Taking stolen stuff—black market stuff. Seven City stuff. Stabbing our
city in the guts to put food on his table. Selfish bastard.”
Sudar
looked up at Perin, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and rage. Borderers
had no authority as lawkeepers inside the city. And never over the Observatory
Guards who often superseded the City Guard.
“You’re
doin’ better than your dad did,” the smaller of the two sneered, crouching next
to Aranyo as his friend put a little more weight on the boy’s neck. He reached
out and grabbed the shirt Aranyo wore, slowly tearing it for no apparent reason
as he spoke.
“Your dad,
he wet himself by the time we put him on the floor. But then, we’d hit him
‘arder than you. So you’re lucky, really.”
“Hey…” The
big one stepped off Aranyo, cracking his knuckles. “How about we take a piss on
this one…”
Perin had
had enough, and so had Medrivar. He stepped forward all the way into the small
yard, walking with purpose. After a momentary hesitation, Sudar forced himself
to follow. Both Oh-gees looked up in surprise. Their reaction was annoyance,
not guilt.
“Clear off,
lads. This is none of yours.”
“It is
now,” Perin answered clearly, with barely a tremble in his voice.
Sudar said
nothing.
The
Observatory Guards both had swords at their belts. Sudar and Perin were not
even dressed in their Borderer uniforms. They had no weapons.
“Tell me,”
Perin started, swallowing hard, “how did they work out what bits to put armour
on, after you rolled down off the shiteheap?”
“More like
dropped out of a pig’s arse,” Sudar growled fiercely. His fists were raised in
the stance of someone who not only knew how to fight according to the Borderer
manner, but had been trained previously how to use his fists. No wonder he made
a good spearman. His tradesman father had obviously paid for more than just
academic tutelage.
The
Observatory Guards were not men who extended arguments. The big one took two
steps forward, received Sudar’s punch with a grunt, and then laid the boy flat
and unconscious with a swing of his own. The short Oh-gee drew his sword and
pointed it at Perin, grinning maliciously.
“If you
need to go, Szagu, feel free to use this privy.” He caught Aranyo with a back
kick. “In the meantime, mate, I’ll put some scars on this one’s face.” He
leered pointedly at Perin.
“If you
can!” Perin fired off, overcome by some mad confidence. Don’t slip and fall on it. “And you, the big bastard, if you dirty
that pal of mine, I’ll cut off whatever first comes to mind and then hit you
with it!” Perin tensed, ready, watching for the first sign of movement from the
short man. Medrivar ran memories of disarming techniques through Perin’s mind
at an alarming rate, unfortunately forgetting to leave out the ones where the
one doing the disarming ended up horribly impaled.
“Who in a
whore’s bed do you think you are?” Szagu roared, coming to stand next to his
companion, drawing his own short sword. Behind them, Aranyo immediately began
to crawl away, glancing up only once. All he could see of his rescuer was
Perin’s legs, seen through the legs of the short guard.
Perin
swallowed. Well, it hardly mattered now, considering he was probably about to
be spitted by two swords simultaneously. So much for it being safer for a
fugitive in the Borderers. Or maybe his mistake had been to challenge two armed
men with nothing but his fists and hasty insults…
But there
was no way he could have let Aranyo suffer while he hid.
Oh, well,
then. In for a fel, in for a menel.
“I’m the Gravedigger. And…and…you’re both
about to die!”
About the Book:
Dead or alive. Good or evil. Hero or fugitive.
Valo needs a specific solution to a grave problem. The human Claimfold and prigon Torzsi draw apart. War is promised in the West. Worst of all, the magi of Nagyevo are meddling with the dead.
Perin is an apprentice Gravedigger: uneducated, unwanted, unsure. He may be the answer Valo needs, if he doesn't get killed before he works out what's going on. But of course there's the chance that fate hasn't called him after all. The gods are nameless and silent and the best laid plans have a way of going badly wrong.
Enter the spade and sorcery world of Valo.
Gravedigger subverts the expectations of that oldest of foes in fantasy, the dead that walk, in a fast-paced adventure through a world of culture, intrigue, magic and blood.
About the Author:
Michael-Israel Jarvis was born in Cambridge, brought up in Bishop's Stortford and moved to Great Yarmouth in his teens. He got his degree in Creative Writing at the University of Northampton and returned to Great Yarmouth with his wife, Katie.
Michael-Israel writes principally for Young Adults, which is what he intends to be until he's very, very old. Further explorations of the genres he prefers to write in throw up fantasy, adventure, coming of age stories and more. If possible, he prefers to write in a way that bends the distinction between different genres. Why shouldn't the superhero trope take place within a fantasy novel? And however serious a book is, shouldn't humour weave its way in?
Hell, yes!
Michael-Israel chose to go the route of Independent Publishing after observing the increase in sales of eBooks and a move towards indie expression in general culture. Creatives were achieving their goals and engaging their audiences through communities on Youtube, deviantArt and other online realms. While still having genuine respect for the traditional world of publishing, Michael-Israel made a calculated decision to join the revolution.
This freedom allows him to work with artists and other writers as and when he chooses. There is an open invitation for visual artists to depict images inspired by Gravedigger, in return for exposure of their own talents. Michael-Israel Jarvis does not believe in making it on his own.
Gravedigger on Amazon
Publisher's Website
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About the Book:
