Two Theftian labourers arrived later, with orders to serve him. These he set to work fitting iron pins into joints in the walls, and securing lengths of chain. When all was in readiness, he briefed the two with detailed instructions as to how to proceed, then left to request the Champion be moved to his chamber. He decided not to be in sight until the man was secured: there remained the slight possibility that he might recognize him as a Malazan and become suspicious.
From down the hall he watched while the man was marched, manacled and under guard, up to the room. On first setting eyes on the fellow he was aghast: this emaciated, haggard, tattered wretch was the Champion? Still, anyone else carrying such half-healed wounds, frostbite, and exposure damage would surely be dead. That he was apparently able to ignore all these mutilations spoke well for the coming experiment. He waited to give time for the man to be securely chained, then entered.
The subject was laid out on a thick oaken table at the centre of the chamber, gagged. His legs were together and straight, wrapped in chain lengths secured to pins in either wall. His arms were together as well, stretched up over his head and extending down towards the floor, wrapped in chains, and secured to a pin sunk in the flagging. Ussu leaned over the grimed, stinking fellow to peer into his eyes.
Nothing. No apparent awareness. Merely a dull stare straight up at the ceiling. Catatonic? Just as well. All the easier for his purposes. Yet… lack of a will to live would not do… He began cutting the rags from the man’s chest.
‘You do not know me,’ he told him, ‘but I believe I know you.’
Tearing away the rags, he went to a table where his instruments had been laid out. ‘I must admit that when I heard that the Korelri Champion was a Malazan who denied being a Malazan… and named Bars, well, I became intrigued.’ He glanced back, and there, around the fellow’s eyes — a slight tightening? ‘I, as you can tell, am Malazan. Sixth Army, to be exact. Cadre mage Ussu at your service.’ Knife in hand, he bowed.
He pressed a hand to the arc of the man’s naked ribs, testing, prodding. ‘You, on the other hand, are Bars, Iron Bars, Avowed of the Crimson Guard.’
Ussu stepped back, reconsidering. Perhaps the stomach cavity? Less risk of harming a lung, but still, such bleeding. It drains the life force. The man’s eyes flicked sidelong to catch sight of him; the jaws shifted as if nearly summoned to speech.
‘Yes. Imagine how much the Empire would pay for a living Avowed to study. Quite a lot, no doubt.’ The man’s astounding chest capacity decided things for Ussu. More room than had ever been offered before. It would be the front. He waved to his aides to take hold of legs and arms, then leaned over the man. ‘But that is not why we are here. They say the Avowed cannot be killed.’ He held the keen obsidian-bladed scalpel up before the man’s eyes. ‘This is what we are here to test.’
The chains crashed and rang, almost singing with strain as the subject convulsed.
Ussu flinched back, a hand on the man’s side as one might calm a spooked horse. But the bindings held — so far. He rolled his sleeves up. He traced the line of the cut between ribs, nodded to his aides, and slit the flesh down through the muscle.
Gagged, the subject howled incoherencies, writhing and twisting. Ussu went to his instruments and selected his largest, most sturdy rib-spacer. He returned to the subject. ‘I’m told,’ he said conversationally, ‘that this is a worse agony than even trained torturers can inflict.’ He pushed the sharpened, toothed edges into the cut then struck it home with a heave of his bodyweight. Foam blew out around the edges of the gag and the eyes burned a blazing white-hot fury. Good! Rage will stoke the will to live.
Ussu began turning the spacing screws. ‘Not that I am implying any sort of parallel between myself and some brute torturer. For the analogy breaks down here, you see? The torturer requires something from his victim and is attempting to draw it from him — or her. Yet I require nothing from you.’
Which is a half-lie. I require that you live. ‘I, however, am motivated purely by curiosity and the pursuit of knowledge.’ Ussu paused in the turning. Does that not then make both torturers and I knowledge-seekers? He cocked his head, considering. The knowledge I seek is not held by anyone else… that is a fundamental distinction. Nodding, he continued widening the gap between the ribs.
Something shook him then — not the subject, and not the waves slamming with mind-numbing regularity against the tons of stone beneath, but something new — an earth tremor. Ice outside the walls crackled as the entire structure rolled slightly, as if an immense giant had laid a gentle hand against the tower. The aides shared terrified glances. Ussu merely attempted to measure the extent of the displacement. Interesting… such tremors are common on Fist, but I understand rather rare events here in the Korel Isles.
The movements subsided with a diminishing of the landslide roaring accompanying it. Ussu returned his attention to the subject, dismissing the event. He’d entered high on the torso as he’d decided to come in above and between the lungs. The subject had stopped writhing, as even the slightest motion now induced waves of intense agony — or so he intuited. The gap large enough, he wiped his hand on the side of his robes, then, keeping it flat, like a knife-edge, worked it down into the blood-filled cavity.
The subject convulsed as if axe-struck, bellowing fury and anguish in a storm of mouthings and roaring. Ussu rode out the convulsion, hand up to his second knuckle in the man’s chest. After the waves of twitching passed, Ussu carefully began edging aside organs and pushing down through films of tissue to reach the heart, cradled as it was in its protective pocket of fat and muscle.
Incredibly, the subject was still conscious. Just half an arm’s length away the eyes blazed at him like promises of Hood’s own vengeance. Ussu pulled his gaze away: he’d brushed the heart. It was time to summon his Warren. He reached out, mentally, opening himself to the wash of energies, and was seized by a torrent that nearly threw him off the body. Gods! What lay behind such might? There was something here — some mystery beyond this Crimson Guard. They’d touched something. Something dormant, or hidden, with this vow of theirs.
No matter. There lay future researches. For now, the task at hand. Ha! At hand! In hand, perhaps. Where was Greymane — the Betrayer — Stonewielder?
He reached out, seeking him. The extraordinary might available to him drove Ussu’s consciousness far to the west, and there he found his man. An aura shone about him like a sky-gouging pillar, and the grey stone blade he carried in his hands streamed a molten puissance Ussu’s Warren interpreted as a blinding sun-flare. The earth rolled about the man as if it were a cloth, shaken, and the merest echo of that release cast Ussu away from the body like a blow. He struck the stone wall and slid down, stunned.
His aides shook him awake. Coming to, he flailed, groggy. Then he stood, worked to catch his breath. He grasped one’s shirt. ‘The Lord Protector! Where is he! I must speak to him!’
The aides, Theftian labourers, merely gazed at one another, baffled. Snarling, Ussu thrust them aside to stagger for the stairs. ‘Stay here! Watch him!’
Hiam was with Master Engineer Stimins discussing the potential damage from the tremor when the Overlord’s adviser, Ussu, burst in among them. Blood stained his robes, hands and arms, as if he’d been groping his way through a slaughterhouse. Two nearby Chosen drew blades on him. Hiam took one look at the man’s stricken gaze and waved the guards aside.
‘Lady forefend, man, what is it? What’s happened?’
‘Who named him Stonewielder?’ the Malazan demanded, almost frenzied.
Hiam felt his jaws clenching. ‘We do not discuss that,’ he ground out.
‘Who! Dammit, I must know.’
Master Engineer Stimins caught Hiam’s gaze, cocked a brow. Hiam gave him curt assent. ‘There are locals on these islands. Indigenous tribals who survive here and there, such as in the Screaming range. They first named him Stonewielder. There are long-standing predictions of the wall’s destruction. As old as the wall itself. They claimed he fit them. The stone’s revenge against the wall — that sort of nonsense.’
The Malazan mage had been nodding his agreement, as if in confirmation. ‘Yes. You here in Korel dismiss the Warrens — but they are real. One is named D’riss. The Warren of the Earth. The very ground beneath our feet. This… weapon… many claimed Greymane carries. Just now I found him, and it. It channels D’riss directly, Lord Protector. The might of the earth. And it has just been unsheathed against the wall. I felt it. Far to the west the Stormwall is being shaken to its roots. You felt the tremor, didn’t you? There is worse to come at any moment.’
Hiam met Stimins’ gaze. Poor man. Driven mad by the Lady. Yet… the old predictions. The land throwing off the wall, and the old Lord Protector Ruel’s vision: the wall collapsing in a great shuddering of the earth, the Riders
