looked upon you.’
‘Then why do you choose to look upon me now, Karsa Orlong?’
‘I do not know. I regret it already.’
‘I have seen the sun’s light through the weave of the fabric. Preferable to darkness.’
‘Why should what you prefer interest me?’
‘Because, Karsa Orlong, we are within the same House. The House of Chains. Our master-’
‘I have no master,’ the Teblor growled.
‘As he would have it,’ Siballe replied. ‘The Crippled God does not expect you to kneel. He issues no commands to his Mortal Sword, his Knight of Chains-for that is what you are, the role for which you have been shaped from the very beginning.’
‘I am not in this House of Chains, T’lan Imass. Nor will I accept another false god.’
‘He is not false, Karsa Orlong.’
‘As false as you,’ the warrior said, baring his teeth. ‘Let him rise before me and my sword will speak for me. You say I have been shaped. Then there is much to which he must give answer.’
‘The gods chained him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They chained him, Karsa Orlong, to dead ground. He is broken. In eternal pain. He has been twisted by captivity and now knows only suffering.’
‘Then I shall break his chains-’
‘I am pleased-’
‘And then kill him.’
Karsa grabbed the shattered T’lan Imass by its lone arm and stuck it back into the pack. Then rose.
Great tasks lay ahead. The notion was satisfying.
A
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Otataral, I believe, was born of sorcery. If we hold that magic feeds on hidden energies, then it follows that there are limits to those energies. Sufficient unveiling of power that subsequently cascades out of control could well drain those life-forces dry.
Further, it is said that the Elder warrens resist the deadening effect of otataral, suggesting that the world’s levels of energy are profoundly multilayered. One need only contemplate the life energy of corporeal flesh, compared to the undeniable energy within an inanimate object, such as rock. Careless examination might suggest that the former is alive, whilst the latter is not. In this manner, perhaps otataral is not quite as negating as it would first appear…
Musings on the Physical Properties of the World
THE 9TH, 11TH AND 12TH SQUADS, MEDIUM INFANTRY, HAD BEEN attached to the marines of the 9th Company. There were rumours, as well, that the 1st, 2nd and 3rd squads-the heavy infantry with their oversized muscles and sloping brows-would soon join them to form a discrete fighting unit.
None from the newly arrived squads were entirely strangers to Strings. He had made a point of learning names and memorizing faces throughout the 9th Company.
Footsore and weary from interrupted nights, the sergeant and his squad were sprawled around a cookfire, lulled by the incessant roar of the Whirlwind Wall a thousand paces north of the encamped army. Even rage could numb, it seemed.
Sergeant Balm of the 9th squad strode over after directing his soldiers into their new camp. Tall and wide- shouldered, the Dal Honese had impressed Strings with his cool indifference to pressure. Balm’s squad had already done its share of fighting, and the names of Corporal Deadsmell, Throatslitter, Widdershins, Gait and Lobe were already among the tales travelling through the legion. The same was true of some from the other two squads. Moak, Burnt and Stacker. Thorn Tissy, Tulip, Ramp and Able.
The heavy infantry were yet to wet their swords, but Strings had been impressed with their discipline-
Sergeant Balm squatted down. ‘You’re the one named Strings, aren’t you? Heard it’s not your real name.’
Strings raised his brows. ‘And “Balm” is?’
The dark-skinned young man frowned, his heavy eyebrows meeting as he did so. ‘Why, yes, it is.’
Strings glanced over at another soldier from the 9th squad, a man standing nearby looking as if he wanted to kill something. ‘And what about him? What’s his name again, Throatslitter? Did his ma decide on that for her little one, do you think?’
‘Can’t say,’ Balm replied. ‘Give a toddler a knife and who knows what’ll happen.’
Strings studied the man for a moment, then grunted. ‘You wanted to see me about something?’
Balm shrugged. ‘Not really. Sort of. What do you think of the captain’s new units? Seems a little late to make changes like this…’
‘It’s not that new, actually. Greymane’s legions are sometimes set up in the same manner. In any case, our new Fist has approved it.’
‘Keneb. Not sure about him.’
‘And you are about our fresh-faced captain?’
‘Aye, I am. He’s nobleborn, is Ranal. Enough said.’
‘Meaning?’
Balm looked away, started tracking a distant bird in flight. ‘Oh, only that he’s likely to get us all killed.’
‘Don’t need to, Strings. They share it.’
‘Sharing it ain’t the same as saying it.’
Gesler, Borduke and the sergeants from the 11th and 12th squads came over and muttered introductions went round the group. Moak, of the 11th, was Falari, copper-haired and bearded like Strings. He’d taken a lance down his back, from shoulder to tailbone, and, despite the healer’s efforts, was clearly struggling with badly knitted muscles. The 11th’s sergeant, Thorn Tissy, was squat, with a face that might be handsome to a female toad, his cheeks pocked and the backs of his hands covered in warts. He was, the others saw when he removed his helm, virtually hairless.
Moak squinted at Strings for a long moment, as if seeking to conjure recognition, then he drew out a fish spine from his belt pouch and began picking his teeth. ‘Anybody else hear about that killer soldier? Heavy infantry, not sure what company, not even sure what legion. Named Neffarias Bredd. I heard he killed eighteen raiders all in one night.’
Strings lifted his gaze to meet Gesler’s, but neither man’s expression changed.
‘I heard it was eighteen one night, thirteen the next,’ Thorn Tissy said. ‘We’ll have to ask the slope-brows when they show.’
‘Well,’ Strings pointed out, ‘there’s one over there.’ He raised his voice. ‘Flashwit! Come join us for a moment, if you please.’
The ground seemed to tremble with the woman’s approach. She was Napan and Strings wondered if she knew she was female. The muscles of her arms were larger than his thighs. She had cut all her hair off, her round
