House of Chains

Surprised, Karsa looked up. A brown-smeared figure flailed about, sputtering, kicking.

Karsa slowly sat back, waiting for the man to recover. For a while, there was naught but heavy gasping from the other end of the log. ‘You managed to roll back over, then under and out. I am impressed, lowlander. It seems you are not a coward after all. I did not believe there were such as you among the children.’

‘Sheer courage,’ the man rasped. ‘That’s me.’

‘Whose tooth was it?’

‘Alrute’s. Now, no more spinning, if you please.’

‘I am sorry, lowlander, but I must now spin it the opposite way, until the log is as it was before I started.’

‘I curse your grim logic, Teblor.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Torvald Nom, though to my Malazan enemies, I’m known as Knuckles.’

‘And how came you to learn the Sunyd tongue?’

‘It’s the old trader language, actually. Before there were bounty hunters, there were Nathii traders. A mutually profitable trade between them and the Sunyd. The truth is, your language is close kin to Nathii.’

‘The soldiers spoke gibberish.’

‘Naturally; they’re soldiers.’ He paused. ‘All right, that sort of humour’s lost on you. So be it. Likely, those soldiers were Malazan.’

‘I have decided that the Malazans are my enemy.’

‘Something we share, then, Teblor.’

‘We share naught but this tree trunk, lowlander.’

‘If you prefer. Though I feel obliged to correct you on one thing. Hateworthy as the Malazans are, the Nathii these days are no better. You’ve no allies among the lowlanders, Teblor, be sure of that.’

‘Are you a Nathii?’

‘No. I’m Daru. From a city far to the south. The House of Nom is vast and certain families among it are almost wealthy. We’ve a Nom in the Council, in fact, in Darujhistan. Never met him. Alas, my own family’s holdings are more, uh, modest. Hence my extended travels and nefarious professions-’

‘You talk too much, Torvald Nom. I am ready to turn this log once more.’

‘Damn, I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.’

The iron bar’s end was more than halfway through the trunk, the flange a blunt, shapeless piece of metal. Karsa could not keep the aching and trembling from his legs, even as the rest periods between efforts grew ever longer. The larger wounds in his chest and back, created by the splinter of wood, had reopened, leaking steadily to mix with the sweat soaking his clothes. The skin and flesh of his ankles were shredded. Torvald had succumbed to his own exhaustion, shortly after the log had been returned to its original position, groaning in his sleep whilst Karsa laboured on.

For the moment, as the Uryd warrior rested against the clay slope, the only sounds were his own ragged gasps, underscored by softer, shallow breaths from the far end of the trunk.

Then the sound of boots crossed overhead, first in one direction, then back again, and gone.

Karsa pushed himself upright once more, his head spinning.

‘Rest longer, Teblor.’

‘There is no time for that, Torvald Nom-’

‘Oh, but there is. That slavemaster who now owns you will be waiting here for a while, so that he and his train can travel in the company of the Malazan soldiers. For as far as Malybridge, at least. There’s been plenty of bandit activity from Fool’s Forest and Yellow Mark, for which I acknowledge some proprietary pride, since it was me who united that motley collection of highwaymen and throat-slitters in the first place. They’d have already come to rescue me, too, if not for the Malazans.’

‘I will kill that slavemaster,’ Karsa said.

‘Careful with that one, giant. Silgar’s not a pleasant man, and he’s used to dealing with warriors like you-’

‘I am Uryd, not Sunyd.’

‘So you keep saying, and I’ve no doubt you’re meaner-you’re certainly bigger. All I was saying is, be wary of Silgar.’

Karsa positioned himself over the log.

‘You have time to spare, Teblor. There’s no point in freeing yourself if you’re then unable to walk. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in chains, and I speak from experience: bide your time, an opportunity will arise; if you don’t wither and die first.’

‘Or drown.’

‘Point taken, and yes, I understood your meaning when you spoke of courage. I admit to a moment of despair.’

‘Do you know how long you have been chained here?’

‘Well, there was snow on the ground and the lake’s ice had just broken.’

Karsa slowly glanced over at the barely visible, scrawny figure at the far end. ‘Torvald Nom, even a lowlander should not be made to suffer such a fate.’

The man’s laugh was a rattle. ‘And you call us children. You Teblor cut people down as if you were executioners, but among my kind, execution is an act of mercy. For your average condemned bastard, prolonged torture is far more likely. The Nathii have made the infliction of suffering an art-must be the cold winters or something. In any case, if not for Silgar claiming you-and the Malazan soldiers in town-the locals would be peeling the skin from your flesh right now, a sliver at a time. Then they’d lock you inside a box to let you heal. They know that your kind are immune to infections, which means they can make you suffer for a long, long time. There’s a lot of frustrated townsfolk out there right now, I’d imagine.’

Karsa began pulling on the bar once more.

He was interrupted by voices overhead, then heavy thumping, as of a dozen or more barefooted arrivals, the sound joined now by chains slithering across the warehouse floor.

Karsa settled back against the opposite trench slope.

The trapdoor opened. A child in the lead, lantern in hand, and then Sunyd-naked but for rough-woven short skirts-making a slow descent, their left ankles shackled with a chain linking them all together. The lowlander with the lantern walked down the walkway between the two trenches. The Sunyd, eleven in all, six men and five women, followed.

Their heads were lowered; none would meet Karsa’s steady, cold regard.

At a gesture from the child, who had halted four long paces from Karsa’s position, the Sunyd turned and slid down the slope of their trench. Three more lowlanders had appeared, and followed them down to apply the fixed shackles to the Teblor’s other ankles. There was no resistance from the Sunyd.

Moments later, the lowlanders were back on the walkway, then heading up the steps. The trapdoor squealed on its hinges, closing with a reverberating thump that sent dust drifting down through the gloom.

‘It is true, then. An Uryd.’ The voice was a whisper.

Karsa sneered. ‘Was that the voice of a Teblor? No, it could not have been. Teblor do not become slaves. Teblor would rather die than kneel before a lowlander.’

‘An Uryd… in chains. Like the rest of us-’

‘Like the Sunyd? Who let these foul children come close and fix shackles to their legs? No. I am a prisoner, but no bindings shall hold me for long. The Sunyd must be reminded what it is to be a Teblor.’

A new voice spoke from among the Sunyd, a woman’s. ‘We saw the dead, lined up on the ground before the hunters’ camp. We saw wagons, filled with dead Malazans. Townsfolk were wailing. Yet, it is said there were but three of you-’

‘Two, not three. Our companion, Delum Thord, was wounded in the head, his mind had fallen away. He ran with the dogs. Had his mind been whole, his bloodsword in his hands-’

There was sudden murmuring from the Sunyd, the word bloodsword spoken in tones of awe.

Karsa scowled. ‘What is this madness? Have the Sunyd lost all the old ways of the Teblor?’