too big-he was ugly enough to start with, now he looks damned terrifying.’
‘So what?’ another guard drawled. ‘There’s plenty of hill-grubbing savages that carve up their own faces to frighten weak-kneed recruits like you, Gullstream. Barghast and Semk and Khundryl, but they all break against a Malazan legion just the same.’
‘Well, ain’t none of them being routed these days, though, are they?’
‘That’s only because the Fist’s cowering in his keep and wants us all to put ’im to bed every night. Nobleborn officers-what do you expect?’
‘Might change when the reinforcements arrive,’ Gullstream suggested. ‘The Ashok Regiment knows these parts-’
‘And that’s the problem,’ the other retorted. ‘If this rebellion actually happens this time, who’s to say they won’t turn renegade? We could get smilin’ throats in our own barracks. It’s bad enough with the Red Blades stirrin’ things up in the streets…’
The guards returned.
‘You, Fenn, now it’s your turn. Make it easy for us and it’ll be easy for you. Walk. Slow. Not too close. And trust me, the mines ain’t so bad, considering the alternatives. All right, come forward now.’
Karsa saw no reason to give them trouble.
They emerged onto a sunlit compound. Thick, high walls surrounded the broad parade ground. A number of squat, solid-looking buildings projected out from three of the four walls; along the fourth wall there was a line of prisoners shackled to a heavy chain that ran its entire length, bolted to the foundation stones at regular intervals. Near the heavily fortified gate was a row of stocks, of which only two were occupied-Silgar and Damisk. On the slavemaster’s right ankle there glinted a copper-coloured ring.
Neither man had lifted his head at Karsa’s appearance, and the Teblor considered shouting to attract their attention; instead, he simply bared his teeth at seeing their plight. As the guards escorted him to the line of chained prisoners, Karsa turned to the one named Jibb and spoke in Malazan. ‘What will be the slavemaster’s fate?’
The man’s helmed head jerked up in surprise. Then he shrugged. ‘Ain’t been decided yet. He claims to be rich back in Genabackis.’
Karsa sneered. ‘He can buy his way out from his crimes, then.’
‘Not under imperial law-if they’re serious crimes, that is. Might be he’ll just be fined. He may be a merchant who deals in flesh, but he’s still a merchant. Always best to bleed ’em where it hurts most.’
‘Enough jawing, Jibb,’ another guard growled.
They approached one end of the line, where oversized shackles had been attached. Once more, Karsa found himself in irons, though these were not tight enough to cause him pain. The Teblor noted that he was beside the blue-eyed native.
The squad checked the fittings one more time, then marched away.
There was no shade, though buckets of well-water had been positioned at intervals down the line. Karsa remained standing for a time, then finally settled down to sit with his back against the wall, matching the position of most of the other prisoners. There was little in the way of conversation as the day slowly dragged on. Towards late afternoon shade finally reached them, though the relief was momentary, as biting flies soon descended.
As the sky darkened overhead, the blue-eyed native stirred, then said in a low voice, ‘Giant, I have a proposal for you.’
Karsa grunted. ‘What?’
‘It’s said that the mining camps are corrupt, meaning one can carve out favours-make life easier. The kind of place where it pays to have someone guarding your back. I suggest a partnership.’
Karsa thought about it, then he nodded. ‘Agreed. But if you attempt to betray me, I will kill you.’
‘I could see no other answer to betrayal,’ the man said.
‘I am done talking,’ Karsa said.
‘Good, so am I.’
He thought to ask the man’s name, but there would be time enough for that later. For now, he was content to stretch the silence, to give space for his thoughts. It seemed Urugal was willing him to these otataral mines after all. Karsa would have preferred a more direct-a simpler-journey, such as the one the Malazans had originally intended.
Night arrived. A pair of soldiers appeared with lanterns and sauntered down the line of prisoners, checking the fetters one more time, before heading off to the barracks. From where he slumped, Karsa could see a handful of soldiers stationed at the gate, whilst at least one patrolled the walkway along each wall. Two more stood outside the steps of the headquarters.
The Teblor settled his head against the stone wall and closed his eyes.
Some time later he opened them again. He had slept. The sky was overcast, the compound a mottled pattern of light and darkness. Something had awoken him. He made to stand but a hand stayed him. He looked over to see the native huddled motionless beside him-head lowered as if still asleep. The hand on the Teblor’s arm tightened a moment, then withdrew.
Frowning, Karsa settled back. And then he saw.
The guards at the gate were gone, as were those outside the headquarters. Along the wall walkways… no- one.
Then, alongside a nearby building-movement, a figure sliding through shadows in silence, followed by another, padding along with far less stealth, one gloved hand reaching up to steady itself every now and then.
The two were making directly for Karsa.
Swathed in black cloth, the lead figure halted a few paces from the wall. The other moved up alongside it, then edged past. Hands lifted, slipped back a black hood-
Torvald Nom.
Bloodstained bandages encircling his neck, the face above it deathly pale and gleaming with sweat, but the Daru was grinning.
He drew up to Karsa’s side. ‘Time to go, friend,’ he whispered, raising something that looked very much like a shackle key.
‘Who is with you?’ Karsa whispered back.
‘Oh, a motley collection indeed. Gral tribesmen here doing the sneaky work, and agents from their main trading partner here in Ehrlitan…’ His eyes glittered. ‘The House of Nom, no less. Oh, aye, the thread of blood between us is thin as a virgin’s hair, but it is being honoured none the less. Indeed, with delighted vigour. Now, enough words-as you are wont to say-we don’t want to wake anyone else-’
‘Too late,’ murmured the man chained beside Karsa.
The Gral behind Torvald moved forward, but halted at a strange, elaborate series of gestures from the prisoner.
Torvald grunted. ‘That damned silent language.’
‘It is agreed,’ the prisoner said. ‘I will be going with you.’
‘And if you wasn’t, you’d be sounding the alarm.’
The man said nothing.
After a moment, Torvald shrugged. ‘So be it. All this talk and I’m surprised everyone else in this line isn’t awake-’
‘They would be, only they’re all dead.’ The prisoner beside Karsa slowly straightened. ‘No-one likes criminals. Gral have a particular hatred for them, it seems.’
A second tribesman, who had been moving along the line, reached them. A large, curved knife was in one hand, slick with blood. More hand gestures, then the newcomer sheathed his weapon.
Muttering under his breath, Torvald crouched to unlock Karsa’s shackles.
‘You are as hard to kill as a Teblor,’ Karsa murmured.
‘Thank Hood that Arak was distracted at the time. Even so, if not for the Gral, I’d have bled to death.’
‘Why did they save you?’
‘The Gral like to ransom people. Of course, if they turn out worthless, they kill them. The trading partnership with the House of Nom took precedence over all that, of course.’
Torvald moved on to the other prisoner.
Karsa stood, rubbing his wrists. ‘What kind of trade?’
