‘Your strength, giant. There are four of us over here who are still alive, though I alone am still conscious… and very nearly sane. Sane enough, that is, to comprehend the fullest ignobility of my fate.’
‘You talk too much.’
‘For not much longer, I assure you. Can you lift this log, giant? Or spin it over a few times?’
Karsa was silent for a long moment. ‘What would that achieve?’
‘It would shorten the chains.’
‘I have no wish to shorten the chains.’
‘Temporarily.’
‘Why?’
‘Spin the damned thing, giant. So our chains wrap around it again and again. So, with one last turn, you drag us poor fools at this end under. So we drown.’
‘You would have me kill you?’
‘I applaud your swift comprehension, giant. More souls to crowd your shadow, Teblor-that’s how your kind see it, yes? Kill me, and I will walk with honour in your shadow.’
‘I am not interested in mercy, lowlander.’
‘How about trophies?’
‘I cannot reach you to take trophies.’
‘How well can you see in this gloom? I’ve heard that Teblor-’
‘I can see. Well enough to know that your right hand is closed in a fist. What lies within it?’
‘A tooth. Just fallen out. The third one since I’ve been chained down here.’
‘Throw it to me.’
‘I will try. I am afraid I’m somewhat… worse for wear. Are you ready?’
‘Throw.’
The man’s arm wavered as he lifted it.
The tooth flew high and wide, but Karsa’s arm shot out, chain snapping behind it, and he snatched the tooth from the air. He brought it down for a closer look, then grunted. ‘It’s rotted.’
‘Probably why it fell out. Well? Consider this, too. You will succeed in getting water right through the shaft, which should soften things up even more. Not that you’ve been up to anything down there.’
Karsa slowly nodded. ‘I like you, lowlander.’
‘Good. Now drown me.’
‘I will.’
Karsa slipped down to stand knee-deep in the foul muck, the fresh wounds around his ankles stinging at the contact.
‘I saw them bring you down, giant,’ the man said. ‘None of the Sunyd are as big as you.’
‘The Sunyd are the smallest among the Teblor.’
‘Must be some lowlander blood from way back, I’d imagine.’
‘They have fallen far indeed.’ Karsa lowered both arms, chains dragging, until his hands rested beneath the log.
‘My thanks to you, Teblor.’
Karsa lifted, twisted the log, then set it down once more, gasping. ‘This will not be quick, lowlander, and for that I am sorry.’
‘I understand. Take your time. Biltar slid right under in any case, and Alrute looks about to the next time. You’re doing well.’
He lifted the log once more, rolled it another half-twist. Splashes and gurgling sounds came from the other end.
Then a gasp. ‘Almost there, Teblor. I’m the last. One more-I’ll roll myself under it, so it pins me down.’
‘Then you are crushed, not drowned.’
‘In this muck? No worries there, Teblor. I’ll feel the weight, true, but it won’t cause me much pain.’
‘You lie.’
‘So what? It’s not the means, it’s the end that matters.’
‘All, things matter,’ Karsa said, preparing once more. ‘I shall twist it all the way round this time, lowlander. It will be easier now that my own chains are shorter. Are you ready?’
‘A moment, please,’ the man sputtered.
Karsa lifted the log, grunting with the immense weight pulling down on his arms.
‘I’ve had a change of heart-’
‘I haven’t.’ Karsa spun the log. Then dropped it.
Wild thrashing from the other end, chains sawing the air, then frantic coughing.
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.’