Preparing me for this moment.
Very well, Father, I can see the gleam of satisfaction in your eyes, now. But I tell you this, you delivered naught but wounds upon your son. And I have had enough of wounds.
Urugal was with him. All the Seven were with him. Their power would make him impervious to all that besieged his Teblor spirit. He would, one day, return to his people, and he would shatter their rules. He would unite the Teblor, and they would march behind him… down into the lowlands.
Until that moment, all that came before-all that afflicted him now-was but preparation. He would be the weapon of retribution, and it was the enemy itself that now honed him.
Blindness curses both sides, it seems. Thus, the truth of my words shall be shown.
Such were his last thoughts before consciousness once more faded away.
Excited voices awoke him. It was dusk and the air was filled with the smell of horses, dust and spiced foods. The wagon was motionless under him, and he could now hear, mingled with the voices, the sounds of many people and a multitude of activities, underscored by the rush of a river.
‘Ah, awake once more,’ Torvald Nom said.
Karsa opened his eyes but did not otherwise move.
‘This is Culvern Crossing,’ the Daru went on, ‘and it’s a storm swirling with the latest news from the south. All right, a small storm, given the size of this latrine pit of a town. The scum of the Nathii, which is saying a lot. The Malazan company’s pretty excited, though. Pale’s just fallen, you see. A big battle, lots of sorcery, and Moon’s Spawn retreated-likely headed to Darujhistan, in fact. Beru take me, I wish I was there right now, watching it crossing the lake, what a sight that’d be. The company, of course, are wishing they’d been there for the battle. Idiots, but that’s soldiers for you-’
‘And why not?’ Shard’s voice snapped as the wagon rocked slightly and the man appeared. ‘The Ashok Regiment deserves better than to be stuck up here hunting bandits and slavers.’
‘The Ashok Regiment is you, I presume,’ Torvald said.
‘Aye. Damned veterans, too, one and all.’
‘So why aren’t you down south, Corporal?’
Shard made a face, then turned away with narrowed eyes. ‘She don’t trust us, that’s why,’ he murmured. ‘We’re Seven Cities, and the bitch don’t trust us.’
‘Excuse me,’ Torvald said, ‘but if she-and by that I take you to mean your Empress-doesn’t trust you, then why is she sending you home? Isn’t Seven Cities supposedly on the edge of rebellion? If there’s a chance of you turning renegade, wouldn’t she rather have you here on Genabackis?’
Shard stared down at Torvald Nom. ‘Why am I talking to you, thief? You might damn well be one of her spies. A Claw, for all I know.’
‘If I am, Corporal, you haven’t been treating me very well. A detail I’d be sure to put in my report-this secret one, the one I’m secretly writing, that is. Shard, wasn’t it? As in a piece of broken glass, yes? And you called the Empress “bitch”-’
‘Shut up,’ the Malazan snarled.
‘Just making a rather obvious point, Corporal.’
‘That’s what you think,’ Shard sneered as he dropped back down from the side of the wagon and was lost from sight.
Torvald Nom said nothing for a long moment, then, ‘Karsa Orlong, do you have any idea what that man meant by that last statement?’
Karsa spoke in a low voice, ‘Torvald Nom, listen well. A warrior who followed me, Delum Thord, was struck on the head. His skull cracked and leaked thought-blood. His mind could not walk back up the path. He was left helpless, harmless. I, too, have been struck on the head. My skull is cracked and I have leaked thought-blood-’
‘Actually, it was drool-’
‘Be quiet. Listen. And answer, when you will, in a whisper. I have awakened now, twice, and you have observed-’
Torvald interjected in a soft murmur. ‘That your mind’s lost on the trail or something. Is that what I have observed? You babble meaningless words, sing childhood songs and the like. All right, fine. I’ll play along, on one condition.’
‘What condition?’
‘That whenever you manage to escape, you free me as well. A small thing, you might think, but I assure you-’
‘Very well. I, Karsa Orlong of the Uryd, give my word.’
‘Good. I like the formality of that vow. Sounds like it’s real.’
‘It is. Do not mock me, else I kill you once I have freed you.’
‘Ah, now I see the hidden caveat. I must twist another vow from you, alas-’
The Teblor growled with impatience, then relented and said, ‘I, Karsa Orlong, shall not kill you once I have freed you, unless given cause.’
‘Explain the nature of those causes-’
‘Are all Daru like you?’
‘It needn’t be an exhaustive list. “Cause” being, say, attempted murder, betrayal, and mockery of course. Can you think of any others?’
‘Talking too much.’
‘Well, with that one we’re getting into very grey, very murky shades, don’t you think? It’s a matter of cultural distinctions-’
‘I believe Darujhistan shall be the first city I conquer-’
‘I’ve a feeling the Malazans will get there first, I’m afraid. Mind you, my beloved city has never been conquered, despite its being too cheap to hire a standing army. The gods not only look down on Darujhistan with a protective eye, they probably drink in its taverns. In any case-oh, shhh, someone’s coming.’
Bootsteps neared, then, as Karsa watched through slitted eyes, Sergeant Cord clambered up into view and glared for a long moment at Torvald Nom. ‘You sure don’t look like a Claw…’ he finally said. ‘But maybe that’s the whole point.’
‘Perhaps it is.’
Cord’s head began turning towards Karsa and the Teblor closed his eyes completely. ‘He come around yet?’
‘Twice. Doing nothing but drooling and making animal sounds. I think you went and damaged his brain, assuming he has one.’
Cord grunted. ‘Might prove a good thing, so long as he doesn’t die on us. Now, where was I?’
‘Torvald Nom, the Claw.’
‘Right. OK. Even so, we’re still treating you as a bandit-until you prove to us you’re something otherwise-and so you’re off to the otataral mines with everyone else. Meaning, if you are a Claw, you’d better announce it before we leave Genabaris.’
‘Assuming, of course,’ Torvald smiled, ‘my assignment does not require me to assume the disguise of a prisoner in the otataral mines.’
Cord frowned, then, hissing a curse, he dropped down from the side of the wagon.
They heard him shout, ‘Get this damned wagon on that ferry! Now!’
The wheels creaked into sudden motion, the oxen lowing.
Torvald Nom sighed, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes.
‘You play a deadly game,’ Karsa muttered.
The Daru propped one eye open. ‘A game, Teblor? Indeed, but maybe not the game you think.’
Karsa grunted his disgust.
‘Be not so quick to dismiss-’
‘I am,’ the warrior replied, as the oxen dragged the wagon onto a ramp of wooden boards. ‘My causes shall be “attempted murder, betrayal, mockery, and being one of these Claws”.’
‘And talking too much?’
‘It seems I shall have to suffer that curse.’
Torvald slowly cocked his head, then he grinned. ‘Agreed.’
In a strange way, the discipline of maintaining the illusion of mindlessness proved Karsa’s greatest ally in remaining sane. Days, then weeks lying supine, spread-eagled and chained down to the bed of a wagon was a torture unlike anything the Teblor could have imagined possible. Vermin crawled all over his body, covering him in bites that itched incessantly. He knew of large animals of the deep forest being driven mad by blackflies and midges, and now he understood how such an event could occur.