‘Too many empty words from you, lowlander,’ the Teblor sighed. ‘There are no gifts that come from being-’
A soft splash sounded, then sputtering and thrashing-the sputtering turning into laughter. Torvald, now alongside the raft, moved into Karsa’s line of sight. ‘Now we know why those ships are canted so!’ And the Teblor saw that Torvald was standing, the water lapping around his upper chest. ‘I can drag us over, now. This also tells us we’re the ones who’ve been drifting. And there’s something else.’
‘What?’
The Daru had begun pulling the raft along, using Karsa’s chains. ‘These ships all grounded during the battle-I think a lot of the hand to hand fighting was actually between ships, chest-deep in water.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because there’s bodies all around me, Karsa Orlong. Against my shins, rolling about on the sands-it’s an unpleasant feeling, let me tell you.’
‘Pull one up. Let us see these combatants.’
‘All in good time, Teblor. We’re almost there. Also, these bodies, they’re, uh, rather soft. We might find something more recognizable if there’s any on the ship itself. Here’-there was a bump-‘we’re alongside. A moment, while I climb aboard.’
Karsa listened to the Daru’s grunts and gasps, the slipping scrabble of his bare feet, the rustle of chains, finally followed by a muted thud.
Then silence.
‘Torvald Nom?’
Nothing.
The raft’s end beyond Karsa’s head bumped alongside the raider’s hull, then began drifting along it. Cool water flowed across the surface, and Karsa recoiled at the contact, but could do nothing as it seeped beneath him. ‘Torvald Nom!’ His voice strangely echoed. No reply.
Laughter rumbled from Karsa, a sound oddly disconnected from the Teblor’s own will. In water that, had he been able to stand, would likely rise no higher than his hips, he would drown. Assuming there would be time for that. Perhaps Torvald Nom had been slain-it would be a bizarre battle if there had been no survivors-and even now, beyond his sight, the Teblor was being looked down upon, his fate hanging in the balance.
The raft edged near the ship’s prow. A scuffling sound, then, ‘Where? Oh.’
‘Torvald Nom?’
Footsteps, half-stumbling, moved alongside from the ship’s deck. ‘Sorry, friend. I think I must have passed out. Were you laughing a moment ago?’
‘I was. What have you found?’
‘Not much. Yet. Bloodstains-dried. Trails through it. This ship has been thoroughly stripped. Hood below-you’re sinking!’
‘And I do not think you will be able to do anything about it, lowlander. Leave me to my fate. Take the water, and my weapons-’
But Torvald had reappeared, rope in his hand, sliding down over the gunnel near the high prow and back into the water. Breathing hard, he fumbled with the rope for a moment before managing to slip it underneath the chains. He then drew it along and repeated the effort on the other side of the raft. A third time, down near Karsa’s left foot, then a fourth loop opposite.
The Teblor could feel the wet, heavy rope being dragged through the chains. ‘What are you doing?’
Torvald made no reply. Still trailing the rope, he climbed back onto the ship. There was another long stretch of silence, then Karsa heard movement once more, and the rope slowly tautened.
Torvald’s head and shoulders moved into view. The lowlander was deathly pale. ‘Best I could do, friend. There may be some more settling, but hopefully not much. I will check again on you in a little while. Don’t worry, I won’t let you drown. I’m going to do some exploring right now-the bastards couldn’t have taken everything.’ He vanished from Karsa’s line of sight.
The Teblor waited, racked with shivering as the sea slowly embraced him. The level had reached his ears, muting all sounds other than the turgid swirl of water. He watched the four lengths of rope slowly growing tighter above him.
It was difficult to recall a time when his limbs had been free to move without restraint, when his raw, suppurating wrists had not known the implacable iron grip of shackles, when he had not felt-deep in his withered body-a vast weakness, a frailty, his blood flowing as thin as water. He closed his eyes and felt his mind falling away.
Away…
Urugal, I stand before you once more. Before these faces in the rock, before my gods. Urugal-
‘I see no Teblor standing before me. I see no warrior wading through his enemies, harvesting souls. I do not see the dead piled high on the ground, as numerous as a herd of bhederin driven over a cliff. Where are my gifts? Who is this who claims to serve me?’
Urugal. You are a bloodthirsty god-
‘A truth a Teblor warrior revels in!’
As I once did. But now, Urugal, I am no longer so sure-
‘Who stands before us? Not a Teblor warrior! Not a servant of mine!’
Urugal. What are these ‘bhederin’ you spoke of? What are these herds? Where among the lands of the Teblor-
‘Karsa!’
He flinched. Opened his eyes.
Torvald Nom, a burlap sack over one shoulder, was climbing back down. His feet made contact with the raft, pushing it a fraction deeper. Water stung the outside corners of Karsa’s eyes.
The sack made numerous clunking sounds as the Daru set it down and reached inside. ‘Tools, Karsa! A shipwright’s tools!’ He drew forth a chisel and an iron-capped mallet.
The Teblor felt his heart begin pounding hard in his chest.
Torvald set the chisel against a chain link, then began hammering.
A dozen swings, the concussions pealing loudly in the still, murky air, then the chain snapped. Its own weight swiftly dragged it through the iron ring of Karsa’s right wrist shackle. Then, with a soft rustle, it was gone beneath the sea’s surface. Agony lanced through his arm as he attempted to move it. The Teblor grunted, even as consciousness slipped away.
He awoke to the sounds of hammering, down beside his right foot, and thundering waves of pain, through which he heard, dimly, Torvald’s voice.
‘… heavy, Karsa. You’ll need to do the impossible. You’ll need to climb. That means rolling over, getting onto your hands and knees. Standing. Walking-oh, Hood, you’re right, I’ll need to think of something else. No food anywhere on this damned ship.’ There was a loud crack, then the hiss of a chain falling away. ‘That’s it, you’re free. Don’t worry, I’ve retied the ropes to the platform itself-you won’t sink. Free. How’s it feel? Never mind-I’ll ask that a few days from now. Even so, you’re free, Karsa. I promised, didn’t I? Let it not be said that Torvald Nom doesn’t hold to his-well, uh, let it not be said that Torvald Nom isn’t afraid of new beginnings.’
‘Too many words,’ Karsa muttered.
‘Aye, far too many. Try moving, at least.’
‘I am.’
‘Bend your right arm.’
‘I am trying.’
‘Shall I do it for you?’
‘Slowly. Should I lose consciousness, do not cease. And do the same for the remaining limbs.’
He felt the lowlander’s hands grip his right arm, at the wrist and above the elbow, then, once again, mercifully, blackness swallowed him.
When he came to once more, bundles of sodden cloth had been propped beneath his head, and he was lying on his side, limbs curled. There was dull pain in every muscle, every joint, yet it seemed strangely remote. He slowly lifted his head.
He was still on the platform. The ropes that held it to the ship’s prow had prevented it from sinking further. Torvald Nom was nowhere in sight.
‘I call upon the blood of the Teblor,’ Karsa whispered. ‘All that is within me must be used now to heal, to gift me strength. I am freed. I did not surrender. The warrior remains. He remains…’ He tried to move his arms. Throbs of pain, sharp, but bearable. He shifted his legs, gasped at the agony flaring in his hips. A moment of light-headedness, threatening oblivion once again… that then passed.