A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

entire length.
    There was a low hiss from the other end, the rustle of freed chains. 'Hood take me, Karsa Orlong,' Torvald whispered, 'you don't take insults well, do you?'
    Though no longer attached to the log, Karsa's wrists and ankles were still chained to the iron bars. The warrior unravelled the chains from his battered, bleeding forearms, then collected one of the bars. Laying the ankle chain against the log, he drove the bar's unflanged end into a single link, then began twisting it with both hands.
    'What has happened?' a Sunyd asked. 'What was that sound?'
    'The Uryd's spine has snapped,' the first speaker replied in a drawl.
    Torvald's laugh was a cold chuckle. 'The Lord's push for you, Ganal, I'm afraid.'
    'What do you mean, Nom?'
    The link popped, sending a piece whipping across the trench to thud against the earthen wall.
    Karsa dragged the chain from his ankle shackles. Then he set to splitting the one holding his wrists.
    Another popping sound. He freed his arms.
    'What is happening?'
    A third crack, as he snapped the chain from the iron bar he had been using – which was the undamaged one, its flange intact, sharp-edged and jagged. Karsa clambered from the trench.
    'Where is this Ganal?' he growled.
    All but one of the Sunyd lying in the opposite trench shrank back at his words.
    'I am Ganal,' said the lone warrior who had not moved. 'Not a broken spine after all. Well then, warrior, kill me for my sceptical words.'
    'I shall.' Karsa strode down the walkway, lifting the iron bar.
    'If you do that,' Torvald said hastily, 'the others will likely raise a cry.'
    Karsa hesitated.
    Ganal smiled up at him. 'If you spare me, there will be no alarm sounded, Uryd. It is night, still a bell or more before dawn. You will make good your escape—'
    'And by your silence, you will all be punished,' Karsa said.
    'No. We were all sleeping.'
    The woman spoke. 'Bring the Uryd, in all your numbers. When you have slain everyone in this town, then you can settle judgement upon us Sunyd, as will be your right.'
    Karsa hesitated, then he nodded. 'Ganal, I give you more of your miserable life. But I shall come once more, and I shall remember you.'
    'I have no doubt, Uryd,' Ganal replied. 'Not any more.'
    'Karsa,' Torvald said. 'I may be a lowlander and all—'
    'I shall free you, child,' the Uryd replied, turning from
the Sunyd trench. 'You have shown courage.' He slid down to the man's side. 'You are too thin to walk,' he observed. 'Unable to run. Do you still wish for me to release you?'
    'Thin? I haven't lost more than half a stone, Karsa Orlong. I can run.'
    'You sounded poorly earlier on—'
    'Sympathy.'
    'You sought sympathy from an Uryd?'
    The man's bony shoulders lifted in a sheepish shrug. 'It was worth a try.'
    Karsa pried the chain apart.
    Torvald pulled his arms free. 'Bern's blessing on you, lad.'
    'Keep your lowlander gods to yourself.'
    'Of course. Apologies. Anything you say.'
    Torvald scrambled up the slope. On the walkway, he paused. 'What of the trapdoor, Karsa Orlong?'
    'What of it?' the warrior growled, climbing up and moving past the lowlander.
    Torvald bowed as Karsa went past, a scrawny arm sweeping out in a graceful gesture. 'Lead me, by all means.'
    Karsa halted on the first step and glanced back at the child. 'I am warleader,' he rumbled. 'You would have me lead you, lowlander?'
    Ganal said from the other trench, 'Careful how you answer, Daru. There are no empty words among the Teblor.'
    'Well, uh, it was naught but an invitation. To precede me up the steps—'
    Karsa resumed his climb.
    Directly beneath the trapdoor, he examined its edges. He recalled that there was an iron latch that was lowered when locked, making it flush with the surrounding boards. Karsa jammed the chain-fixing end of the iron bar into the join beneath the latch. He drove it in as far as he could, then began levering, settling his full weight in gradual increments.
    A splintering snap, the trapdoor jumping up slightly. Karsa set his shoulders against it and lifted.
    The hinges creaked.
    The warrior froze, waited, then resumed, slower this time.
    As his head cleared the hatchway, he could see faint lantern-glow from the far end of the warehouse, and saw, seated around a small round table, three lowlanders. They were not soldiers – Karsa had seen them earlier in the company of the slavemaster, Silgar. There was the muted clatter of bones on the tabletop.
    That they had not heard the trapdoor's hinges was, to Karsa's mind,