A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

Karsa! To the stern!'
    Torvald made a brief effort to drag Karsa, then gave up with a curse, running full tilt for the galley's stern.
    Weaving, fighting waves of blackness, the Teblor
staggered after the Daru. 'Could you not have speared a smaller one?'
    The impact sent them both sprawling. A terrible splitting sound reverberated down the galley's spine, and all at once there was water everywhere, foaming up from the hatches, sweeping in from the sides. Planks from the hull on both sides parted like groping fingers.
    Karsa found himself thrashing about in waist-deep water. Something like a deck remained beneath him, and he managed to struggle upright. And, bobbing wildly directly in front of him, was his original bloodsword. He snatched at it, felt his hand close about the familiar grip. Exultation soared through him, and he loosed an Uryd warcry.
    Torvald sloshed into view beside him. 'If that didn't freeze that fish's tiny heart, nothing will. Come on, we need to get onto that other damned ship. There's more of those bastards closing in all around us.'
    They struggled forward.
    The ship they had broadsided had been leaning in the other direction. The galley had plunged into its hull, creating a massive hole before itself shattering, the prow with its harpoon line snapping off and vanishing within the ship's lower decks. It was clear that the huge ship was solidly grounded, nor had the collision dislodged it.
    As they neared the gaping hole, they could hear wild thrashing from somewhere within, deep in the hold.
    'Hood take me!' Torvald muttered in disbelief. 'That thing went through the hull first. Well, at least we're not fighting a creature gifted with genius. It's trapped down there, is my guess. We should go hunting—'
    'Leave that to me,' Karsa growled.
    'You? You can barely stand—'
    'Even so, I will kill it.'
    'Well, can't I watch?'
    'If you insist.'
    There were three decks within the ship's hull, in so far as they could see, the bottom one comprising the hold itself,
the other two scaled to suit tall lowlanders. The hold had been half-filled with cargo, which was now tumbling out in the backwash – bundles, bales and casks.
    Karsa plunged into waist-deep water, making for the thrashing sounds deeper within. He found the huge fish writhing on the second level, in sloshing, foaming water that barely covered the Teblor's ankles. Spears of splintered wood jutted from the fish's enormous head, blood streaming out to stain the foam pink. It had rolled onto its side, revealing a smooth, silvery underbelly.
    Clambering across to the creature, Karsa drove his sword into its abdomen. The huge tail twisted round, struck him with the strength of a destrier's kick. He was suddenly in the air, then the curved wall of the hull struck his back.
    Stunned by the impact, the Teblor slumped in the swirling water. He blinked the drops from his eyes, then, unmoving in the gloom, watched the fish's death-throes.
    Torvald climbed into view. 'You're still damned fast, Karsa – left me behind. But I see you've done the deed. There's food among these supplies ...'
    But Karsa heard no more, as unconsciousness took him once again.
    He awoke to the stench of putrefying flesh that hung heavy in the still air. In the half-light, he could just make out the body of the dead fish opposite him, its belly slit open, a pallid corpse partially tumbled out. There was the distant sound of movement somewhere above him.
    Well beyond the fish and to the right, steep steps were visible, leading upward.
    Fighting to keep from gagging, Karsa collected his sword and began crawling towards the stairs.
    He eventually emerged onto the midship's deck. Its sorcery-scarred surface was sharply canted, sufficient to make traverse difficult. Supplies had been collected and were piled against the downside railing, where ropes trailed over the side. Pausing near the hatch to regain his breath,
Karsa looked around for Torvald Nom, but the Daru was nowhere in sight.
    Magic had ripped deep gouges across the deck. There were no bodies visible anywhere, no indications of the nature of the ship's owners. The black wood – which seemed to emanate darkness – was of a species the Teblor did not recognize, and it was devoid of any ornamentation, evoking pragmatic simplicity. He found himself strangely comforted.
    Torvald Nom clambered into view from the downside rail. He had managed to remove the chains attached to his shackles, leaving only the black iron bands