A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

thumped and scraped on a sandy bottom. He stood, still holding one of Borrug's legs. Moments later, he was on the beach.
    The others sat or knelt on the pale strip of sand, regaining their breaths.
    Dropping the body onto the beach, Karsa remained standing, his head tilted back as he sniffed the warm, sultry air. There was heavy, lush foliage beyond the strand's shell-cluttered high-tide line. The buzz and whine of insects, a faint rustle as something small moved across dry seaweed.
    Torvald crawled close. 'Karsa, the man's dead. He was dead when the shark took him—'
    'So that was a shark. The sailors on the Malazan ship spoke of sharks.'
    'Karsa, when a shark swallows someone you don't go after the poor bastard. He's finished—'
    'He was in my care,' Karsa rumbled. 'The shark had no right to him, whether he was dead or alive.'
    Silgar was on his feet a few paces away. At Karsa's words he laughed, the sound high-pitched, then said, 'From a shark's belly to seagulls and crabs! Borrug's pathetic spirit no doubt thanks you, Teblor!'
    'I have delivered the lowlander,' Karsa replied, 'and now return him to your care, Slavemaster. If you wish to leave him for seagulls and crabs, that is for you to decide.' He faced the dark sea once more, but could see no sign of the dead shark.
    'No-one would believe me,' Torvald muttered.
    'Believe what, Torvald Nom?'
    'Oh, I was imagining myself as an old man, years from now, sitting in Quip's Bar in Darujhistan, telling this tale. I saw it with my own eyes, and even I am having trouble believing it. You were halfway out of the water when you
swung that sword down – helps having four lungs, I suppose. Even so ...' he shook his head.
    Karsa shrugged. 'The catfish were worse,' he said. 'I did not like the catfish.'
    'I suggest,' Silgar called out, 'we get some sleep. Come the dawn, we will discover what there is to discover of this place. For now, thank Mael that we are still alive.'
    'Forgive me,' Torvald said, 'but I'd rather give thanks to a stubborn Teblor warrior than to any sea god.'
    'Then your faith is sorely misplaced,' the slavemaster sneered, turning away.
    Torvald slowly climbed upright. 'Karsa,' he murmured, 'you should know that Mael's chosen beast of the sea is the shark. I've no doubt at all that Silgar was indeed praying hard while we were out there.'
    'It does not matter,' Karsa replied. He drew a deep breath of jungle-scented air, slowly released it. 'I am on land, and I am free, and now I shall walk along this beach, and so taste something of this new land.'
    'I will join you, then, friend, for I believe the light I saw was to our right, slightly above this beach, and I would investigate.'
    'As you like, Torvald Nom.'
    They began walking along the strand.
    'Karsa, neither Silgar nor Damisk possesses a shred of decency. I, however, do. A small shred, granted, but one none the less. Thus: thank you.'
    'We have saved each other's lives, Torvald Nom, and so I am pleased to call you friend, and to think of you as a warrior. Not a Teblor warrior, of course, but a warrior even so.'
    The Daru said nothing for a long time. They had moved well out of sight of Silgar and Damisk. The shelf of land to their right was rising in layers of pale stone, the wave-sculpted wall webbed with creepers from the thick growth clinging to the overhang. A break in the clouds overhead cast faint starlight down, reflecting on the virtually motionless water on
their left. The sand underfoot was giving way to smooth, undulating stone.
    Torvald touched Karsa's arm and stopped, pointing upslope. 'There,' he whispered.
    The Teblor softly grunted. A squat, misshapen tower rose above the tangle of brush. Vaguely square and sharply tapering to end at a flat roof, the tower hunched over the beach, a gnarled black mass. Three-quarters of the way up its seaward-facing side was a deeply inset triangular window. Dull yellow light outlined the shutter's warped slats.
    A narrow footpath was visible winding down to the shore, and nearby – five paces beyond the high tide line – lay the collapsed remnants of a fisherboat, the sprung ribs of the hull jutting out to the sides wrapped in seaweed and limned in guano.
    'Shall we pay a visit?' Torvald asked.
    'Yes,' Karsa replied, walking towards the footpath.
    The Daru quickly moved up beside him. 'No trophies, though, right?'
    Shrugging, the Teblor said, 'That depends on how we are received.'
    'Strangers on a desolate beach, one of them a giant with a sword