House of Chains

Silgar unleashed magic once more, a wave that descended on the Teblor like a blanket-that he tore off with unthinking ease, his shrieks slicing into the night air, echoing back from nearby buildings, ringing out across the crowded harbour.



‘You there!’ Malazan words, a bellow, then the swiftly approaching clash and clatter of armoured soldiers.



‘An escaped slave, sirs!’ Silgar said hastily. ‘We have-as you can see-just recaptured him-’



‘Escaped slave? Let’s see his brand-’



The last words Karsa registered, as the pain in his hands and feet sent him plummeting into oblivion.



He awoke to Malazan words being spoken directly above him. ‘… extraordinary. I’ve never seen natural healing such as this. His hands and feet-those shackles were on for some time, Sergeant. On a normal man I’d be cutting them off right now.’



Another voice spoke, ‘Are all Fenn such as this one?’



‘Not that I’ve ever heard. Assuming he’s Fenn.’



‘Well, what else would he be? He’s as tall as two Dal Honese put together.’



‘I wouldn’t know, Sergeant. Before I was posted here, the only place I knew well was six twisting streets in Li Heng. Even the Fenn was just a name and some vague description about them being giants. Giants no-one’s seen for decades at that. The point is, this slave was in bad shape when you first brought him in. Beaten pretty fierce, and someone punched him in the ribs hard enough to crack bones-wouldn’t want to cross whoever that was. For all that, the swelling’s already down on his face-despite what I’ve just done to it-and the bruises are damned near fading in front of our eyes.’



Continuing to feign unconsciousness, Karsa listened to the speaker stepping back, then the sergeant asking, ‘So the bastard’s not in danger of dying, then.’



‘Not that I can see.’



‘Good enough, Healer. You can return to the barracks.’



‘Aye, sir.’



Various movement, boots on flagstones, the clang of an iron-barred door; then, as these echoes dwindled, the Teblor heard, closer by, the sound of breathing.



In the distance there was some shouting, faint and muted by intervening walls of stone, yet Karsa thought he recognized the voice as belonging to the slavemaster, Silgar. The Teblor opened his eyes. A low, smoke-stained ceiling-not high enough to permit him to stand upright. He was lying on a straw-littered, greasy floor. There was virtually no light, apart from a dim glow reaching in from the walkway beyond the barred door.



His face hurt, a strange stinging sensation prickling on his cheeks, forehead and along his jaw.



Karsa sat up.



There was someone else in the small, windowless cell, hunched in a dark corner. The figure grunted and said something in one of the languages of the Seven Cities.



A dull ache remained in Karsa’s hands and feet. The inside of his mouth was dry and felt burnt, as if he’d just swallowed hot sand. He rubbed at his tingling face.



A moment later the man tried Malazan, ‘You’d likely understand me if you were Fenn.’



‘I understand you, but I am not one of these Fenn.’



‘I said it sounds like your master isn’t enjoying his stay in the stocks.’



‘He has been arrested?’



‘Of course. The Malazans like arresting people. You’d no brand. At the time. Keeping you as a slave is therefore illegal under imperial law.’



‘Then they should release me.’



‘Little chance of that. Your master confessed that you were being sent to the otataral mines. You were on a ship out of Genabaris that you’d cursed, said curse then leading to the ship’s destruction and the deaths of the crew and the marines. The local garrison is only half-convinced by that tale, but that’s sufficient-you’re on your way to the island. As am I.’



Karsa rose. The low ceiling forced him to stand hunched over. He made his way, hobbling, to the barred door.



‘Aye, you could probably batter it down,’ the stranger said. ‘But then you’ll be cut down before you manage three steps from this gaol. We’re in the middle of the Malazan compound. Besides, we’re about to be taken outside in any case, to join the prisoners’ line chained to a wall. In the morning, they’ll march us down to the imperial jetty and load us onto a transport.’



‘How long have I been unconscious?’



‘The night you were carried in, the day after, the next night. It’s now midday.’



‘And the slavemaster has been in the stocks all this time?’



‘Most of it.’