House of Chains

‘How long until the compound guards are changed?’ the blue-eyed man asked.



‘A bell at least, so you will have plenty-’



Sudden alarms shattered the night, from the direction of the Malazan garrison.



The Gral seemed to vanish before Karsa’s eyes, so quickly did they scatter. ‘Torvald Nom, for all you have done for me, I thank you-’



The Daru scurried over to a pile of rubbish in the alley. He swept it aside, then lifted into view Karsa’s bloodsword. ‘Here, friend.’ He tossed the sword into the Teblor’s hands. ‘Come to Darujhistan in a few years’ time.’



A final wave, then the Daru was gone.



The blue-eyed man-who had collected a sword from one of the dead guards-now gestured. ‘Stay close. There are ways out of Ehrlitan the Malazans know nothing of. Follow, and quietly.’ He set off. Karsa slipped into his wake.



Their route twisted through the lower city, down countless alleys, some so narrow that the Teblor was forced to sidle sideways along their crooked lengths. Karsa had thought that his guide would lead them towards the docks, or perhaps the outer walls facing onto the wasteland to the south. Instead, they climbed towards the single massive hill at Ehrlitan’s heart, and before long were moving through the rubble of countless collapsed buildings.



They arrived at the battered base of a tower, the native not hesitating as he ducked in through the gaping, dark doorway. Following, Karsa found himself in a cramped chamber, its floor uneven with heaved flagstones. A second portal was barely visible opposite the entrance, and at its threshold the man paused. ‘Mebra!’ he hissed.



There was movement, then: ‘Is it you? Dryjhna bless us, I had heard that you had been captured-ah, the alarms down below… well done-’



‘Enough of that. Do the provisions remain in the tunnels?’



‘Of course! Always. Including your own cache-’



‘Good, now move aside. I’ve someone with me.’



Beyond the portal was a rough series of stone steps, descending into even deeper darkness. Karsa sensed the man Mebra’s presence as he edged past, heard his sharp intake of breath.



The blue-eyed man below the Teblor halted suddenly. ‘Oh, and Mebra, tell no-one you have seen us-not even your fellow servants to the cause. Understand?’



‘Of course.’



The two fugitives continued on, leaving Mebra behind. The stairs continued down, until Karsa had begun to think that they were approaching the bowels of the earth. When it finally levelled out, the air was heavy with damp, smelling of salt, and the stones underfoot were wet and streaked in slime. At the tunnel’s mouth a number of niches had been carved into the limestone walls, each one holding leather packs and travel gear.



Karsa watched as his companion strode quickly to one niche in particular. After a moment’s examination, he dropped the Malazan sword he had been carrying and drew forth a pair of objects that moved with the sound of rustling chain.



‘Take that food-pack,’ the man instructed, nodding towards a nearby niche. ‘And you will find a telaba or two-clothes-and weapon-belts and harnesses-leave the lanterns, the tunnel ahead is long but has no branches.’



‘Where does it lead?’



‘Out,’ the man replied.



Karsa fell silent. He disliked the extent to which his life was in this native’s hands, but it seemed that, for the time being, there was nothing he could do about it. Seven Cities was a stranger place than even the Genabackan cities of Malyntaeas and Genabaris. The lowlanders filled this world like vermin-more tribes than the Teblor had thought possible, and it was clear that none liked each other. While that was a sentiment Karsa well understood-for tribes should dislike each other-it was also obvious that, among the lowlanders, there was no sense of any other sort of loyalty. Karsa was Uryd, but he was also Teblor. The lowlanders seemed so obsessed with their differences that they had no comprehension of what unified them.



A flaw that could be exploited.



The pace set by Karsa’s guide was fierce, and though most of the damage done to the Teblor was well along in healing, his reserves of strength and stamina were not what they had once been. After a time, the distance between the two began to lengthen, and eventually Karsa found himself travelling alone through the impenetrable darkness, one hand on the rough-hewn wall to his right, hearing only the sounds of his own passage. The air was no longer damp, and he could taste dust in his mouth.



The wall suddenly vanished under his hand. Karsa stumbled, drew to a halt.



‘You did well,’ the native said from somewhere on the Teblor’s left. ‘Running hunched over as you had to be… not an easy task. Look up.’