The Bonehunters

He glanced at her when she stopped at his side. 'I will assault this keep alone, witch.'



'You certainly will,' she replied. 'I'm just here for a closer look.'



'I doubt there will be much to see.'



'What are you planning, Toblakai?'



'I am Karsa Orlong, of the Teblor. You know my name and you will use it. To Sha'ik I was Toblakai. She is dead. To Leoman of the Flails, I was Toblakai, and he is as good as dead. To the rebels I was-'



'All right, I understand. Only dead or nearly dead people called you Toblakai, but you should know, it is only that name that has kept you from rotting out the rest of your life in the palace pits.'



'That pup on the white horse is a fool. I could break him under one arm-'



'Yes, that likely would break him. And his army?'



'More fools. I am done speaking, witch. Witness.'



And so she did.



****

Karsa clambered down into the moat. Rubble, broken weapons, siegestones and withered bodies. Lizards scampered on the rocks, capemoths rising like pale leaves caught in an updraught. He made his way to a point directly beneath the two massive iron doors. Even with his height he could barely reach the narrow ledge at their base. He scanned the wreckage of the bridge around him, then began piling stones, choosing the larger fragments and fashioning rough steps.



Some time later he was satisfied. Drawing his sword, he climbed the steps, and found himself at the same level as the broad, riveted locking mechanism. Raising his stone sword in both hands, he set the point in the join, in front of where he judged the lock to be. He waited a moment, until the position of his arms and the angle of the blade was set in his mind, then he lifted the sword away, edged back as far as he could on the makeshift platform of rubble, drew the weapon back, and swung.



The blow was true, the unbreakable chalcedony edge driving into the join between the doors. Momentum ceased with a snapping sound as the blade jammed in an unseen, solid iron bar, the reverberations pounding through Karsa's arms and into his shoulders.



He grunted, waited until the pain ebbed, then tugged the weapon free in a screech of metal. And took aim once again.



He both felt and heard the crack of the bar.



Karsa pulled the sword loose then threw his shoulder against the doors.



Something fell with a loud clang, and the door on the right swung back.



****

On the other side of the moat, Samar Dev stared. She had just witnessed something… extraordinary.



Captain Inashan came up alongside her. 'The Seven Holies protect us,' he whispered. 'He just cut through an iron door.'



'Yes, he did.'



'We need…'



She glanced over. 'We need what, Captain?'



'We need to get him out of Ugarat. Away, as soon as possible.'



****

Darkness in the funnel within – angled walls, chutes and arrow-slits.



Some mechanism had lowered the arched ceiling and narrowed the walls – he could see that they were suspended, perhaps a finger's width from contact with each other and with the paved floor. Twenty murderous paces to an inner gate, and that gate was ajar.



Karsa listened but heard nothing. The air smelled rank, bitter. He squinted at the arrow-slits. They were dark, the hidden chambers to either side unlit.



Readying the sword in his hands, Karsa Orlong entered the keep.



No hot sand from the chutes, no arrows darting out from the slits, no boiling oil. He reached the gate. A courtyard beyond, one third sharply bathed in white sunlight. He strode forward until he was past the gate and then looked up. The rock had been hollowed out indeed – above was a rectangle of blue sky, the fiery sun filling one corner.



The walls on all four sides were tiered with fortified landings and balconies, countless windows. He could make out doorways on those balconies, some yawning black, others closed. Karsa counted twenty-two levels on the wall opposite him, eighteen on the one to his left, seventeen to the right, and behind him – the outer wall – twelve in the centre flanked by projections each holding six more. The keep was a veritable city.



And, it seemed, lifeless.



A gaping pit, hidden in the shadow in one corner of the courtyard, caught his attention. Pavestones lifted clear and piled to the sides, an excavated shaft of some sort, reaching down into the foundations.



He walked over.



The excavators had cleared the heavy pavestones to reach what looked to be bedrock but had proved to be little more than a cap of stone, perhaps half an arm's length thick, covering a hollowed-out subterranean chamber. That stank.



A wooden ladder led down into the vault.