‘I am Ganal,’ said the lone warrior who had not moved. ‘Not a broken spine after all. Well then, warrior, kill me for my sceptical words.’
‘I shall.’ Karsa strode down the walkway, lifting the iron bar.
‘If you do that,’ Torvald said hastily, ‘the others will likely raise a cry.’
Karsa hesitated.
Ganal smiled up at him. ‘If you spare me, there will be no alarm sounded, Uryd. It is night, still a bell or more before dawn. You will make good your escape-’
‘And by your silence, you will all be punished,’ Karsa said.
‘No. We were all sleeping.’
The woman spoke. ‘Bring the Uryd, in all your numbers. When you have slain everyone in this town, then you can settle judgement upon us Sunyd, as will be your right.’
Karsa hesitated, then he nodded. ‘Ganal, I give you more of your miserable life. But I shall come once more, and I shall remember you.’
‘I have no doubt, Uryd,’ Ganal replied. ‘Not any more.’
‘Karsa,’ Torvald said. ‘I may be a lowlander and all-’
‘I shall free you, child,’ the Uryd replied, turning from the Sunyd trench. ‘You have shown courage.’ He slid down to the man’s side. ‘You are too thin to walk,’ he observed. ‘Unable to run. Do you still wish for me to release you?’
‘Thin? I haven’t lost more than half a stone, Karsa Orlong. I can run.’
‘You sounded poorly earlier on-’
‘Sympathy.’
‘You sought sympathy from an Uryd?’
The man’s bony shoulders lifted in a sheepish shrug. ‘It was worth a try.’
Karsa pried the chain apart.
Torvald pulled his arms free. ‘Beru’s blessing on you, lad.’
‘Keep your lowlander gods to yourself.’
‘Of course. Apologies. Anything you say.’
Torvald scrambled up the slope. On the walkway, he paused. ‘What of the trapdoor, Karsa Orlong?’
‘What of it?’ the warrior growled, climbing up and moving past the lowlander.
Torvald bowed as Karsa went past, a scrawny arm sweeping out in a graceful gesture. ‘Lead me, by all means.’
Karsa halted on the first step and glanced back at the child. ‘I am warleader,’ he rumbled. ‘You would have me lead you, lowlander?’
Ganal said from the other trench, ‘Careful how you answer, Daru. There are no empty words among the Teblor.’
‘Well, uh, it was naught but an invitation. To precede me up the steps-’
Karsa resumed his climb.
Directly beneath the trapdoor, he examined its edges. He recalled that there was an iron latch that was lowered when locked, making it flush with the surrounding boards. Karsa jammed the chain-fixing end of the iron bar into the join beneath the latch. He drove it in as far as he could, then began levering, settling his full weight in gradual increments.
A splintering snap, the trapdoor jumping up slightly. Karsa set his shoulders against it and lifted.
The hinges creaked.
The warrior froze, waited, then resumed, slower this time.
As his head cleared the hatchway, he could see faint lantern-glow from the far end of the warehouse, and saw, seated around a small round table, three lowlanders. They were not soldiers-Karsa had seen them earlier in the company of the slavemaster, Silgar. There was the muted clatter of bones on the tabletop.
That they had not heard the trapdoor’s hinges was, to Karsa’s mind, remarkable. Then his ears caught a new sound-a chorus of creaks and groans, and, outside, the howl of a wind. A storm had come in from the lake, and rain had begun spraying against the north wall of the warehouse.
‘Urugal,’ Karsa said under his breath, ‘I thank you. And now, witness…’
One hand holding the trapdoor over him, the warrior slowly slid onto the floor. He moved far enough to permit Torvald’s equally silent arrival, then he slowly lowered the hatch until it settled. A gesture told Torvald to remain where he was, understanding indicated by the man’s fervent nod. Karsa carefully shifted the bar from his left hand to his right, then made his way forward.
Only one of the three guards might have seen him, from the corner of his eye, but his attention was intent on the bones skidding over the tabletop before him. The other two had their backs to the room.
Karsa remained low on the floor until he was less than three paces away, then he silently rose into a crouch.
He launched himself forward, the bar whipping horizontally, connecting with first one unhelmed head, then on to the second. The third guard stared open-mouthed. Karsa’s swing finished with his left hand grasping the red-smeared end of the bar, which he then drove crossways into the lowlander’s throat. The man was thrown back over his chair, striking the warehouse doors and falling in a heap.