A knock came at the door and Hiam called, ‘Enter.’
The guard showed the man in, then, at a sign from Hiam, departed. The man, Ussu, bowed. His robes were travel-stained and wet with rain and snow. His long grey hair was plastered to his skull and he was shivering. Rising, Hiam gestured to a chair. ‘Please sit. You are just arrived? What word from the Overlord?’
Sitting, the old man extended his hands out to the small stove in the middle of the chamber. ‘Thank you for receiving me, Lord Protector.’
‘Not at all.’
‘No doubt you have heard the news from the south.’
‘Yes. These Malazans have gained a foothold.’ The man winced, whether at the bluntness of his phrasing or the use of the word Malazans, Hiam wasn’t sure.
‘Yes, Lord Protector. They have struck inland for the foothills and the Barrier range.’
‘And the Overlord?’
‘Is marshalling his troops in order to pursue, I understand.’
Hiam offered the man some tea. ‘Excellent. If they dare to move north we will have them caught between us, yes?’ And should they dare approach? What could we possibly spare to meet them? Blood and iron, of course. As we deliver to all who would defy the Lady.
Ussu accepted the small cup. ‘Yes, Lord Protector.’
‘And the Overlord sent you to reassure us, perhaps?’
‘In truth, Lord Protector, I am come on another errand. I wish to question your champion. If I may.’
Hiam grunted a laugh. ‘Your timing is impeccable, Adviser. You can have him. Just this afternoon he lost his mind. Went berserk. Tried to murder his cellmate — a companion of many years. Madness is a terrible thing. It can drive us to betray everyone around us. Sometimes for the most insignificant, or imagined, slights. Who is to know the reasons behind the breaking of a mind?’ And he shrugged.
‘That is a shame, m’lord. I’m sorry you lost so able a fighter. Still, he may be of use to me.’
Hiam scooped up more of his stew. ‘What is it you require?’
The Roolian — Malazan, Hiam corrected himself, and a damned mage — blew out his breath. ‘Oh, a private chamber, shackles, strong aides to help me. And chains, sir. Your strongest chains you use for hauling stone blocks.’
Hiam was rather taken aback by these requests. Still, these he could manage. And, who knows? Perhaps something will come of it. He nodded. ‘Very well. I believe we can pull something together.’ He turned to Section Marshal Learthol. ‘Would you see to it?’
Learthol dabbed his mouth, stood. ‘This way, Adviser, if you please.’
Standing, Ussu straightened his heavy sodden robes and bowed to Hiam. ‘My thanks, Lord Protector.’
Hiam watched the man go, Learthol bowing as he closed the door, and he wondered: had he just made an error? Still, the Lady permitted the man his infringements — she should be the final arbiter, not he.
Ussu worked on his preparations long into the night before, exhausted, falling asleep at the work desk of the chambers provided. The next morning he awoke to hands and feet numb with cold, and frost thick in the corners of the stone chamber. The wind battered the one shuttered window. A servant arrived with an iron brazier stoked with charcoal and a modest meal of bread, goat’s cheese and cold tea.
Two Theftian labourers arrived later, with orders to serve him. These he set to work fitting iron pins into joints in the walls, and securing lengths of chain. When all was in readiness, he briefed the two with detailed instructions as to how to proceed, then left to request the Champion be moved to his chamber. He decided not to be in sight until the man was secured: there remained the slight possibility that he might recognize him as a Malazan and become suspicious.
From down the hall he watched while the man was marched, manacled and under guard, up to the room. On first setting eyes on the fellow he was aghast: this emaciated, haggard, tattered wretch was the Champion? Still, anyone else carrying such half-healed wounds, frostbite, and exposure damage would surely be dead. That he was apparently able to ignore all these mutilations spoke well for the coming experiment. He waited to give time for the man to be securely chained, then entered.
The subject was laid out on a thick oaken table at the centre of the chamber, gagged. His legs were together and straight, wrapped in chain lengths secured to pins in either wall. His arms were together as well, stretched up over his head and extending down towards the floor, wrapped in chains, and secured to a pin sunk in the flagging. Ussu leaned over the grimed, stinking fellow to peer into his eyes.
Nothing. No apparent awareness. Merely a dull stare straight up at the ceiling. Catatonic? Just as well. All the easier for his purposes. Yet… lack of a will to live would not do… He began cutting the rags from the man’s chest.
‘You do not know me,’ he told him, ‘but I believe I know you.’
Tearing away the rags, he went to a table where his instruments had been laid out. ‘I must admit that when I heard that the Korelri Champion was a Malazan who denied being a Malazan… and named Bars, well, I became intrigued.’ He glanced back, and there, around the fellow’s eyes — a slight tightening? ‘I, as you can tell, am Malazan. Sixth Army, to be exact. Cadre mage Ussu at your service.’ Knife in hand, he bowed.
He pressed a hand to the arc of the man’s naked ribs, testing, prodding. ‘You, on the other hand, are Bars, Iron Bars, Avowed of the Crimson Guard.’
Ussu stepped back, reconsidering. Perhaps the stomach cavity? Less risk of harming a lung, but still, such bleeding. It drains the life force. The man’s eyes flicked sidelong to catch sight of him; the jaws shifted as if nearly summoned to speech.
‘Yes. Imagine how much the Empire would pay for a living Avowed to study. Quite a lot, no doubt.’ The man’s astounding chest capacity decided things for Ussu. More room than had ever been offered before. It would be the front. He waved to his aides to take hold of legs and arms, then leaned over the man. ‘But that is not why we are here. They say the Avowed cannot be killed.’ He held the keen obsidian-bladed scalpel up before the man’s eyes. ‘This is what we are here to test.’
The chains crashed and rang, almost singing with strain as the subject convulsed.
Ussu flinched back, a hand on the man’s side as one might calm a spooked horse. But the bindings held — so far. He rolled his sleeves up. He traced the line of the cut between ribs, nodded to his aides, and slit the flesh down through the muscle.
Gagged, the subject howled incoherencies, writhing and twisting. Ussu went to his instruments and selected his largest, most sturdy rib-spacer. He returned to the subject. ‘I’m told,’ he said conversationally, ‘that this is a worse agony than even trained torturers can inflict.’ He pushed the sharpened, toothed edges into the cut then struck it home with a heave of his bodyweight. Foam blew out around the edges of the gag and the eyes burned a blazing white-hot fury. Good! Rage will stoke the will to live.
Ussu began turning the spacing screws. ‘Not that I am implying any sort of parallel between myself and some brute torturer. For the analogy breaks down here, you see? The torturer requires something from his victim and is attempting to draw it from him — or her. Yet I require nothing from you.’
Which is a half-lie. I require that you live. ‘I, however, am motivated purely by curiosity and the pursuit of knowledge.’ Ussu paused in the turning. Does that not then make both torturers and I knowledge-seekers? He cocked his head, considering. The knowledge I seek is not held by anyone else… that is a fundamental distinction. Nodding, he continued widening the gap between the ribs.
Something shook him then — not the subject, and not the waves slamming with mind-numbing regularity against the tons of stone beneath, but something new — an earth tremor. Ice outside the walls crackled as the entire structure rolled slightly, as if an immense giant had laid a gentle hand against the tower. The aides shared terrified glances. Ussu merely attempted to measure the extent of the displacement. Interesting… such tremors are common on Fist, but I understand rather rare events here in the Korel Isles.