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‘He is not false, Karsa Orlong.’
‘As false as you,’ the warrior said, baring his teeth. ‘Let him rise before me and my sword will speak for me. You say I have been shaped. Then there is much to which he must give answer.’
‘The gods chained him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They chained him, Karsa Orlong, to dead ground. He is broken. In eternal pain. He has been twisted by captivity and now knows only suffering.’
‘Then I shall break his chains-’
‘I am pleased-’
‘And then kill him.’
Karsa grabbed the shattered T’lan Imass by its lone arm and stuck it back into the pack. Then rose.
Great tasks lay ahead. The notion was satisfying.
A House is just another prison. And I have had enough of prisons. Raise walls around me, and I will knock them down .
Doubt my words, Crippled God, to your regret…
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Otataral, I believe, was born of sorcery. If we hold that magic feeds on hidden energies, then it follows that there are limits to those energies. Sufficient unveiling of power that subsequently cascades out of control could well drain those life-forces dry.
Further, it is said that the Elder warrens resist the deadening effect of otataral, suggesting that the world’s levels of energy are profoundly multilayered. One need only contemplate the life energy of corporeal flesh, compared to the undeniable energy within an inanimate object, such as rock. Careless examination might suggest that the former is alive, whilst the latter is not. In this manner, perhaps otataral is not quite as negating as it would first appear…
Musings on the Physical Properties of the World
Tryrssan of Mott
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‘He is not false, Karsa Orlong.’
‘As false as you,’ the warrior said, baring his teeth. ‘Let him rise before me and my sword will speak for me. You say I have been shaped. Then there is much to which he must give answer.’
‘The gods chained him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They chained him, Karsa Orlong, to dead ground. He is broken. In eternal pain. He has been twisted by captivity and now knows only suffering.’
‘Then I shall break his chains-’
‘I am pleased-’
‘And then kill him.’
Karsa grabbed the shattered T’lan Imass by its lone arm and stuck it back into the pack. Then rose.
Great tasks lay ahead. The notion was satisfying.
A House is just another prison. And I have had enough of prisons. Raise walls around me, and I will knock them down .
Doubt my words, Crippled God, to your regret…
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Otataral, I believe, was born of sorcery. If we hold that magic feeds on hidden energies, then it follows that there are limits to those energies. Sufficient unveiling of power that subsequently cascades out of control could well drain those life-forces dry.
Further, it is said that the Elder warrens resist the deadening effect of otataral, suggesting that the world’s levels of energy are profoundly multilayered. One need only contemplate the life energy of corporeal flesh, compared to the undeniable energy within an inanimate object, such as rock. Careless examination might suggest that the former is alive, whilst the latter is not. In this manner, perhaps otataral is not quite as negating as it would first appear…
Musings on the Physical Properties of the World
Tryrssan of Mott
The 9th, 11th and 12th squads, medium infantry, had been attached to the marines of the 9th Company. There were rumours, as well, that the 1st, 2nd and 3rd squads-the heavy infantry with their oversized muscles and sloping brows-would soon join them to form a discrete fighting unit.
None from the newly arrived squads were entirely strangers to Strings. He had made a point of learning names and memorizing faces throughout the 9th Company.
Footsore and weary from interrupted nights, the sergeant and his squad were sprawled around a cookfire, lulled by the incessant roar of the Whirlwind Wall a thousand paces north of the encamped army. Even rage could numb, it seemed.
Sergeant Balm of the 9th squad strode over after directing his soldiers into their new camp. Tall and wide-shouldered, the Dal Honese had impressed Strings with his cool indifference to pressure. Balm’s squad had already done its share of fighting, and the names of Corporal Deadsmell, Throatslitter, Widdershins, Gait and Lobe were already among the tales travelling through the legion. The same was true of some from the other two squads. Moak, Burnt and Stacker. Thorn Tissy, Tulip, Ramp and Able.
The heavy infantry were yet to wet their swords, but Strings had been impressed with their discipline- easier with slope-brows, of course. Tell ’em to stand firm and they take root down to the bedrock . A few of them were wandering in, he noted. Flashwit, Bowl, Shortnose and Uru Hela. Mean-looking one and all.
Sergeant Balm squatted down. ‘You’re the one named Strings, aren’t you? Heard it’s not your real name.’
Strings raised his brows. ‘And “Balm” is?’
The dark-skinned young man frowned, his heavy eyebrows meeting as he did so. ‘Why, yes, it is.’
Strings glanced over at another soldier from the 9th squad, a man standing nearby looking as if he wanted to kill something. ‘And what about him? What’s his name again, Throatslitter? Did his ma decide on that for her little one, do you think?’
‘Can’t say,’ Balm replied. ‘Give a toddler a knife and who knows what’ll happen.’
Strings studied the man for a moment, then grunted. ‘You wanted to see me about something?’
Balm shrugged. ‘Not really. Sort of. What do you think of the captain’s new units? Seems a little late to make changes like this…’
‘It’s not that new, actually. Greymane’s legions are sometimes set up in the same manner. In any case, our new Fist has approved it.’
‘Keneb. Not sure about him.’
‘And you are about our fresh-faced captain?’
‘Aye, I am. He’s nobleborn, is Ranal. Enough said.’
‘Meaning?’
Balm looked away, started tracking a distant bird in flight. ‘Oh, only that he’s likely to get us all killed.’
Ah . ‘Speak louder, not everyone heard that opinion.’
