They emerged onto a sunlit compound. Thick, high walls surrounded the broad parade ground. A number of squat, solid-looking buildings projected out from three of the four walls; along the fourth wall there was a line of prisoners shackled to a heavy chain that ran its entire length, bolted to the foundation stones at regular intervals. Near the heavily fortified gate was a row of stocks, of which only two were occupied – Silgar and Damisk. On the slave-master’s right ankle there glinted a copper-coloured ring.

Neither man had lifted his head at Karsa’s appearance, and the Teblor considered shouting to attract their attention; instead, he simply bared his teeth at seeing their plight. As the guards escorted him to the line of chained prisoners, Karsa turned to the one named Jibb and spoke in Malazan. ‘What will be the slavemaster’s fate?’

The man’s helmed head jerked up in surprise. Then he shrugged. ‘Ain’t been decided yet. He claims to be rich back in Genabackis.’

Karsa sneered. ‘He can buy his way out from his crimes, then.’

‘Not under imperial law – if they’re serious crimes, that is. Might be he’ll just be fined. He may be a merchant who deals in flesh, but he’s still a merchant. Always best to bleed ‘em where it hurts most.’

‘Enough jawing, Jibb,’ another guard growled.

They approached one end of the line, where oversized shackles had been attached. Once more, Karsa found himself in irons, though these were not tight enough to cause him pain. The Teblor noted that he was beside the blue-eyed native.

The squad checked the fittings one more time, then marched away.

There was no shade, though buckets of well-water had been positioned at intervals down the line. Karsa remained standing for a time, then finally settled down to sit with his back against the wall, matching the position of most of the other prisoners. There was little in the way of conversation as the day slowly dragged on. Towards late afternoon shade finally reached them, though the relief was momentary, as biting flies soon descended.

As the sky darkened overhead, the blue-eyed native stirred, then said in a low voice, ‘Giant, I have a proposal for you.’

Karsa grunted. ‘What?’

‘It’s said that the mining camps are corrupt, meaning one can carve out favours – make life easier. The kind of place where it pays to have someone guarding your back. I suggest a partnership.’

Karsa thought about it, then he nodded. ‘Agreed. But if you attempt to betray me, I will kill you.’

‘I could see no other answer to betrayal,’ the man said.

‘I am done talking,’ Karsa said.

‘Good, so am I.’