A bellowed command rang through the night, and the Teblor – weapon readied – was surprised to see the three men peel away. By his count there were five others, as well as the officer and Damisk. He spun, glaring, but there was no-one – just the sounds of boots retreating into the darkness. He looked to where the horses had been corralled – the animals were gone.

A lance darted towards him. Snarling, Karsa splintered it as the back of his bloodsword deflected it to one side. He paused, then padded over to Silgar. The slavemaster had curled into a tight ball. Blood flowed from the four stumps. Karsa picked him up by his silk belt and carried him back to the plain of boulders.

As he moved around the first of the massive rocks a voice spoke low and clear from the shadows. ‘This way.’

The Teblor grunted. ‘You were supposed to have fled.’

‘They will regroup, but without the mage we should be able to elude them.’

Karsa followed his companion deeper into the studded plain, then, after fifty or so paces, the man stopped and turned to the Teblor.

‘Of course, with your prize leaving a trail of blood, there will be little trouble in following us. Do something with him now.’

Karsa dropped Silgar to the ground, kicked him onto his back. The slavemaster was unconscious.

‘He will bleed to death,’ the lowlander said. ‘You have your revenge. Leave him here to die.’

Instead, the Teblor began cutting strips from Silgar’s telaba, tying them tight about the stumps at the ends of his arms and legs.

‘There will still be some leakage—’

‘Which we shall have to live with,’ Karsa growled. ‘I am not yet done with this man.’

‘What value senseless torture?’

Karsa hesitated, then he sighed. ‘This man enslaved an entire tribe of Teblor. The Sunyd’s spirit is broken. The slavemaster is not as a soldier – he has not earned swift death. He is as a mad dog, to be driven into a hut and killed—’

‘So kill him.’

‘I shall... once I have driven him mad.’

Karsa lifted Silgar once more, throwing him over a shoulder. ‘Lead us on, lowlander.’

Hissing under his breath, the man nodded.

Eight days later, they reached the hidden pass through the Pan’potsun Mountains. The Malazans had resumed their pursuit, but had not been seen since two days past, indicating that the efforts to evade them had succeeded.

They ascended the steep, rocky trail through the course of the day. Silgar was still alive, fevered and only periodically aware. He had been gagged to prevent him making any sounds. Karsa carried him on his shoulder.

Shortly before dusk they reached the summit, and came to the southwest edge. The path wound down into a shadowed plain. At the crest they sat down to rest.

‘What lies beyond?’ Karsa asked as he dropped Silgar to the ground. ‘I see naught but a wasteland of sand below.’