Karsa grabbed the shattered T’lan Imass by its lone arm and stuffed 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

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, Galt 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. Thom 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.’