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for himself and Torg. After the ordeal on the balcony of Bakheng, Torg was still exhausted, and his legs felt as if they’d been drained of blood. Nonetheless, Mala drove him mercilessly forward. Torg’s discomfort was the least of the Chain Man’s concerns.
    “Keep moving, you little pig  . . . keep moving !” Mala commanded, shoving Torg from behind and sending him tumbling partway down the hill. “Do as you’re told, or I’ll have to carry you. And neither of us will like that.”
    Torg’s anger surged, but he remained weak. Also, he no longer wielded Obhasa, having left the staff with Kusala, who had cringed when he had taken it in his hands. Torg’s heart withered when he recalled the chieftain’s pained expression.
    I’m sorry , Kusala . I hope one day to regain your trust. But for now the stakes are too high. I had to make sure that none of the Asēkhas interfered with my plan.
    Mala thrust his foot into Torg’s ribs, knocking him farther down the hill.
    “Hurry, you pathetic flea. I want to put several leagues between us and this rat hole of a city before I even think of resting.”
    Torg had never been kicked so hard. Gasping for breath, he forced himself upright and stumbled forward. Knowing that he would have to draw on his warrior’s training to survive this ordeal, he cleared thought from his mind and began to move with the instincts of a wild animal, choosing the path of least resistance through the jumbled boulders. Soon Mala was struggling to keep up.
    “Wait, wait  . . . you weasel. I warned you what would happen to your precious robe-wearers if you tried to escape.”
    “I’m not trying to escape. I’m doing as I’m told. Slow? Fast? Let me know when you make up your mind.”
    Mala chomped on his lower lip. Blood squirted onto his chin. He reached down, picked up a fair-sized boulder and heaved it at Torg. It missed by a wide margin. Curses and profanities followed. The Chain Man stomped around like a spoiled child.
    Meanwhile, Torg felt his strength returning far more quickly than he’d expected. He believed he already was capable of running off and leaving Mala behind. After all, the chain borne by the ruined snow giant was a heavy burden. But Torg had given his word and would remain true as long as the Chain Man left the noble ones in peace.
    “Mala, it doesn’t have to be this way. All this kicking and shoving won’t speed up either of us.”
    The monster snarled. But somehow Torg’s words had a calming effect. For the rest of the night Mala allowed him to choose the path and set the pace. They walked until nearly dawn but managed just three leagues, as the owl flies, being forced to clamber over jumbled rock and crawl through thorny brush. Several leagues to the east or west, the land was far easier to traverse, but the Chain Man demanded they head due north toward the city of Senasana, about thirty leagues from Dibbu-Loka.
    “That is where the real fun will begin,” Mala said. The monster smiled, and the links of his chain grew red-hot.
    As the sun emerged, their pace slowed. Torg found a trickling spring and knelt to sniff the water and then take a drink. Mala snorted and disdained it.
    Torg found some edible berries and offered a few to the Chain Man, whose face contorted in disgust.
    “I would eat your greasy flesh before I would eat that . Meat, blood, and bones make the best breakfast—not fruit. You’re disgusting.”
    “Yama-Deva did not eat meat. He loved all animals. He was a shepherd.”
    “Say that name again, and you will regret it. You live now only because Invictus desires it.”
    Torg shrugged and then led Mala to a natural stone shelter, where they rested beneath its craggy ceiling for much of the day. The rising sun brought with it a languorous heat. Soon Mala’s eyes grew heavy, and finally he slept. Torg lay nearby pretending to doze, but he watched the Chain Man through the slits of his eyelids.
    Mala’s long white mane was unchanged, but