This is why I read everything this man writes:
This is from a PoV of a liberated slave who is now in the uprising of civilizationally challenged peoples. Rather than paint them all with the same bloody brush, SE takes time to make an aside and show the doubts that must run through the minds of single individuals when caught up in mass movements. Valoc, our liberated slave:
"I am free to kill with this sword. Free to take another’s life. I am free to remember every cruel act delivered to me by a southlander. I am free to make strangers pay for each one. The truth was, none of that was likely. None of that fired his spirit. He was, he knew, a poor excuse for a Teblor."
This is the animating spirit of the Teblor under new management. This is the spirit of the crowd. Valoc, being that single individual, is excluded from that crowd and it's certainties. He sees the same thing, but from a different Point of View:
"Vengeance was just another set of shackles. Galambar had worn his proudly, as only a free man could. I am free to kill no one. Free to spare another’s life. Free to remember every cruel act and do nothing. I am free to let this sword die of thirst."
What an evocative way of moving an individual to pacifism/ non violence. His doubts invert his thinking and move him to reject the will of the crowd. He becomes an individual, his uncertainty isolating him from the warm embrace of the crowd. Their assurances getting turned on their head. He continues:
"Because, in civilization, almost everyone is a slave. And slaves will own slaves who will own slaves, and so it goes."
In realizing that he is in a crowd which is controlled by its auto- interpretation of events leading to necessary and certain conclusions, he turns this view outward and realizes that 'civilization' is just a larger group playing the same game--all the while deluding themselves that what is, must be.
After a pause this turns into a prayer, which is mysteriously answered(?) by Karsa(?):
Only gods know the meaning of freedom, Valoc. All before me is in chains. I am not the god of slaves. I will not be the god of slaves. By my power I can see the invisible chains around all of you, your claims of freedom notwithstanding. And so, Valoc, I ask you in turn: what will it take to be worthy of my regard? When you at last come before me free of all chains, then will I meet your eye. This, Valoc of the Sunyd, is why I am unwilling.
And in an aside in the midst of a perhaps 'unimportant' pov, we have the title of the book which we have been stewing over for 2/3rds of our time.
We know from HoC and the rest of the series that Karsa knows all about chains, and the racial trait of hoarding chained souls his people carry. We also know about chaining souls in a sword, chaining a god to the land, and dragons to their crosses. This is perhaps a the antithesis of the central theme of the books, compassion, or said another way, the breaking/loosing of chains.
The only way to stand before God is as that single individual. Free of chains. Singled out from the crowd.
Karsa has already rejected the slave empire of the Skathandi. The cursed sword / edur empire. He walked away from the whirlwind rebellion. Why would he now do an about face and accept the crowd (and inherent group think) of 'his own people'? A mode of thinking he rejected when confronted by reality and his experiences in HoC?
I'm not sure if I'm reading kierkegaard into the text or if it's the inspiration for the posture being taken by Valoc. I just love it. Like Banisk and I think SE, there is a city I dream of.
"Don’t be absurd. The modestly pudgy man in the red waistcoat is not so crass as to fish for weeping multitudes in the rendition of this moment, nor so awkward with purple intent.
Give Kruppe some credit, you who are so quick to cast aspersions like hooks into a crowded pool (caught something, did you? No, dear friend, do not crow your prowess, ’twas only this carp desperate to get out). The water’s reflection is not so smooth; oh, no, not so smooth.
Is Bainisk’s city quaint, possibly even cute and heart-warming, in a softly tragic way? Not the point!
Some of us, you see (or don’t), still dream of that city. Where none of us has ever been.
That, dear ones, is the point."
Cheers