The Complete Broken Empire Trilogy: Prince of Thorns, King of Thorns, Emperor of Thorns. Mark Lawrence
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stretched out on our right. To the left, the smoke and spires of Crath City rose behind the Old Wall. A storm light covered it all. The kind that falls when thunderclouds gather in the day. A flat light that makes a stranger of even the most familiar landscape. It felt appropriate.
‘We travel fast and we travel hard,’ Price said.
Price and Rike, the only true brothers among us, stood shoulder to shoulder at the head of the column, Rike beetling his brow while Price told us how it would be. ‘We put as many miles between us and this shit-hole as it takes. The storm will hide our tracks. We’ll find horses as we go, roust a village or two if need be.’
‘You think the King’s hunters can’t track two dozen men through a bit of rain?’ I wished my voice didn’t ring so pure and high as I said it.
They all turned round at that. The Nuban flashed me a look, eyes wide, and patted down at the air as if to shut me up.
I pointed to the sprawl of roofs edging toward the river where Father’s loving citizens had built beyond the safety of the city walls in their passion to be near him.
‘By ones and twos a brother could find his way to a warm hearth, bit of roast beef, and an ale maybe,’ I said. ‘I hear there’s a tavern or three to be found down there. A brother could be toasting by a fire before the rain even got to washing his trail away.
‘The King’s men would be riding back and forth on those fine horses of theirs, getting wet, looking for the kind of rut that twenty men put in a road or across a field, looking for the kind of trouble a band of brothers stir up. And we’d be sitting comfortable in the shadow of the Tall Castle, waiting for the weather to clear.
‘You think there’s a man we left behind who could tell the Criers what we look like? You think the good folk of Crath City will notice a score added to their thousands?’
I could see I’d won them. I could see the light of that warm hearth reflecting in their eyes.
‘And how the feck are we to pay for roast beef and a roof to hide under?’ Price shoved through the brothers, setting the redhead, Gemt, on his rear. ‘Start robbing in the shadow of the Tall Castle?’
‘Yeah, how we a-gonna pay, Castle Boy?’ Gemt scrambled to his feet, finding me a better target than Price for his anger. ‘How we gonna?’
I brought up two ducats from my purse, and rubbed them together.
‘I’ll take that!’ A sharp-faced man to my left lunged for the purse, still fat with coin.
I flipped the dagger from my belt and stuck it through his outstretched hand.
‘Liar,’ I said. I shoved a little more, until the hilt slapped up against his palm, the blade glistening red behind.
‘Out the way, Liar.’ Price grabbed him by the neck and tossed him down the slope.
Price loomed over me. Any full-grown man loomed over me, but Price added a new dimension to it. He took a handful of my jerkin and hauled me up, eye to eye, careless of the bloody knife I still had hold of.
‘You’re not scared of me, are you, boy?’ The stink of him was something awful. Dead dog comes close.
I thought about stabbing him, but I knew there wasn’t a wound that would stop him breaking me in two before he died.
‘Are you scared of me?’ I asked him.
We had us a moment of understanding then. Price didn’t so much as twitch, but I saw it in him, and he saw it in me. He let me fall.
‘We’ll stay a day in the city,’ Price said. ‘The drinks are on Brother Jorg. Any of you whoresons start trouble before we leave, and I’ll hurt you, bad.’
He held a hand out to me where I lay. I half-reached for it, before understanding. I tossed the purse to him.
‘I’ll go with the Nuban,’ I said.
Price nodded. A black face lost from the dungeons would be remembered. A black face found in a Crath tavern would be remarked on.
The Nuban shrugged, and set off, east toward the open fields. I followed.
It wasn’t until we’d lost ourselves in the maze of tracks and hedgerows that the Nuban spoke again.
‘You should be afraid of Price, boy.’
The first breath of storm wind set the hawthorn rustling to either side. I could smell the electricity, mixed in with the richness of the earth.
‘Why?’ I wondered if he thought I lacked the imagination for fear. Some men are too dull to feel what might happen. Others torture themselves with maybes and populate their dreams with horrors more terrible than their worst enemy could inflict upon them.
‘Why would the gods care what happens to a child who doesn’t care about himself?’ the Nuban asked.
He paused before a turn in the road and moved close to the hedge. The wind shook again and white petals fell among the thorns. He looked back along the way we’d come.
‘Maybe I’m not afraid of the gods either,’ I said.
Fat drops of rain began to land around us.
The Nuban shook his head. Raindrops sparkled in the tight curls of his hair. ‘You’re a fool to make a fist at the gods, boy.’ He flashed me a grin, and edged to the corner. ‘Who knows what they might send you?’
Rain appeared to be the answer. It seemed to fall faster than normal, as if the sheer weight of water waiting to fall hurried the raindrops down. I moved in beside the Nuban. The hedge offered no shelter. The rain came through my tunic, cold enough to steal my breath. I thought then of the comforts I’d left behind, and wondered if perhaps I should have taken Lundist’s counsel after all.
‘Why are we waiting?’ I asked. I had to raise my voice above the roar of the rain.
The Nuban shrugged. ‘The road feels wrong.’
‘Feels more like a river – but why are we waiting?’
He shrugged again. ‘Maybe I need a rest.’ He touched a hand to his burns, and a wince showed me his teeth, very white where most of the brothers had a mouthful of grey rot.
Five minutes passed and I kept my peace. We couldn’t get wetter if we’d fallen down a well.
‘How did you all get taken?’ I asked. I thought of Price and Rike, and the notion of them surrendering to the King’s guard seemed somehow comical.
The Nuban shook his head.
‘How?’ I asked again, louder, above the rain.
The Nuban glanced back along the road, then bent in close. ‘A dream-witch.’
‘A witch?’ I made a face at him and spat water to the side.
‘A dream-witch.’ The Nuban nodded. ‘The witch came in our sleep and kept us tied in dreams while the King’s men took us.’
‘Why?’ I asked. If I took the witch seriously, and I didn’t, I knew for certain that my father didn’t employ any.
‘I think he was seeking to please the King,’ the Nuban said.
He stood without announcement and set off through the mud. I followed, but I held my tongue. I’d seen children tag after grown men throwing question after question, but I had put childhood aside. My questions could wait, at least until the rain stopped.
We sploshed along at a good pace for the best part of an hour before he stopped again. The rain had graduated from deluge to a steady soak that fell with the promise of lasting the night and through the next morning. This time our pause in the hedgerow proved well judged. Ten horsemen thundered by, kicking up mud left and right.
‘Your king wants us back in his dungeons, Jorg.’
‘He’s not my king any more,’