Mark Lawrence_The Broken Empire 01 by Prince of Thorns Read Free Book Online

“I’d best surrender.”
    I held out my hand. “White flag if you please.”
    The house-troops had deployed by the time I made my way down toward the main column. My “flag” should properly be described as grey. An unwholesome grey at that, torn from Father Gomst’s hassock.
    â€œNoble born!” I shouted. “Noble born under flag of truce!”
    That surprised them. The house-troops, fanned out behind our horses, let me cross the market field unhindered. They looked to be a sorry lot, the metal scales falling from their leathers, rust on their swords. Homebodies they were, too long on the road and not hardened to it.
    â€œThe lad wants to be first on the fire,” one of them said. A skinny bastard with a boil on each cheek. He got a laugh with that.
    â€œNoble born!” I called out. “Flag o’ truce.” I didn’t expect to get this far with my sword.
    I caught the stink of the column and could hear the weeping. The prisoners turned blank eyes upon me.
    Two of Renar’s riders came forward to intercept me. “Where’d you steal the armour, boy?”
    â€œGo fuck yourself,” I said. I kept it pleasant. “Who’ve you got leading this show then? Marclos?”
    They exchanged a look at that. A wandering hedge-knight probably wouldn’t know one son of the House Renar from the next.
    â€œIt doesn’t do to kill a noble prisoner without orders,” I said. “Best let the Count-ling decide.”
    Both riders dismounted. Tall men, veterans by the look of them. They took my sword. The older one, dark bearded with a white scar under both eyes, found my knife. The cut had taken the top of his nose too.
    â€œYou’re a bit of an ugly mess aren’t you?” I asked.
    He found the knife in my boot as well.
    I had no plan. The pain in my head hadn’t left any room for one. I’d ignored the wordless voice that had led me for so long. Ignored it for the joy of being stubborn. And here I was unarmed amongst too many foes, stupid and alone.
    I wondered if my brother William was watching me. I hoped my mother wasn’t.
    I wondered if I was going to die. If they’d burn me, or leave me as a maimed thing for Father Gomst to cart back to the Tall Castle.
    â€œEveryone has doubts,” I said as Scar-face finished his search. “Even Jesu had his moment, and I ain’t him.”
    The man looked at me as if I were mad. Maybe I was, but I’d found my peace. The pain left me and I saw things clear once again.
    They led me to where Marclos sat on his horse, a monstrous stallion, twenty hands if it was one. He lifted his visor then and showed a pleasant face, a bit fat in the cheeks, quite jolly really. Looks, of course, can be deceiving.
    â€œWho the hell are you?” he asked.
    He had a nice bit of plate on, acid etched with a silver inlay and burnished so it shone even in the dreariest of light.
    â€œI said who the hell are you?” He got some red in his cheeks then. Not so jolly. “You’ll sing on the fire, boy, so you may as well tell me now.”
    I leaned forward as if to hear him. The bodyguards reached for me but I did the old shake and twist. Even with me in armour they were too slow. I used Marclos’s foot as a step, where it stuck out from the stirrup, and got up alongside him in no time at all. He had a nice stiletto in a sheath set handy in the saddle, so I had that out and stuck it in his eye. Then we were off. The pair of us galloping out across the market field. How to steal a horse is the first thing you learn on the road.
    We bounced along, with him howling and shaking behind me. A couple of the house-troops tried to bar the way but I rode them down. They weren’t going to get up again either; that stallion was fearsome big. The archers might have taken a shot or three, but they couldn’t make sense of it from that distance, and we were headed into town.
    I could