The Complete Broken Empire Trilogy: Prince of Thorns, King of Thorns, Emperor of Thorns

‘Yes.’ I couldn’t deny that.

‘You bring death, Prince of Ancrath,’ she said.

Gorgoth growled at that. It sounded like rocks grinding together. The child put a glowing hand to his wrist. ‘Death if we agree, death if we resist.’ She kept her eyes on me. ‘What have you to offer for passage?’

I had to admit she was good at her game. It wouldn’t go well for them if my plan worked, and it wouldn’t go well for them if they tried to stop us.

‘I did bring a gift,’ I said. ‘But if it proves not to your liking then I can make you some promises. I’ll have Sir Makin promise you too, and he’s a man of his word.’ I smiled down at her. ‘When I saw this place on a map …’ I paused and remembered the circumstances with a certain fondness.

‘Sally …’ the girl whispered, remembering the tavern with me.

That shocked me for a moment. I didn’t like the idea of this little girl in my head, opening doors, making childish judgment, shining her light in places that should be dark. Part of me wanted to cut her down, a large part of me.

I unclenched my jaw. ‘When I saw this gorge on my map, I thought to myself “what a godforsaken spot”. And that’s when it occurred to me what to bring for barter. I brought you God.’ I turned and pointed to Father Gomst. ‘I’ve brought you salvation, the blessing of communion. I’ve brought you benediction, catechism … confession if you must. All the saving your ugly little souls can handle.’

Gomst let out a girlish scream and started to run. The Nuban caught a dark arm around his waist and hauled him up over one shoulder.

I expected Jane to answer, but Gorgoth made the deal.

‘We will take the priest.’ Something about his voice made my chest hurt. ‘We will guide you to the Great Stair. The necromancers will find you, though. You will not return.’

Some said that Red Kent had a black heart, and that might be true, but anyone who had seen him take out a six-strong foot patrol with hatchet and knife would tell you the man had an artist’s soul.

28

‘Necromancers?’ I trudged behind Jane with Gorgoth at my back. There had been nothing about necromancers in my books.

‘They command the dead. Mages–’

‘I know what they are.’ I cut across Gorgoth. ‘What are they doing in my way?’

‘Mount Honas attracts them,’ Jane said. ‘There’s death at the heart of the mountain. Old magics. It makes their work easier.’

Even the leucrotas’ caves looked ugly. When I was seven, and William five, Tutor Lundist took us secretly to the caverns of Paderack. Unknown to any at court, the heirs of Ancrath slid and slipped into the blind depths, and came to a cathedral hall of such pillared wonder that it beggared the grace of God. I carry the glory of that place with me still. The chambers of the leucrota had none of that fluid elegance, no touch of the hidden artistry that lies in the deep places of the world. We walked through corridors of Builder-stone, poured and shaped using arts long forgotten. Jane’s light showed us ancient vaults, cracked in places and scaled with lime. We wove a path around fallen blocks, larger than cart-horses, heading deeper all the time, like worms burrowing to the core, seeking the roots of the mountain.

‘Shut your moaning, priest.’ Row came up behind the Nuban and showed old Gomsty his knife, a wicked piece of ironwork to be sure.

Father Gomst let up his wailing at that, and I did miss it for the echoes had been quite haunting. I fell back for a word. That, and to make sure Row didn’t decide to carve up our gift to the monsters before we’d handed it over proper-like.

‘Peace now, Father,’ I said.

I pushed Row’s blade aside. He scowled at that, did Row, all pock-marks and squinting eyes.

‘You’ll just be changing flocks, Father,’ I told Gomsty. ‘Your new congregation might look a little fouler, but on the inside? Well I’m sure they’ll be fairer than Row here.’

The Nuban grunted and shifted Father Gomst’s weight on his shoulder.

‘Set him down,’ I said. ‘He can walk. We’re good and lost now, there’ll be no running.’

The Nuban set old Gomsty on his feet. He looked at me, his face too black to read. ‘It’s wrong, Jorg. Trade in gold, not people. He’s a holy man. He speaks for the white-Christ.’

Gomst looked at the Nuban with a hatred I’d never seen in him before, as if he’d just grown horns and called on Lucifer.

‘Well now he can speak to Gorgoth for Christ,’ I said.

The Nuban said nothing, his face a blank.

Something about the Nuban’s silences always made me want to say a little more. As if I had to make it right with him. Makin scraped at me that same way, but not so bad.

‘It’s not like he can’t leave,’ I said. ‘He’s free to walk home if he really must. He’ll just have to earn himself some food for the journey and a map is all.’

The Nuban gave me the white crescent of his smile.

I walked on, a cold voice inside me whispering, whispering of weakness, of the thin edge of a wedge, of a sharp knife cutting without tears, of a hot iron to cauterize a wound before infection spread. It doesn’t do to love a brother.

Jane’s light dimmed and flickered as I drew near. She recoiled slightly with an intake of breath. I curled my lip and imagined her falling from a cliff. It worked better than I’d hoped. She gave a squeal and covered her eyes.

Gorgoth stepped between us. ‘Keep away from her, Dark Prince.’

So I walked in the shadows, and they led us on into the mountain. We followed wide tunnels that stretched for miles, level-floored with curved ceilings. Rust stains ran the length of the passages in parallel lines, though to what end men would lay iron in such a manner I can’t say, unless these were the pipes through which the secret fire of the Builders ran.

We left Jane and all but two of her kindred at the shores of a lake so wide even her silver light could not reach across the waters. The Builders had made this place too. Stone gave away to water with a single sharp step, the ceiling stretched flat and without adornment. Jane’s folk moved away toward shelters of wood and skins huddled at the water’s edge. Gorgoth led them, one hand enveloping Father Gomst’s shoulders.

Jane paused, her gaze moving between the two grotesques who remained to guard us. She said nothing but I could feel the undercurrent of unvoiced speech as she instructed them.

‘No final words for me, little one?’ I asked. I went on one knee before her. A fierce humour gripped me. ‘No predictions? No pearls to throw before this swine? Come, share a glimpse with me. Blind me with the future.’

She met my gaze and the light dazzled, but I wouldn’t look away.

‘Your choices are keys to doors I cannot see beyond.’

I felt anger rise in me and pushed it down with a snarl. ‘There’s more than that.’

‘You have a dark hand on your shoulder. A hole in your mind. A hole. In your memories. A hole – a hole – pulling me in – pulling—’

I seized her hand. That was a mistake, for it burned the skin and froze the bone in equal measure. I’d have set it down if I could, but the strength left me. For a moment I could see only the child’s eyes.

‘When you meet her, run. Just run. Nothing else.’ It felt as though I were speaking the words, though I could hear Jane’s voice frame them. Then I fell.

I woke to the light of torches.

‘He’s up.’

I found myself face to face with Rike.

‘Jesu, Rike, you been gargling rat piss again?’ I pushed his brutal jaw to one side and used his shoulder to lever myself up. The brothers began to rise around me, hefting their packs. Makin came from the water’s edge, Gorgoth looming behind him.

‘Don’t go touching the Prophetess of the Leucrota!’ He used a mock-scold. I could see the relief hidden in his eyes.