Read Mark Lawrence_The Broken Empire 01 for Free Online Page A

burgermeister’s doors. The brothers had Maical staving in a second barrel.
    â€œWhat ho, Captain!” Burlow called out at Makin, his voice still hoarse from Rike’s strangling. A laugh went up at that, and I let it run its course. I felt the thorns again, sharp and deep. Sharpening me up for something. Two hundred bodies in a heap. All dead.
    â€œCap’n Makin tells me we’re going to have company,” I said.
    Makin’s brows rose at that but I ignored him. “Twenty swords, rough men, bandits of the lowest order. Not the sort you’d like to meet,” I told them. “Idling along in our direction, weighed down with loot.”
    Rike got to his feet all sudden like, his flail rattling at his hip. “Loot?”
    â€œSlugs, I tell you. Growing rich off the destruction of others.” I showed them my smile. “Well, my brothers, we’re going to have to show them the error of their ways. I want them dead. Every last one. And we’ll do it without a scratch. I want trip-pits in the main street. I want brothers hidden in the grain-tower and the Blue Boar tavern. I want Kent, Row, Liar, and the Nuban here, behind these walls, to shoot them down when they come between tower and tavern.”
    The Nuban hefted his crossbow, a monstrous feat of engineering, worked in the old metal and embellished with the faces of strange gods. Kent tossed the dregs from his helm and set it on his head, ready with his longbow.
    â€œNow they might come over the ridge instead, so Rike’s going to take Maical and six others to hide in the tannery ruins. Anyone comes that way, let them past you, then gut them. Makin will be our scout to give us warning. The good father here and you five there, you’re going to stand with me to tempt them in.”
    The brothers needed no telling. Well, Jobe did, but Rike hauled him out of the beer quick enough and he wasn’t gentle about it.
    â€œLoot!” Rike shouted the words in his face. “Get digging trip-pits, shit-brains.”
    They knew how to set up an ambush those lads. No mistake there. No one knew better how to fight in the ruins. Half the time they’d make the ruins themselves, half the time they’d fight in somebody else’s.
    â€œBurlow, Makin,” I called them to me as the others set about their tasks. “I don’t need you to scout, Makin,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I want you two to go to the thicket by the stream. I want you to hide yourselves. Hide so a bastard could sit on you and still not know you were there. You hide down there and wait. You’ll know what to do.”
    â€œPrince—Brother Jorg,” Makin said. He had a big frown on, and his eyes kept straying down the street to old Gomsty praying before the burned-out church. “What’s this all about?”
    â€œYou said you’d follow wherever I led, Makin,” I answered. “This is where it starts. When they write the legend, this will be the first page. Some old monk will go blind illuminating this page, Makin. This is where it all starts.” I didn’t say how short the book might be though.
    Makin did that bow of his that’s half a nod, and off he went, Fat Burlow hurrying behind.
    So, the brothers dug their traps, laid out their arrows, and hid themselves in what little of Norwood remained. I watched them, cursing their slowness, but holding my peace. And by and by only Father Gomst, my five picked men, and I remained on show. All the rest, a touch over two dozen, lay lost in the ruins.
    Father Gomst came to my side, still praying. I wondered how hard he’d pray if he knew what was really coming.
    I had an ache in my head now, like a hook inserted behind both eyes, tugging at me. The same ache that started up when the sight of old Gomsty made me think of going home. A familiar pain, one I’d felt at many a turn on the road. Oft times I’d let that pain lead me. But I felt