Emperor of Thorns (The Broken Empire, Book 3)

I took the bow, stepped down into the mud and crossed to the bank beside the road. The weight of their attention settled on me as I bent to wind the bow.

‘The guard here are assigned to protect myself, Lord Makin, and my advisors?’ I didn’t look up.

‘Yes,’ Harran said.

‘And they would offer me violence under what circumstances?’ I knew the rules. I wanted to hear Harran speak them.

‘Quarrel,’ I said, hand outstretched. Makin slapped an iron bolt into my palm.

‘If you attempted to harm any of the Hundred, their advisors, or delegates.’ Harran’s stallion gave a nervous whinny and stamped.

‘Makin, if you would be good enough to foreswear the need for any protection from me, as my banner-man. Just so there’s no confusion.’ I set the bolt in place.

‘I do so swear,’ he said.

I looked up, held Harran’s dark stare, took his measure one last time. ‘I like you well enough, Harran, but my son is in that carriage and Jarco Renar will like as not try to kill him since he is not under your protection. So, I need to speak with my cousin in order to reach some arrangement.’

‘I’ve explained King Jorg, that cannot—’

I shot Harran in the face. He half-lurched, half-leapt from the saddle, caught by his stirrups he came to rest at an odd angle, almost jutting from the side of his horse. The beast took flight, cantering back along the line, dragging Harran through the leafless hedges. His golden helm caught in the thorns and ripped free, blood dripping from it.

‘Quarrel,’ I said, hand out. Makin supplied one.

I started to wind the bow again.

‘Captain Rosson is it? And Captain Devers?’ My question caught them with blades half-drawn. ‘Why are you baring steel at me when your single most holy duty to the empire is my protection?’ All around me the guard were reaching for their swords, others urging their horses in closer to discover the cause of unrest.

‘You just shot Harran!’ Rosson, the man on the left, spat.

‘I did.’ I nodded. ‘I’m going to shoot you next. I figure I’ll be able to kill twenty of you before I need to start digging the bolts out of your corpses in order to continue. Now must I repeat my question? On what grounds are you drawing steel against me? I’m sure Captain Harran would not have approved. He at least knew his duty!’

‘I—’ Captain Rosson hesitated, his blade not yet clear of the scabbard.

‘Your duty, Captain, is to protect me. You can hardly do that by hacking at me with your sword now can you? The only circumstance that would permit you to attack me is if I threatened another of your charges. But I’m not doing that. I’m just going to kill the few hundred guard assigned to me.’

‘King Jorg – you— you can’t be serious,’ Captain Rosson said.

I failed to see how I could be more serious, but some men take time to adjust to unfamiliar circumstances.

ChooOOOooom.

Rosson hit the mud with a dull splat. At a range of two yards no breastplate, however fancy, is going to stop a crossbow bolt from a mechanism as heavy as the Nuban’s bow.

I set to winding again, starting to feel the ache in my bicep. ‘Captain Devers? Are you going to bring Jarco Renar to speak with me? Remember, if I try to kill him you can cut me to pieces.’

Rosson twitched in the mud. He tried to say something but only blood came out.

Miana and Katherine crowded the carriage door, Gomst peering over the pair. Osser Gant appeared to prefer his ledgers.

‘Jorg!’ Katherine’s hair fell around her in dark red curls, a heat in those eyes. ‘These are honourable men!’

‘And I am not.’ I held my hand out. ‘Quarrel.’

‘Men with families, lives to live …’

Miana said nothing, her face held tight against emotion, my son clasped to her breast.

I ignored Katherine and addressed the guard instead, lifting my voice to carry on the cold afternoon breeze. ‘I quite liked Captain Harran. You saw where that got him. The rest of you I hardly know. My newborn son is at risk. I hunted down a lichkin to ensure his safety. Do you think I will flinch at murdering each and every one of you?

‘I suggest Jarco Renar be brought before me, or this will not end well.’

Viewed along the length of my crossbow Captain Devers looked pale and unhappy. He had flipped up his visor to reveal a thin face decorated with scars and pockmarks, a short, dark beard hugging his chin.

‘Bring Renar here!’ he shouted.

While we waited I mounted Brath and backed him in a tight circle. He had been well trained and the smell of blood didn’t bother him. Captain Harran’s helm came free of the hedgerow thorns and I held it in one hand, the crossbow in the other, steering Brath with my knees.

Sir Kent clambered from his horse onto the top of the carriage. Choosing the right position had kept Kent alive more times than any armour or skill with a blade.

‘Bring me some more captains.’ I raised the crossbow toward Captain Devers again.