Prince of Thorns

“‘No,’ he said. Didn’t sound like the Nuban though. Sounded like a dry voice I’d heard before. ‘They have to see you do it.’


“Price came on at a stroll. I didn’t have any illusions that I could stop him, but running wasn’t an option, so I thought I might as well have a go.

“I picked up a stone. A smooth one. Fit my hand like it was made for me.

“ ‘David had a sling,’ Price said. He had an ugly smile on him.

“ ‘Goliath was worth one.’

“He was only strolling, but thirty yards never seemed to vanish so fast.

“‘What’s got you so riled anyhow? You missed the Nuban that much?’ I thought I might as well find out what I was going to die for.

“ ‘I . . .’ He seemed foxed at that. Had a distant look, like he was trying to see something I couldn’t.

“I took the moment to let fly. With a stone like that you can’t miss. It hit him in the right eye. Really hard. Even a monster like Price notices that sort of thing. He made an awful howling. You’d have shat yourself if you heard it, Makin, if you’d known he was after you.

“So, I crouched down, and my hands just found another couple of stones, each as perfect as the first one.

“Price is still hopping about, with a hand pressed to his eye and a goo leaking past his fingers.

“ ‘Hey, Goliath!’

“That got his attention. I crack my arm out and let go a second stone. Hits him in the good eye. He roars like a mad beast and charges. I put that last stone through his front teeth and down the back of his throat.

“I tell you, Makin, they were all impossible throws. Not lucky, impossible. I’ve never thrown like that since.

“Anyhow, I step out of his way, and he blunders on for ten yards before going down, choking. I’d put that third one right into his windpipe.

“I pick up the biggest rock I can from that drystone wall over there, and I follow him. He’d probably have choked to death by himself. He had that hanged-man purple look by the time I got there. But I don’t like to leave things to chance.

“He’s half-crawling, blind. And the stink of him, soiled most every way there is. I almost felt sorry for the bastard.

“I didn’t think his skull would break first time. But it did.”

Makin, stepped off his horse, ankle-deep into mud. “We could go inside.”

I didn’t feel the weather any more. I felt the heat of the day I killed Price. The smoothness of the small stones, the coarse weight of the rock I’d used to end it.

“It was Corion that guided my hand. And I think it was Sageous who set Price on me. Father reckons the dream-witch serves him, but that’s not the way of it. Sageous saw that Corion had sunk his hooks into me, he saw he’d lost his new pawn’s heir, so he infected Price’s dreams and fanned the hatred there just a little bit. It wouldn’t have taken much.

“They play us, Makin. We’re pieces on their board.”

He had a smile at that, through torn lips. “We’re all pieces on someone’s board, Jorg.” He went to the tavern door. “You’ve played me often enough.”

I followed him through into the warm reek of the main room. The hearth held a single log, sizzling and giving out more smoke than heat. The small bar held a dozen or so. Locals by the look of them.

“Ah! The smell of wet peasants.” I threw my sodden cloak over the nearest table. “Nothing beats it.”

“Ale!” Makin pulled up a stool. A space began to clear around us.

“Meat too,” I said. “Cow. Last time I came here we ate roast dog, and the landlord died.” It was true enough, though not in that order.

“So,” Makin said. “This Corion just had to click his fingers on your first meeting, and you and the Nuban keeled over. What’s to stop him doing it again?”

“Maybe nothing.”

“Even a gambler likes to stand a chance, Prince.” Makin took two glazed jugs from the serving wench, both over-running with foam.

“I’ve grown a bit since we last met,” I said. “Sageous didn’t find me so easy.”

Makin drank deep.

“But there’s more. I took something from that necromancer.” I could taste his heart, bitter on my tongue. I swigged from my jug. “Bit off something to chew on. I’ve got a pinch of magic in me, Makin. Whatever runs in the veins of that dead bitch who did for the Nuban, that little girl too, who ran with the monsters, whatever kept her glowing, well, I’ve got a spark of it now.”

Makin wiped the foam from his dungeon-grown moustache. He managed to convey his disbelief with the slightest arching of a brow. I hauled up my shirt. Well, not my shirt, but something Katherine must have selected for me. Where Father’s knife had found me, a thin black line ran across my hairless chest. Black veins ran from the wound, reaching out over my ribs, up for my throat.

“Whatever my father is, he isn’t inept,” I said. “I should have died.”





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