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

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      33

      ‘Looks pretty solid to me,’ Makin said.

      I couldn’t argue. I’d never seen anything more solid than that door. I could hardly even scratch it with my sword.

      ‘So what’s the plan?’ Red Kent stood with both hands on the hilts of his short-swords.

      I held the gleaming wheel at the centre of the door and leaned back. The door loomed above me. It looked like silver, a king’s ransom in silver.

      ‘We could dig through,’ I said.

      ‘Builder-stone?’ Makin raised an eyebrow.

      ‘Try anyway.’ I released the wheel and pointed to Burlow then Rike. ‘You two. Start over there.’

      They moved forward with shrugs. Rike reached the spot and kicked the wall. Burlow held his hands out before him and studied them with a speculative pout.

      I had picked them for strength, not initiative. ‘Makin, give them your flail. Row, let’s put that war-hammer of yours to good work.’

      Rike took the hammer in one hand and set to pounding on the wall. Burlow took a swing with the flail and nearly got both the spiked iron balls in his face as they bounced back.

      ‘My money’s on the wall,’ Makin said.

      After five minutes I could see we’d be there a while. The wall fell away not in chunks but in scatters of pulverized stone. Even Rike’s furious attack left only shallow scars.

      The brothers began to settle, leaning back against their packs. Liar set to cleaning his nails with a small knife. Row put down his lantern, Grumlow took out cards, and they hunkered down to play a hand. Lost most of their loot that way, Row and Grumlow, and practice never made them better. Makin pulled out a stick of dried meat and set to chewing. ‘We’ve a week’s rations at most, Jorg.’ He got the words out between swallows.

      I paced the room. I knew we weren’t going to dig through. I’d given them make-work to keep them quiet. Or at least as quiet as men wielding hammers can be.

      Perhaps there’s no way through. The thought gnawed at me, an unscratchable itch, refusing to let me rest.

      The hammering made the room ring. The noise struck at my ears. I walked the perimeter, trailing the point of my sword along the wall, deep in thought. No way through. Gog crouched in a corner and watched me with dark eyes. Where the brothers lay, I stepped over them as though they were logs. As I passed by Liar I felt a change in the texture of the wall. It looked the same, but beneath my blade it felt like neither stone nor metal.

      ‘Gorgoth, I need your strength here, if you please.’ I didn’t look to see if he got up.

      I sheathed my sword and pulled the knife from my belt. Moving in close, I scratched at the strange patch and managed to score a line across the surface. It left me little wiser. Not wood.

      ‘What?’ The torches threw Gorgoth’s shadow over me.

      ‘I hoped you could tell me,’ I said. ‘Or at least open it.’ I struck my fist on the panel. It gave the faintest hint at some hollow behind.

      Gorgoth pushed past and felt out the edges. It was about a yard by half a yard. He struck it a blow that would have caved in an oak door. The panel hardly shook, but the edge on the left lifted ever so slightly. He set the three thick fingers of each hand to the edge, digging in with dark red talons. Beneath his scarred hide the muscles seemed to fight each other, one surging over the next in a furious game of King of the Mountain. For the longest time nothing happened. I watched him strain, then realized I’d forgotten to breathe. As I released my breath, something gave inside the wall. With a snap and then a tortured groan the panel came free. The empty cupboard behind it proved to be somewhat of an anti-climax.

      ‘Jorg!’ The hammering had stopped.

      I turned to see Rike wiping sweat and dust from his face, and Burlow beckoning me over.

      I crossed the room slowly, though half of me wanted to run, and the other half not to go at all.

      ‘Doesn’t look like you’re through yet, Burlow.’ I shook my head in mock disappointment.

      ‘Not going to be neither.’ Rike spat on the floor.

      Burlow brushed the dust from the shallow hole their labour had forged. Two twisted metal bars showed through, bedded in the Builder-stone. ‘Reckon these run through the whole wall,’ he said.

      My eyes strayed to the knife I held clenched in one fist. I have, on occasion, punished the messenger. There are few things more satisfying than taking out your frustrations upon the bearer of bad tidings.

      ‘Reckon СКАЧАТЬ