Half the World

Itching (#litres_trial_promo)

Damn Them (#litres_trial_promo)

The Man Who Fought a Ship (#litres_trial_promo)

Strange Times (#litres_trial_promo)

A Red Day (#litres_trial_promo)

Battle-Joy (#litres_trial_promo)

Not Like the Songs (#litres_trial_promo)

What Gettland Needs (#litres_trial_promo)

Part III: First of Cities (#litres_trial_promo)

Luck (#litres_trial_promo)

Behind the Throne (#litres_trial_promo)

Old Friends (#litres_trial_promo)

Hopes (#litres_trial_promo)

Ruins (#litres_trial_promo)

Some Bloody Diplomat (#litres_trial_promo)

Rage (#litres_trial_promo)

Debts and Promises (#litres_trial_promo)

Strange Bedfellows (#litres_trial_promo)

Part IV: High Deeds (#litres_trial_promo)

Farewells (#litres_trial_promo)

Greetings (#litres_trial_promo)

Wrong Ideas (#litres_trial_promo)

Sort of Alone (#litres_trial_promo)

The Chosen Shield (#litres_trial_promo)

Halleby (#litres_trial_promo)

Fire (#litres_trial_promo)

Rissentoft (#litres_trial_promo)

Frozen Lakes (#litres_trial_promo)

Cowardice (#litres_trial_promo)

The Appointed Place (#litres_trial_promo)

A Brave Face (#litres_trial_promo)

Steel (#litres_trial_promo)

Blood (#litres_trial_promo)

Breath (#litres_trial_promo)

In the Light (#litres_trial_promo)

A Storm Coming (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Joe Abercrombie (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

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THE WORTHY (#u2382b282-c063-5880-9d2c-9f02ec70241e)

He hesitated just an instant, but long enough for Thorn to club him in the balls with the rim of her shield.

Even over the racket of the other lads all baying for her to lose, she heard Brand groan.

Thorn’s father always said the moment you pause will be the moment you die, and she’d lived her life, for better and mostly worse, by that advice. So she bared her teeth in a fighting snarl – her favourite expression, after all – pushed up from her knees and went at Brand harder than ever.

She barged him with her shoulder, their shields clashing and grating, sand scattering from his heels as he staggered back down the beach, face still twisted with pain. He chopped at her but she ducked his wooden sword, swept hers low and caught him full in the calf, just below his mailshirt’s flapping hem.

To give Brand his due he didn’t go down, didn’t even cry out, just hopped back, grimacing. Thorn shook her shoulders out, waiting to see if Master Hunnan would call that a win, but he stood silent as the statues in the Godshall.

Some masters-at-arms acted as if the practice swords were real, called a halt at what would have been a finishing blow from a steel blade. But Hunnan liked to see his students put down, and hurt, and taught a hard lesson. The gods knew, Thorn had learned hard lessons enough in Hunnan’s square. She was happy to teach a few.

So she gave Brand a mocking smile – her second favourite expression, after all – and screamed, ‘Come on, you coward!’

Brand was strong as a bull, and had plenty of fight in him, but he was limping, and tired, and Thorn had made sure the slope of the beach was on her side. She kept her eyes fixed on him, dodged one blow, and another, then slipped around a clumsy overhead to leave his side open. The best place to sheathe a blade is in your enemy’s back, her father always said, but the side was almost as good. Her wooden sword thudded into Brand’s ribs with a thwack like a log splitting, left him tottering helpless and Thorn grinning wider than ever. There’s no feeling in the world so sweet as hitting someone just right.