Before They Are Hanged Read Online Free PDF Page B

timbers, and into the city.
    Now another cry
floated up, and Glokta saw the defenders charge from behind their
barricades. Union soldiers, mercenaries, Dagoskans, all hurled
themselves towards the breach. At this distance it all seemed to move
with absurd slowness. A stream of oil and a stream of water
dribbling towards one another. They met, and it became impossible
to tell one side from the other. A flowing mass, punctuated by
glittering metal, rippling and surging like the sea, a colourful flag
or two hanging limp above.
    The cries and
screams hung over the city, echoing, shifting with the breeze. The
far off swell of pain and fury, the clatter and din of combat.
Sometimes it sounded like a distant storm, incomprehensible.
Sometimes a single cry or word would float to Glokta’s ear with
surprising clarity. It reminded him of the sound of the crowd at the
Contest. Except the blades are not blunted now. Both sides are in
deadly earnest. How many already dead this morning, I wonder? He
turned to General Vissbruck, sweating beside him in his immaculate
uniform.
    â€œHave you
ever fought in a melee like that, General? A straight fight, toe to
toe, at push of pike, as they say?â€

Scars
    One by one,
Ferro took out the stitches—slitting the thread neatly with the
shining point of her knife, working them gently out of Luthar’s
skin, dark fingertips moving quick and sure, yellow eyes narrowed
with concentration. Logen watched her work, shaking his head slowly
at the skill of it. He’d seen it done often, but never so well.
Luthar barely even looked in pain, and he always looked in pain
lately.
    â€œDo we
need another bandage on it?â€

Furious
    The snow drifted
down, white specks swirling in the empty air beyond the cliffs edge,
turning the green pines, the black rocks, the brown river below into
grey ghosts.
    West could
hardly believe that as a child he had looked forward to the coming of
snow every year. That he had been delighted to wake up and see the
world coated in white. That it could have held a mystery, and a
wonder, and a joy. Now the sight of the flakes settling on Cathil’s
hair, on Ladisla’s coat, on West’s own filthy trouser
leg, filled him with horror. More gripping cold, more chafing wet,
more crushing effort to move. He rubbed his pale hands together,
sniffed and frowned up at the sky, willing himself not to slide into
misery.
    â€œHave to
make the best of things,â€

To the Last Man
    To
Sand dan Glokta,
    Superior
of Dagoska, and for his eyes alone.
    It is
clear that, in spite of your efforts, Dagoska cannot remain in Union
hands for much longer. I therefore order you to leave immediately and
present yourself to me. The docks may have been lost, but you should
have no trouble slipping away by night in a small boat. A ship will
be waiting for you down the coast.
    You
will confer overall command on General Vissbruck, as the only Union
member of Dagoska’s ruling council left alive in the city. It
need hardly be said that the orders of the Closed Council to the
defenders of Dagoska remain the same.
    To
fight to the last man.
    Sult
    Arch
Lector of his Majesty’s Inquisition.
    General
Vissbruck slowly lowered the letter, his jaws locked tight together.
“Are we to understand then, Superior, that you are leaving us?â€

Jewel of Cities
    A least he could
ride now. The splints had come off that morning, and Jezal’s
sore leg knocked painfully against his horse’s flank as it
moved. His hand was numb and clumsy on the reins, his arm weak and
aching without the dressing. His teeth still throbbed dully with
every thump of the hooves on the ruined road. But at least he was out
of the cart, and that was something. Small things seemed to make him
very happy these days.
    The others rode
in a sombre, silent group, grim as mourners at a funeral, and Jezal
hardly blamed them. It was a sombre sort of place. A plain of dirt.
Of fissures of bare