The Blade Itself Read Online Free PDF Page B

screaming, men shouting,
stinking with smoke and fear. In short, a sack, with him and Logen at
the heart of it.
    Bethod had put
the fires out and made it his. Moved in, then started building. He
hadn’t got far when he kicked Logen and the Dogman and the rest
of them into exile, but they must have been building every day since.
It was twice as big now as it used to be, even before it got burned,
covering the whole hill and all the slope down to the river. Bigger
than Uffrith. Bigger than any city the Dogman had seen. From where he
was, up in the trees on the other side of the valley, you couldn’t
see the people, but there had to be an awful lot of them in there.
Three new roads leading out from the gates. Two big new bridges. New
buildings everywhere, and big ones where the small ones used to be.
Lots of them. Built from stone, mostly, slate roofs, glass in some of
the windows even.
    â€œThey been
busy,â€

Misery
    Jezal frowned.
Ardee was taking her time. She never took her time. She was always
there when he arrived, at whatever spot had been arranged. He didn’t
like having to wait for her one bit. He always had to wait for her
letters, and that rankled as it was. Standing here like an idiot, it
made him feel even more of a slave than he did already.
    He frowned up at
the grey skies. There were a few spots of rain falling, just to match
his mood. He felt one from time to time, a tiny pinprick on his face.
He could see the drops making circles in the grey surface of the
lake, making pale streaks against the green of the trees, the grey of
the buildings. The dark shape of the House of the Maker was rendered
hazy by them. He frowned at that building with particular
displeasure.
    He hardly knew
what to make of it now. The whole thing had been like some feverish
nightmare and, like a nightmare, he had decided simply to ignore it,
and pretend it never happened. He might have succeeded too, except
that the bloody thing was always looming on the edge of his vision,
whenever he stepped out of the door, reminding him the world was full
of mysteries he did not understand, seething just below the surface.
    â€œDamn it,â€

The Bloody-Nine
    Say one thing
for Logen Ninefingers, say that he’s happy. They were leaving,
at last. Beyond some vague talk about the Old Empire, and the edge of
the World, he had no idea where they were going and he didn’t
care. Anywhere but this cursed place would do for him, and the sooner
the better.
    The latest
member of the group didn’t seem to share his good spirits.
Luthar, the proud young man from the gate. The one who’d won
the sword-game, thanks to Bayaz’ cheating. He’d barely
said two words together since he arrived. Just stood there, face
rigid and chalky pale, staring out of the window, bolt upright like
he had a spear all the way up his arse.
    Logen ambled
over to him. If you’re going to travel with a man, and maybe
fight alongside him, it’s best to talk, and laugh if you can.
That way you can get an understanding, and then a trust. Trust is
what binds a band together, and out there in the wilds that can make
the difference between living or dying. Building that kind of trust
takes time, and effort. Logen reckoned it was best to get started
early, and today he had good humour to spare, so he stood next to
Luthar and looked out at the park, trying to dream up some common
ground in which to plant the seeds of an unlikely friendship.
    â€œBeautiful,
your home.â€

The Tools we Have
    Glokta stood in
the narrow hallway, leaning on his cane and waiting. On the other
side of the door, he could hear raised voices.
    â€œI said,
no visitors!â€

Acknowledgments
    Four people
without whom…
    Bren
Abercrombie, whose eyes are sore from reading it
    Nick
Abercrombie, whose ears are sore from hearing about it
    Rob Abercrombie,
whose fingers are sore from turning the pages
    Lou Abercrombie,
whose arms are sore from