Before They Are Hanged

were
full of icy water, his thighs were chafed ragged against his wet
trousers, the waterlogged saddle creaked and squelched with every
movement of his unhappy horse. His nose was running, his nostrils and
his lips were sore, the very reins were painful in his wet palms. His
nipples in particular were two points of agony in a sea of
discomfort. The whole business was utterly unbearable.
    â€œWhen will
it end?â€

Bloody Company
    Riding, that was
what they were doing. That was what they’d been doing for days.
Riding, looking for Bethod, with winter coming on. Bog and forest,
hill and valley. Rain and sleet, fog and snow. Looking for signs that
he was coming their way, and knowing that there wouldn’t be
any. A lot of wasted time, to the Dogman’s mind, but once
you’ve been fool enough to ask for a task, you better do the
one you’re given.
    â€œStupid
bloody job, this,â€

Long Shadows
    â€œBy the
dead.â€

And Next… My Gold
    To
Sand dan Glokta,
    Superior
of Dagoska, and for his eyes alone.
    I am
most troubled to discover that you think yourself short of both men
and money.
    As far
as soldiers are concerned, you must make do with what you have, or
what you can procure. As you are already well aware, the great
majority of our strength is committed in Angland. Unfortunately, a
certain rebellious temper among the peasantry throughout Midderland
is more than occupying what remains.
    As to
the question of funds, I fear that nothing can he spared. You will
not ask again. I advise you to squeeze what you can from the Spicers,
from the natives, from anyone else who is to hand. Borrow and make
do, Glokta. Demonstrate that resourcefulness that made you so famous
in the Kantic War.
    I
trust that you will not disappoint me.
    Sult
    Arch
Lector of his Majesty’s Inquisition.
    â€œMatters
proceed with the greatest speed, Superior, if I may say so. Since the
gates to the Upper City were opened the work-rate of the natives has
tripled! The ditch is down below sea level across the entire
peninsula, and deepening every day! Only narrow dams hold back the
brine at either end, and at your order the entire business is ready
to be flooded!â€

Fear
    It was a long
way to the edge of the World, of that there could be no doubt. A
long, and a lonely, and a nervous way. The sight of the corpses on
the plain had worried everyone. The passing riders had made matters
worse. The discomforts of the journey had in no way diminished. Jezal
was still constantly hungry, usually too cold, often wet through, and
would probably be saddle-sore for the rest of his days. Every night
he stretched out on the hard and lumpy ground, dozed and dreamed of
home, only to wake to the pale morning more tired and aching than
when he lay down. His skin crawled, and chafed, and stung with the
unfamiliar feeling of dirt, and he was forced to admit that he had
begun to smell almost as vile as the others. It was enough,
altogether, to make a civilised man run mad, and now, to add to all
of this, there was the constant nagging of danger.
    From that point
of view, the terrain was not on Jezal’s side. Hoping to shake
off any pursuers, Bayaz had ordered them away from the river a few
days earlier. The ancient road wound now through deep scars in the
plain, through rocky gullies, through shadowy gorges, alongside
chattering streams in deep valleys.
    Jezal began to
think on the endless, grinding flatness almost with nostalgia. At
least out there one did not look at every rock, and shrub, and fold
in the ground and wonder whether there was a crowd of bloodthirsty
enemies behind it. He had chewed his fingernails almost until the
blood ran. Every sound made him bite his tongue and spin around in
his saddle, clutching at his steels, staring for a murderer, who
turned out to be a bird in a bush. It was not fear, of course, for
Jezal dan Luthar, he told himself, would laugh in the face of danger.
An ambush, or a battle, or a breathless pursuit across the
plain—these things, he imagined, he could have taken in his
stride. But this endless waiting, this mindless tension, this
merciless rubbing-by of slow minutes was almost more than he could
stand.
    It might have
helped had there been someone with whom he could share his unease,
but, as far as companionship went, little had changed. The cart still
rolled along the cracked old road while Quai sat grim and silent on
top. Bayaz said nothing but for the occasional