The Blade Itself

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 holding me up

    And also…
    Matthew Amos,
for solid advice at a shaky time
    Gillian
Redfearn, who read past the beginning and made me change it
    Simon Spanton,
who bought it before he got to the end

    Copyright ©
Joe Abercrombie 2006 All rights reserved
    The right of Joe
Abercrombie to be identified as the author of this work has been
asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988.
    First published
in Great Britain in 2006 by Gollancz
    An imprint of
the Orion Publishing Group Orion House, 5 Upper St Martin’s
Lane, London WC2H 9EA
    An Hachette
Livre UK Company
    This edition
published in Great Britain in 2007 by Gollancz
    A CIP catalogue
record for this book is available from the British Library
    ISBN 978 0 57507
979 3
    7 9 10 8
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    Printed in Great
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