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Emperor of Thorns (The Broken Empire), by Mark Lawrence
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In the final novel in the Broken Empire Trilogy, the boy who would rule all may have finally met his match...
King Jorg Ancrath is twenty now—and king of seven nations. His goal—revenge against his father—has not yet been realized, and the demons that haunt him have only grown stronger. Yet no matter how tortured his path, he intends to take the next step in his upward climb.
Jorg would be emperor. It is a position not to be gained by the sword but rather by vote. And never in living memory has anyone secured a majority of the vote, leaving the Broken Empire long without a leader. Jorg plans to change that. He’s uncovered the lost technology of the land, and he won’t hesitate to use it.
But he soon finds an adversary standing in his way, a necromancer unlike any he has ever faced—a figure hated and feared even more than himself: the Dead King.
- Sales Rank: #54740 in Books
- Brand: Mark Lawrence
- Published on: 2014-05-27
- Released on: 2014-05-27
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.75" h x 1.10" w x 4.25" l, 1.00 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 416 pages
Features
- Emperor of Thorns The Broken Empire
Review
“Drop whatever else you’re reading and start the Broken Empire trilogy...[Emperor of Thorns] is told in a vivid prose filled with profound reflection and brilliant metaphor. Every sentence is carefully crafted, a work of art and a pleasure to read.”—Peter V. Brett, international bestselling author
“Simply said, The Broken Empire is a brilliantly written series. Every sentence is just a pure joy to read and carefully crafted. Numerous words like wordsmith and modern fantasy poet spring to mind but you should just find it out for yourself. A perfect ending to a brilliant trilogy and an unpredictable, ruthless and poetic literary masterwork of a great mind.”—Fantasy Book Review
“A conclusion that is not only emotional and satisfying, but clever and unexpected, a fascinating twist within the concept of the narrative...Mark Lawrence has written a brilliant and enthralling tale—a trilogy that has gripped from the first scene to the very last.”—Starburst Magazine
“Lawrence ends his majestically epic and magical post-apocalyptic trilogy like it started: with bloody yet beautiful prose. He unwraps more clues to the past with dialogue that chills and characters you’d not want to meet in nightmares, where heroes are dark and evil fiends darkest of all. This book will go down as one of the best ever. Bravo!”—RT Book Reviews
About the Author
Mark Lawrence is a research scientist working on artificial intelligence. He is a dual national with both British and American citizenship, and has held secret-level clearance with both governments. At one point, he was qualified to say, “This isn’t rocket science—oh wait, it actually is.” He is the author of the Broken Empire trilogy (Prince of Thorns, King of Thorns, and Emperor of Thorns), the Red Queen’s War trilogy (Prince of Fools, The Liar’s Key, and The Wheel of Osheim) and the Book of the Ancestor series (Red Sister).
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
I failed my brother. I hung in the thorns and let him die and the world has been wrong since that night. I failed him, and though I’ve let many brothers die since, that first pain has not diminished. The best part of me still hangs there, on those thorns. Life can tear away what’s vital to a man, hook it from him, one scrap at a time, leaving him empty–handed and beggared by the years. Every man has his thorns, not of him, but in him, deep as bones. The scars of the briar mark me, a calligraphy of violence, a message blood–writ, requiring a lifetime to translate.
The Gilden Guard always arrive on my birthday. They came for me when I turned sixteen, they came to my father and to my uncle the day I reached twelve. I rode with the brothers at that time and we saw the guard troop headed for Ancrath along the Great West Road. When I turned eight I saw them first–hand, clattering through the gates of the Tall Castle on their white stallions. Will and I had watched in awe.
Today I watched them with Miana at my side. Queen Miana. They came clattering through a different set of gates into a different castle, but the effect was much the same, a golden tide. I wondered if the Haunt would hold them all.
“Captain Harran!” I called down. “Good of you to come. Will you have an ale?” I waved toward the trestle tables set out before him. I’d had our thrones brought onto the balcony so we could watch the arrival.
Harran swung himself from the saddle, dazzling in his fire–gilt steel. Behind him guardsmen continued to pour into the courtyard. Hundreds of them. Seven troops of fifty to be exact. One troop for each of my lands. When they had come four years before, I warranted just a single troop, but Harran had been leading it then as now.
“My thanks, King Jorg,” he called up. “But we must ride before noon. The roads to Vyene are worse than expected. We will be hard pushed to reach the Gate by Congression.”
“Surely you won’t rush a king from his birthday celebrations just for Congression?” I sipped my ale and held the goblet aloft. “I claim my twentieth year today, you know.”
Harran made an apologetic shrug and turned to review his troops. More than two hundred were already crowded in. I would be impressed if he managed to file the whole contingent of three hun¬dred and fifty into the Haunt. Even after extension during the recon¬struction, the front courtyard wasn’t what one would call capacious.
I leaned toward Miana and placed a hand on her fat belly. “He’s worried if I don’t go there might be another hung vote.”
She smiled at that. The last vote that was even close to a decision had been at the second Congression—the thirty–third wasn’t likely to be any nearer to setting an emperor on the throne than the previous thirty.
Makin came through the gates at the rear of the guard column with a dozen or so of my knights, having escorted Harran through the Highlands. A purely symbolic escort since none in their right mind, and few even in their wrong mind, would get in the way of a Gilden Guard troop, let alone seven massed together.
“So, Miana, you can see why I have to leave you, even if my son is about to fight his way out into the world.” I felt him kick under my hand. Miana shifted in her throne. “I can’t really say no to seven troops.”
“One of those troops is for Lord Kennick, you know,” she said.
“Who?” I asked it only to tease her.
“Sometimes I think you regret turning Makin into my lord of Kennick.” She gave me that quick scowl of hers.
“I think he regrets it too. He can’t have spent more than a month there in the last two years. He’s had the good furniture from the Baron’s Hall moved to his rooms here.”
We fell silent, watching the guard marshal their numbers within the tight confines of the courtyard. Their discipline put all other troops to shame. Even Grandfather’s Horse Coast cavalry looked a rabble next to the Gilden Guard. I had once marvelled at the quality of Orrin of Arrow’s travel guard, but these men stood a class apart. Not one of the hundreds didn’t gleam in the sun, the gilt on their armour showing no sign of dirt or wear. The last emperor had deep pockets and his personal guard continued to dip into them close on two centuries after his death.
“I should go down.” I made to get up, but didn’t. I liked the com¬fort. Three weeks’ hard riding held little appeal.
“You should.” Miana chewed on a pepper. Her tastes had veered from one extreme to another in past months. Of late she’d returned to the scalding flavours of her homeland on the Horse Coast. It made her kisses quite an adventure. “I should give you your present first though.”
I raised a brow at that and tapped her belly. “He’s cooked and ready? ”
Miana flicked my hand away and waved to a servant in the shad¬ows of the hall. At times she still looked like the child who’d arrived to find the Haunt all but encircled, all but doomed. At a month shy of fifteen the most petite of serving girls still dwarfed her, but at least pregnancy had added some curves, filled her chest out, put some colour in her cheeks.
Hamlar came out with something under a silk cloth, long and thin, but not long enough for a sword. He offered it to me with a slight bow. He’d served my uncle for twenty years but had never shown me a sour glance since I put an end to his old employment. I twitched the cloth away.
“A stick? My dear, you shouldn’t have.” I pursed my lips at it. A nice enough stick it had to be said. I didn’t recognize the wood. Hamlar set the stick on the table between the thrones and departed. “It’s a rod,” Miana said. “Lignum Vitae, hard, and heavy enough to sink in water.”
“A stick that could drown me . . .”
She waved again and Hamlar returned with a large tome from my library held before him, opened to a page marked with an ivory spacer.
“It says there that the Lord of Orlanth won the hereditary right to bear his rod of office at the Congressional.” She set a finger to the appropriate passage.
I picked the rod up with renewed interest. It felt like an iron bar in my hand. As King of the Highlands, Arrow, Belpan, Conaught, Normardy, and Orlanth, not to mention overlord of Kennick, it seemed that I now held royal charter to carry a wooden stick where all others must walk unarmed. And thanks to my pixie–faced, rosy–cheeked little queen, my stick would be an iron–wood rod that could brain a man in a pot–helm.
“Thank you,” I said. I’ve never been one for affection or senti¬ment, but I liked to think we understood each other well enough for her to know when something pleased me.
I gave the rod an experimental swish and found myself sufficient inspiration to leave my throne. “I’ll look in on Coddin on the way down.”
Coddin’s nurses had anticipated me. The door to his chambers stood open, the window shutters wide, musk sticks lit. Even so, the stench of his wound hung in the air. Soon it would be two years since the
arrow struck him and still the wound festered and gaped beneath the physician’s dressings. “Jorg.” He waved to me from his bed, made up by the window and raised so he too could see the guard arrive.
“Coddin.” The old sense of unfocused guilt folded around me.
“Did you say goodbye to her?”
“Miana? Of course. Well . . .”
“She’s going to have your child, Jorg. Alone. Whilst you’re off riding.”
“She’ll hardly be alone. She has no end of maids and ladies¬in–waiting. Damned if I know their names or recognize half of them. Seems to be a new one every day.”
“You played your part in this, Jorg. She will know you’re absent when the time comes and it will be harder on her. You should at least make a proper goodbye.”
Only Coddin could lecture me so.
“I said . . . thank you.” I twirled my new stick into view. “A present.”
“When you’re done here go back up. Say the right things.”
I gave the nod that means “perhaps.” It seemed to be enough for him.
“I never tire of watching those boys at horse,” he said, glancing once more at the gleaming ranks below.
“Practice makes perfect. They’d do better to practise war though. Being able to back a horse into a tight corner makes a pretty show but—”
“So enjoy the show!” He shook his head, tried to hide a grimace, then looked at me. “What can I do for you, my king?”
“As always,” I said. “Advice.”
“You hardly need it. I’ve never even seen Vyene, not even been close. I haven’t got anything that will help you in the Holy City. Sharp wits and all that book learning should serve you well enough. You survived the last Congression, didn’t you?”
I let that memory tug a bleak smile from me. “I’ve got some mea¬sure of cleverness perhaps, old man, but what I need from you is wisdom. I know you’ve had my library brought through this chamber one book at a time. The men bring you tales and rumour from all corners. Where do my interests lie in Vyene? Where shall I drop my seven votes?”
I stepped closer, across the bare stones. Coddin was ever the sol¬dier: no rugs or rushes for him even as an invalid.
“You don’t want to hear my wisdom, Jorg. If that’s what it is.” Coddin turned to the window again, the sun catching his age, and catching the lines that pain had etched into him.
“I had hoped you’d changed your mind,” I said. There are hard paths and there are the hardest paths.
The stench of his wound came stronger now I stood close. Cor¬ruption is nibbling at our heels from the hour we’re born. The stink of rot just reminds us where our feet are leading us, whichever direc¬tion they point in.
“Vote with your father. Be at peace with him.”
Good medicines often taste foul, but some pills are too bitter to swallow. I paused to take the anger from my voice. “It’s been nearly more than I can do not to march my armies into Ancrath and lay waste. If it’s a struggle to keep from open war . . . how can there be peace?”
“You two are alike. Your father perhaps a touch colder, more stern and with less ambition, but you fell from the same tree and similar evils forged you.”
Only Coddin could tell me I was my father’s son and live. Only a man who had already died in my employ and lay rotting in my service still, out of duty, only such a man could speak that truth.
“I don’t need him,” I said.
“Didn’t this ghost of yours, this Builder, tell you two Ancraths together would end the power of the hidden hands? Think, Jorg! Sageous set your uncle against you. Sageous wanted you and your brother in the ground. And failing that he drove a wedge between father and son. And what would end the power of men like Sageous, of the Silent Sister, Skilfar, and all their ilk? Peace! An emperor on the throne. A single voice of command. Two Ancraths! You think your father has been idle all this time, the years that grew you, and the years before? He may not have your arching ambition, but he is not without his own measure. King Olidan has influence in many courts. I won’t say he has friends, but he commands loyalty, respect, and fear in equal measures. Olidan knows secrets.”
“I know secrets.” Many I did not wish to know.
“The Hundred will not follow the son whilst the father stands before them.”
“Then I should destroy him.”
“Your father took that path—it made you stronger.”
“He faltered at the last.” I looked at my hand, remembering how I had lifted it from my chest, dripping crimson. My blood, father’s knife. “He faltered. I will not.”
If it had been the dream–witch who drove a wedge between us then he had done his job well. It wasn’t in me to forgive my father. I doubted it was in him to accept such forgiveness.
“The hidden hands might think two Ancraths will end their power. Me, I think one is enough. It was enough for Corion. Enough for Sageous. I will be enough for all of them if they seek to stop me. In any event, you know in what high esteem I hold prophecy.”
Coddin sighed. “Harran is waiting for you. You have my advice. Carry it with you. It won’t slow you down.”
The captains of my armies, nobles from the Highlands, a dozen lords on petitioning visits from various corners of the seven kingdoms, and scores of hangers–on all waited for me in the entrance hall before the keep doors. The time when I could just slip away had . . . just slipped away. I acknowledged the throng with a raised hand.
“My lords, warriors of my house, I’m off to Congression. Be assured I will carry your interests there along with my own and pre¬sent them with my usual blend of tact and diplomacy.”
That raised a chuckle. I’d bled a lot of men dry to take my little corner of empire so I felt I should play out the game for my court, as long as it cost me nothing. And besides, their interests lay with mine, so I hardly lied.
I singled Captain Marten out amongst the crowd, tall and weath¬ered, nothing of the farmer left in him. I gave no rank higher than cap¬tain but the man had led five thousand soldiers and more in my name.
“Keep her safe, Marten. Keep them both safe.” I put a hand to his shoulder. Nothing else needed to be said.
I came into the courtyard flanked by two knights of my table, Sir Kent and Sir Riccard. The spring breeze couldn’t carry the aroma of horse sweat away fast enough, and the herd of more than three hun¬dred appeared to be doing their best to leave the place knee–deep in manure. I find that massed cavalry are always best viewed from a certain distance.
Makin eased his horse through the ranks to reach us. “Many happy returns, King Jorg!”
“We’ll see,” I said. It all felt a little too comfortable. Happy fam¬ilies with my tiny queen above. Birthday greetings and a golden escort down below. Too much soft living and peace can choke a man sure as any rope.
Makin raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his smile still in place.
“Your advisors are ready to ride, sire.” Kent had taken to calling me sire and seemed happier that way.
“You should be taking wise heads not men–at–arms,” Makin said.
“And who might you be bringing, Lord Makin?” I had decided to let him select the single advisor his vote entitled him to bring to Con¬gression.
He pointed across the yard to a scrawny old man, pinch–faced, a red cloak lifting around him as the wind swirled. “Osser Gant. Chamberlain to the late Baron of Kennick. When I’m asked what my vote will cost, Osser’s the man who will know what is and what isn’t of worth to Kennick.”
I had to smile at that. He might pretend it wasn’t so, but part of old Makin wanted to play out his new role as one of the Hundred in grand style. Whether he would model his rule on my father’s or that of the Prince of Arrow remained unclear.
“There’s not much of Kennick that ain’t marsh, and what the Ken Marshes need is timber. Stilts, so your muddy peasants’ houses don’t sink overnight. And you get that from me now. So don’t let your man forget it.”
Makin coughed as if some of that marsh had got into his chest. “So who exactly are you taking as advisors?”
It hadn’t been a difficult choice. Coddin’s final trip came when they carried him down from the mountain after the battle for the Haunt. He wouldn’t travel again. I had grey heads aplenty at court, but none whose contents I valued. “You’re looking at two of them.” I nodded to Sirs Kent and Riccard. “Rike and Grumlow are waiting outside, Keppen and Gorgoth with them.”
“Christ, Jorg! You can’t bring Rike! This is the emperor’s court we’re talking about! And Gorgoth? He doesn’t even like you.”
I drew my sword, a smooth glittering motion, and hundreds of golden helms turned to follow its arc. I held the blade high, turning it this way and that to catch the sun. “I’ve been to Congression before, Makin. I know what games they play there. This year we’re going to play a new game. Mine. And I’m bringing the right pieces.”
2
Several hundred horsemen throw up a lot of dust. We left the Mat¬teracks in a shroud of our own making, the Gilden Guard stretched out across half a mile of winding mountain path. Their gleam didn’t survive long and we made a grey troop as we came to the plains.
Makin and I rode together along the convolutions of the track on which we once met the Prince of Arrow, headed for my gates. Makin looked older now, a little iron in the black, worry lines across his brow. On the road Makin had always seemed happy. Since we came to wealth and fortune and castles he had taken to worry.
“Will you miss her?” he asked. For an hour just the clip and clop of hooves on stony ground, and then from nowhere, “Will you miss her?”
“I don’t know.” I’d grown fond of my little queen. When she wanted to she could excite me, as most women could: my eye is not hard to please. But I didn’t burn for her, didn’t need to have her, to keep her in my sight. More than fondness, I liked her, respected her quick mind and ruthless undercurrents. But I didn’t love her, not the irrational foolish love that can overwhelm a man, wash him away and strand him on unknown shores.
“You don’t know?” he asked.
“We’ll find out, won’t we?” I said.
Most helpful customer reviews
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
What a way to end it...
By L. K. Evans
Damn, I’m depressed. I cried. A lot. I won’t reveal whether it was because of the happy ending I had so hoped for or if it was for the sad ending I had so expected. I just cried.
Ugh... Where to begin...
If you’ve read my reviews thus far, you’ll know Jorg is by far one of the most complicated characters I’ve ever read; a character that can pull just about every emotion from me. I think this book gave us the most insight into Jorg’s growth, and it shows us even more reasons why he ended up the way he did. It was heart breaking to read about, and after the scene in the abby, I had to put it down and take a moment to collect myself. Lawrence’s ability to convey Jorg’s feelings so simply has more impact than I could ever convey.
I have one complaint, and it’s minimal. This book felt a tinsy bit more descriptive than the other books. Or maybe I was just impatient to know what happened. I especially noticed this when they arrived at the emperor’s palace. Again, for those of you who haven’t read my other reviews, I’m not a fan of description so it’s very easy for my mind to wander during those sections.
My only disappointment came from Miana. I’d hoped to get to know her better, but both Katherine and Miana took a back seat in this book, whereas in book 2 they felt more important. I think Jorg stole the show, and since I’ve grown so attached to him, I ended up being fine with this while reading, but upon reflection I would have liked more time with the girls.
The world turned out to be extremely interesting, in my opinion. Things just seemed to start clicking into place as I read. I learned new stuff, got a few answers, and ended up with new questions that were never answered. Fine by me. I like a bit of mystery, and this book let the mind speculate. For a reader who becomes bored with a lot of world building, I must say I finally found a book that actually made me curious about the world. I didn’t just enjoy it. I didn’t just settle into it. I thought about. I listened and wanted to learn. That’s a huge accomplishment on Lawrence’s part.
I became a bit bored during the sections with Chella, but that’s because I had grown so fond of Jorg’s PoV that I wanted to be there all the time. There’s nothing to fault in it, and it was important.
Once again I found Lawrence’s writing to be stunning, and I think each book jumped to a new level, pulling me under and never letting me go. It’s a damn hard book to put down. It makes one think. It makes one feel. And, for me, it made me cry. It came down to how brilliantly Lawrence weaved a sentence and how engaging his characters were, even if they weren’t the saints we’re used to reading about.
Overall, I’d recommend this book to everyone I know, but sadly, I don’t think everyone would look at it the way it was meant to be seen. I know my mother wouldn’t. But my sister would. So I’ll talk it up to those I think would love it, and will think about it for years to come. It definitely gets under ones skin.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
Revenge and Redemption
By JCorrine
Excellent, heartfelt and exciting story.
King Jorg continues on his quest to be Emperor. He takes down his enemies and anyone in his way. Yet, he's grown and matured. His past continues to haunt him and he finally is able to confront his truth. The truth is no matter how many successes he achieves, his conscience will never clear until he's able to redeem his failure to save his little brother. This fact isn't immediately apparent to King Jorg but he comes to this conclusion late in the book.
The Dead King remains in pursuit of the realm and King Jorg must stop the rising dead. He eventually learns what he must do to win, even if it means making the ultimate sacrifice and forfeiting what's dear to him.
In the end, King Jorg becomes an honorable man. He shows us that no matter how far one goes in life, the scars that tend to bind our hearts are the ones received in early years. King Jorg can rule the world but until he redeems himself for his choices, where he feels he chose a cowardice's path, he will never find inner peace. So he makes a final decision, for the life of his son, his friends, his kingdom and for the ghosts of his past.
We see a boy go from being a tyrant, to an infallible ruler who despite his arbitrary and difficult nature, was really a brave, good man plagued with torment. He does find peace.
Excellent story of a boy's rise to power and what he does with it in the end. Bravo!
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
The Broken Empire
By Amazon Customer
Thrilling. That is the Broken Empire trilogy in one word. Or Brilliant. I was sucked in from the first chapter.
The main character, Jorg, is unpredictable, enigmatic, and unhinged. From the get-go, he's a measly tween leading a group of cutthroat bandits. He commits despicable acts, and kills without thought, but that somehow adds to his charm.
Jorg is by far the most entertaining character I've ever read. He is strangely charming: you can't help but cheer him on, though your conscience tells you not to. His cynical descriptions, and homicidal urges make you laugh and cringe in turn. Nearly all of his decisions are shocking, bordering on suicidal, and wonderful to read. He's a character I'll love forever, not because he is good or right, but because he's unforgettable.
Jorg is utterly charming, though it's hard to say exactly why. Perhaps because he holds no delusions about his wickedness. Perhaps because he is so unpredictable. Perhaps because he always seems to be in charge. Most likely it is simply because his thoughts are written so well. The book is laced with dark humor, and terrible insight into human nature. The characters that unfold around Jorg are as corrupted as he is, and just as entertaining.
Jorg's world is awesome: unique and fascinating. It's not the typical medieval setting you signed up for, but so much better.
I recommend this to everyone. It's refreshing, and beautifully written: every page makes you gasp with delight or horror, and leaves you aching for more. The Broken Empire trilogy is wonderful, unforgettable, and worth every minute of your time. 10/10
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![, by Joyce McDougall Theaters Of The Mind: Illusion And Truth On The Psychoanalytic Stage (Reprint) [Paperback]From Routledge](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_tsdUNjhVhYsSwxG8syUVm1Z8H6DQk6-LByZHziLuQG0hNdB8d543y9HOE63XMQWzA0Uv6M5Tfm_edGSY2oBhf31Q3oYzmfw2c1DcztsCTHCSm_BkRhTJG9=s0-d ", by Joyce McDougall Theaters Of The Mind: Illusion And Truth On The Psychoanalytic Stage (Reprint) [Paperback]From Routledge")
