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Prince'of'Thorns'(Trilogia'dos'Espinhos,'#1)'ebook'download'epub'pdf' by The eBook Reader How to Load ebooks on your Amazon Kindle e-Reader. Title: Mark lawrence trilogia dos espinhos 02 king of thorns, Author: JolieteCardoso, Name: Uma caixa de cobre, com um espinho entalhado, sem trinco ou trava. . Cover of "[Download] Prince of Thorns (Broken Empire) | Read eBooks. Title: Mark lawrence trilogia dos espinhos 02 king of thorns, Author: JolieteCardoso, Cover of "[Download] Prince of Thorns (Broken Empire) | Read eBooks.

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The second book in the Broken Empire series, Lawrence takes his young anti-hero one step closer to his grand ambition. To reach greatness you must step on bodies, and many brothers lie trodden in my wake. The long road to avenge the slaughter of his mother and brother has shown Prince Honorous Jorg Ancrath Ver mais. The long road to avenge the slaughter of his mother and brother has shown Prince Honorous Jorg Ancrath the hidden hands behind this endless war. He saw the game and vowed to sweep the board.

He saw the game and vowed to sweep the board. First though he must gather his own pieces, learn the rules of play, and discover how to break them.

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A six nation army, twenty thousand strong, marches toward Jorg's gates, led by a champion beloved of the people. Every decent man prays this shining hero will unite the empire and heal its wounds. Every omen says he will. Every good king knows to bend the knee in the face of overwhelming odds, if only to save their people and their lands.

But King Jorg is not a good king. Faced by an enemy many times his strength Jorg knows that he cannot win a fair fight. Ao clicar em "download" vais ser redireccionado para o site kobo. Venda o seu King of Thorns com apenas alguns cliques, em fnac. Outros formatos. Resumo King of Thorns.

Adicionar ao cesto. A Guerra da Rainha Vermelha - Livro 2: A Chave de Loki.

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Sareth is always nice and look where that got her. Married to an old man, and not a kind one but a cold and scary one, and her belly all fat with a child that will probably run as savage as Jorg Ancrath. I'm going to have them bury Hanna in the forest graveyard. Maery tells me she'll lie easy there.

All the castle servants are buried there unless their families claim them. Maery says she'll find me a new maidservant but that seems so cold, to just replace Hanna as if she were torn lace, or a broken vase. We'll go out by cart tomorrow. There's a man making her coffin now. My head feels as if he's hammering the nails into it instead. I should have left Jorg to die on the throne-room floor.

But it didn't feel right. Damn him. We'll bury Hanna tomorrow. She was old and always complaining of her aches but that doesn't mean she was ready to go. I will miss her. She was a hard woman, cruel maybe, but never to me. I don't know if I'll cry when we put her in the ground. I should. But I don't know if I will. That's for tomorrow. Today we have a visitor. The Prince of Arrow is calling, with his brother Prince Egan and his retinue. I think Sareth would like to match me there.

Or maybe it's the old man, King Olidan. Not many of Sareth's ideas are her own these days. We will see. I think I'll try to sleep now.

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Maybe my headache will be gone in the morning. And the strange dreams too. Maybe Mother's vase knocked those dreams right out of me.

I watched it. A copper box, thorn patterned, no lock or latch. Open the box, Jorg.

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A copper box. Not big enough to hold a head. A child's fist would fit. A goblet, the box, a knife. I watched the box and the dull reflections from the fire in the hearth. The warmth did not reach me. I let it burn down. The sun fell, and shadows stole the room.

The embers held my gaze. Midnight filled the hall and still I didn't move, as if I were carved from stone, as if motion were a sin. Tension knotted me. It tingled along my cheekbones, clenched in my jaw.


I felt the table's grain beneath my fingertips. The moon rose and painted ghost-light across the stone-flagged floor. The moonlight found my goblet, wine untouched, and made the silver glow.

Clouds swallowed the sky and in the darkness rain fell, soft with old memories. In the small hours, abandoned by fire, moon, and stars, I reached for my blade.

I laid the keen edge cold against my wrist.

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The child still lay in the corner, limbs at corpse angles, too broken for all the king's horses and all the king's men. Sometimes I feel I've seen more ghosts than people, but this boy, this child of four, haunts me.

Open the box. The answer lay in the box. I knew that much. The boy wanted me to open it. More than half of me wanted it open too, wanted to let those memories flood out, however dark, however dangerous.

It had a pull on it, like the cliff's edge, stronger by the moment, promising release. I carried the box out of a desert that could burn you without needing the sun. Four years I've kept it.

I've no recollection of first laying hands upon it, no image of its owner, few facts save only that it holds a hell which nearly broke my mind. Campfires twinkled distant through the sleet. So many they revealed the shape of the land beneath them, the rise and fall of mountains.

The Prince of Arrow's men took up three valleys. One alone wouldn't contain his army. Three valleys choked with knights and archers, foot-soldiers, pikemen, men-at-axe and men-at-sword, carts and wagons, engines for siege, ladders, rope, and pitch for burning. And out there, in a blue pavilion, Katherine Ap Scorron, with her four hundred, lost in the throng. At least she hated me.

I'd rather die at the hands of somebody who wanted to kill me, to have it mean something to them. Within a day they would surround us, sealing the last of the valleys and mountain paths to the east.

Then we would see. Four years I had held the Haunt since I took it from my uncle.

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Four years as King of Renar. I wouldn't let it go easy. This would go hard. The child stood to my right now, bloodless and silent. There was no light in him but I could always see him through the dark. Even through eyelids. He watched me with eyes that looked like mine. I took the blade from my wrist and tapped the point to my teeth. I stood and stretched. I'm going to get some sleep. The servants came at first light and I let them dress me. It seems a silly thing but it turns out that kings have to do what kings do.

Even copper-crown kings with a single ugly castle and lands that spend most of their time going either up or down at an unseemly angle, scattered with more goats than people. It turns out that men are more apt to die for a king who is dressed by pinch-fingered peasants every morning than for a king who knows how to dress himself. I broke fast with hot bread.

I have my page wait at the doors to my chamber with it of a morning. Makin fell in behind me as I strode to the throne-room, his heels clattering on the flagstones. Makin always had a talent for making a din. Ghosts and daylight don't mix, but this one could show in any patch of shadow. He still looked uncomfortable in chamberlain's velvets; the Watch-Commander's uniform had better suited him.

Damn comfortable: Kinging it is pain in the arse enough without one of those gothic chairs. The artists who take weeks to paint these things with a single hair are never going to spend that time making an ugly picture. Miana looked acceptable. She didn't have the hard look about her that Katherine does, the kind of look that lets you know the person is really alive, devouring every moment.

But when it comes down to it, I find most women attractive. How many men are choosy at eighteen? I wonder,,," Makin pursed his lips. He'd surprised me; secrets are hard to keep on the road, among brothers, drinking ale around the campfire after a hard day's blood-letting.

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Eighteen is a good age for marriage, Jorg. You've waited long enough. There was a child too. It's good to know that you don't know everything about a man.

Good that there might always be more to come. I didn't care of course but a marriage is a show, for high- and low-born alike, a kind of spell, and it pays to do it right. We have an army at our gates. I spread my hands. I'm not magic you know. In any case, that army has a good three miles to march if it wants to be at my gates. Probably that was why he was the only one I'd trust to do it. And a thousand inside our walls.