King of Thorns (Broken Empire, #2)

by Mark Lawrence

The wind rippled through the long grass. Any place three nations touch will grow well given half a chance. Blood makes for rich soil.

You can cut seven shades from a man. Scarlet arterial blood, purple from the veins, bile like fresh-cut grass, browns from the gut, but it all dries to somewhere between rust and tar.

I’m not him because we die a little every day and by degrees we’re reborn into different men, older men in the same clothes, with the same scars.

I almost spat at that, but royal spit might actually have improved the place.

As to my fighting skills I invited any man who felt overburdened with blood to come and test them for himself.