Before They Are Hanged

Before They Are Hanged Plot Summary

Introduction

# The First Law: Broken Paths Through Blood and Betrayal The torturer's chair creaked as Superior Sand dan Glokta lowered his ruined body into it, his twisted leg screaming with familiar agony. Once the most celebrated swordsman in the Union, now a crippled Inquisitor with gaps where teeth should be, he stared at the Gurkish prisoner chained before him. The man's eyes held defiance, but Glokta had broken stronger spirits. In the sweltering heat of Dagoska, a city perched on the edge of the world like a jewel about to fall, he had been sent to accomplish the impossible: defend the indefensible against an empire that commanded the desert itself. Far to the north, another impossible journey was beginning. Bayaz, who claimed to be the First of the Magi, led a company of unlikely companions across the Circle of the World toward something he called the Edge of Creation. Logen Ninefingers, a scarred Northman with blood on his hands and ghosts in his past, rode alongside Ferro Maljinn, a woman whose golden eyes burned with hatred for the Gurkish Empire. Behind them came Jezal dan Luthar, a vain young officer dreaming of glory, unaware that the path ahead would strip away everything he thought he knew about himself. They sought a weapon of unimaginable power, but in a world where empires clashed and ancient grudges festered like infected wounds, the greatest danger often came from those closest to you.

Chapter 1: The Players Gather: Journeys Begin Across a Fractured World

The morning sun painted Dagoska's walls the color of dried blood as Glokta surveyed the city's defenses. General Vissbruck stood beside him, uniform immaculate despite the heat, pointing at gaps in the ancient fortifications with the confidence of a man who had never faced real war. "The land walls have stood for three hundred years," Vissbruck declared. "They'll hold against anything the Gurkish can throw at us." Glokta's ruined smile revealed the spaces where Gurkish torturers had torn out his teeth. "And how many men do we have to defend these magnificent walls?" "Five hundred Union regulars, plus the city watch." "Against how many Gurkish?" Vissbruck's confidence wavered. "Reports vary. Perhaps ten thousand. Maybe more." Through his spyglass, Glokta watched dust clouds rising on the horizon. The Gurkish Empire was coming, and Dagoska would fall. The only question was how long he could delay the inevitable. Arch Lector Sult had sent him here to fail, he was certain of it. A convenient way to dispose of an Inquisitor who knew too many secrets. Meanwhile, hundreds of miles to the north, Logen Ninefingers crouched beside a stream, washing blood from his hands. The water ran red between his fingers as he scrubbed at stains that would never truly come clean. Behind him, his companions made camp in the ruins of an ancient watchtower. Bayaz, the bald wizard who had dragged them all on this journey, studied a map by firelight. "We'll reach the Old Empire's borders within the week," he announced. "From there, the real dangers begin." Ferro spat into the flames, making them hiss. "What dangers? More of your stories about dead kings and broken cities?" "The past is never truly dead," Bayaz replied. "Not when it leaves scars like these." Jezal dan Luthar polished his sword with practiced motions, the steel gleaming in the firelight. He had joined this expedition expecting adventure, perhaps a chance to prove himself worthy of promotion. Instead, he found himself riding toward the edge of the world with a madman, a savage, and a woman who looked at him like she was deciding where to put the knife. "How much farther?" Jezal asked. "Farther than you've ever traveled," Logen said quietly. "Farther than you want to go." The Northman's scarred face caught the firelight, and for a moment Jezal glimpsed something terrible in those dark eyes. They called him the Bloody-Nine, though no one would explain why. Some names, Jezal was learning, were better left unspoken.

Chapter 2: Fortresses of Flesh and Stone: The Price of Defense

The Gurkish envoy arrived at dawn, his white robes pristine despite the desert journey. Tall and proud, he strode into Dagoska's council chamber like a man entering his own palace. Behind him came two guards, their curved swords gleaming at their sides. "I bring terms from His Magnificence, the Emperor of Gurkhul," the envoy announced. "Open your gates, and your people will be spared. Resist, and every man, woman, and child will be put to the sword." Lord Governor Vurms shifted nervously in his seat. "Perhaps we should consider—" "I have considered," Glokta interrupted, his voice cutting through the chamber like a blade. "And my answer is this." The Superior's signal brought Practical Frost into the room, the albino giant moving with surprising grace. One massive hand closed around the envoy's throat, lifting him from the floor. The Gurkish guards reached for their swords, but Frost's other hand held a loaded crossbow. "Tell your Emperor," Glokta said as the envoy's face turned purple, "that Dagoska will not fall easily." Frost released his grip, and the envoy collapsed, gasping. As the Gurkish delegation fled, Glokta turned to face the horrified council members. "Now they know we mean to fight," he said. "The question is, do we have the means to do it?" The answer came in the form of Nicomo Cosca, a Styrian mercenary captain with a reputation for both brilliance and madness. His company of sellswords had arrived just ahead of the Gurkish army, and their price was steep. "Fifty thousand marks," Cosca declared, his breath reeking of wine despite the early hour. "Half now, half when the siege is lifted." "And if the city falls?" Cosca shrugged. "Then you won't need to pay the second half." With the mercenaries came hope, but also suspicion. Someone in the city was feeding information to the Gurkish, and Glokta's investigation led him down dark paths. Magister Eider, the head of the Spicers' Guild, seemed too helpful, too eager to please. Korsten dan Vurms, the Governor's son, had debts that could compromise his loyalty. Even General Vissbruck might be playing a deeper game. As the Gurkish army spread across the peninsula like a plague of locusts, Glokta stood on the walls and watched them prepare their siege engines. Catapults and ballistas, scaling ladders and battering rams. They would come at dawn, and when they did, the real test would begin. "Are you ready for this?" Cosca asked, joining him on the battlements. Glokta's laugh was like the sound of breaking glass. "I've been ready for this my entire life."

Chapter 3: Into Ancient Darkness: Confronting the Ghosts of Empire

The ruins of Aulcus rose from the plain like the bones of some impossibly vast creature. Once the jewel of the Old Empire, now it was a necropolis where nothing lived and nothing grew. Rain fell in sheets across the broken stones, and the wind carried whispers of ancient voices. "The greatest city in the world," Bayaz said, his voice heavy with memory. "Two million souls lived here once. Now look at it." Logen pulled his coat tighter against the cold. "What happened to them?" "Glustrod happened. The Maker's apprentice, who learned to hate his master more than he loved creation itself." They rode through streets wide enough for twenty horsemen, past buildings that dwarfed anything in Adua. Statues lined the avenues, their faces carved away by time and malice. In the great squares, fountains stood dry and cracked, their basins filled with debris and bones. Ferro's horse shied at something moving in the shadows. "We're being watched," she said, her hand moving to her bow. The attack came without warning. Creatures poured from the ruins around them, things that might once have been human but were human no longer. Shanka, Logen called them, though these were different from the Flatheads of the North. These had been changed by their long residence in the cursed city, twisted into new and horrible forms. "The temple!" Bayaz shouted, pointing toward a massive structure ahead. "We can make a stand there!" They spurred their horses forward as the creatures closed in. Ferro's arrows found their marks with deadly precision, but for every Shanka that fell, two more took its place. They reached the temple steps just as the ground began to crack beneath them. "The foundations are giving way!" Logen grabbed for Ferro as the stone floor collapsed, pulling them both into the darkness below. Jezal watched in horror as they disappeared. "We have to help them!" "They're gone," Bayaz said coldly. "We move on." But in the tunnels beneath the city, Logen and Ferro were very much alive. Surrounded by bones and shadows, they fought their way through passages that reeked of death and ancient evil. The Bloody-Nine awakened in Logen, that terrible other self that knew only violence. With Ferro at his side, arrows flying and steel singing, they carved a path through the darkness toward whatever light they could find.

Chapter 4: Bonds Forged in Blood: Alliances Born from Necessity

In the frozen North, Colonel Collem West led the remnants of Prince Ladisla's army through enemy territory. The heir to the Union throne had proven himself a coward and worse, abandoning his men to save his own skin. Now they were hunted fugitives in a land where every shadow might hide a Northman's blade. "How much farther to Marshal Burr's army?" West asked Rudd Threetrees, the grizzled Northman who had become their unlikely guide. "Three days, if the weather holds," Threetrees replied. "Longer if Bethod's men find our trail." They had been walking for a week, a strange company bound together by necessity. Threetrees and his Named Men had turned against their former king, choosing exile over servitude. West and his handful of Union soldiers had no choice but to trust them. Among them walked Cathil, a young woman whose father had died in the massacre, her face hard with grief and determination. That night, as they sheltered in a cave, West discovered Prince Ladisla attempting to force himself on Cathil. Something broke inside the dutiful colonel. Without thought or hesitation, he pushed the Prince away from the girl. Ladisla stumbled backward, lost his footing, and fell over the cliff edge behind him. West stared at his hands, hardly believing what he had done. He had killed the heir to the throne. The act was treason, punishable by death, but as he looked at Cathil's tear-streaked face, he felt no regret. "What will you tell them?" she asked. "That he died fighting," West replied. "That he died a hero." It was a lie, but sometimes lies were kinder than truth. They buried the Prince's body in the snow and continued north, carrying their secret like a weight that grew heavier with each step. Meanwhile, in the tunnels beneath Aulcus, Logen and Ferro had found each other in the darkness. Their shared ordeal had forged something between them, a connection neither fully understood. When they finally emerged into daylight, blinking and blood-stained, they found Bayaz waiting with the others. "You survived," the wizard observed. "I confess, I had my doubts." Logen wiped blood from his sword. "We're harder to kill than we look." That night, as they camped in the ruins of an ancient mill, Ferro came to Logen's bedroll. No words passed between them, but in the darkness they found comfort in each other's arms. Two broken people seeking warmth in a cold world, knowing it might be their last night alive.

Chapter 5: When Walls Fall: The Wages of War and Survival

The Gurkish assault began at dawn with a thunderous bombardment. Their catapults hurled stones the size of wine barrels against Dagoska's walls, while their archers darkened the sky with arrows. Glokta watched from the battlements as the ancient fortifications began to crack under the relentless pounding. "How long can we hold?" General Vissbruck asked, his earlier confidence replaced by naked fear. "Long enough," Glokta replied, though he knew it was another lie in a war built on lies. The first wave came with scaling ladders and grappling hooks. Cosca's mercenaries met them at the walls, steel ringing against steel in the morning light. The Styrian captain fought like a man possessed, his blade weaving patterns of death among the attackers. "Is this what you call a siege?" Cosca laughed as he kicked a Gurkish soldier from the ramparts. "I've seen tavern brawls with more style!" But the enemy kept coming. Wave after wave crashed against the walls like a tide of flesh and steel. The defenders held, but barely, and Glokta knew they were fighting a losing battle. When night fell, he gathered his most trusted agents in the citadel's depths. "Someone in the city is helping them," he said. "The Gurkish know too much about our defenses, our numbers, our plans." The investigation led him to Magister Eider, the merchant queen who controlled half the city's trade. Under interrogation, she revealed the depth of the conspiracy. Korsten dan Vurms, the Governor's son, had been selling information to buy his way out of gambling debts. Even some of Cosca's own men had been bought with Gurkish gold. "Why?" Glokta asked as Eider sat chained in her cell. "Because this war was lost before it began," she replied. "The Union has no business here. We're thieves in a stolen city, and thieves always get caught eventually." The next morning brought worse news. A section of the wall had collapsed during the night bombardment, leaving a gap wide enough for an army to march through. The Gurkish would attack at dawn, and this time there would be no stopping them. Glokta stood in the breach, watching the enemy prepare their final assault. Behind him, Cosca's mercenaries checked their weapons and said their prayers. They were outnumbered ten to one, but they would make the Gurkish pay for every inch of ground. "Any regrets?" Cosca asked, offering Glokta a drink from his flask. The Superior's ruined smile was answer enough. "Only that I won't live to see how this story ends."

Chapter 6: Masks Removed: Betrayals and the Truth Behind Power

The island of Shabulyan rose from the sea like a broken tooth, its black cliffs crowned with ruins older than memory. Here, at the edge of the world, Bayaz claimed they would find the weapon that could change everything. The Seed, he called it, a relic of the Old Time when magic flowed like water and the Magi shaped the world with their will. "What exactly is this thing we've come so far to find?" Jezal asked as their ship approached the desolate shore. "Power," Bayaz replied. "The power to remake the world." They climbed the cliff path in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Logen's hand never left his sword hilt, while Ferro's golden eyes scanned every shadow for threats. The island felt wrong, as if the very air was poisoned with ancient malice. At the summit, they found a tower that seemed to grow from the living rock. Inside, something waited in the darkness. Bayaz spoke words in the Old Tongue, and the shadows stirred. A voice answered, hollow and vast, speaking of bargains made in blood and prices paid in souls. When it was over, Bayaz emerged carrying a small box, his face pale with exhaustion. "It is done," he said. "We have what we came for." But as their ship sailed back toward the mainland, doubt crept in like fog. Ferro cornered the wizard in his cabin, her knife pressed against his throat. "Show me," she demanded. "Show me this weapon that will burn the Gurkish Empire to ash." Bayaz opened the box with trembling hands. Inside lay a simple stone, dark and unremarkable. Ferro stared at it for a long moment, then began to laugh. It was not a pleasant sound. "You brought us to the edge of the world for a rock?" "It is more than it appears," Bayaz insisted, but his voice lacked conviction. The truth was harder to accept than the lie. They had risked everything, lost friends, spilled blood, all for nothing. The great quest was a failure, the mighty wizard revealed as just another old man chasing impossible dreams. That night, as the ship cut through dark waters toward home, Logen found Ferro standing at the rail. She was crying, though she would never admit it. All her dreams of vengeance, all her hopes of making the Gurkish pay for what they had done to her, reduced to nothing by a worthless stone. "What will you do now?" Logen asked. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know anything anymore."

Chapter 7: Empty Victories: What Remains When Dreams Turn to Ash

The ship that carried them back to civilization moved through waters gray as old steel, its passengers changed by their journey in ways they were only beginning to understand. Bayaz brooded in his cabin, the failure of his great plan eating at him like acid. The Seed lay in its box, a monument to hubris and wasted hope. Jezal stood at the bow, watching the horizon for signs of home. His face bore new scars from their adventures, but the deeper wounds were invisible. The vain young officer who had left Adua was gone, replaced by someone harder and perhaps wiser. He thought of Ardee West, the woman he had left behind, and wondered if she would recognize the man he had become. "Regrets?" Logen asked, joining him at the rail. "Too many to count," Jezal replied. "You?" The Northman was quiet for a long moment. "I should have stayed in the North. There's work there I should never have left." They both knew he was talking about Bethod, the King of the Northmen who had united the clans under his banner. Old enemies had a way of finding each other, no matter how far you ran. In the ship's hold, Ferro sharpened her knives with mechanical precision. Each stroke of the whetstone was a promise, a vow that her war was far from over. The Seed might be worthless, but her hatred burned as bright as ever. The Gurkish Empire would pay, one way or another. When they finally reached port, the company scattered like leaves in the wind. Bayaz disappeared into the crowds, his grand plans in ruins. Logen booked passage north, toward old debts and older grudges. Ferro simply vanished, as if she had never existed at all. Only Jezal remained, standing on the dock with his scarred face and empty hands. The journey that was supposed to make him a hero had instead taught him the price of heroism. Glory was a lie told by the living to honor the dead, and the dead cared nothing for glory. He turned toward the road that led home, toward Adua and whatever waited for him there. Behind him, the ship that had carried them to the edge of the world sailed away into the gathering dusk, taking their dreams with it into the darkness. The Circle of the World turned on, indifferent to the struggles of those who walked its surface. Empires rose and fell, heroes lived and died, but the wheel kept turning. And somewhere in the distance, new storms were gathering, bringing with them the promise of fresh betrayals and bloodier wars to come.

Summary

In the end, they were all walking broken paths through a world that cared nothing for their suffering. Glokta, the tortured torturer, had held Dagoska as long as humanly possible before fleeing in the night, leaving others to pay the price of his defiance. West had murdered a prince and lived with the weight of that necessary sin. Logen carried the Bloody-Nine within him like a curse that could never be lifted. Ferro's hatred burned as bright as ever, undimmed by failure or loss. Jezal returned home scarred in body and soul, his dreams of glory replaced by hard-won wisdom about the true cost of power. The great quest had failed, the mighty weapon proved worthless, the heroes revealed as broken people stumbling through the darkness. Yet perhaps that was the truest victory of all—not the triumph of good over evil, but the simple act of endurance in a world where both were often indistinguishable. They had looked into the abyss and chosen to keep walking, carrying their scars like badges of honor earned in the service of something greater than themselves. The Circle of the World would keep turning, bringing new wars and fresh betrayals, but they had learned the most important lesson of all: you have to be realistic about these things, and sometimes being realistic means accepting that the sun can't always shine.

About Author

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Joe Abercrombie

Abercrombie interrogates the darker facets of human nature through his grimdark fantasy works, crafting narratives that emphasize complex characters and moral ambiguity. His writing diverges from traditional epic fantasies by focusing on visceral depictions of violence and dark humor, while de-emphasizing detailed world-building in favor of character-driven storytelling. Abercrombie's debut book, "The Blade Itself", introduces readers to the unpredictable and gritty universe of The First Law trilogy, which also includes "Before They Are Hanged" and "Last Argument of Kings". These novels establish his signature style, rooted in exploring flawed and morally complex individuals.\n\nBeyond this trilogy, Abercrombie expands his universe with standalone novels like "Best Served Cold" and "The Heroes", maintaining his reputation for exploring the brutal realities of power and survival. Meanwhile, he extends his reach to young adult audiences with the Shattered Sea trilogy, proving his adaptability in crafting stories that appeal to different demographics. Abercrombie’s commitment to character complexity invites readers to question conventional heroic archetypes and instead engage with more nuanced narratives. His bio as a film editor informs his cinematic storytelling approach, contributing to the immersive and dynamic nature of his writing.\n\nAbercrombie’s impact on fantasy literature is underscored by his recognition as a finalist for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer, showcasing his early influence in the genre. His works have been translated into multiple languages, expanding his international audience. For readers seeking stories that challenge conventional fantasy tropes with a focus on character depth and moral complexity, Abercrombie's books offer a compelling exploration of the human condition.

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