The Two of Swords: Part 5 Read Online Free PDF Page B

Senza rode up with six of his beloved fish-men: Imperial regulars, covered head to foot in small steel scales. Forza took seven of his Parrhasian horse archers. It had been proved, many times, that their short bows could shoot through the fish scales. They drew up ten yards from each other. It was as close as they ever got.
    “One question,” Senza called out. “How did you know?”
    Forza lifted his helmet on to the back of his head so he could hear. “I’ve got spies in your senior staff. Four of them. Want their names?”
    Senza only grinned. “I only need one spy,” he said. “The one who’s fucking your wife.”
    Forza nodded. “Here we go, then. The usual,” he said. “I’ve got you stitched up like a baby in a blanket and I know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re screwed, because I got here first. There’s no earthly point in fighting. If you give a shit about your men, surrender now and let the poor buggers live.” He paused, counted three under his breath. “Thought not,” he said. “Ah well. You always were a heartless bastard, Senza.”
    He expected his brother to make a rude gesture and go. This time, however, he seemed inclined to linger. Forza shortened his reins to ride away.
    “Nice bit of work, back there,” Senza said.
    “What, you mean—?”
    Senza nodded. “We picked up a few of their survivors,” he said. “But I gather you nearly got yourself killed.”
    “Nearly,” Forza said. “Not quite.”
    “You want to be a bit more careful,” Senza said. “Dashing off being brave, leaving your wife. You shouldn’t drag her round with you all the time, a fine lady like that. It’s not safe.”
    Forza sighed. “Maybe if you’d kept Lysao a bit closer she wouldn’t have run off. Oh, I know where she is, by the way. Want me to tell you?”
    “You’re a real mine of information today, aren’t you?” Just a tiny flicker; then Senza raised the grin again. “Sometimes I think to myself, this is stupid. He’s my brother, for God’s sake; we ought to be able to sort things out, at the very least we ought to be able to coexist without trying to kill each other all the damn time. And then I see you again and I realise, no, we can’t, he’s got to go.” He lifted one hand in a courteous salute. “This time,” he said.
    Forza returned a formal nod. “This time,” he replied, and rode away.
    It was the perfect place, a slaughterhouse, a killing bottle. Senza had only two choices. He could attack uphill, his cavalry slowed to a walk by the gradient and the rocks and the shale, or he could stand his ground, receive Forza’s furious charge and be driven back into the marshes, which had in their time swallowed up whole armies. Both flanks were closed; the left flank by the river, which was in spate, the right flank by the sheer cliff wall of the Hammerhead. The road he’d come in by was now blocked by two thousand of Forza’s regular pikemen, who held the only bridge over the river. The trap was perfect, because Senza had designed it himself. His only mistake, if you could call it that, was getting there five hours after Forza; and it would’ve been asking a lot of him to have expected him to know about the hidden pass over the Hammerhead, because it wasn’t on any map drawn in the last three hundred years. As Forza made a few final adjustments to his order of battle, he was sick with worry. Too perfect; he’d missed something. Or maybe it really would be this time, and that—
    Over and over again, he kept asking himself,
what would I do if I was him?
So far, he’d come up with six answers, all of them brilliant; but he’d countered them all. His Northern archers were marking the fish-men, so Senza wouldn’t try the sudden unexpected hook on the left wing. The false retreat, the feigned central collapse, the bull’s head, the lobster and the threshing floor were all safely accounted for and taken care of. It was like playing chess against himself.
    He went back to