Free The Two of Swords: Part 5 by K. J. Parker

Two of Spears
    He was a big man, tall and broad-shouldered, bald, in a plain grey academic gown and expensive bespoke sandals, two angels a pair. He sat down on the stone ledge that ran along the cloister wall and folded his hands. “My name’s Carrhasian,” he said.
    “No,” Forza said gently. “It isn’t.”
    “Quite right.” A small, annoyed smile. “But for the purposes of this meeting, I am Director Carrhasian. Thank you for coming here, General Belot.”
    Forza leaned forward a little. “Purely out of interest—”
    “He’s indisposed.”
    Forza guessed he hadn’t meant to snap like that; raw nerve. He made a note of it, for later. “Not to worry,” he said. “You’ll do, I’m sure. It’s a shame, though, I’d liked to have met Carrhasian. He was a remarkable man.”
    “Yes.” A little bit more tension; excellent. A bow is only useful when it’s fully drawn. “Can we talk about the war now, please? We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
    “Of course.” Forza spread his hands wide and pressed them palms down on his knees. “Though really I’m not sure why you want to talk to me about your war. It’s none of my business. The Eastern empire’s always had a good relationship with the desert nomads, thank God. They’re not our problem.”
    “Quite,” the man said, “but the fall of Blemya would be.” He smiled; he had a mobile reserve. “Yours and your brother’s, of course.”
    A position fortified in depth. “That goes without saying,” Forza replied calmly. “You think it might come to that.”
    “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked you here.”
    “All right,” Forza said. “So why me, and not Senza? Or have you got him in a side room somewhere, waiting his turn?”
    You can learn so much just by watching people. He saw the corner of the man’s mouth move just a little, and remembered Fail Cross, where he’d seen an enemy cavalryman suddenly race away from his unit and gallop across the battlefield to the extreme left wing; from that he’d deduced Senza’s entire battle plan, and had been able to turn a horrific defeat into a bloody stalemate in the nick of time. The recollection made him smile.
He’s talked to Senza already
, he thought; and either Senza’s agreed to the plan or he hasn’t. Very well. Onwards.
    “Anyway,” he said briskly, “yes, I take your point. The question is, which would my lord the emperor prefer as a strategically crucial buffer state, Blemya or two million nomads with their heads full of holy war?” He grinned. “You’ve got me,” he said. “I give in.” He pausedto let the last three words sink in, then added, “So what did Senza say? Is he on board too?”
    A faint hiss of escaping breath, as though he’d trodden on a nail or something. “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “Oh, come on,” Forza said wearily. “Do you really think I’d be here if I didn’t know you’ve already put the same offer to my darling brother? Here’s the deal. If he’s in, so am I. If not, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
    The man swallowed. He was breaking up. “He’s in.”
    “Excellent.” Forza clapped his hands. “The Belot boys, united at last for the good of humanity. Did he happen to mention whether he’s cleared this escapade with his lords and masters, by the way, or doesn’t he bother with things like that?”
    “He has full discretion,” the man said bitterly. “As do you.”
    “Indeed.” In victory the essential thing to remember is not to follow up too far. “Well, in that case, we have a deal. Now then.” He sat up straight, puppy-dog eager. If he’d had a tail, he’d have wagged it. “What’s the position? Tell me all about it.”
    Three days’ hard ride to get home; on a bloody schedule, as always.
    He got rid of his escort at the Joy in Repentance; they stumbled into the taproom, too weary to argue when he said he was going on without them for a day or so. He left them drinking in grim silence, took out a fresh