The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,114

enough for six spearmen to block the way. Those behind could stab and slice, and provide weight for the shield wall in front.

Although Marco’s remaining knights had the best armour, without mounts to carry them they were near useless and were already shedding what plate they could. It was the infantry who would meet Alonzo’s charge. Marco had chosen the battlefield carefully. About twelve paces down the track was a tight bend round a rocky spur. This, Marco announced, was to prevent Alonzo from being able to charge at speed.

It would take two days for Giulietta to reach the coast, possibly three . . . The longer they could hold Alonzo the better chance she’d have. They had the kink in the road and the narrowness of the path on their side. Prince Alonzo had greater numbers and cavalry on his. “W-what are you t-thinking?”

“Your uncle will hate our position.”

“You w-would have m-made a good g-general.”

The thought was so absurd that Tycho grinned in self-mockery, then realised the duke was serious. “Highness . . .”

“What else would you d-do?”

Tycho looked at men locking shields. “Nothing.”

“J-just thought I’d c-check . . . It’s t-thawing,” Marco added.

Late winter sun and daytime warmth had set runnels sliding down rocks to create a stream below. The temperature was still above freezing because pockets of snow trapped in the cliff face kept dripping and the track was slushy underfoot.

“S-should m-make it easier for G-Giulietta.”

Tycho nodded, not knowing if it was even true.

They heard Alonzo’s men long before they climbed the track and turned the tight bend around the promontory, stopping suddenly at the sight of the shield wall. As the lead horse shied, another skidded on the slush and Alonzo nearly lost a knight as the heavily armoured man fought to control his beast.

Horses, Tycho thought.

They were Alonzo’s strength and his weakness.

“Shoot their mounts,” Tycho shouted. The only two archers in Marco’s troop looked to the duke for guidance.

“D-do it,” he said decisively. And they pushed forward . . . The shield wall opened while Alonzo’s two knights were still deciding what to do and the bowmen aimed and released. Both missed.

Grabbing a bow, Tycho slotted an arrow and let go, drawing and releasing another arrow while the first was still in the air. He was already slotting a third when his first target reared, presenting its neck to the arrow he was about to release. It fell with Tycho’s arrow in its throat, although what killed it was sliding over the track’s crumbling edge and hitting rocks below.

Its rider screamed once on the way down.

The second knight was fighting his wounded mount as Tycho put another arrow into the poor creature’s flank, jerking the horse round so it slammed the knight into the rock face. It took the swearing man longer than it should to cut his animal’s throat. Infantry pushed their way through to retrieve the heavily armoured knight and barge his dying mount over the edge.

Tycho used the moment to unleash more arrows. A sergeant went down with one through his eye and a horse shied from a strike to its chest, but that was when Tycho’s luck ran out. His next arrow flopped to the dirt as the bow cracked and the tension went out of its string.

Stepping back, Tycho let the shield wall close around him.

Two knights edged forward on Alonzo’s orders and lowered their lances. One wore a battle axe at his hip, the other had a great sword. It seemed unlikely they’d thought about how much space they’d need to wield either.

“Brace the wall,” Captain Weimer shouted.

One of Marco’s foot soldiers suddenly stood tall and hurled his precious spear as if it was a common javelin. It arced through the air as Captain Weimer cursed, and struck the leading horse in the chest, sending it stumbling.

The animal next to it shied in panic and threw its rider.

“Open the wall,” Captain Weimer howled. He sprinted for the fallen knight and swung his spike axe one-handed through the man’s helmet, kicking the man’s head to work the axe free. He swung at the other knight, missed and put his axe into the horse’s neck, ripping it free and retreating through the shield wall. He punched the offending soldier on his way past.

“N-nicely d-done,” Marco said.

The captain grinned. “Thank you, highness.”

Dead horses and high ground – those could be Marco’s weapons. Dead horses, high ground and the tight bend in the track. The sergeant Alonzo sent to dispatch the screaming mount