Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two (40 page)

He bent down, peering closer at the strange object.

*****

Micheal Sanders had turned seventeen years old the day before the battle. An uncommonly good shot with a crossbow, young Sanders had earned a place with Major Seymour's sharpshooters in a competition designed to find the absolute best shots in the army. He was very proud of that, and rightly so his mates had told him. Separated from his original militia unit and forwarded to Major Seymour's battalion, Sanders had found it difficult to adjust to new surroundings as he left behind friends and neighbors he had known most all his life. Most of the men around him were hardened veterans and gave young Sanders little more than a glance, paying him no mind at all otherwise.

As the battle had started, Micheal had managed to hit his first and third targets but had found his second to be obstructed. Reloading after the third round, he had hunkered down behind a log structure, hoping for a shot at his last mine. Technically he should be helping repulse the attack, but he knew the importance of setting off the mine if possible, if for no other reason than to keep it out of the hands of the Nor.

So far he had narrowly escaped death or injury a half-dozen times by sword, pike, or arrow, but he refused to give up, stubbornly holding until the last second in case his target became visible. Already he'd had one opportunity ruined when a Nor soldier had stepped in front of a perfectly aimed bolt just in time to take that bolt in the leg and prevent it from striking the target.

Stringing his last flint tipped bolt, Sanders had settled in to wait for his one last chance.

Suddenly the Imperial lines opened for just a brief time, almost like clouds parting to allow the sun to shine through for a few minutes. Micheal could see a group of Imperial officers around his target, examining the mine with great curiosity. Grimly he took careful aim.

This would be his last chance not to fail. . . .

*****

Fairmount was aware of the force of the explosion as it hit him in the chest. He felt the impact of the iron balls on his body but strangely no pain to amount to anything as he was hurled backwards, away from the strange clay structure his staff member had found.

He didn't realize it at all when passed from this world into the next, his mind still working to explain what was happening when it ceased to work at all.

The Imperial 1
st
Corps had just lost its commander and three-quarters of his command staff.

*****

“We're in contact all along the line,” Enri read several messages that had been sent up the tower. “The line is holding, for now. We're taking losses, both to archery and to melee combat, but our men are holding.”

“Good,” Parno nodded. “They'll have to withstand a great deal today. The Nor commander is obviously putting his entire command into this effort and he started with sun-up. Unless we can find a way to break their spirit and make them run, we'll have to hold most of the day or-”

Cries from along the line cut Parno's statement off as Imperial Artillery began falling among his lines. Parno reacted at once, turning to a runner.

“Compliments to Major Lars, and he is to interdict that artillery at once!” he ordered. “His choice of rounds and unit, but I want it done immediately!”

“Sir!” the officer in charge of Parno's runners nodded and turned to find the artillery runner.

“Can we afford to take Lars' fire away from the battle?” Enri asked.

“We can't afford to allow that enemy artillery to range on our lines unimpeded,” Parno replied flatly. “They can undo us in a matter of minutes if left unchecked. We learned that the hard way at the Gap. All that's letting us withstand their attack is Roda's gadgets and our fortifications. If they manage to force a breach, they can literally force their way through no matter what we do. They can afford more losses than we can and still retain enough strength to win the field. We can't let that happen.”

Enri nodded grimly, agreeing with his Marshal's opinion. Like it or not, they had no choice but to turn their artillery fire toward the enemy's own and try to contain it.

*****

“Artillery units are taking enemy fire, sir!” Wilson's aide reported. “Losses are mounting!”
 

“They must maintain their fire!” Wilson ordered, shaking his head at the unspoken request to withdraw. “Tell them to continue.”

“Sir, we were unable to locate General Fairmount,” a runner stumbled up, looking dazed. “That is to say. . .I think we found him, sir, but. . .”

“What is it, man!” Wilson demanded in frustration.

“Sir, I found what was left of a man wearing a general's uniform and markings, along with several other officers of various ranks, but. . .they're gone, sir. If I had to guess, I'd say one of those fireballs got 'em, sir. I tried to locate his senior divisional commander but could not. The line is a mess, sir. I did ask several of their men to locate a general officer and inform them of General Fairmount's demise and ask him to send a runner here informing us of his whereabouts.”

Wilson nodded absently at that, still processing the fact that Milton Fairmount, one of his oldest and most trusted friends and subordinates, was gone. Just like that.

Death was part of being a soldier, of course. War meant casualties and Wilson knew of no way to prevent that. No one did. But officers of Fairmount's rank rarely died in combat save in a total route. It just didn't happen. Command of that stature meant by necessity that you were far behind the lines so that subordinates could find you for orders and to pass along information when needed. That distance from the fighting usually meant that it was all but impossible for you to die at the enemy's hand.

But the Soulanie army had managed to create some kind of. . .of bottled
hell
, and that hell had now claimed the life of his most able Corps commander. He remembered Fairmount's reluctance the night before, his misgivings about their plan of attack. His old friend had felt uneasy. Had he had some kind of premonition concerning his impending death? Had he felt Death's icy hand upon him last night as the two of them had studied the map one last time?

“Sir?” the runner interrupted Wilson's train of though. “Orders, sir?” he asked hesitantly. Wilson realized that he had to lay that aside for now. His friend would still be dead tonight, when he could spare the time to mourn him. Right now, his army was still engaged with a desperate enemy on their own ground.

“Very good,” he nodded absently. “Wait here for their runner to find us and then send them back informing whoever is senior to take command of 1
st
Corp and continue to press the attack.”

“Sir,” the man nodded and moved away to wait. Wilson continued to stare off toward the front, still reeling inwardly from this sudden turn of events.

What else would go wrong today?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

-

Stephanie sighed as her ambulance hit another rough spot along the roadway, wondering if her driver was trying to hit every hole along the route. Winnie heard her and grinned.

“Rough ride, yes?”

“Very,” Stephanie nodded. “I don't like to complain, but I asked for this thing to be well sprung to avoid this kind of discomfort. Ambulances are supposed to be a better ride than this so as not to make the pain worse for the wounded they carry.”

“Good thing we aren't wounded then,” Winnie snorted to contain her laughter. The ride was rough for someone of Doctor Freeman's upbringing, but for Winnie it was just fine. Much more comfortable than her normal travel arrangements, which was usually either horseback or buckboard wagon.

“Isn't it though,” Stephanie nodded. “Still, I can't really be that upset. I did ask for as quick a trip as was possible.”

“You expect to make Nasil tomorrow then?” Winnie asked.

“Hopefully by dinner if everything goes well,” Stephanie nodded. “That was why it was so important to get down off the mountain before dark so we would be able to avoid that part of the trip today. From the inn where we spent the night we can just about make Nasil by suppertime if there are no problems. And as rough as this is, it's much better than when I first made the trip to Cove. Parno has had crews working on the route all that time, trying to make the trip easier and faster. Otherwise it would add at least a day to our trip just to avoid injury to the horses and damage to the carriage.”

“Wow,” Winnie didn't know what else to say. While she wasn't suffering the way Stephanie appeared to be, it was still noticeably rough travel.

“Exactly,” the doctor nodded.

“He does a lot of that kind of thing, doesn't he?” Winnie asked thoughtfully. “Working to make things better for everyone.”

“Yes, he does,” Stephanie nodded again. “He's always thinking of his people. Remarkable really, considering how bad he's treated for the most part. Of course that's changing now that he's Lord Marshal.”

“I'd never noted it,” Winnie admitted. “No one at Cove ever treats him poorly.”

“They all respect him for enduring the same hardships they do,” Stephanie agreed. “And for his skill with a sword I'm sure,” she added with a frown. “At the Gap he fought on the front lines with his men, right alongside men who had been freed from prison to join him.”

“That I knew,” Winnie confirmed. “That was all some of them talked about when they returned from the Gap. My Papa has a lot of respect for him, too. And that's unusual.”

The two young women continued to talk to pass the time as the ambulance continued to bounce its way to the Royal City.

*****

Colonel Callens reined in his horse, signaling for those behind to do the same as he surveyed the area around them. His group was still five miles from the palace grounds, give or take, and that was close enough for the moment.

“We'll stop here for now,” he ordered, dismounting. There was a stable here that was long out of use and they led their horses inside, out of sight. They would remain here until nightfall, at which time they would make their way into the city and to palace. It would be difficult enough to do without the additional burden of daylight to give them away.

“Get some rest,” he ordered as they stripped the saddles from their mounts. “Stand watch by squads and stay out of sight. We can't afford to be seen by someone who will wonder why we're here.” He watched as his officers posted guards and divided up the responsibilities, then turned to the footman who had accompanied them.

“You're certain you can get us inside unseen?”

“Yes Colonel,” the man nodded. “There are ways known only to the family and one of them is known to me, shared by her Ladyship. When we enter the palace, we'll be mere yards from her door.”

“Good,” Callens nodded. “That will make things significantly more simple.”

“What will we do once we have her, Colonel?” the man asked, curious.

“That will be up to her,” Callens admitted. “My own plan is to get her safely out of the palace and away, then link up with the regiment and find Prince Therron, wherever he may be. If Her Ladyship knows where he is, that would make our job much easier.”

“She may well know, I don't know,” the man admitted. He waited for a moment to see if Callens wanted more, then went to his own saddle and removed a blanket. Spreading it on a bed of hay, he was soon asleep, snoring softly in a stall next to his horse.

Callens envied the man his sleep, though not begrudgingly. He wanted to sleep as well. Knew he should be sleeping, storing it against the next few days when sleep would be at a premium. But the excitement and fear of what he was about to attempt kept him wide awake for the moment. He instead spent his time trying to review the plans he'd made so far and attempting to work out where Prince Therron might have been sent.

He hoped Her Ladyship had managed to work that out for him.

*****

Sherron McLeod paced in her bed chamber, furious as ever. She had been angry for the last four days, or at least angrier than usual. Her brother had done this, and set that bastard Grey on her! Even now there were two of those bullish women constables in her apartments, watching her every move. Only here in the privacy of her actual bedchamber did she have any respite from their presence, and even then both women were immediately beyond the door.

Two male constables were posted outside her apartment door as well, ensuring that she was truly made prisoner in her own home. It was hard to imagine that she and Therron were both prisoners while the whelp was not only free, but usurping Therron's place as commander of the army.

She had intended to put an end to that, but had been intercepted actually on her way out. She was sure Callens had received the message and was probably even now awaiting her arrival at the meeting place. What would he do when she failed to show? She had arranged for enough supplies for ten days for his regiment, not easy to do with a war on and supplies at a premium, but she was Princess Sherron McLeod and that still carried some weight.

But not enough to get her out her apartments and free. Her loyal staff had likewise been interred, and she had no doubt were being relentlessly questioned about Sherron's activities. She snorted delicately at that thought. None of her retainers, regardless of her level of trust, had been privy to all of her thoughts and plans. Some knew more than others, but no one knew everything and none of them would betray her. At least not yet. She knew that as time wore on some would begin to crack.

Which meant she had to get out while she could. Every day she spent languishing here was another day that Memmnon could use to secure his ascension to the throne and Parno his control over the army. She would never have believed that Therron's loyal followers would have willingly followed Parno into battle, but reports from the front indicated that not only had they done so, they had scored a great victory doing it.

Traitors one and all!, she thought savagely. Not the rank and file, of course. The men loved Therron. Always had. He was practically one of them. But the officers! Following that whelp Parno who should have been drowned at birth. The nerve of them, treating him as well as they might Therron.

Well, there would be time enough to root out who was guilty of treason against her beloved Therron and deal with them once she had set things to right in Nasil and placed Therron upon the throne where he belonged. With that done she would use her influence to punish anyone who had supported Parno, Memmnon or their doddering old fool of a king over Therron's rightful rule.

Her mind turned to the task of ensuring that she had the opportunity to do just that.

*****

Parno tensed slightly as yet another wave of Imperial soldiers crashed against his lines. So far the Royal Army was holding, but his men were taking losses while doing so. Heavy losses in some places.

“The artillery is sapping their strength before they get to the line or they would have swamped us by now,” Enri noted, sweeping the line with his glass.

“Yes,” Parno nodded. “I'm afraid we're going to have to commit the reserve to the battle before long. We've suffered heavy losses and the men on the line are tiring.”

“I would suggest doing so by no more than a brigade at the time, then,” Enri replied. “Parcel out the reserve as much as possible to keep one division intact so as to respond to a break through if needed. Allow each division to keep one full brigade in position to bolster the line if that kind of breakthrough occurs, as well.”

“Doing that will eliminate any chance we have of a counter-attack, too,” Parno sighed, accepting the inevitable.

“There was never much hope of that today, milord,” Enri pointed out. “We're too heavily outnumbered. Even should we throw them back today, they may well come again tomorrow. We'll need every man for the next attack. We couldn't spare any losses in a counter-attack that would likely not bear any real fruit.”

“I know,” Parno nodded. “See to the orders, then, Brigadier,” he ordered formally. “Bolster the line in the weakest places and give our men what relief we can.”

Sir,” Enri nodded and set about issuing orders. Parno watched dispassionately as his plans to strike back eroded with the size of his reserve.

*****

“We are hurting them, General,” an aide said to Wilson as he watched the battle continue.

“Not badly enough,” he replied absently. “Our casualties are atrocious and we haven't cracked their lines yet.”

“Our artillery has taken a beating, sir, or we would have broken them by now,” the aide insisted. “Sir, our artillery could use a chance to refit. Their losses really are heavy.”

“I'll let the infantry know how the artillery has suffered, mister,” Wilson all but snarled. “Our men are fighting and dying at the end of Soulan swords, pikes and arrows. I think our artillery can do likewise while supporting their attack!”

“Sir, their losses are approaching the point where they aren't any real help,” the aide pressed. “Over fifty percent of their equipment has been damaged or disabled completely. Manpower losses are less but still severe.”

“And should I call off the attack so that the artillery can rest?” Wilson demanded. “Recall our troops and let the Soulanies have the field?” he shouted.

Behind him two buglers snapped to attention at hearing that shout and brought their horns to their lips. Surprised by the order, they nonetheless began blowing the notes for the recall.

*****

General Darrell Thomas had just committed his final brigade to action against a section of the southern line that showed some weakness when the bugle calls began passing up and down the line. His head snapped around as the notes of Recall sounded.

“What the hell!” he exclaimed, looking around at his staff officers as if for confirmation that he was going insane.

“Sir, that's the recall,” one aide supplied helpfully.

“No shit?” Thomas shot back with feigned incredulity. “And here I thought it was the bloody charge!” The man's face turned beet red but he made no further comment.

“This has got to be a mistake!” Thomas yelled, but all around him buglers heard the call and picked it up, continuing to sound Recall until it was passing all down the line. Thomas shook his head in disbelief, but. . . .

“We don't have any choice, now!” he called out to his staff. “The whole army will be falling back. Issue orders to grab any of our wounded we can reach and try to fall back in order. Be just our luck the southerners will pick this opportunity to counter-attack.”

The Imperial Army was withdrawing for the first time since the war had begun.

*****

“What have you done!” Wilson screamed at the two buglers as they abruptly stopped blowing, suddenly fearful of their General's ire.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Wilson demanded.

“Sir, begging your pardon, sir, but you said sound Recall and give the southerners the field, sir!” the senior bugler stammered. “We both heard the order and sounded Recall as ordered, sir!” he added.

“I gave no such orders!” Wilson bellowed.

“Sir, you did, sir!” the man managed to hold his ground despite his fear. “Sir, you said 'Recall our troops and let the Soulanies have the field', sir. Your exact words, sir!”

Wilson was on the verge of apoplexy. He looked at the two buglers in wonder, realizing what had happened and wondering how he could possibly have two dumber men assigned to him as buglers.

“Arrest them both!” he bellowed to his escort, who promptly surrounded both men and led the still protesting buglers away.

“Sir, it was an honest mistake I'm sure,” his aide offered, but cut off at a glare from Wilson.

“You want to join them?” he screamed in rage. The man wilted and fell silent.

“Jesus, Mother and Joseph,” Wilson shook his head. “I am surrounded by morons. Nothing but morons on my payroll, everywhere I look!”

He continued to bemoan the intelligence of his help as his army slowly broke contact and returned to their own lines, still under a withering fire from the southern army. There was nothing he could do to stop their withdrawal now. His army was tired, suffering from heavy losses and no doubt shocked not only by the ferocity of the southern defense but by the abrupt and unexpected Recall order. There would be no marshaling them, or continuing the battle. Not now.