Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two (8 page)

But the fact that the Soulan Army didn't organize the same way meant that Wilson had no idea which southern General would be in command of this effort. Knowing who was in command might make the difference in battle. If Therron McLeod had organized this attack himself then it was also possible he was along and exercising command himself. That was highly unlikely given what Wilson knew of the Southron Prince. McLeod at his best was arrogant and over-confident.

“Inform General Stone that the enemy may be reforming to his front, and that I want him to engage the enemy as closely as possible. His orders are to do as much damage as possible to the southerners before they can reach their own lines. He is not, I repeat not, to engage the southern fortifications. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” The courier replied and spurred his horse away. Wilson sat for a moment, considering his next options. He motioned for another courier.

“Ride to General Taylor's headquarters. Inform him to take command of any stragglers from Raymond and Hartley's commands, incorporate them into his own force, and begin moving into a flanking position on the southerner's right flank.” He looked to another runner.

“You will inform General Fairmount to form his entire corps behind Taylor and be prepared to press any advantage we can gain from this engagement. Go!” Both men tore away from him at high speed. Wilson watched them go, and his eye was drawn to movement. A look of disgust crossed his features as he recognized Daly and his retinue moving toward him.

For a moment he considered heading closer to the battle to avoid the man, but shook the thought away. Runners and commanders knew where he was for the moment. If he moved, they would waste valuable time relocating him.

“What has happened, General?” Daly asked as he approached. “I thought we were secure here.” Sarcasm tinged the man's voice and Wilson was gripped with a near over-whelming urge to run Daly through with his sword.

“And I warned you that this was the very reason that we had halted our advance,” Wilson shot back. “The Soulanies have attacked in force from our flank. They attempted to get into our rear areas but have been repulsed. We are now pushing forward in an attempt to engage them more closely before they can return to the safety of their own lines.”

“I see,” Daly replied. “Apparently our standing on the defensive was not effective.”

“To the contrary,” Wilson tried to sound friendly but it was a strain. “We were able to prevent the Soulan Army's favorite tactic from being used against us and thanks to General Taylor's efforts and General Stone's rapid response we still have the chance to do serious damage to the Soulan cavalry force.” He turned away, looking toward the battlefield in the distance.

“They had to have stripped most of their active cavalry units from their lines to organize an attack on this scale. If we can cut them off, we stand an excellent chance of eliminating the most serious threat against our continued advance. With their cavalry force destroyed or even just damaged we will no longer have to be so concerned with flanking maneuvers such as this one in the future.” He forced a smile as he looked back to Daly.

“This day may well be the beginning of the end, General.”

*****

“General Beaumont reporting, sir!”

Parno resisted the urge to smile. Beaumont clearly believed in leading from the front. The man's uniform was torn in two places, blood stained in one, and his sword was also bloody as it dangled in his hand, held down to his side. Three men rode with him and no more.

“How goes it, General?” Parno asked. Beaumont grinned at the Prince.

“We've given them a hot day indeed, milord!” he replied enthusiastically. “And I believe that we will soon have a chance to bloody them again, your orders permitting of course.”

“Oh, my orders permit,” Parno nodded firmly. “I want you to form your men right here, General,” Parno motioned around him. “This is going to be the center of our line, and I want you right here. The others will form to your right and left of line. When the Nor come calling, we'll meet them with southern steel.”

“Outstanding!” Beaumont positively beamed at the chance to be in the thick of the fight. He turned to his followers.

“Regimental commanders to meet here in five minutes. First and Second regiments to form front, Third in reserve. I want to see lines forming in no more than ten minutes from right now, so move!” All three galloped away, reins lashing their mounts to urge them onward.

“How are your men and horses, General?” Parno asked.

“Winded but able, milord,” Beaumont replied at once. “We'll stand at least one good clash with no great difficulty. After that it will depend on how spirited the fight is.”

Parno nodded. Beaumont's assessment agreed with his own. As he considered that he noted the Brigadier commanding the 21
st
Horse Archers approaching.

General Horace Whipple saluted smartly. His clean uniform was in stark contrast to Beaumont's, but Parno noted that the man carried a bow of his own already in hand.

“General, I am detaching all mounted archers from the three divisions and attaching them to your command for the rest of the engagement. You will form your men in three ranks behind the main lines, and stay out of the action unless and until you receive orders to the contrary.”

“My plan for the moment is to engage the approaching Nor cavalry in open combat, bleeding them as heavily as possible before our mounts tire. As soon as you hear Recall sound, your men will ready their bows. If the Nor pursue, and I think they'll be mad enough to do so, you will launch three flights in rapid succession the minute they enter your range. The instant you loose the third flight your men will wheel and retreat along with the cavalry. Questions?”

“If the Nor begin to withdraw, may we pursue?” Whipple asked, eyes almost alight.

“Under no circumstances,” Parno replied firmly. “You and your men are not expendable. I expect Nor infantry to approach our right within the hour. Our goal here is to bloody and demoralize the Nor cavalry force. To shake their confidence in themselves and their commanders. We will not seek a protracted engagement without our own infantry to support us.” He paused, then grinned slightly.

“I only want to spank them today, General.” Whipple threw his head back and laughed, Beaumont joining him.

“Then by the Crown, spank them we will, milord! With your permission?”

“Carry on,” Parno nodded. Whipple and his runners turned to carry out their orders.

Parno returned his attention to the action around him. Regiments were already falling into line and Beaumont was riding to the front of his troops, screaming them into line and readiness. Parno caught sight of Enri Willard moving along the front and raised a hand to draw his Chief of Staff's attention. The former duelist reined his horse in beside the Prince.

“All commanders have their orders, milord,” he reported. “I estimate we'll be prepared within ten minutes.”

“Good, because I suspect that's about all the time we'll have,” Parno replied, pointing to the front. Willard turned his mount, gaze following Parno's hand. Two of Parsons' men were riding toward them as fast as their horses would fly. A cloud of dust flew up around them as they reined their mounts to a halt.

“Milord, Cap'n Parsons' compliments, sir, and the Nor appear to be advancing in order. He estimates we're facing a full two divisions of cavalry, sir, with attachments also possible but unconfirmed. He further reports that a Nor infantry force is attempting to form on our right, but show no signs at present of advancing. He believes, milord, that force is the remnants of those units we attacked earlier trying to re-organize. We have men keeping an eye on them too, milord Parno.”

“Very well,” Parno nodded. “Please inform Captain Parsons that he is to take all precautions to preserve his force. You are to fall back under the Nor advance without engaging. In fact, I'd prefer it if they thought we were in full retreat. Please pass that along to the screen commander as well.”

“Will do, milord!” the man nodded and he and his companion headed back for the approaching enemy.

Parno watched them go, trying to picture in his mind the way the battlefield was developing. He had studied maps of this area in detail before he had made the trip west, and had looked again last night to make sure he knew what he was getting his men into. In addition, he had the report of Parsons and his men from two days prior, so there shouldn't be any surprises in the geography.

The unknown factor here was in the abilities of his men and those of the Nor cavalry and their commander. Was he aggressive? Cautious? Would he attack them head on or try for subterfuge and hit them on an oblique? He turned to Enri.

“Make sure we have a few scouts along the western edge of our flank,” he ordered his Chief of Staff. “We don't know who's in command of that cavalry force. I think he'll hit us head on trying to prove himself and his men, but that might just be wishful thinking.”

“Already done, milord,” Enri nodded, smiling slightly. “That's what you pay me for,” he added before Parno could extend his thanks. “Let us deal with the straps and buckles, milord, while you watch over the wagon. We can't have you distracted by mundane tasks that any good commander knows to make.”

“How many good commanders do we have, Enri?” Parno asked, surprising the older man. “How deep does my brother's rot go in this army?”

Willard's face showed his own discomfort at the question, having been one of those duped by the turncoat prince.

“That's not directed at you,” Parno told him flatly. “You should know that, by now,” he added. “You've earned my trust, Enri, and my respect. I'm speaking about those we don't know. Those who may have little or no respect for the authority of the King. Men led astray by promises my brother made when he assumed his ascension to the throne would actually happen.”

“It seems that it almost
did
happen, milord,” Enri was almost hesitant. “Milord, I want you to know that I had no ide -” He stopped at Parno's upraised hand.

“If I thought you had been, you would be dead already,” Parno told him simply, and Enri blinked. He knew far better than most that the young Prince's words were not an idle threat. “Put that worry from your mind. We have plenty to worry over at the moment without you borrowing useless notions.”

“Aye, milord,” Enri nodded, inordinately pleased at Parno's assurance. It seemed wrong, somehow, that a veteran soldier should be reassured by a man who had fought only one battle so far and had not yet reached twenty-one full seasons of age, and yet. . .Enri Willard shrugged mentally. It was what it was. There was a quality about Parno McLeod that inspired men to follow him. To do more than they themselves thought possible.

And thank God we have him,
Willard thought darkly, turning his attention back to the wood line ahead. In mere minutes thousands of Nor cavalry would come screaming out of those trees with blood in their eyes and a need to prove themselves. He and the rest of the army did indeed have plenty to worry about.

Unaware of Enri Willard's soul searching, Parno watched as Beaumont finished dressing his lines, cursing and kicking and even complimenting on occasion. Parno smiled at the memory of Darvo Nidiad that Beaumont's behavior brought to his mind, then the smile departed at the reminder that he no longer had Darvo to depend on.

He had meant it when he'd told Enri Willard that the older man had earned his trust, but Parno would likely never trust anyone to the degree he had trusted Darvo. The old soldier had been his only real father in a time when his family shunned him and the royal retainers followed suit for the most part. It had been a favorite pastime to 'pick' on the royal that no one would defend.

No one but Darvo. The man had never once deserted him, misled him, turned away from him. Always Darvo had been there for him. Always.

But not anymore.

Parno shook those thoughts away. He had no time for this. Self-pity of any kind was as unknown to him as fear for his physical well-being. And right now he had much bigger things than his -.

“Rider coming, milord,” Harrel Sprigs mentioned softly, pointing toward a galloping horse that had just emerged from the woods. Parno hadn't even known Sprigs was nearby.

He squinted at the rider, recognizing him as one of Parson's scouts. The man practically slid to a halt, his horse foaming with sweat.

“Milord, the heathen are no more than five hundred yards out and advancing!” the man reported breathlessly. “Cap'n Parson requests orders, sir!”

“Withdraw to the east and continue to screen the flank against possible infantry attack,” Parno ordered at once with no need for thought. “Keep us aware of any danger to our right. We'll worry with the 'heathen' from here on out.”

“Sir!” the man nodded and was once more in motion, on his way back to relay these new orders. Parno attracted Beaumont's attention and waved him over.

“We have minutes at best,” Parno concluded after repeating the warnings of the scout. “You're ready I presume?”

“That we are, milord,” Beaumont nodded grimly. “Ready and waiting.”

“Good,” Parno nodded. “I want you and your men to be the rear-guard when we withdraw,” he told Beaumont and the man literally came to attention in the saddle.

“You'll be there to screen Whipple's men if needed and to prevent a surprise charge from hitting our backs when we're least prepared.”