Parno's Peril

by N. C. Reed

  “What makes a man put on a uniform, sir?” he asked Parno finally. “What makes a man decide that the man next to him is worthy of dying with, or dying for? What makes us think that a crown or a flag or anything else is worth the struggle we go through to defend them?”

  “We are all a sum of our experiences, milord. What makes us who we are is a combination of everything we've done, been or seen. I joined the military because I grew up in a military family. There was never any question that Karls and I would become soldiers. It was just expected and thus we were raised that way. I fight to defend the realm because it's my home and I love it. I don't want to live under Imperial rule and I'm not going to as long as I draw breath. I don't want my family to do so either, so... I fight. And I'm willing to die to keep my people free.”

  “Something in you inspired their loyalty sir,” Enri told him softly. “Something you did or said, something they saw in you made them want to protect you. And when the moment came they were ready to do what was needed and necessary to keep you safe. It doesn't matter if you think you were worthy of their sacrifice, milord. They did. They thought you were worth saving. Worth fighting for, and even dying for.” He paused for a minute before continuing.

  “I wanted to be a hero when I was a kid,” Enri laughed softly. “I ran around with a wooden sword killing imaginary Nor, or bandits, rescuing princesses and damsels in distress, hunting Tribals, the sort of thing every boy does I imagine. I told my father I was going to be a hero when I grew up. That I would never be afraid and be the bravest soldier on the battlefield so that he could be proud of me.”

  “He told me, ‘Enri, bravery has nothing to do with the absence of fear'. I had no idea what he meant by that back then, and by the time I had figured it out he was gone. Bravery, loyalty, whatever you want to call it, milord, whatever it is that makes us do the things we do, we aren't born with it. We have to find it. Others have to lead us to it. We learn it as we grow, or else we learn it from someone who inspires us to be greater than we think we can.”

  “You do that, Parno McLeod,” Enri told him. “The first time I actually met you was the day before we met on the dueling field,” he laughed lightly. “That day when you could have handed me my head and been fully justified in doing so, but you didn't. Instead, you offered me your hand and pulled me to my feet. Set me back up and told me to live to fight another day in service to my kingdom.”

  “And that's what I've been doing every day since,” he concluded. “You, a spoiled brat or so I believed, not only beat me soundly but then rather than kill me, and make no mistake I would have killed you,” he said grimly, “you taught me that day that there was a higher duty than to simply be called a hero or to be admired for my skill with a blade. I will never forget it if I live to be a hundred. That day is burned into my memory not in shame or even humility, but as a new beginning. I would have sworn on my life that morning that there was nothing you could teach me. In fact, I did swear on it, only to have you give it back to me.” He stood, looking down at Parno.

  “You wonder why an army no larger than ours can hold off one three times our number? I'll tell you why, milord. It's because you inspire us to be more than we think we can. Your dirty tricks, as you call them, help, but they can only help. This army would literally follow you straight to hell and then take the gates if the last man died doing it. That's why you 'rate it', as you put it. That's why people are willing to die for you. Out of love, respect, and to that higher calling that you inspire us all to reach for.” He stopped short, as if suddenly aware of how much he had said, and to who.

  “I don't think I've ever heard you say so much at one time, Enri,” Parno smiled slightly. “I'm glad you did. I appreciate it.”

  “We all have our weak moments,” Enri chuckled. “Me included.”

  “We’ll just keep it between us then,” Parno assured him, getting to his feet and giving the older man a pat on the shoulder. “I'm hungry I think. Have you eaten?”

  “I have not, in fact.”

  “Then what say we see what kind of slop the mess is serving tonight?”

  -

  “I assume it's clear to all what we're doing?”

  Heads nodded around the small circle.

  “I'm not the slightest bit interested in their failure. As far as I'm concerned, the fact they made it that far was a win. Now it's our turn. Quietly, carefully. We have all night. Questions?”

  There were none.

  “Then let us be about our business.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  -

  Cho Feng was a simple shadow in the dark, a literal non-presence as he stood deep in the shadows of the Imperial camp, a mere stone's throw from what he believed to be their commanding General's quarters. In his hand was one of the despised krishank daggers and a small bag. He watched the guard changing, knowing they would not change again for two hours. He gave those new on their posts a few minutes to get comfortable before moving.

  -

  Tinker slipped from shadow to shadow as easily as a night bird. It had been a simple thing for him to find what he was searching for as the Imperial Army was lax despite the close proximity to their enemy.

  Before him was the personal tent of the general commanding one of the Imperial Army's infantry divisions. There was one guard on the tent itself and another moving between it and a second tent that Tinker assumed was probably where the general did his work. The guard changed every two hours, it appeared, and had changed approximately twenty minutes ago.

  Just about right...

  -

  Anthony Felds had been chosen by Doak Parsons to accompany him on this little jaunt because the younger man was practically a ghost in the woods. If he didn't want to be found, then you wouldn't find him. He had been the scout to detect the approaching Nor army in the cover of darkness on the last day of battle at the Gap, moving far ahead of other scouts and being close enough to hear even the sound of metal clinking in the enemy's movements.

  But this wasn't scouting and the young man admitted even if only to himself that he was scared. Not necessarily of dying, or even capture, but of failure. He didn't want to fail.

  And he was angry, like everyone else. Where it not for Parno McLeod, Felds would be in prison or dead. The Prince had given all of them a new lease on life, dangerous though it might be. To think that the Prince had been so close to death was enough to anger everyone in the army, but it had infuriated the men of the Regiment. And unlike the rest of them, Anthony Felds had been given the chance to do something about it.

  Drawing his knife, he made his way to the nearest line of small tents that sheltered Imperial soldiers from the elements.

  -

  Cho smiled as he finished his handiwork, pleased with the result. It should certainly create a scene. Davies had instructed him not to try and go after the Imperial commander since they knew how he operated. A change in command would mean facing someone who might use different methods and that would complicate the Royal Army's position. Cho could see the reasoning in that strategy and agreed to obey it.

  Setting the final piece of his 'message', Cho decided he had been in the Imperial Camp long enough. It was time to return to their place of meeting.

  -

  Killing the general had been easy for the Tinker. It had been no task at all to cut his way into the rear of the tent and the plunge the dagger into the chest of the general, covering the sleeping man's mouth as he did so to ensure he could not cry out. The general's eyes had opened and Tinker had taken a malicious pleasure in watching the light leave the man's eyes. He knew that this man had played no direct part in the death of Jaelle nor the attack on the Prince, but he worked for those who did and that was enough.

  Finished, Tinker slipped out the way he had entered. He still had time and decided to use it on his way out. He wanted to make sure the Imperials got the message.

  -

  Doak Parsons smiled grimly as he placed the slow-burning fireplace match near the trail
of lamp oil he had left along the Imperial supply area. He had wanted to roll pitch barrels into place around the tents and buildings but didn't see any way to make that happen, so he had settled for setting a fire by the nearest barrels of pitch before he began trailing lamp oil from tent to tent. Inside those tents were boxes and boxes of supplies of all kinds from tent sides to rations to uniforms and all the other sundries that an army could not operate without.

  He knew intellectually that this small amount of damage wouldn't really affect the war effort, but it was the thought that counted. This would force the Imperial Army to change its security, strengthening it against this sort of attack being repeated. While that would make it more difficult to repeat this little project if they needed to, it would still be worth it.

  Besides that, he wasn't the only one working.

  -

  Cho Feng was standing roughly five hundred yards from the Imperial lines, just about where their picket posts were located. He and the others had already disposed of the pickets, so he didn't fear discovery as he waited. He had been the first to arrive. Meeting in these conditions could be tricky without even the light of the moon, but it could be done by men who were good at slipping about, and all of the men with him tonight were indeed good at it.

  “Warmaster,” he heard right next to him and turned to see the dark outline of the Tinker, identifiable only by his voice.

  “Master Tinker,” he nodded. “You appear to be well.”

  “I am very well, thank you,” the near mirthful voice replied. “It would seem we finished quicker than the young ones.”

  “Age brings the wisdom of getting things done with less effort,” the oriental chuckled.

  “Well, you two are nothing if not old,” Doak Parsons joined their conversation, surprising them both, although they hid it.

  “Ah, Scoutmaster,” Tinker said. “I trust your efforts were successful?”

  “Should see signs of it any time,” he nodded. “Using a long match is unpredictable, but we used more than one for each location. It should work.”

  “And the guards?” Cho asked.

  “Gone,” was Parsons short reply.

  “Excellent.”

  The three waited in the dark as man after man returned, each reporting some level of success. Not all of them had been able to achieve their goals completely, but even then, they had simply chosen something else to do instead. Doak counted heads and came up one short.

  “Where is Felds?” he asked.

  “Ain't seen 'im, Boss,” someone replied in the dark.

  “Didn't see him,” another spoke at the same time, as did three others.

  “Dammit,” Parsons muttered. He had chosen the kid himself because of his skills. If anything had happened to him...

  “Y'all lookin' fer me?” a quiet voice asked from behind them and all of them jumped slightly, even Cho.

  “Felds, you little shit!” Parsons hissed. “I was afraid you was caught or dead.”

  “No sir,” the young man replied. “I did get a little cut, but it ain't bad. And I did for him that cut me, I did,” he added.

  “Are we all accounted for?” Cho asked.

  “He was the last one,” Parsons nodded.

  “Then may I suggest that we get back to the lines?” Cho offered. “We can get young Mister Felds some medical attention and...”

  “Look!” one of the scouts hissed and they could just make out his arm extending in a point toward the enemy camp.

  “Fire's going,” Parsons said. “Time to go, boys. By pairs so we don't lose anyone. Move it out.”

  They left an ever-growing glow behind them as the fire began to spread.

  -

  “Fire! Fire in the Quartermaster's camp! Fire!”

  Wilson was roused from his sleep by yells and shouts from outside. He heard the word fire and decided he needed to take a look. If it had been bad enough his guards would have awakened him, but even so he'd have a look. He doubted he'd get back to sleep anyway. Dressing quickly, he stomped his way into his boots and made for the door.

  It was dark when he opened the door and that made him frown. There was supposed to be a lantern lit here.

  “Sergeant!” he called for the senior guard, but no one replied. Two further calls netted the same results. Assuming they had gone to the fire, wherever it was, he went back inside and secured a lantern of his own, determined to track down his wayward guard force and execute the lot.

  As he walked outside he kicked something. Looking down he realized that it was...

  “Holy Mother Mary!” he exclaimed, seeing the head of an unknown man at his feet. There was something else there as well and he knelt to examine it.

  “A krishank,” he said it like a curse, examining the nasty weapon now embedded in his porch. “I guess you were one of the people Smith sent against the southern prince then.”

  He stood and noticed for the first time the dark forms of his guards, still at their posts at either corner of the house.

  “Didn't you idiots hear me calling you!” he demanded. “A man could have been killed waiting on help from you lot!” he spoke as he made his way to the nearest man, intending to chew his ass out good.

  “Who in the hell was able to get close enough to me to leave... that...” he trailed off as he realized something was wrong. Why weren't the guards responding to him? In the light of the lantern he could see why.

  His guards were dead, still standing by virtue of being tied to the posts by the shoulder and left there. He ran to check the others and found the entire squad, five men plus their sergeant, all dead, their throats cut.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!”

  -

  “Generals Mitchell and Hayworth, Brigadiers Mayborne, Fairfield and Farnsworth, Colonels-” Sterling stopped as Wilson raised a hand.

  “Total?”

  “Total command officers so far is fourteen with the nine colonels,” Sterling said flatly. “For the other officers and the enlisted we're still counting, but it's up to forty-two, last I heard.”

  “How in the hell did anyone get into our camp and do all this damage without someone seeing or hearing them?” Wilson demanded.

  “I don't know sir, but we found this,” he held up another krishank dagger, “in General Hayworth's chest. This is a-”

  “I know what it is,” Wilson cut him off. “Found one outside my door where every one of my guards was dead but tied in place. This is some kind of retaliation for something the Imperial Secret Police have done, you can bet. There's no telling what else we'll find or have happen.”

  “Fire! Fire in the artillery cache! Fire!” came the call from outside.

  “Of course,” Wilson sighed, sitting down. “Why not light the pitch we had ready on your way out?”

  “Sir, we-”

  “There's nothing to do but wait for daylight and see how bad it is, Sterling,” Wilson shook his head. “Let our men be so they can put out the fire. They don't need me yelling and screaming on top of everything else. We may as well have drink,” he took two glassed and a small bottle. “Sit down. Give me the rest of what you know while wait for the reports to come in.”

  -

  “Hell of a fire in the Imperial camps it looks like!”

  Enri Willard was roused from his sleep by an aide who reported with breathless excitement that the Imperial camp was on fire.

  “The whole camp?” Enri asked, rising to a sitting position. “Cause it better be the whole camp after you woke me up.”

  “Good part of it, looks like,” the aide nodded. “And there's more than one fire.”

  “Very well,” Enri decided he may as well get up. He doubted he'd get any more sleep tonight. Five minutes later he walked out of his tent and right into Cho Feng who deftly sidestepped him.

  “Master Feng,” Enri said respectfully.

  “May I suggest you place your troops on alert, Brigadier?” Cho was almost serene as he made his suggestion. “Just as a precaution of course,” he added
dryly.

  “Of course,” Enri raised an eyebrow. “What have-” he stopped as he saw the Tinker standing behind the Oriental sword master along with Doak Parsons of all people.

  “Do I want to know what you all have done?” he asked carefully.

  “Doubt it. Sir,” Parsons replied for them. “I'd hurry right along with that alert, was I you, sir,” he added helpfully.

  “Very well,” Enri sighed and began yelling for aides and runners.

  “Can I interest you two gentlemen in a rare drop o' Finest Tinsee River Water?” Parsons asked his two cohorts.

  “I could be persuaded,” Tinker nodded.

  “I rarely imbibe alcohol, but this does seem to be an occasion that rates it,” Feng nodded.

  “Well let’s head over to my tents and see what I can find.”

  -

  “What has brought all this on, exactly?” General Davies demanded, still buttoning his jacket as he strode into the Headquarters tent.

  “Well sir, there is a great deal of commotion in the Imperial Army camp at the moment, including a number of large fires.”

  “Ah, I see,” Davies didn't appear surprised. “Well then, do we have everyone standing to?”

  “Both corps on line report manned and ready, sir,” Enri nodded. “General Graham reports that his men are assembled and prepared to march on orders.”

  “Good, good,” Davies nodded. “I had warned him earlier to be prepared for such orders after what had happened with the Prince. Have all regimental commanders drill their men in place while we see what develops with the enemy. Perhaps they'll be so busy with their fire that they have no time for any further foolishness for a while.”

  “One can hope.”

  -

  Dawn revealed the extent of the damage. The cost in Imperial Sovereigns had yet to be calculated, but it was severe. It would easy enough to replace the supplies, but the loss was still a loss. One that would have to be explained.

  “The final tally is over three hundred dead,” Sterling said. “Three hundred nineteen, to be exact. Most murdered in their tents. One man killed, the other left sleeping, unharmed. Somehow, we have kicked over a hornet's nest, sir.”