by N. C. Reed
“I suspect so,” Memmnon wiped the tears from his eyes as he managed to get his laughter under control. “But I shall enjoy it until then!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
-
Tinker watched from a distance as the men of 2nd Corps set out on their march to Cove Canton. 1st Corps was settled into their new camps not more than a mile from his inn, a development that would allow his operation to delve into General Graham's command and see how deep the rot went. Tinker was sure that the only reason Graham wasn't dead was because the Prince didn't know who to replace him with yet. And so long as Graham remained, those loyal to him would make themselves known without fear of reprisal unless he had warned them not to, which Tinker doubted.
He had not spoken to Graham himself, but had observed from a short distance more than once. Having watched the man and listened to him speak, Tinker was convinced that Graham was merely waiting for his own opportunity. What exactly he intended to do was still a mystery, but Tinker intended to find out, one way or the other.
“Mornin' Mister Tinker,” Aaron Bell said quietly as he came up behind his 'boss'.
“Good morning indeed, Mister Bell,” Tinker replied, smiling. “We have new neighbors,” he indicated the massive camps of 1st Corps.
“So I hear,” Bell nodded. “I don't know about this,” he admitted. “I'd not have started with that bunch myself. Like as not be difficult to trust 'em too far.”
“What difference does it make?” Tinker asked. It was clear he honestly wanted Bell's opinion.
“Once they go through what we did, that bunch will be a lot more soldier than they are right now,” Bell told him. “That's not to say they ain't soldiers now, mind, but. . .it takes more than that to be a Black Sheep. Once done, assuming they can finish it, they 'll be the equal of any Imperial force twice their size on open ground, all other things being equal.”
“Things?” Tinker asked. He had learned early on that Aaron Bell had a very sharp mind and Tinker never wasted resources.
“Artillery and such,” Bell clarified. “Supplies in the field, quality weapons and what not. So long as the other side ain't got a noticeable match, they can stand against 'em and win near ever time, assuming good leadership.”
“I see,” Thinker nodded thoughtfully. He had been absent for much of the now famed Black Sheep Regiment's training and was not familiar with their methods. He did know that the Prince's Regiment was the talk of the army and that many young men and officers had tried every way possible to wrangle assignment to the elite formation that rode with the Marshal.
“So long as ole Graham is a question mark, maybe we ought not trust his men this much is all I'm saying,” Bell continued. “But I reckon the Marshal knows what he's doing.”
“Indeed,” Tinker nodded again. “And it up to us to try and make sure that the rot doesn't run too deep,” he added. “Being so close should be a great benefit I should think.”
“Don't count on it,” Bell shook his head, surprising Tinker. “When you're doing this, all you want at the end of the day is a bed. And you don't want no one sharing it, neither. You want to sleep is all. And the officers is in for a rude shock too,” he grinned maliciously. “They may think they ain't gotta do the same training, but the Prince, he did it right alongside ever body else. I can promise you that he 'll see to it that bunch over there does the same thing,” he nodded toward the camp.
“Really,” Tinker was impressed.
“Really,” Bell's nod was emphatic. “That bunch is in for a rude awakening.”
~*~
“Move, move, move! Into formation now! On the double quick you slaggards!”
The men of 1st Corps stumbled around confused at the yelling and ordering about. They had assumed they'd have a few days rest before this new training and refit began and had taken the opportunity to unwind with a bit of raw spirits the last two nights.
They were paying for it now.
Men were racing to their new assembly grounds still pulling on boots, and in some cases pants, all the while wondering who these men in black and green livery were and why they were issuing orders in their camp.
“What the devil is going on here!” General Arnold Graham stormed out of his command tent, hair askew and shirt unbuttoned. “Who are you and by whose authority are you disrupting my camp!”
“General.” The voice was quiet and firm, and Graham turned to see a man dressed in the Marshal's colors looking at him casually.
“Who are you?”
“I'm Colonel Karls Willard, General,” the man replied calmly. “And today is the first day of your new training. Fall in,” the Colonel ordered calmly. Graham looked at him with incredulity.
“Who the hell do you think you're talking to, solider!?” he demanded, thundering toward this upstart colonel with a death wish. “I 'll have you-” which was as far as he got before he was forced to stop lest he be impaled on a sword that was only inches from his chest. Graham followed the blade to find a grim-eyed trooper looking at him as if all he wanted in life was an excuse to run Graham through and have done with it.
“I 'll have you in irons and whipped!” he snarled.
“No, General, you won't,” a new voice said and Graham whirled to see Marshal McLeod behind him. “You will fall in with everyone else and you will participate fully in the training your men are about to endure. You will complete that training or else you 'll be out on your ass, guarding a horse camp somewhere. Understand?”
“I'm a General in the Soulan Army!” Graham shouted right in Parno's face, his fury making him forget who he was talking to.
“You are for the moment,” Parno nodded. “I can break you with a word, Graham, and send you back to Nasil in disgrace. I should do just that in all likelihood considering your closeness to the last Marshal. You remember him. The Marshal that would be King? How involved were you in that little plot, Graham? What did Therron promise you if you supported him when the time came?”
“What?”
Parno fought to hide a frown. He didn't think Graham was that good an actor, and right now he looked poleaxed.
“What plot?” Graham asked, his bluster and fury gone. “Does this. . .is that what happened to the King?” he asked quietly.
“It is,” Parno nodded. “My sister killed the King herself, and nearly the Crown Prince. She is even now on her way to free Therron from his exile on the Horn and bring him back to place him on the throne. She thinks she killed Memmnon as well I'm sure, leaving only me in her way. Therron's regiment, led by a Colonel named Callens, helped her escape detention, kill the King and nearly the Crown Prince and are now taking her to Therron with plans to escort him home to take the throne by force.”
“My God,” Graham breathed rather than spoke. “She killed her own father?” he looked aghast.
“She did indeed,” Parno nodded. “Now knowing that, how far do you think I should trust Therron's right hand man. Hm? How much trust can I safely put in you, General Graham? Are you waiting to knife me in the back and help Therron take the throne from Memmnon, the rightful heir? Are you waiting for his call to lead your men to his side and use them to secure his place on the throne and then what? My job, perhaps? Is that what he promised you?”
“I. . .I didn't know,” Graham looked lost. “He never spoke of such a thing to me, milord. Had he done so I would have reported it at once. I am many things, Marshal, but I am no traitor. Loud, braggart, arrogant even? Certainly. Traitor? No.”
Parno actually believed the man. He hadn't expected this. He had thought to catch Graham by surprise, make him angry, and trick him into admitting his connection to Therron. Instead the man's bluster had fallen to pieces under that attack, and Parno was fairly sure that his shock and surprise were real.
Now, Parno wasn't sure what to do.
“Milord,” Graham came to attention, looking faintly ridiculous with his hair uncombed and his shirt outside his pants, suspenders still down.
“Milord,” he repeated. “I
swear to you, for whatever it's worth, that I had no inkling of what your brother had planned when he was Marshal. As for your sister, I've met her only a few times and that never more than a hand before dinner, milord. I could not say that I know her even slightly, to be honest. Begging your pardon, but. . .I never cared to spend much time around her because she seemed. . .odd. I'm sorry to say that, but it is true.”
“Oh it's true,” Parno assured him. “You have excellent judgment if you have nothing else. She's quite possibly insane, so odd is actually something of a compliment.”
“It wasn't meant to be, again begging your pardon,” Graham shook his head. “Your brother was always on about the nobility and what have you, but I wrote that off as arrogance of his birth more than anything else, milord. He was never shy about reminding someone who and what he was.”
“No, that is true as well,” Parno nodded. “So what do I do with you, General?” he got the discussion back on track. “What am I to do with Therron's favorite general, commanding his favorite and most pampered Corps?” Graham's face flushed at the barb but he didn't take the hook.
“That has to be up to you milord,” he said simply. “My men may be, or have been 'pampered' as you call it, but we've stood against the Imperials and held our ground. We shed our blood doing it and we did our duty. We will continue doing our duty so long as we are able. To a man I give you my word on that.”
“I really want to believe you right now, General,” Parno said softly. “You have no idea how badly I want to believe you. I need to be able to believe you because I don't have time for this. Any of it.”
“All I can do is try to prove it to you milord,” Graham shrugged helplessly. “I doubt my word is any good at the moment, considering my association with your brother, but it's all I have to give you other than hard work. If I had anything else I'd offer it, but I don't.”
Parno considered that for a moment, appraising Graham carefully.
“You look like you're in pretty good shape, General,” he said finally.
“I'd like to think so, milord,” Graham was clearly puzzled by the comment.
“Then if you can survive the training alongside your men, that will be a good start to proving to me that you're not a part of Therron's cabal. I warn you now that it's grueling, hot, dirty work. You 'll want to kill the instructors, then you 'll want to kill yourself if it means escaping. But if you survive, if you can finish it, you 'll be more formidable that you can possibly imagine. Of course some would say that I'm being foolish to leave you in command at all, let alone leave you in command and train your men up to the same level as my own.”
“You speak as if you've done this yourself, milord,” Graham noted, eyeing Parno carefully.
“That's because I did,” Parno said simply. “I marched, rode, slept, ate, trained with every weapon right alongside my men. Start to finish. In addition to my other duties.”
Mentally, Graham's estimation of Parno McLeod climbed several notches. He hadn't imagined that the Playboy Prince had bothered to get dirty. He should have known better after everything that had happened since he'd taken command.
“I will do all that I can to do the same,” Graham said simply. “If I fail then I'd expect the same treatment as any of my men who fail.”
“Good, because that's exactly what will happen,” Parno nodded firmly. “And remember this General; when you're training, you rank no higher than the man next to you. Every man you see wearing my colors has already done this. And all of them are survivors of more battles than anyone on this field. Don't forget that. Regardless of their backgrounds, their education or anything else, every one of them is a fighting man from head to heel. They will make it rough on you because they know that the harder it is here, the less you bleed on the battlefield. They know that because they've proven it.”
“Then so will I.” Graham's voice held nothing but grim determination.
“I hope you do, General, because I need you,” Parno's voice fell to a near whisper. “I need you and every other man in this army to ensure that our people don't end up as Imperial slaves, assuming we live. So prove it to me, General. Prove to me that you have what it takes, that you can toe the line, and most of all that I can trust you.”
“I will,” Graham's voice was firm. “If you will excuse me, milord, my men are beginning their new drills.”
“Go then, and good luck,” Parno said.
“Thank you, milord.” Parno watched the man hurry away, joining is staff officers who immediately began complaining to him. Graham bellowed them into submission in record time and then turned to the instructors himself, ignoring whatever muttering there was in the ranks. It wasn't his responsibility to quiet them. It was the instructor's.
“Perhaps not the enemy you feared?” Cho Feng's voice floated to him as if on a breeze.
“Perhaps,” Parno nodded. “We shall see.”
~*~
“What are you doing?”
Stephanie looked up from her book to see Winnie standing at the entrance to the small garden alcove. Stephanie had retreated here to read in silence, relishing the absence of constant chatter found in the palace.
“So you're talking to me again?” Stephanie smiled, closing the book after placing a mark to keep her place.
“Humph,” Winnie turned her head, looking out over the rest of the garden. “I shouldn't speak to nary a one of you ever again!”
Stephanie couldn't help but grin at that. For two days she and Memmnon had kept up the charade of enforced societal norms on the younger woman, Stephanie bearing down on her every move and whim, enforcing even the slightest protocols in her young friend's relationship and courtship with the King. Finally it had been too much and both had broken at supper three nights ago, laughing so hard that tears had rolled. Winnie had been somewhat less amused and had not spoken to either of them since until now.
“Then why are you?” Stephanie laughed, getting to her feet. “You must need something,” she teased and Winnie's face reddened.
“Winnie, you're going to have to learn the difference of friends picking at you and bullies picking on you,” Stephanie told her firmly. “Yes, Memmnon and I had some fun at your expense, but you had that coming for you behavior. And for thinking you had trapped or tricked me into staying here with you as well,” she added. She was rewarded with a slow creeping flush that began below Winnie's neckline and rose to color her entire face.
“Fine,” she admitted. “I might have had it coming,” she said it so reluctantly that Stephanie could imagine it causing actual pain.
“So what have you been doing while you've been pouting?” Stephanie asked her.
“I wasn't-” Winnie began, then cut herself off, refusing to rise to the bait again. “I've been doing my classes and practicing my speech.”
“Good,” Stephanie nodded seriously. “That's good. Your studies?”
“I'm doing them,” Winnie sounded a bit more unsure of herself there. “That's not as easy.”
“You just have to concentrate,” Stephanie told her encouragingly. “You really need to know the history of the kingdom and it's dynasty, considering you will be Queen soon.”
“Yeah, no pressure,” Winnie snorted.
“There isn't any,” Stephanie nodded in agreement. “Memmnon already told you that. You need this for your children, when you have them. They will come to you as their source of trusted information. You want to be able to provide it and this will help you do that.”
“What about you?” Winnie asked, getting to the reason she had looked her friend up to start with.
“What about me?” the doctor asked.
“What are you going to do about you and Parno?” Winnie asked more directly.
“There's nothing to do,” Stephanie sighed. “I told you Winnie. I burned that bridge pretty thoroughly. My fault, but it's still done. Parno has been betrayed so many times in his life that it has become the regular state of things for him. There's no way he will see what happened
with me as anything else but another betrayal. My carelessness ruined everything I'd worked for,” she sighed again, taking her seat once more.
Winnie frowned. She hadn't meant to make Stephanie more despondent.
“You can't just leave it like that,” she insisted, joining her friend on the bench. “Even it you're right and there's no hope of fixing it, you can't really know that til you try. And if you don't try, then you 'll regret it your whole rest of your life.”
“It's either 'your whole life' or 'rest of your life', Winnie,” Stephanie corrected. “Not both.”
“Don't change the subject,” Winnie shot back at her. “You know I'm right. You can't just give up.”
“The problem is not knowing when to give up,” Stephanie sighed. “Had I stopped pestering him when he asked me to then I'd not be in this mess. When he explained so very calmly and rationally why my way wouldn't work, I should have let it drop. Instead I kept pushing and then got angry with him when he just repeated the same arguments. And I let my anger lead me to say a great many things I shouldn't have. He needed, he deserved my support in all of this and all I did was make things worse for him. And then when he didn't do what I wanted, I spoke terribly to him. Now what kind of wife will I make?” she asked her friend with a sad smile. “My prospective husband saddled literally with the survival of the Kingdom and he rides to war with the last words I said to him being basically that he was selfish and I was glad to see him go.”
“Ever body makes mistakes,” Winnie insisted. “You ain't no different than nobody else.”
“It's not the mistake that makes it difficult dear,” Stephanie replied softly. “It's who makes it and who it's made to. I probably couldn't have done anything worse than what I did.”
“He 'll forgive you, but you have to ask him first,” Winnie was steadfast. “Only you're too stubborn to do it, seems like.”
“You don't know him as I do, Winnie,” Stephanie settled for saying. “He has had a very hard life and has learned to be distrustful as a defense mechanism. He let me inside that mechanism, only to have me do what I did. He will not make the same mistake again. He learns quickly.”
