Parno's Gambit: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book 3

by N. C. Reed

  Wilson could feel the blood drain from his face at the revelation. It wasn't as if he hadn't been expecting it, though he had allowed it to leave his mind in recent days as he labored to get his army back in shape and moving again. Now the specter of the ISP was standing before him in his own quarters.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Wilson asked calmly. “I assume my family has already been eliminated?” He didn't know if he expected an answer or not, it was just what came to his mind. He did not expect 'Smith' to laugh in reply.

  “Your family is fine so far as I know, General,” Smith assured him. “As I said, if I were here to kill you, you would already be dead. I'm here to let you know that I have sanctioned Brigadier Daly at the Emperor's command and request that you stop your Provost investigation. Conclude it, I should say instead. This should sum things up nicely,” he laid a folder on Wilson's desk. “It explains that Daly suffered from a heart problem and has died as a result of complications from that. Ensure that your physician cooperates with that report. You may send a copy of the completed investigation to the Emperor by courier since not doing so will attract attention. His Imminence is, however, already aware of what I've just told you.”

  “What?” Nothing could have surprised, could have shocked Wilson more.

  “Brigadier Daly was becoming a problem,” Smith told him. “You don't need the details but suffice it to say that he was fomenting his own rebellion of a sort, beginning with you. Undermining your position as commander of the army, presumably to pave the way for his being placed in command. The Emperor has tired of his machinations and put an end to them. That really is all that you need to know.”

  “Replace me?” Wilson seized on the one thing that made sense at the moment. “He doesn't, didn't, have the rank or the seniority for that! He would have destroyed the army!”

  “Hence his unfortunate demise,” Smith nodded. “He felt that membership in the Imperial family was sufficient qualification for leading the army, but the Emperor disagreed. At any rate, none of that is your concern, General. See to it that the investigation is concluded, preferably tomorrow. Assuming nothing else of note needs dealing with we should not be meeting again. Good luck with the army, General. I think your plan shows merit, by the way,” Smith added. “It should work, and it keeps you out of reach of their new artillery.”

  Before Wilson could formulate a reply, Smith was gone. He almost ran to the door and threw it open, looking around him wildly much to his guard's consternation.

  “Sir?” the sergeant asked warily.

  “Did you see anyone just now?” Wilson demanded.

  “Not since you went inside, sir,” the man replied. “Is everything alright sir?”

  “You saw no one?” Wilson ignored the question.

  “No sir. All is secure.”

  Wilson realized suddenly how it must look with him standing on the small porch in his shirt tail, looking for a phantom that no one other than he had seen.

  “Very well,” Wilson nodded, forcing himself to be calm. “Carry on, Sergeant.”

  “Sir,” the man stiffened to attention. Wilson made his way back inside, closing the door securely before allowing himself to react to the last few minutes. Sagging against the door, Wilson tried to take in those few minutes. He had gone from surprise to shock to acceptance that he was about to die to being reprieved all in the space of about two minutes. No matter how well balanced a man was, there were limits to what could be assimilated in so short a time and he had reached his limit for the moment.

  Slowly he began to calm down, his heart rate slowing to something approaching normal. For lack of anything better to do he walked to his desk and picked up the folder 'Smith' had left for him. Inside he found a report from an Imperial physician certifying that Daly had a heart problem along with various letters confirming the presence of the heart defect in garbled medical jargon. A report on the conclusion of the investigation into the death of a Brigadier found deceased in his quarters detailing that medical report and the report of the examining physician certifying death by heart attack. All expertly done on proper forms and already signed. All that remained was to call the doctor and the investigator in and brief them on the findings of 'their' investigation and let them know how things stood.

  And the way things stood apparently included the Emperor not having time for petty back stabbing and back room maneuvering. Wilson was reminded again that the current Emperor was not like his immediate predecessors in that he cared only for results and had no time for anything that might stand in their way. Something he had just proven with the assassination of his own cousin.

  Placing the folder back on the desk, Wilson decided that he would have an extra drink before going to bed tonight. Maybe even two extra. It might help him sleep and he had a lot to do come morning.

  ~*~

  Bryn Wysin's hammer rose and fell with a steady rhythm that a smaller, lesser man could not have maintained. Rough cotton shirt bulging with muscle, the smith truly was a giant of a man. He was also one of the best smiths around and that meant he stayed busy.

  “Ho, Mister Wysin,” Aaron Bell said as he walked up.

  “Lad,” the smith nodded in reply. “Be just a minute more,” he said.

  Bell watched as Wysin finished the lance cap he had been hammering, removing it from the iron bar he had used to shape it. Giving it an inspection he nodded in apparent satisfaction, putting the final touches on the piece by hammering out the eyes using the odd looking form next to his anvil. Dipping the piece in a barrel of water to cool it off, he tossed it onto a small table where one of his assistants would get it at some point and polish it.

  “What can I do for ya lad?” he asked then, resting the hammer on his great anvil.

  “Just paying a visit,” Bell replied calmly. “We had a bit of a fishing trip a night or so ago. Lot of fish sent home,” he said cryptically.

  “Aye,” Wysin nodded grimly. “Lot o' talk about the fishing, as well,” he told the younger man. “Heard officers and enlisted alike discussing it all morning, wondering what has become of the fish.”

  “Anyone in particular we should talk to about the fish?” Bell asked carefully.

  “No,” Wysin shook his head. “Wasn't no complaints as I heard it, just them taking notice and wondering about it. So far that's all they be doing; wondering.”

  “Maybe they 'll lose interest in a day or two,” Bell smiled. “We 'll see I expect. Meanwhile, you need anything done or gotten?”

  “Nah, lad, we're good here for now,” Wysin shook his head again. “Busy as can be but not run to ground. Men are bringing in what nots as they come off-line to have us repair and replace stuff what's worn and what have you. Reckon ole Tinker is more busy than we are.”

  “He's working right enough,” Bell agreed. “Him doing leather work gets a lot of attention. Well, I guess I better get on. Speaking of Tinker, can't have him thinking I'm shirking. Might cut my pay,” he grinned.

  “Or might cut down on the time you can stare at the pretty waitress,” Wysin needled a bit, laughing as Bell's face went red. “You've a good eye lad. She's a fine girl. Make a man a good wife.”

  “I ain't thinking about such,” a red-faced Bell objected, though he was and everyone knew it. “Anyway, I 'll see you later. Need me just send word.”

  “I 'll do that lad.”

  Soon Wysin's hammer was falling again as Bell made his way through the camp, eyeing everything and everyone.

  And thinking about a dark haired, dark eyed serving girl.

  ~*~

  “Are you still brooding?”

  Stephanie looked up from her book to see Winnie standing at the garden entrance, looking at her.

  “I'm not brooding, dear,” she smiled. “This is called reading. One does this for entertainment or for learning. Sometimes both. You should try it.”

  “Funny,” Winnie snorted. “So you are brooding, then.” The younger woman walked to the bench and plopped down beside her mos
t unladylike.

  “I'm not brooding,” Stephanie sighed, closing her book. “It wouldn't do me any good which makes it a waste of time. I'm just reading. And it's a nice day,” she added with a wave around her. “One of the few, of late, that I'm not constantly on the run as well.”

  “True,” Winnie agreed. “Still, it looks like brooding,” she pushed a bit. “You need to make this right, Stephanie,” she said more softly. “The longer you let it go, the worse it will be.”

  “If I thought I could make it right I'd have already done it, Winnie,” Stephanie sighed, marking her place and closing the book. Her brief break from reality was over with. “I did the worst possible thing I could have, well almost,” she amended, “and there's a price to pay for that. I hate that Parno is paying it as well because it's my fault and not his. But I caused this,” her voice rang with finality.

  “I'm not interested in blame,” Winnie told her flatly. “I'm interested in seeing two of the most important people in my life repairing the damage to their relationship and working things out. That has to start with you. Like you said, he may not see a reason to come here again or to try and work things out. That means you have to do it.”

  “I don't know how,” Stephanie was growing weary of this discussion. Winnie was nothing if not persistent. “Now I really don't wish to keep talking about this,” she said more stiffly. “I had managed to put it out of my mind for a brief time until now.” She stood, brushing her clothes off. “I know you mean well, Winnie, and I love you dearly for it. But enough. I have to look forward. Looking back is painful and useless. I know him. Much better than you. He will not forgive me. It isn't in him.” With that she turned and left the garden without looking back, leaving Winnie watching her go and unable to come up with a suitable reply before Stephanie was already gone.

  Winnie frowned. That hadn't gone as she'd planned at all. Clearly Stephanie felt as if she had no options going forward. Winnie had to convince her to try, somehow. She stood, face set with grim determination.

  She would need some help.

  ~*~

  “I'm afraid she's quite correct, Winifred,” Memmnon said evenly. “Parno is not the forgiving sort. He is patient to a fault, but once he reaches a certain point then it's as if he simply turns you off like a lamp. I suppose he developed it as a defense mechanism against the rest of us,” he admitted with a sigh. “We were none of us ever very good to him and that is an understatement if anything.”

  “Why?” she asked, arms crossed beneath her breasts. “Why be mean to him?”

  “Our mother died giving birth to him,” Memmnon told her, his gaze falling on something outside the window. “We blamed him for it. All his life. All of us did, from father on down. Even the servants treated him harshly and we allowed it.”

  “That's horrible,” Winnie almost whispered. “My mother died birthing me,” she added. “I don't know what I'd have done had my pa blamed me for that. I can't imagine blaming a child for something like that. That's not just mean, Memmnon, it's cruel.”

  “I'm aware of that,” the King of Soulan nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on something outside the window. Or nothing. It was a vacant stare, really. “I am aware of that but cannot undo it,” he finally turned to face her. “I have done what I can to make what amends are possible, Winifred, but that is all I can do. I do not expect his forgiveness and would never ask for it. I do not deserve it,” he said simply. “I find it the height of irony that the brother I treated the worst is the one upon whom I am most able to depend. To count on in such hard days as these.”

  “But regardless of the reason why,” he continued after a moment of awkward silence, “I'm afraid that Doctor Corsin is quite right in her assessment of my youngest brother. Parno is not the forgiving kind. He never has been. His anger burns deep and long and such fires are almost impossible to put out.”

  “Something. . .there has to be something that we can do,” Winnie refused to back down. “She's miserable, Memmnon! And while she may have angered him she didn't do it on purpose! She was just upset herself, that's all. Surely he would listen to her if she tried to apologize.”

  “I cannot say,” Memmnon shrugged helplessly. “I do not know. I don't know what she said to him or what context it was said in, nor do I know what his reaction to it was. It is possible that he might listen to her. He holds her in high esteem. There is, or was, a great affection for her in his heart I believe. Whether it is enough to weather such as storm I cannot say. I simply don't know.”

  “If she wishes to send him a message I will have a Royal Courier deliver it,” he offered. “It will reach him in three days time, no more. And the courier can wait for a return message, assuming he sends one. Anything I can do to aid her I will do,” he promised.

  “I need to take her to see him,” Winnie said suddenly.

  “No,” Memmnon shook his head. “No, that is out of the question. A battlefield is no place for a woman, Winifred. Not even one so capable as you, my dear. And Parno does not need such a distraction, either. It would not be fair to him, placing him in such a position.”

  “You said anything you could do,” Winnie semi-accused.

  “That is not something I can do,” Memmnon shook his head again. “Parno is the Marshal of the Army which means he has the final say in such matters, and he will not allow women on the battle line. The Army is his to command, Winnie. He sets the rules. That is the way it has always been. There are laws to separate the Crown from direct control of the Army and for many good reasons. It is the reason I could not take over when Therron was exiled. The law does not allow it.”

  “What if Parno hadn't been there?” Winnie demanded. “What then?”

  “We would have had to appoint a general from the ranks to take Therron's place. Unless and until I had a second son, who would take command upon his majority and his graduating from the War College. It would not be the first time,” he added. “In such cases the King of course assumes a more direct command of the military, as the General will answer to him. But the role of the Marshal is to separate the military of Soulan from the Crown.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Winnie asked, clearly confused.

  “A weak or angry ruler in command of a great military can make ill advised decisions that cannot be undone,” Memmnon said gravely. “A ruler can also be black-mailed much easier, or have pressures put upon him in the form of threats against family and the like. A Sovereign who is so compromised and in full control of the military apparatus can do a great deal of harm and there is no one to stop him.”

  “So who stops the Marshal then?” Winnie asked.

  “Rivalry among siblings of the Crown is a fact,” Memmnon smiled wanly. Sadly. “Consider my own brother and sister and the lengths they would go to rule instead of myself, or even our father. A King would not allow a sibling to use the military improperly, and a Marshal would do likewise for the King. It is a very old system. Almost as old as the Kingdom herself. One that has served us well.”

  “So, because Parno doesn't want women in combat we can't even visit the camp for her to speak with him?” Winnie asked, just short of surly. Memmnon considered that for a moment.

  “Technically I suppose that would not violate the spirit of his ruling,” he finally replied. “But it would mean stretching it beyond recognition,” he added before her smirk could bloom fully. “And as I said, he does not need such a distraction at the moment.”

  “She's not a distraction!” Winnie shot back.

  “She most certainly is,” Memmnon returned more calmly. “Whether you like it or not, her presence at the camp, or your own for that matter, would absolutely be a distraction to Parno and to many others. Not to mention that your presence would disrupt the camp every time you 'visited'.”

  “Who said anything about me going?” Winnie asked.

  “Winifred, please,” Memmnon feigned exaggerated patience. “I know it's difficult for you but could you please not constantly treat me like I'
m an idiot?” His tone was easy, even light, but there was also a bit of steel there even so.

  “What?”

  “You have learned to play me very well, my dear,” Memmnon chuckled lightly. “And I go along with it because it pleases you, which in turn pleases me. But don't fool yourself into thinking I can't read you just as well. While I have no doubt whatsoever that you intend to help the good doctor regain her relationship with my brother, do not for a minute pretend that you haven't thought about the fact that this is an ideal way for you to go somewhere you've been wanting to go for some time now.”

  She had the grace to look embarrassed but didn't back down.

  “I already know I can't do that,” she told him, trying to keep her dignity amid a furious blush at being 'caught out'. “And I've stopped asking. This isn't about me, Memmnon. It's about Stephanie and Parno. He may not want to admit it but he needs her. Just as much as she needs him.”

  “Do not ever fool yourself into thinking Parno needs anyone,” Memmnon replied flatly. “You have not and will never meet anyone who is more self sufficient than Parno McLeod. Again, likely something that was forced upon him as a defensive mechanism to deal with our poor treatment of him as a child and even a young man. The only person he ever really and truly had to depend on in his life is now lost to him,” he almost murmured.

  “Not if we can get them back talking to one another!” Winnie declared just short of hotly.

  “I'm not talking about the good doctor, Winifred,” Memmnon sighed, rubbing his eyes as he began to feel a headache coming.

  “Then who?” she demanded. “The Colonel,” she answered her own question a second later, her voice falling to a near whisper. “You're talking about Colonel Nidiad.”

  “Indeed,” Memmnon nodded. “Darvo practically raised Parno himself. And his daughter. Her mother also died in childbirth I believe, though I. . .now that I've said that I'm not sure it's true. I do know that she died before Darvo assumed his post as Parno's retainer. Regardless,” he waved the irrelevancy away, “Darvo was the only person Parno ever allowed himself to depend upon. Or trust. I suspect he had begun to do so with her as well before their rift. Perhaps that is why he has reacted so poorly to whatever it was she said to him.”