by N. C. Reed
“We 'll see to it,” Coe promised.
The command was soon spread out over the rolling plains and woods of almost a thousand acres of Royal Reserve land that had been set aside in past years to produce grain for the Royal storehouses. Unoccupied and far from any settlement to speak of, it was the perfect place for so many men and horses to bed down overnight.
Allowing his subordinates to oversee setting up the camp, Allen returned to his map and his notes, studying the lay of the land around him and keeping a careful eye on known Imperial positions. A quiet man without much in the way of political ambitions, Allen had not risen to his position because of family influence but rather due to his intelligence and his ability. He was an excellent tactician, as any division commander must be, but he was also a fair strategist as well, something Davies knew and one of the reasons he had appointed Allen to command the temporary cavalry corps.
Looking now at his map, Allen saw all kinds of possibilities for his mission behind Imperial lines. Once they had attempted to verify the boat theory, he intended to do all he could to disrupt Nor lines of communication back to the Empire. If his men could hit even one supply train and destroy it, or better still capture it mostly intact, then that would get the Nor's attention in a big way and maybe even force them to send someone after him.
In addition, he knew from Beaumont and Whipple's expedition earlier that the Imperial Army had posts and substations all along the trade route they were more or less following as an invasion route. While their horses would be useless as war mounts to southern cavalry, they would do for other work such as wranglers, ranchers or pulling wagons or plows. And any beef on the hoof they could steal would not only be taken from Imperial mouths but also be put into Soulanie mouths.
By the time his command had settled in and night began to fall, Allen had stored his map and notes away, a sound plan already formulated in his mind. A good night's sleep tonight and an early start tomorrow would see that plan followed and whether or not it might bear fruit.
~*~
“How far you think?” Beaumont asked as he and Whipple galloped alongside each other.
“Not even a full day,” Whipple replied, shaking his head. “We're very close. And I'm glad, too. A month in the saddle is about enough.”
“True,” Beaumont nodded his agreement. They had actually been 'in the saddle' in pursuit for just over five weeks in fact. Thirty-eight days they had spent on the long road to their destination. Three of those days had been spent on rest along the way as horses sometimes required more rest than an overnight. Beaumont had begrudged every second of that time but knew it had to be done. They had lost over a dozen horses even with those stops. Horses were almost as precious as soldiers nowadays.
“Be dark in a couple hours,” Beaumont observed. “Not a bad road but I don't know the way in the dark. I don't suppose. . . .” he trailed off, looking at his aristocratic friend. Whipple shook his head.
“Been there once, years ago,” he admitted. “I'm all but certain I can get there again but in the dark? Not around here. There are gators in every wet spot and they're ill tempered when you step on them in the dark.”
“Yeah, seems I'd heard that somewhere,” Beaumont replied sarcastically. “Well, I guess we need to find a place to camp for the night, then. We can get-”
“Scouts incoming General,” one of the riders ahead of them called. Signaling a stop, Beaumont waited as a team of four scouts appeared escorting a fifth man.
“This is trouble,” Whipple said softly as the man got close enough to recognize his uniform. “That's an IG outfit.”
“Damn,” Beaumont muttered.
“Sir, detail reporting with one dispatch rider from Key Horn,” the scout sergeant reported.
“Who are you, then?” Beaumont asked.
“Lieutenant Smith, sir,” the young officer replied. “I'm glad to see you but I'm afraid you're too late, assuming you've come to help,” the man added.
“Too late for what?” Beaumont didn't want to know but had no choice but to ask.
“Marshal McLeod, the former Marshal,” Smith corrected himself, “was taken by force yesterday evening, General,” Smith reported. “I'm carrying a report from Captain Johnson to the militia station in Jayville, for a courier to take north.”
“Taken by who?” Whipple asked, leaning forward. “There's no way they got here before we did,” he was almost insistent.
“They who, sir?” Smith asked. “And he was taken by a Naval Task Force, sir,” he added, realizing that Lieutenants by and large didn't question Brigadiers. “Captain Chastain of the Halifax and his Fleet Marine Force landed at Key Horn compound yesterday investigating our presence. Somehow the Marshal got a message to the Captain and convinced him to assist the Marshal in escaping. Sir.”
“How bad where your casualties?” Beaumont asked.
“We had no casualties sir,” Smith reported. “Chastain was a friendly, investigating possible pirate activity, which we know is common in this area, including the Royal Compound over the years. We allowed them to rest and refresh before rowing back to their ships. At some point the former Marshal managed to contact Chastain somehow and he took us by surprise.”
“So, you didn't even fight back,” Beaumont snorted.
“Captain Johnson was intent on making a stand, General,” Smith's voice was cool. “Chastain outnumbered us three to one and threatened to kill all of our men if the Captain didn't surrender. Captain Johnson saw no point in losing his entire command when he could not affect the outcome of the situation.”
“Why did he even allow this Chastain to land?” Beaumont bellowed.
“Would the general care to explain how sixty men could prevent two hundred men from landing if they were so minded?” Smith's voice held an edge now and he had remembered that as a member of the Inspectorate he didn't answer to Beaumont.
“Why not lets leave this for later,” Whipple cut in before Beaumont could embarrass himself further. “Mister Smith, can you get us to the compound tonight? We're not sure we can find it in the dark.”
“I can, but my orders-”
“We need to speak to your Captain before you carry that dispatch anywhere,” Whipple explained. “We don't want word of this leaking out just yet. There's a good deal you don't yet know. If you will lead us to the compound we can explain to you and the Captain in detail. In fact we will likely require your assistance in the coming days.”
“Very well, Brigadier,” Smith nodded. “It's not that far, but you are right that it's treacherous after dark. Once we get within a few miles the road will be lit with torches, however. If we hurry, we won't have to ride far in the dark. And watch for the gators, sir,” he added. “They really don't like being stepped on.”
“So I hear, Lieutenant,” Whipple smiled. “So I hear.”
~*~
Captain Dennis Johnson was on the porch of the main house when he heard guard calling out. He had heard the rumble that only many horses could produce but had simply waited. Now it appeared that the horses were coming to the compound as he had assumed.
“We can't catch a break,” he sighed as he stepped down from the porch and walked toward the main gate. It wasn't much as gates went, just a way to close off the roadway from casual traffic. A five man guard was posted as a precaution against pirates more than anything else. But pirates didn't ride horses as a rule.
“Lieutenant Smith is with them, sir,” the sergeant reported as Johnson arrived.
“Who is 'them', Patterson?” Johnson asked.
“General Buford Beaumont, Soulan Army,” a new voice said from the dark. “My command is here to assume control of the former Marshal.”
“Day late and a dollar short I'm afraid, General,” Johnson sighed. “Figures that once they decided I really did need help it would get here too late to be of any use.”
“Beg pardon Captain, but that's not all,” Smith rode up from the dark and dismounted. “There's a lot more going on than what happ
ened to us, sir.”
“I see,” Johnson noted how pale Smith looked. “Well, you may as well come in and make yourselves comfortable, General,” Johnson offered. “There should be sufficient room for your command since this place is set up to accommodate up to three Royal regiments at a time. I'm sure your men are tired. Fortunately for you we just laid in stores so we have enough to feed you for a few days.” He motioned to the guards to open the gate and stepped back as the horse soldiers filed through.
It was the work of nearly an hour to see to billeting, set guards and get food cooking for the men who were decidedly tired of eating cold rations in the saddle. Soon a large beef half was roasting over two different fires and several large cook pots were boiling beans and rice, traditional soldier's fare.
“Captain, your losing the former Marshal has put us in a tough position,” Beaumont's voice cut through the dark as he and Whipple made their way onto the porch.
“I didn't 'lose' him, General,” Johnson replied calmly. “He was taken at sword point by a force that outnumbered me three-to-one. I had the choice of allowing my entire command to be slaughtered for no gain, or letting him go. The end result was going to be the same, mind you. There was no way for my men to prevent the marines and sailors under Chastain's command taking the former Marshal from here. I do think that Chastain regretted the action even before it was completed, but fool that he is couldn't just back down and say so. Regardless, do please enlighten me as to how you would have done it.”
“I would have fought,” Beaumont shot back.
“An easy claim to make with a brigade of soldiers at one's back,” Johnson wasn't at all intimidated. “Try it with sixty policemen and investigators against a full company of combat soldiers and a half company of sailors. I'm sure you could do better than I did.” With that Johnson turned his back on Beaumont and took his seat, lifting a glass from the table next to his chair and taking a drink of the whiskey within.
“We can see that you had a difficult position to work with,” Whipple restrained Beaumont after he'd taken only one step in Johnson's direction. “As your lieutenant reported however, there is a great deal more going on than this renegade naval officer taking Therron McLeod from here.”
“Well, do please take a chair and fill me in if you want,” Johnson waved to other chairs on the portico. “We can dine here while General Beaumont continues to make himself feel good by berating a team of policemen who couldn't find a way to take on a short battalion of trained soldiers.”
“That's enough, Captain,” Whipple's voice hardened slightly.
“I'm just getting started, Brigadier,” Johnson refused to back down. “The good General here has essentially called me a coward for not allowing my men to be murdered in cold blood by a traitorous psychopath, and I just naturally take exception to that.” He paused to toss back the rest of his drink and then pour himself another.
“I asked before we ever departed Nasil for more men,” he told the two soldiers. “I hadn't even seen this place yet but knew that such a small force could never manage to prevent a determined enemy from taking the Marshal. Once I got here and found out the local situation I sent a message to General Brock again requesting additional men, at least twice what I had. No reply. I know there's a war on but I thought that this little post might warrant some attention seeing as it held a man who had tried to seize the throne by force or subterfuge or both. Of course I have been wrong before. Cheers,” he lifted his glass and took another snort.
“And I don't answer to you, Brigadier, nor to you, General, and neither do my men,” he continued after that. “So while I have extended you every courtesy, I'm under no obligation to do more than that. And you took it on yourselves to stop my courier who was carrying an urgent dispatch for my own superiors, then all you can do once you're here is question my decisions without knowing a damn thing about the situation and call me, and by extension my men, cowards.”
“That was a rather unfortunate misunderstanding,” Whipple tried to smooth things over. “I'd appreciate it if you can overlook that and write it off to a month in the saddle with little more than a nap every day.”
“Done,” Johnson said at once with a nod. “What brings you gents here, since clearly you aren't here to reinforce this post.”
“Why do you say that?” Whipple asked. He took a chair across from the Captain and more or less shoved a still fuming Beaumont into another.
“We're at war and an experienced brigade of horse soldiers is a thousand miles from the front and headed the wrong way?” Johnson tilted his head to one side. “Bad strategy.”
“Point,” Whipple nodded. “Truth is we we're here for a different reason. The first thing you should know is that. . . .”
~*~
“Good Lord,” Johnson almost breathed as Whipple came to the end of his narrative and sat back. “I just thought I had problems. The King dead?”
“And the Crown Prince assaulted and nearly murdered. By Therron's twin sister, Sherron. And she is even now on her way here with Therron's regiment to free him, hoping to return him to Nasil and to power.”
“Well, she's gonna be too late for that, since Chastain is already doing it,” Johnson sighed. “I tried to tell the moron he was opposing the Crown but he wouldn't listen. I think in the end he realized he was wrong, but he was so deep into it he couldn't see a way to stop it, you know? I still won't feel sorry for him when he hangs, though,” Johnson sat back again. “He left here knowing he was violating the law and exceeding any authority he had. He also knew the consequences of his actions, I made sure of that. He did it anyway. That's on him.”
“We need you to carry on here as if Therron McLeod was still a prisoner,” Beaumont said, his earlier ire now under control. “We need to lull Callens into a false sense of security. Depending on how much she slowed him during the trip, they could be here as soon as tomorrow.”
“I doubt we 'll see them in less than a week,” Whipple shook his head. “By now Callens had told the witch it's his way now and stopped her from slowing him any more, but they still lost a great deal of time on the way down. Our men will be rested when they get here and so will our horses.”
“You expect to fight then?” Johnson asked, looking from one to another.
“We will destroy Callens' regiment, take him prisoner if possible along with the Princess, and return them to Nasil. Our orders are to kill them all if we cannot safely return them to the capitol.” Whipple's voice was a bit cool as he relayed that.
“That ought to do it,” Johnson nodded. “This Callens, he's commanding what used to be Therron McLeod's personal regiment?”
“An elite regiment of horsemen, yes,” Whipple nodded. “We outnumber them substantially, but that doesn't mean we will have an easy time of it. Callens is a good commander and his men are well trained. They won't go easy, and those who know what Sherron and Callens have done will know that if they surrender there's nothing but a hangman's noose waiting for them.”
“Don't you miss the days when people were loyal?” Johnson asked suddenly. “I mean, I'm the first one to admit there's a time and place to question authority and all, but the key is the proper time and place, and under the proper circumstances. War time not being proper at all,” he added.
“A valid observation, Captain,” Whipple was almost amused.
“Well, if we're to perhaps have a battle soon I guess I need to set a better guard,” Johnson rose to his feet, slightly unsteady.
“Are you sure you're in proper shape to be doing that Captain?” Whipple's amusement was still evident.
“Oh, I'm not going to do it myself,” the IG Captain assured the Brigadier. “Bruckner!”
~*~
“Well ladies, how are things going?” Memmnon asked. He had been joined by both Winifred and Stephanie for lunch, something his schedule rarely permitted.
“Things are good with the archery lessons,” Winnie reported. “All of the women have stuck it out and are now shooting. So
me are better than others, but all of them can hit a stationary target from at least fifty feet. That's nothing to brag about for someone already trained, but for a grown-up learning for the first time it ain't-it's not, bad.”
“The new nursing school is up and running as well,” Stephanie said next. “A total of seventeen people from among the first group of refugees and another thirty-nine from here in the city are now working toward a nursing certificate. I've identified five of those who will almost certainly be able to move on and become surgeons and three more that are capable of becoming outright physicians.”
“We will need them I'm afraid,” Memmnon nodded slowly. “I'm glad you've found so many capable people.”
“Our educational standards are making themselves felt, your Highness,” Stephanie nodded. “Your family's dedication to high educational standards throughout the Kingdom gives us a population that has a strong foundation for higher learning. We are reaping the benefits of that now when we need it most.”
“Very kind of you,” Memmnon smiled softly, “but not something I can take credit for. Those standards have come down all the way from Tyree. It was historically part of his attempt to preserve Ancient Technology after the Dying.”
“We will be able to graduate our first class in just a few months,” she promised. “We are also already looking for the next group of students. Ideally, we will always have at least one class waiting to start. If we're lucky we'll manage to have two.”
“It's nice to have some good news for a change,” Memmnon sighed happily.
“You've had bad news today?”
“No, not today more than any other of late,” he shook his head. “But in a time of war it's seldom you get welcome news. I shall take what I can get.”
~*~
General Gerald Allen was in the saddle and moving before sun-up, his men behind him and scouts before him. They were away on schedule and making good time already, just as he'd hoped. He wasn't sure why but he had a hunch there was something for them to find at the river today. He had nothing to base that on other than his gut feeling, but checking it out was within the scope of his orders so nothing was lost by doing so. And even if they found nothing on the river itself, there was always the possibility they would encounter something of value to hit.
