Parno's Company (The Black Sheep of Soulan Book 1)

by N. C. Reed

  “Call for the Sergeant,” Memmnon ordered. “Have this man and his horse seen to at once,” he instructed, taking the courier pouch from the rider.

  “Aye, Milord,” the sentry acknowledged. “Sergeant of the Guard! Post One!” Memmnon ignored the bustle behind him as he headed for his father’s office, ripping open the envelope as he went.

  The sentry’s words were true, he noted. General Davies had come under attack before dawn, two days ago. He read as he walked, noting the details for later. He grabbed a passing soldier.

  “Find the Lord Marshall,” he ordered. “Have him report to the King’s private office at once.”

  “Aye, Milord!” the soldier saluted, then ran off in search of Therron McLeod.

  Memmnon resumed his walk, still reading. Davies was retreating, he was startled to read. Citing a hopeless tactical situation and a determines attack by overwhelming numbers, Davies had decided to abandon the defenses and engage the Nor on open ground. It was his hope that the Soulan Army’s familiarity with the ground and superior horsemanship would give him a better advantage against the Nor horde now flooding across the Ohi.

  He was also requesting immediate reinforcements. Memmnon sighed at that, knowing that the only force capable of reaching Davies in time to matter was the 1st Corps, stationed in Nasil. The only force in position to protect the heartland.

  Memmnon found his father pouring over a map with one of his chief military advisers. While Therron was the Lord Marshall, Tammon was King and the Ultimate Authority in Soulan.

  “Father, there is news from General Davies,” Memmnon spoke quietly. Tammon looked at him for a second.

  “Clark, excuse us please,” he spoke to his companion. A former Marshall of the Army, Clark was one of Tammon’s most trusted people.

  “Of course, milord,” Clark left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “The Nor have crossed the bridges at Loville,” Memmnon said without preamble. “Davies has fallen back, choosing to fight in the field rather than be enveloped trying to hold the defenses. The Nor,” Memmnon continued, passing the report to his father, “used boats to great effect, apparently. They managed to put several thousand troops on our side of the Ohi and used them to try and flank Davies as he fought to hold the bridges. They only just escaped.”

  “He should have been more aware!” Tammon growled, taking the offered report and reading through it.

  “There’s no telling how far up and down the river the Nor launched their boats. Davies had patrols all along the Ohi, Father,” Memmnon pointed out. “It was his forethought that kept his entire army from being destroyed in place. As it is, the 2nd is still an effective fighting force, and are in the field, defending the Kingdom.”

  Tammon read on in silence, ignoring Memmnon for the moment. As he read, some of the scowl left his face. Finally he nodded, looking up from the report.

  “You are right,” he agreed. “According to this, there were some two hundred thousand enemy troops either directly engaged with Davies or waiting to advance when the bridges fell. He did well to save his command and withdraw in an orderly fashion.”

  “He has requested the 1st Corps assist him,” Memmnon pointed out. “Since moving General Freeman south, the 1st is the only army left to defend the heartland.”

  “And we have no choice but to move them to Davies’ assistance,” Tammon sighed. “He is too heavily outnumbered to engage them in an outright battle. I’ll have Therron. . . .” He broke off as Therron chose that moment to walk in.

  “You summoned me, Father?” he asked, breath ragged from running.

  “No, but it’s good you’re here,” Tammon replied, handing over the report. “The Nor have struck Loville”

  “I had someone fetch you as soon as the word arrived,” Memmnon said quietly. Therron frowned at the word ‘fetch’, but turned his attention to the report.

  “Davies retreated without even attempting to hold the bridges!” Therron almost spat. “I’ll have him relieved at once!”

  “If you’ll read a bit further,” Tammon spoke coldly, “you’ll see that he managed to save his army from being completely enveloped and destroyed by a force several times his own size.” Therron, red faced from the rebuke, returned to reading. When he was finished, he looked up, calmer.

  “I was wrong, Father,” he admitted reluctantly. “Davies has done well, it seems.”

  “Indeed,” Tammon frowned at his younger son. There were times when he doubted Therron’s ability to cope with the traditional duties of the second son of the realm.

  “I shall lead 1st Corps to his assistance, myself,” Therron declared, straightening. “Together, we can easily withstand the Nor.”

  “Easily?” Memmnon couldn’t help blurting out. “Therron, did you notice, during your perusal of the report, that Davies is facing a force estimated at a quarter of a million men?” Therron’s face went red at that.

  “Need I remind you, brother, that this is my area, not yours,” he declared loftily, and Memmnon’s own face went red at that.

  “Need I remind you, brother,” Memmnon snarled, “who it is that will one day rule?”

  “Quiet!” Tammon snapped. “I have told you before, I have no time for squabbling children! The very Kingdom is in danger and the two of you are arguing over who is more important!” Both men fell silent. Tammon turned his eyes to Therron.

  “It is time for you to realize that you are not the ultimate authority in this Kingdom, Therron,” he grated. “As Crown Prince, Memmnon has the right to question any decision you make and I should not have to remind you that I have the right, and the power, to make decisions with or without your input. If I do need to remind you, then perhaps you should not be Lord Marshall of my armies. Understood?” Therron paled at that, nodding.

  “I meant no disrespect, Sire,” he spoke carefully. This wasn’t the time to rock the boat. Not yet.

  “As it is,” Tammon sighed, “I see no alternative but to allow you to take 1st Corps into the field and march to Davies’ assistance. But Therron, I warn you now,” the King’s voice turned colder, “listen to General Davies, and seek his counsel before acting. He is a seasoned veteran and has far more experience in these matters than you do. Understand?”

  “I do, Father,” Therron assured the King.

  “Then make ready,” Tammon ordered him. “Take 1st Corps and leave as soon as possible. Today, if practicable. You need to be in the field with Davies as soon as possible. We cannot allow the Nor to gain a sizable foothold in our Kingdom.”

  “By your order, sire,” Therron bowed and left. Memmnon watched him go, eyes still glowering. Tammon did not miss that look.

  “I know he is troublesome,” Tammon said gently. “But he is good at what he does. I fear you’ll need to watch him closely, though, once I am gone.” Memmnon looked startled at that. Tammon rarely spoke in such a way. The King chuckled.

  “I am not so young as I once was, Memmnon,” he explained. “There will come a time when I am no longer able to rule. Either death or infirmity will decide when that is. Once that day is here, then the responsibility will be yours. You can, of course, replace him when that happens. If you do, then I advise you to choose his replacement with care. Much of the army will be loyal to Therron. Do you understand what I’m saying to you. Son?”

  Memmnon nodded, an icy chill spreading down his spine. His father had seen it also. No wonder he had looked so haggard, of late.

  “I understand, sire,” he spoke quietly.

  “I hope so,” Tammon sighed heavily. “If he becomes too troublesome, I may have him replaced myself before that time arrives. That might be better in all honesty,” the King mused. “Trouble is, we cannot afford to replace him now in the midst of a war, and if he is successful in repelling the invasion, then his popularity will soar.” Tammon sat heavily into his chair. Memmnon realized with a start that his father looked far older than he had just three months ago.

  “Don’t trouble yourself with what
may one day be, Father,” Memmnon told him, forcing a smile to his face. “You have more than enough to deal with as it is. Therron and I have always worked together and we will continue to do so. Don’t waste your worry on that.”

  Tammon smiled tiredly and nodded.

  “I think you’re right,” he replied. “I am tired, Memmnon. I think I’ll rest a while. But call me if I am needed.”

  “Of course, Father,” Memmnon nodded and left the office, ordering Tammon’s aide to see to the King. As he walked toward his own offices he couldn’t help but think on what he’d just said…and heard.

  Memmnon knew, then and there, that one day he would have to deal with Therron. Even if Soulan managed to survive this latest Nor onslaught, and that looked questionable to say the least, would the Kingdom survive a war between himself and Therron?

  Hours later, watching Therron march out ahead of the vanguard for 1sts Corps, Memmnon still had no answer to that.

  *****

  Later in the day, Memmnon McLeod walked along the concourse of the palace grounds, hands locked behind him, eyes fixed on some point only he could see. His discussion with the King concerning Therron had left him unsettled.

  There had never been a coup in Soulan, not in its long history. The house McLeod descended directly from the House Tyree itself, the founding dynasty of the Kingdom of Soulan that had ruled for over two hundred years alone. Soulan had been fortunate in that, while it had sometimes had incompetent leaders, it had never had a bad one. The people were treated fairly and the law was the same for all, regardless of social status. This, in itself, was a legacy of the House of Tyree.

  But now, Memmnon was forced to admit, there might indeed be a problem in the offing. Therron was becoming more and more open in his defiance and not just where Memmnon was concerned, either. He also appeared to be testing his personality cult against the King himself.

  In any other time he was sure that Tammon McLeod would have long ago dealt with Therron. The threat of war looming, and now upon them, had prevented it and left Therron is a perfect position to make a claim that he, rather than Memmnon, should sit upon the throne of Soulan.

  Memmnon sighed. His hands moved to massage his temples as the problems threatened him with a headache.

  Atop everything else was the status of the King’s health. Tammon had not been well for some months. He blamed it upon old age and a wild youth, but Memmnon, as Crown Prince, knew the truth. More than once the Royal Physician had warned Tammon that his health was slipping. Not to the point that he could not rule…not yet, at any rate.

  But the pressures of rule were enough by themselves. The war had made it worse and, Memmnon acknowledged, Tammon’s own ire at Parno had complicated it. Memmnon shook his head again.

  Parno. He had never been the problem. As an older and hopefully wiser man now, Memmnon could look back at how he and the others—the entire palace—had made Parno’s life hell. He had known nothing but hate and misery his entire life. Was it any wonder that he was a rebel? If he was to be treated as a bastard child, then why not act like one? There was surely nothing to be lost, was there?

  And yet it was Parno who had stumbled onto the Nor plot to invade Soulan. Parno who had trekked through the harsh winter to bring the information he had gathered, knowing as he did so that his actions might see him treated even worse than before.

  Parno loves this land and its people, Memmnon thought to himself. Perhaps it is he who should be King and neither myself, nor Therron. He shook his head yet again.

  That wasn’t possible, of course. Parno was third in line but he would never be taken seriously as a ruler. Thanks, yet again, to the way his family had treated him his entire life.

  We have done that, he thought bleakly. The memory of Parno looking to him for help when Therron and the King had told him his men were not good enough to defend the realm came back to him. The look of a little brother looking to his older brother for help. Something anyone should have….but Parno never has, Memmnon though sadly. I’ve denied him even that. Yes, his father had treated Parno poorly, blaming him every waking hour for the loss of the Queen. Unfairly, to be sure, but still a fact, and Memmnon had done the same. All of them had.

  “How could we have done that?” he asked himself. “How could we be so cruel as to blame a child for being born? Are any of us fit to sit upon the throne?”

  Nothing could change the past, Memmnon acknowledged bleakly. He had reached out to Parno in recent months and Parno had responded. Hesitantly at first, of course, but who could blame him? And when Parno had found the Nor plot who was it he had trusted with it?

  His older brother upon whom he thought he could, at long last, depend. “And then, I abandoned him when Therron had dismissed Parno’s work with his regiment,” Memmnon thought.

  True, Memmnon didn’t know if they were ready for battle. But was anyone? He did know that Parno’s men had to be at least as well prepared as any of the militiamen who were, even now, fighting against the Nor invasion.

  His refusal to fight for Parno had hurt the youngest McLeod. Something that wouldn’t have been possible if Memmnon himself hadn’t been trying to bridge the gap between them. A gap created by his own doings, Memmnon acknowledged. Now all that work was destroyed. He had seen that much in Parno’s eyes as he left Nasil that day.

  Parno would not be so foolish as to place his trust in Memmnon again, the Crown Prince knew. Nor in anyone else inside the palace…and why should he?

  Why should he, indeed?

  “Milord?” Memmnon heard suddenly, and turned to see a member of the House Guard coming toward him.

  “Milord, the King has asked to see you,” the guard informed him. Memmnon nodded in reply and started back toward the palace itself. He couldn’t change what was past and he had a bleak future in which to try and change it now.

  *****

  “You summoned me, Father?” Memmnon said quietly, entering the King’s office. For weeks now this had been the center of the Soulan preparation for war and it now served as a command center. Maps adorned the walls, tables, and even the King’s desk.

  Tammon nodded wordlessly, handing over a message form.

  Memmnon took it, noticing at once that it was from General Raines, Commander of 3rd Corps in Shelby. Shelby, home of the sole surviving bridge across the Great River.

  As he read, Memmnon was both dismayed and heartened. Dismayed to discover that the Nor, supported by the Wild Tribes of the Westlands, had attacked in force across the bridge. Heartened by the news that Raines was, at least for now, holding fast. In his closing remarks Raines asked again for additional mounted units to patrol the great expanses of shoreline in order to prevent enemy boat crossings.

  Considering that the Nor had used boats to great effect at Loville, the request was not unreasonable.

  “I suppose we should have expected it,” he said flatly, laying the dispatch upon his father’s desk.

  “Yes,” Tammon nodded, gazing out the window of his office. “We should have and here is something else we should have likely thought of,” he sighed heavily, handing over yet another report. Memmnon took it warily and began reading.

  This report was more chilling, if anything. It came from General Freeman, Commander of 4th Corps in Lana. It read that a Soulan fishing vessel had encountered a large fleet of ships in the Eastern Sea. A very large fleet. General Freeman was of the opinion, based on the report of the Captain of the fishing vessel, that this fleet, now sitting some thirty miles off the Sunshine Coast, carried an invasion force. He had dispatched a pair of frigates to try and maintain contact with the fleet, shadowing it. Another ship acted as a courier for them.

  “Wonderful,” Memmnon sighed, taking a seat dejectedly. “Yet another army, just sitting off the coast, waiting and watching for a chance to land somewhere.”

  “Indeed,” Tammon nodded, still looking out his window. “There is little choice, of course, but to order Freeman to move his Corps south so as to be in a position to int
erdict this invasion force, should they try to come ashore.”

  “They may not try to,” Memmnon replied, “and there may be no troops aboard those ships, father,” he added.

  “Possible,” Tammon nodded absently. “That thought had occurred to me as well as I waited for you to arrive, but we cannot afford to make such an assumption.”

  “We can send our fleet out to meet them,” Memmnon suggested.

  “And we will,” Tammon agreed, finally turning to look at his oldest son and heir, “but our fleet is not yet assembled entirely and their ships outnumber the Savannah Squadron. By a rather large margin, if this count is even close to accurate. I have no doubt that our fleet will give a good account of itself, but I do doubt they can stop it. Hurt it, yes. Stop it, no.” Memmnon was shocked at how poorly his father looked. Bad news atop bad news, along with the instability wrought by Therron, was taking its toll on the King of Soulan.