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

by N. C. Reed

  “They know, lad,” Darvo assured him, “and they’re ready.”

  “I figure we’ve got an hour, maybe two, before we see the rest of their division. The whole outfit won’t be far behind that.”

  The Soulan troops settled in to do what all soldiers spent the largest part of their time doing.

  Waiting.

  *****

  Parno’s time estimate was fairly close. One hour and forty-five minutes later the bulk of a Norland cavalry division was either in the edge of the clearing or just inside the woods. Men both mounted and afoot could be seen in and out of the edge of the woods.

  “I think they’re going to try and attack,” Darvo commented, “at least it looks like it.”

  “I agree,” Parno nodded. “Division commander is either under orders or trying to make a name for himself.” He turned to the runners behind him.

  “Have all archers stand to,” he ordered. “Normal rounds only for the artillery. In fact,” he smiled, looking over the barricades toward the tree line. “Have Captain Lars loft a few of the heavy blocks at our friends in the tree line. Just to let them know that we don’t like them.” The artillery runner grinned and took off at a run.

  Parno watched the enemy horsemen forming for an attack, obviously working out among themselves the best way to navigate the wasteland of downed trees and standing trunks left in the cleared area. Even as they debated, the Prince heard the ‘thunk’ of trebuchets firing and looked over in time to see the large stone rounds being heaved from their slings in the general direction of the distant tree line.

  He smiled as the Nor panicked trying to get out of the way of those giant stones, some succeeding, others not so lucky. Screams from both men and horses drifted across the field as the stones hit home. Nor troopers fought to control skittish mounts and commanders fought to control now skittish troopers.

  “Not going like you thought, eh, fellas?” Parno murmured to himself. Before the Nor could recover, Captain Lars had another salvo on the way, and another behind that. As the third salvo landed the Nor retreated into the tree line, having sustained several casualties without drawing a drop of Soulan blood in exchange.

  “Cease fire!” Parno called and heard the order relayed. He turned to Darvo.

  “I think we’ve discouraged them from trying to take us by themselves. I don’t know that I wanted that, to be honest. I’d rather they had hit us and perhaps we could have smashed that one unit before their main army closed up.”

  “They may try again,” Darvo replied, still watching the tree line through his own glass. “It may be that they simply pulled back to make their plans under cover of the trees.”

  “True,” Parno nodded. He looked to the sky. Not yet noon. It promised to be warmer than usual today. He hoped it stayed that way. Even better, he hoped for no rain and a strong southerly wind. That weather pattern might come in handy before the fight was over.

  “Call me if anything happens, or if they re-appear,” he ordered. “I need to talk to Roda Finn.”

  “Aye, milord.”

  *****

  “Hello, milord,” Roda smiled as Parno walked into the inventor’s ‘bunker’. “How goes it?”

  “So far, so good,” Parno shrugged. “Roda, I need to run something by you. Have you experimented much with fire throwing?”

  “You mean pitch and the like?” Roda frowned. Parno nodded.

  “Some,” Roda allowed. “It’s very unpredictable, milord, and dangerous to use, both to the equipment and the men.”

  “I know,” Parno agreed, “but how far could a trebuchet, or even a catapult, hurl the flaming pitch?”

  “Well,” Roda looked thoughtful. “That depends on the weight of the pitch, milord. If we used cauldrons of some sort I’d think that we could loft the load two or even three hundred yards, at least. Though with trebuchets we’d loose a good bit of pitch as the cauldron would tumble. Not to mention the increased risk.”

  “Could we loft a heavy, flaming cauldron four hundred yards with a catapult?” Parno asked.

  “I’d have to work that out, milord,” Roda replied cautiously. “It’s a combination of things. After a certain weight the cauldron’s weight would be more of a hindrance than a help. Also, the strength of the catapult would have to be figured into the equation along with any wind.” Roda was already running the figures in his head.

  “Work on it, Roda,” Parno ordered. “I need to be able to throw the pitch at least four hundred yards…any further would be a bonus, but I need at least four hundred yards.”

  “I’ll find a way, milord, if there is one,” Roda promised, scratching on a piece of papyrus, already working the equation.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  *****

  It was after the noon hour when the Nor struck. Parno suspected that a single division of the Nor Army was facing him so far. He had wondered if the commander would risk an attack alone or wait for his General and the bulk of the army.

  The answer came when a line of screaming horsemen erupted from the woods, running their horses as fast as possible in the terrain Parno had left for them.

  “Wait for it!” Parno called and the order echoed up and down the line. Every man on the line was armed with a longbow or a crossbow. The crossbowmen were all expert shots, while several of the long bowmen were as well. The others were swordsmen, men at arms, even lancers and pike-men, all of whom had cross trained on the longbow for just such occasions as this.

  Parno estimated the enemy force at two thousand men in the first wave. He had near that many bowmen on the first rank alone. He wasted a second to hope that the Nor General commanding the rest of the army would attack in such piecemeal fashion.

  When the Nor were within easy bow-shot, he nodded to Darvo.

  “LET FLY!” the older man bellowed. The Soulan troopers stood and loosed already nocked arrows at the oncoming enemy troops.

  Men and horses alike screamed as arrows found their marks, piercing armor and skin. Many horses collapsed in a tumbling heap, which in turn often tripped up other horses behind or beside them.

  A second volley followed, and then a third. Nor troopers fell in droves and the attack faltered. A fourth volley sent them into a retreat, leaving their wounded on the field.

  “HOLD!” Darvo called. A sporadic final flight of arrows flew toward the retreating Nor, as archers heard the call too late to prevent their arrows from flying.

  Parno waited patiently as runners from each unit arrived with their reports. Darvo grinned broadly.

  “No casualties, lad,” he informed the waiting Prince.

  “This time,” Parno nodded. “We won’t be that lucky again.”

  “Like as not,” Darvo agreed, “but we hurt them badly. I’d say they lost a good twenty percent of their force.”

  “I agree,” Parno replied. “If there wasn’t fifty times that number coming up from behind, I’d even feel confident.”

  There was nothing to say to that and Darvo held his peace.

  “I don’t think this lot will try that again,” Parno said after a moment. “Do you?”

  “Hard to say,” Darvo hedged. “If their losses made them angry then they just might. But if I was their commander, I’d not attack this place again unsupported, knowing that I had such a large force at my back and on its way.”

  “If there are any Nor wounded close by and you think it prudent see if we can gather some prisoners. We might gain something useful from them.”

  “I’ll take a look, and see,” Darvo promised.

  “I wonder if their Army Commander will launch an attack today?” Parno mused, looking to the sun. The light was going to be fading soon.

  “It depends,” Darvo shrugged. “If he’s over confident in his numbers then he may well attack. If he’s a cautious soul he’ll want to wait for full light before launching his attack, especially when he sees what we’ve done to that bunch,” he nodded toward the tree line where the Nor had taken refuge.


  “I’d like to think that he’ll wait, but we can’t count on it,” Parno decided. “I want the sharpshooter company deployed as we planned. Their orders are to remain unengaged unless the wall is breached. Their job is to make Roda’s ‘toys’ work.”

  “Aye, milord,” Darvo nodded. “I don’t trust t. . . .”

  “Everything he’s shown me so far has worked,” Parno cut off the coming objections. “And I know you don’t like it, but we’re fighting for our very existence here, Darvo, and if Roda’s work saves even one of my troopers, then I’ll take it.”

  “Aye, milord,” Darvo agreed, albeit reluctantly, “and I do hope they work, lad,” he added. “I just don’t expect them to.”

  “We’ll see what we see,” Parno shrugged.

  *****

  Parno was walking the line when the first determined attack came.

  With perhaps an hour of sunlight left the Prince had allowed himself to relax, just a bit. He toured the forward positions, complimenting his men on a job well done. Morale was high and Parno cautioned them all that such an easy win wouldn’t likely happen again. Somber looks had matched his own as his men nodded. The Black Sheep, as Parno’s own regiment had taken to calling itself, had realized some days ago that they weren’t likely to survive.

  But they were fighting for their families and their land…and for the man who had given them a second chance at life. Not only that but he had provided a better life for their loved ones, come what might. They were as ready as they could be.

  The other units were similarly determined. They knew what was at stake and were grimly determined to do their utmost to hold the Nor at bay for as long as possible. For the Kent men it was vengeance for whatever horrors the Nor were, even now, inflicting upon their land and their loved ones. For the rest, mostly Tinsee militia, aside from Colonel Landers regiment of regulars, it was to prevent what was happening in Kent from happening to their own farms and families.

  In each case, whatever their motivation, the men were ready.

  Just as Parno was about to return to the small command post along the second line of defense, lookouts up and down the line raised the alarm.

  “To arms! Action front!” This call was repeated up and down the line and men hurriedly left whatever they had been doing to take their places along the line. Parno hurried up the steps at one berm for a look at the enemy, only to be dragged down again by one of his own troopers.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, milord,” the trooper grinned. “Kinda attached to ya nowadays. Soon as not be losin’ ya, if’n ya don’t mind.” Parno grinned back.

  “I’d as soon not have you lose me, either, Greer,” he replied. “I’ll just head back to the Command Post and have a look from there.”

  “Fine idea, milord,” Greer agreed. “Hurry along, now, ‘fore these Godless heathen get within bow-shot.” Parno shook his head at the carefully disguised order and ran for his own position. He arrived to find Darvo looking through his glass at the tree line.

  “They’re deploying their artillery, lad,” the older man smiled slightly. “Have to bring ’em out o’ the woods to set up. Makes for easy pickin’s, they’re not careful.” Parno nodded and turned to the artillery runner.

  “My complements to Captain Lars and could he see about making life difficult for his counterparts?” The runner stiffened and took off at a dead run. Lars would need no more instruction than that, Parno knew.

  “They’ll be forming to attack, likely inside the tree line, lad,” Darvo warned. Parno agreed.

  “We’re ready, I should think,” Parno mused. “I wonder how far into the tree line.” He gauged the distance with his eyes, trying to detect movement inside the darkening landscape across the battlefield. Nothing.

  “Wait for them, lad,” Darvo advised. “They may intend only to try and batter us some with their artillery. If they can get the range before nightfall, they might well take shots at us all night.”

  “I imagine Lars will discourage that,” Parno grinned. As if fulfilling a prophesy, they heard several thunks from along the line as Lars’ men lofted their first salvo. Parno raised his glass, looking down range for their impact zone. He was not disappointed. Two enemy catapults were hit outright, smashed to bits and their crews killed or maimed. A trebuchet was knocked off its carriage and the other rounds, while missing their true targets, did kill several Nor artillery men and some of their carriage horses.

  A second salvo was on its way as soon as Lars saw his men were on target. This salvo struck none of the enemy artillery, but again managed to create havoc by falling among the crews and their draft animals. Screams of both man and beast once again echoed across the hills of the Tinsee landscape.

  Lars continued his barrage for several minutes, sending the solid shots rolling across the Nor positions. Finally, with over half his pieces either damaged or destroyed outright and casualties mounting, the Nor artillery commander withdrew, abandoning much if his equipment.

  “Cease fire!” Parno ordered and runners relayed the orders to the gunnery stations. Cheering once again erupted along the line as the Soulan troopers taunted the Nor across the way. Parno allowed himself to smile slightly.

  Let them enjoy it while they can, he told himself. It will be otherwise soon enough.

  Parno and Darvo watched the wood line for most of an hour until the darkness enveloped them entirely, preventing them from seeing. Finally, Parno sighed. It was doubtful that the Nor would attempt an all-out attack in the night over the treacherous terrain to their front.

  He and his men had bought one day, at least, for Soulan. One precious day in the life of his kingdom.

  Tomorrow would be another day, however. Another day entirely.

  *****

  The various commanders gathered around Parno’s small fire later than night, elated over the day’s events. Parno quickly snuffed that elation.

  “We’ve had a good day, yes,” he agreed, “but that was nothing. A few artillery salvos and one broken attack by fewer men than we actually had on the line…and that by one over eager cavalry commander. Make no mistake, gentlemen, this was the easiest day we’re going to have in this battle.”

  The assembled men grew somber at that, realizing that Parno was right. It was one thing to allow the rank and file to celebrate such an easy victory. Quite another for men who knew better to allow themselves to be fooled.

  “I expect the Nor to make a determined attack, in force, come dawn tomorrow,” Parno told them. “During the night I would not be surprised to see their scouts attempt to close on our lines. That’s why I ordered the fires lit.”

  One hundred yards out from the line, almost a third of the way to the Nor position, small bonfires were burning in the night. Scouts had slipped over the lines at dusk, lighting the pyres that had already been stacked for just that purpose. Others were left unlit, on the hope that there would be a need for them the following night. If they survived, of course.

  Another line burned closer, only fifty yards out. Parno hoped that these fires would allow his lookouts to spot Nor scouts or spies attempting to creep up on his lines while also destroying the enemy’s night vision. It might not work but there was nothing lost in trying, he reasoned.

  “Come morning, I want the men ready to go one full hour before dawn. That means mess has to commence early. I want to try and get them a hot meal since lunch is likely to be a slab of beef on dry bread—if we have time for anything.” The others nodded, agreeing.

  “We’ll leave the lines as they are for now,” Parno continued. “Colonel Landers has used his time this afternoon to organize the smaller units and the volunteers into a battalion sized unit. Major Kender,” Parno indicated the newest addition to these command meetings, “is senior, and has assumed command of the unit. They will man the second line tomorrow.” Kender nodded, having already received his orders earlier.

  “We’ll be pressed hard tomorrow, gentlemen, unless I am sorely mistaken,” the young Prince warned. “Expect a hard
push right off. In his position, I would seek to simply overpower us. He has numbers on his side and he knows it. If they can hit us in succeeding lines they stand a better than even chance of overpowering us.”

  “In the event that the front line is compromised, archers will withdraw first, followed by swordsmen and pike-men. Captain Lars, if we’re threatened with a line breach, your men will have to move the ballistae at once or we’ll lose them. In the event they can’t be saved, I want them destroyed or disabled in place. The last thing we need is to have them used against us.” Lars nodded, already having worked out a plan to save his front line weapons. All the other artillery was safely behind the second line.

  “Should we lose the first line,” Parno went on, “then holding the second line at the end of the day is vital. We lack the strength to retake the first line. If it falls then the Nor will have a better chance of getting their artillery into the battle and that could well decide the battle against us. So we try to hold the front line as best we can. But,” he warned, emphasizing his point with an extended finger, “not at all costs. We will not sacrifice our men to hold that line.” He looked at each man in turn before continuing.