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

by N. C. Reed

  “I think it’s near time, Darvo,” Parno finally said, hating every word.

  “That it is, lad,” Darvo nodded. He turned to the waiting runners.

  “Gather your things, take all the gear from here and report to the secondary command post. Hurry now.” The men needed no urging. Nor arrows were already falling around the tower.

  Parno dropped to the ground where Berry and his guard waited. The sergeant looked apprehensive.

  “Milord, we should get you back from here,” he said calmly.

  “Nonsense,” Parno scoffed. “We left the tower because it was so exposed. Our men are about to leave the first line, retreating behind this one. I can’t be out of touch when that happens. Keep your men down, so much as possible. There is a chance,” he added, “that the Nor will be able to pursue quickly and try to carry this line as well. We cannot allow that to happen.”

  “Yes Sir.” Berry acknowledged. He looked unhappy at that, but would not object. Darvo came down the stairs last.

  “The tower’s empty,” he informed Berry. “No one is to go up again.” Berry nodded and ordered two of his men into place to guard the tower. Parno scrambled to where he could see over the second berm, eying the withdrawal.

  The ballistae were already coming into the line with Moore’s men in place to cover the others. He turned to his artillery runner.

  “Order Captain Lars to commence firing,” he yelled. Without waiting for a response he turned to the front.

  “FALL BACK!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “ALL UNITS, FALL BACK!”

  Landers and Karls Willard both began withdrawing their men by companies, with archers falling back first to cover the others. Parno watched pensively, hoping that everything went according to plan.

  Sensing that the Soulan line was weakening, the Nor redoubled their efforts, forcing men over top of one another in an attempt to get inside the line and keep the Soulan troopers from retiring. The battle turned desperate for Soulan for a minute as much of the fighting fell to hand-to-hand combat. Swords clashed and shields beat as one force tried to overwhelm the other. Roland’s ‘B’ company lofted their flight of explosive arrows which cut deep into the Nor front lines, but more enemy soldiers appeared to replace those who had fallen.

  Just when Parno was sure all was lost, Lars launched his first salvo. A ripple of explosions fell just outside the first line, literally walking its way down the line. The continuous boom of exploding rounds stunned the Nor long enough to allow most of the troops to disengage. They, in turn, aided their fellows in putting down the most stubborn of the Nor troops, then ran for the second line.

  Crossbows twanged all along the second line as the Provisional Battalion and the 12th Kent Militia sent their bolts into the pursuing Nor. Archers behind the line began to rain arrows on the enemy and the front ranks again seemed to stagger, men falling in droves with each volley.

  Another string of explosions, these falling just inside the front line, wrought complete havoc with the Nor soldiers who had made it inside the perimeter. Between the artillery and the archery, the advance stopped cold, with men running about in a panic.

  The Soulan troopers took full advantage of that, hurrying inside the traps designed to allow passage outside of the second berm. Covered by a final walking salvo of explosions, these once again outside the perimeter, the remainder of Parno’s command managed to escape, pouring through the siege gates and into the second line of defense.

  But the danger was not passed.

  There were still five more full ranks of Nor coming and the Soulan troopers had no time to spare. Hurrying onto the line, the survivors of the first line joined those on the second line, forming a strong position where men stood literally shoulder to shoulder.

  “Keep a sharp eye out for their artillery!” Parno called to his lookouts. With the front line fallen, Nor artillery might have a chance to deploy. He wanted to prevent that if he could.

  Running up and down the line, Parno surveyed his men and their deployments. Satisfied with what he saw, he made his way to a high point on the third line where he could see marginally better and had a better over-all view of the battlefield.

  The Nor were streaming inside the old line now, reforming on the move to hit the second line as hard as they could. A brief tinge of disappointment passed through Parno at the thought of losing that first line. He had desperately wanted to hold that line for the entire day, even if he’d had to abandon it after dark. He shrugged mentally. He’d done what he could with what he had.

  Soulan archery was taking a harsh toll now, laying droves of Norland infantry low with every volley. Parno watched closely, wondering how much more the Nor could endure. Surely they were near their breaking point.

  That thought made him re-examine his own command. How many of them were near to breaking? As he studied them, however, Parno realized that his men were not in such straits. True, they were tired, some even near exhaustion, but they were holding firm and showing no signs of panic.

  As the Nor closed on the new line, Soulan troopers once more mounted the parapet, swords in hand, to repel them. For a few desperate moments Parno worried that this line would fall as well, but the second line was shorter, more compact, than the first and almost all of his troops were now on the line. With more swords per foot than before, the Soulanies were better suited to holding this line, even against a determined attack, and the Nor they were fighting were no longer so determined.

  “Have Captain Lars lay a line of regular shot inside the first line,” Parno ordered the artillery runner. “Have the ballistae began firing as soon as they’re on line,” he ordered another. “Tell Captain Moore to hold his men in readiness for now, behind the main line,” he instructed yet another. All three ran to obey. Parno turned his attention back to the line.

  The press of Nor bodies was beginning to ease, he noticed. Their casualties had been horrendous so far, their strength sapped in taking the first line of defenses. Just as Parno began to feel confident about their chances, Darvo grabbed his shoulder.

  “A new division coming, lad!” he yelled, pointing beyond the current battle. Parno followed his finger, seeing new ranks of Nor emerging from the trees. Files after file of fresh troops. Dismayed, he turned to Darvo.

  “Can the men keep fighting like this?” he asked.

  “They’ve no choice, lad,” Darvo told him. “They’ll keep at it.” Parno nodded, and turned to his artillery runner.

  “Inform Captain Lars to begin taking the new lines under fire with explosive rounds.” The young man nodded and headed to the artillery line.

  “If we can beat them up before they get here, then their weight may not hurt us so badly,” he told Darvo, who nodded.

  “Worth a try,” He said.

  Parno looked out over the battle now raging much closer to the Fort. His men had performed brilliantly so far, but how long could they face such continuous combat?

  How long could they keep the Nor at bay? And would it be long enough to matter?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Memmnon read Parno’s report for a second time, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the impending disaster it warned of.

  He tried to warn us, Memmnon thought. We should have listened.

  He hurried along the hallway to his father’s apartments. 1st Corps had already left Nasil, Therron at its head, on the way to reinforce General Davies. The situation in Western Kent was dire, to say the least. General Raines was holding in Shelby for now, having prevented a river crossing four days earlier, but he had warned that the Wild Folk had assistance from at least two Nor divisions and he didn’t have the troops to patrol the length of the Great River in order to prevent a boat crossing such as the one that had overwhelmed Davies in Kent.

  As a result, 5th Corps was moving west, to take up a position in Misi province, near Vix, a moderate sized city and river port. Once there, they could take over patrolling the Great River for much of the area south of Shelby. General Herrick
, commanding 5th Corps, would need most of a week to get into position, pushing his men and horses beyond all reason to do so that quickly and it would take days longer to establish patrols covering the river.

  Memmnon shook his head. Everything was happening too fast. There was no time to try and regroup or to plan a strong counterattack. All Soulan could do was react to what the Nor were doing.

  And now this.

  He arrived at his father’s office and walked in unannounced. Tammon looked up, startled, from his consultation with several of his closest advisers.

  “Memmnon?”

  “We need to talk, father,” Memmnon informed him. “At once. It cannot wait,” he added when his father indicated the men seated around his desk. Tammon eyed his son for a moment, then nodded.

  “Excuse us for a moment, please gentlemen,” he ordered. The various ministers gathered their valises and left the room. Once they were alone, Tammon turned to his oldest son.

  “This had better be important,” he warned. Memmnon thrust the letter toward his father.

  “Oh, it’s important, all right,” he commented. “This is from Parno.” Tammon’s face grew taunt.

  “Memmnon, I haven’t the time to read his litany of complaints about. . . .”

  “READ IT!” Memmnon almost screamed. The door to Tammon’s office burst open at once as two guards reacted to the outburst.

  “GET OUT!” Memmnon did scream at them. “See that no one disturbs us!” The guards looked to the King, who nodded, eyeing his son as if he’d never seen him before. Without another word, he took the letter and began to read.

  “Memmnon,

  Word has reached me that a large force of Nor troopers approaching fifty thousand strong has been detached from the forces currently battling General Davies and are heading for the Gap of Cumberland. I have moved my regiment to the Gap and am currently preparing to defend it. There are less than four thousand of us all totaled, but we are erecting barricades and earthworks in preparation for a stand. Units are currently in the field trying to slow the advance of the enemy and I will join one of them shortly to see things for myself. If the reports are correct, and I believe that they are, then we have at most a week and likely less before they are upon us. It is unlikely that we will be able to hold for long, brother. The numbers are simply too great. We will hold as long as possible, however, and bleed this enemy force as badly as we can.

  Once they are into the Gap. . . .well, you know as well as I do what that will mean. I feel confident that we can give you at least two days and perhaps even three. After that, every minute we buy you is a gift. Use it wisely.

  Good luck, Memmnon, in the days ahead. This war is unlike any of the previous attacks on our land. I think that the Nor are determined to conquer us this time and willing to pay the price to do it.

  Parno”

  Tammon looked up from the letter, eyes wide in comprehension. His mouth worked to try and speak, but no words would come.

  “Parno is going to die,” Memmnon said quietly. “He warned us not to ignore this threat and we did. Therron is riding even now to reinforce General Davies and may even be there already while the forces against him are depleted from sending this army into the Gap—an army that no one but Parno and a handful of militia are in a position to stop. We have blundered.”

  “Send word to Therron immediately,” Tammon ordered, his voice trembling. “Tell him to move at once to the Gap and defend it at all costs.”

  “It will take two days for word to reach him,” Memmnon sighed. He’d already done the math. “Even then he will likely argue, which will take further time…and he will move slowly, against his will.”

  “I’ll send the runner,” Tammon declared. “He won’t argue with me!”

  “No?” Memmnon asked, eyebrows raised. “Perhaps not,” he nodded. “Let us hope so, at any rate. Because if he does, and Parno fails, then this war is all but over.”

  Tammon summoned his personal courier and dictated a quick set of orders. Memmnon watched, his mind working. Was there any way to get help to Parno in time? If there was, he couldn’t see it.

  After the runner had gone, Tammon looked out his window for a time, silence laying heavy between father and son. Finally the older man turned.

  “I’m going to the Gap,” Tammon said quietly. “I will take whatever forces are still in the city and my personal regiment. If we ride hard we can be there in three days.”

  “You cannot be serious!” Memmnon was alarmed. “We’re at war, Father! Your place is here, like it or not.”

  “My place is with my son,” Tammon said softly. “I have wronged him in so many ways. . . .” He looked at Memmnon with haunted eyes.

  “I haven’t been a father to him at all,” he admitted for the first time in his life. “The least I can do is try to get there before. . . .”

  “Before he dies?” Memmnon asked scathingly. “A bit late for sentiment, Milord. He has tried for years to win our love or even just our respect. Despite everything we’ve done and said to him he is about to give his life for us and for this Kingdom. Whatever your feelings, you cannot simply ride out and join him. There is a war to be fought.”

  “You can see to those things as well as I,” Tammon told him flatly. “Perhaps better, since you tried to tell me not to ignore Parno.” Tammon tugged on the rope that would summon his personal servant.

  “I leave the Kingdom in your hands, Memmnon,” Tammon said formally. “You are the Crown Prince. It will be for you to do someday. Perhaps I can help your brother save something for you to rule. Gather whatever troops you can lay hands to and have them ready to ride in one hour. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

  *****

  “Do you understand my orders?” Tammon asked. The man before him was his personal Royal Courier, one of the most trusted men in Tammon’s Court.

  “I do, My King,” the man bowed stiffly. “Your instructions will be followed to the letter.”

  “I know,” Tammon spared the man a rare smile. “I hope I’m wrong, of course, but . . . .”

  “There is much at risk, sire,” the courier agreed.

  “Off with you then,” Tammon ordered suddenly, all business again. The Courier spurred his horse, a truly magnificent animal, and shot away, galloping toward 1st Corps. Tammon watched him out of sight then turned to his own horse.

  Memmnon had used the time Tammon had taken to dictate his messages to turn out the House Guard and Tammon’s personal regiment, along with every other soldier he could lay hands to quickly. When Tammon departed, the only military unit worthy of the name still in Nasil would be Memmnon’s personal regiment. They would be responsible for protecting the palace in the absence of the House Guard.

  “All is in readiness, Father,” Memmnon said quietly, coming up behind his father. Tammon looked down from his saddle and nodded.

  “Many of the troops are in wagons,” Memmnon warned. “Sufficient horses couldn’t be gotten on such short notice.”

  “They’ll be fighting on foot, anyway, I’d imagine,” Tammon shrugged. He leaned down, offering Memmnon his hand.

  “Good luck, son,” he said softly. “In the event I don’t return, I’m afraid my troubles will become yours.”

  “You will return,” Memmnon replied with more confidence than he felt. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

  Enri Willard rode up just then.

  “The House Guard is ready, milords,” he reported. Colonel Strong, commander of Tammon’s personal regiment was right behind him.

  “We’re mounted and ready to ride, sire,” he stated.

  “Let’s be off, then,” Tammon ordered. “Time is precious, gentlemen. Waste not a minute of it.”

  *****

  Tammon’s courier rode all through the night. He stopped briefly, twice, at courier stations to exchange mounts, wolfing down sandwiches at each stop with hot coffee to ward off the cold. Otherwise, he rode steadily, following the road with little trouble.

  As a result,
he rode into the camps of 1st Corps just short of two days after leaving Nasil. As the King’s Courier, he was escorted directly to the Lord Marshall. He placed the King’s orders in his hands, then stood back to wait.

  Therron McLeod looked at the message in his hands, his face showing both anger and disbelief.

  “And this came from the King, himself?” he asked the Royal Courier. Therron wanted to make sure the order came directly from his father and not from Memmnon.

  “I waited as the King dictated the message, sire,” the courier nodded.

  “I want clarification on this before I act on it,” Therron said suddenly. “I’m not about to up and move my entire command based on the word of Parno!”