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

by N. C. Reed

  “That won’t last,” Parno predicted. “They’ll keep coming.”

  “Aye,” Darvo nodded grimly, “but they’ll pay for it.”

  And pay they did.

  Flight after flight of arrows soared across the Soulan line, landing among the struggling Nor. Soulan artillery lofted round after round against those out of bow-shot, tearing into follow on ranks. Parno felt a brief surge of hope as the battle raged and still the Nor were largely kept off the line. A few hardy Nor managed to reach the barricades at times, only to be put down by crossbow or sword.

  “I think we’ve. . . .” Darvo’s comment was cut off as several large boulders hit the Soulan lines. Landing behind the barricades, the stones wreaked havoc on the bowline, crushing dozens of men as they went.

  The Nor artillery had taken the field. Parno’s glass flew to his eye as he strained to see the enemy position in the dim light.

  “Order Lars to engage that artillery!” Darvo screamed over the cries of pain and confusion around them. A runner took off in the direction of the artillery, but Lars had already made provisions for this.

  Four catapults had remained silent during the battle, unengaged. Now Lars went to those crews and issued swift orders. Within seconds, two half-barrels of pitch and two exploding rounds were on their way across the battlefield. Arcing high above the enemy troops, these rounds landed on or near the Nor artillery, peppering them with the blazing pitch and iron shards from the bombs. Two Nor artillery pieces were destroyed outright, with another one heavily damaged. Still another was awash in flames.

  “That was fast,” Darvo murmured, but another Nor salvo was on its way and once again oversize boulders and a shower of smaller rocks rained down on the Soulan troopers. Parno could only watch in fury as his men were now on the receiving end of the same hell he himself had unleashed on his opponents men.

  Medics and hospital bearers hurried among the fallen, looking for those who still lived. There were far too few of them as the heavy boulders left little life in their path.

  Lars launched another return salvo, but the shots were not nearly so effective as the first, having been laid in haste. One Nor catapult took the brunt of two exploding rounds, while another caught one half-barrel. The other fell harmlessly between the enemy artillery crews.

  “Damn it!” Parno swore. “Have Lars direct more fire at the enemy artillery,” he ordered a runner. “If we don’t knock them off line soon, they’re going to tear us apart.”

  But Lars had his own troubles. A new volley of Nor artillery walked through the rear of the Soulan position, striking the artillery area. In under a minute Lars had lost three catapults and two trebuchets, effectively cutting his firepower by one third.

  Yet the artillery men were not deterred by the loss of their fellows. With scarcely a missed beat, their pieces let fly, again lofting rounds high over the Soulan lines and far down field. Half the rounds were exploding, the other half flaming pitch. As soon as the rounds were launched, Lars ordered everything reloaded with boulders. Even as the new volley of fire reached out for the enemy, hands frantically cranked pieces back into firing position.

  This time, their aim was better.

  The Nor still had over twenty pieces of artillery in operation against the Soulan lines, despite their earlier losses and those of this morning. The Soulan rounds fell among them with a vengeance.

  Half of the Nor artillery was destroyed outright as machines broke and buckled. Several were set ablaze as pitch barrels landed squarely atop catapults or trebuchets. Even where the piece itself failed to ignite, the ropes used to fire the heavy artillery pieces were burned through and the tar soaked ropes burned hot enough to ignite the wood.

  The remainder of the Nor artillery was damaged to one degree or another, as iron shards cut ropes and killed crews. Flaming pitch set fires all around the positions and splashed across artillery men. Worse, the Nor had been about to launch a round of pitch themselves.

  As General Brasher watched in silent fury, a Nor artillery man, burning like a beacon on the coast, stumbled into the barrels of pitch setting ready to fire. One was knocked over, spreading pitch everywhere among the barrels. In seconds the entire supply was ablaze, the heat enough to sear nearby crews and melt or damage the iron parts on the Nor catapults and trebuchets.

  “That’s givin’ it to ’em!” Darvo yelled in delight. Parno looked over at his mentor grinning only to see Darvo Nidiad looking down at a Nor arrow protruding from his chest, as if wondering how it had gotten there.

  “Lad?”

  “Darvo!” Parno screamed, grabbing the older man as he collapsed. He lowered Darvo carefully to the floor.

  “Get a stretcher!” he screamed at the runners. Half of them ran off in a bunch to retrieve a stretcher.

  “Can’t. . .leave the battle, boy,” Darvo gasped. “Men n. . .need direction.”

  “They can do fine until I see you cared for,” Parno said sternly.

  “Get back to your post, boy!” Darvo ordered harshly. “You’ll see more than me fall before this day is gone. Your job is to lead. Now lead!”

  Parno blinked at Darvo’s harsh tone.

  “He tells you what is true,” Cho said softly, kneeling by Darvo’s other side. “You cannot help him. You can help your men, young Prince. You must do your duty. I will watch over him until the doctor arrives.”

  “Have me carried down,” Darvo objected. “Get me out of here and make him run this battle.”

  “I. . .I can’t, Darvo,” Parno almost whispered. “I’m not you. I don’t. . . .”

  “Shut that talk!” Darvo cut him off. “You’ve been doin’ it! You just won’t have me to fall back on now so make sure you do things right the first time. Now you get ba. . .back on that line, before I kick your pompous little ass!” Darvo was struggling to breath now and blood flecked around his mouth.

  “You must get back,” Cho ordered, more sternly than before. “He is killing himself talking to you. Return to your post, Prince of Soulan.”

  Parno hesitated for another second or two, looking from one man to the other. He realized that Darvo was right. He couldn’t leave the battle with no direction and Cho was right that there was nothing that he, Parno, could do for Darvo’s wound.

  “All right,” he sighed. “I. . .you take care, Darvo. You have to have permission to die.”

  “Think th. . .that might be bey. . .yond what you ca. . .can make happen, son,” Darvo almost smiled. “You watch yourself.” With that Parno nodded and motioned for the runners to get the Colonel off the tower.

  “Be easy and carry him to the Fort. Have Doctor Corsin see to him as soon as she’s found.” With that, Parno turned his attention back to the battle before him.

  He had work to do.

  *****

  Tammon McLeod resisted the mighty urge to bellow in anger as he once more turned to see the slow moving column behind him. They were near the Gap, now. Perhaps twenty miles distant at most. He seethed with the slowness of the movement, though he knew that the wagons were doing their best in the rough terrain. Enri Willard watched his King for a moment.

  “Milord, we’re moving fairly well. . . .” he started.

  “I know,” Tammon cut him off, “and I have not said anything, Enri. I am just anxious.”

  “I know, sire,” Willard nodded in sympathy. “I. . . .” he trailed off as he heard a distant rumble. Instinctively, he looked toward the sky.

  “Was that thunder?” Tammon asked, also looking skyward.

  “I. . .I don’t know, sire,” Enri admitted, his voice puzzled as he scanned the sky. “I can’t see a cloud anywhere in the sky but it did sound like. . . .” Once more Willard trailed off as the rumble was heard again and this time a slight tremble was felt for just a second.

  “An earthquake?” Tammon’s voice revealed his puzzlement.

  “I don’t think so, sire,” Willard shrugged helplessly. “Surely a shaker would not be so intermittent and would last longer.” Tammon nodded
in thoughtful agreement.

  “Then what in blazes are we hearing?”

  Willard had no answer for that. McLeod turned suddenly, beckoning to the Lieutenant commanding the first troop in the line. The young man raced to his King.

  “Milord?”

  “Take your men and patrol ahead,” Tammon ordered. “See if you can determine the source of that. . .whatever that was.” The young man nodded his head slightly in respect, then raced away. In less than a minute his men were following him down the trail, heading out away from the column at a good gait.

  “Enri, ride back along the column,” Tammon said suddenly. “We’re picking up the pace. Everyone is to keep up as best they can, but we’re moving. I want us into the Gap no later than nightfall. Before if possible.”

  “Yes, Milord,” Willard inclined his head and hurried to inform the column.

  Restless and angry, Tammon McLeod resumed his march to relieve his son.

  ****

  “Milord, Captain Lars’ compliments and we are down to three salvos of the special rounds. He wished to know if you want him to save them or use them now.”

  Parno sighed at the news, looking to the sky. It was only about noon and that meant several hours of light remained. He had known that he was using too many of Roda’s bombs, but they had been the only thing keeping the Nor from crashing over the Soulan lines.

  “Order him to hold them in reserve,” Parno ordered reluctantly, “and to lower his fire, switching to stones.” The runner nodded and hurried to relay the orders.

  “We’re running out of time, Cho,” Parno grimaced. “I don’t think we can hold till dark. Even if we do,” he continued after a pause, “the Nor will likely continue their attack, even in the dark.”

  “I believe you are correct,” Cho nodded. “Yet, there is no alternative but to continue.”

  “I know,” Parno sighed. “I’ve tried to think of something that would help our chances, but I’ve played all my cards to hold this long.”

  “You might withdraw to the next lines,” Cho offered. “Those position are undamaged and would be stronger than these,” he nodded to the present line of defense. During the day the line had been breached more than once. Each time the reserve had managed to plug the holes, but the cost had been murderous. Parno doubted that he could hold another breach.

  “I don’t know if we can withdraw under this pressure,” Parno replied. “We could be caught moving and the Nor would destroy us.”

  “Might I make a suggestion?” Cho said softly.

  “I’m open to anything that gives us a chance,” Parno nodded. Cho spoke quietly for two minutes. Parno listened, wide-eyed at first, but with realization dawning as Cho went on. When he finished, Parno was nodding.

  “Get me Colonel Landers,” he ordered.

  *****

  “Are you out of your mind?” Landers almost screeched after Parno had outlined his plan. Parno shook his head.

  “No Colonel, I’m not. This is the only way to try and keep the fight going a bit longer. We can’t hold this line and you know that as well as I do—the damage to the defenses is too great. We have a line less than fifty yards behind us that is strong and undamaged.”

  “In order for us to withdraw in good order we have to relieve the pressure against us and this is the only way we can do that.”

  “It’s suicide,” Landers spat. “I won’t allow it! I can’t allow it!”

  “It’s not for you to allow or not,” Parno replied grimly. “I’m in command here, Colonel, and you have your orders.”

  “I won’t do it,” Landers said quietly. “I refuse.”

  Refusal of an officer to follow a Royal order was punishable by death and Landers knew it. He had also come to know Parno McLeod. The young Prince merely smiled.

  “You have to, Brian,” he spoke firmly but gently. “I need you to do this. You’re the only man for the job and it has to be done. It will be done. Am I clear?”

  Landers face reddened slightly at the mild rebuke. Finally, reluctantly, he nodded.

  “Fine,” he snapped. “For the record, I do this under protest. It’s wasteful, and wrong.”

  “I’ll see to it that your protest is logged,” Parno told him. Landers snorted at that and stomped away, fury boiling over at the orders he’d just received.

  “He will do fine,” Cho assured Parno, watching the Colonel go.

  “I know,” Parno nodded, his voice sad and weary. He was tired of telling me to die. Soon, he wouldn’t have to worry over it anymore.

  “Let’s get ready to go,” he said suddenly.

  *****

  Parno looked at what remained of his regiment. Many of the men still fighting were wounded to some degree or another. They were tired, dirty, covered in blood. By rights they should be near collapse.

  But they weren’t. Not only were they ready to go, they were eager.

  “I won’t make it an order,” Parno said, his voice carrying over the din of battle. “Anyone who does this will do it on their own decision. I wanted you to know how things lie.”

  “When do we go?” one man asked.

  “We’re ready,” another spoke up.

  “My boys are ready,” still another spoke up.

  “All right, then,” Parno nodded. “Form up and be ready. Colonel Landers will be the one to start things up.”

  *****

  Colonel Brian Landers looked over the line one last time, making sure that all was in readiness. This would be touch and go as it was. Satisfied that things were as good as he could make them, he nodded to his runners.

  “Prepare to disengage!” he bellowed and heard the call echoed up and down the line. The artillery as already gone, even now setting up behind the fourth and final line of defense. It was time to withdraw what was left of their men.

  Most of them. Landers’ anger threatened to surface again at Parno’s plan, but he shook it off. If he and his men were to survive he needed his wits about him.

  “Fall BACK!” he yelled above the din of battle. “FALL BACK!”

  All along the line units began withdrawing, archers falling back to the front of the next line, then the swordsmen falling back, shields up. The withdrawal was orderly, for now, but any minute the Nor would notice. . . .

  It happened at a span of barricade that had already failed once. Nor troopers tore and pulled at the structure until it gave way entirely and a gap of nearly twenty feet across appeared in the wall. Enemy troops poured in, pursuing the retreating Soulan warriors.

  Crossbows twanged and the front lines of Nor fell in heaps, bolts at this range penetrating so deep in many cases that the same bolt would strike a second man after exiting the first. Swordsmen braced for the weight of the rush, knowing they would not be able to contain it.

  “DOUBLE TIME!” Landers yelled. “INTO THE TRAPS!”

  Startled, the Soulan troopers wavered in confusion for several seconds, then turned and headed for the traps along the line that would allow them inside the barricades.

  The Nor troops, sensing victory at long last, streamed after them, hoping to catch the fleeing Soulan troopers before they could get behind their new line. Just as it seemed they would, a solid wall of swords and shields appeared within the flow of retreating southerners. Hesitating at the sight, the Nor looked on.

  Standing in front of the fleeing Soulan troops, the Black Sheep had formed a three deep wall of men, shields gleaming and swords threatening. In front of them stood three men.

  Parno McLeod smiled slightly at his enemy’s consternation, then raised his sword.

  “BLACK SHEEP! AT THEM!”

  With a wild yell of fury, fear, and raw power, the Black Sheep of Soulan surged forward into the wall of oncoming Nor troops.

  *****

  From his vantage point, General Brasher had seen the line breaking and watched as his troops poured into the Soulan interior lines.

  “Yes!” he had exclaimed quietly, watching. They had done it! The line was broken and
the enemy retreating in disorder. He turned to one of his runners, intending to send instructions that the Soulan troops were to be hammered as hard as possible. One of his aides grabbed the General’s arm, however.

  “Sir!” the man exclaimed. “The Southrons are. . .sir, they’re counterattacking!”

  “What?” Brasher whirled back to look at the battle line. “Impossible!”

  But they were counter attacking, at least some of them anyway. Incredibly, even as Brasher watched what looked like the remains of a single regiment stood before his teeming masses, blunting his attack.

  Brasher looked on as his troops hurled themselves at the phalanx of enemy soldiers over and over again, each time being repulsed. True, the enemy were falling as well, but their disciplined way of battle made it difficult to break them and protected them from harm to a great extent.