by N. C. Reed
“Lad, you do not need to be here!” the rumbling voice of Brenack Wysin sounded in his ear. “It’s among them you're most needed!”
“There’s nothing left for me to do there, my friend,” Parno replied, deftly parrying a Nor sword at the same time. Before he could slash back, Wysin’s mighty hammer fell on the Nor soldier’s head, crushing it. Parno looked at the smith, stunned.
“I said I had no skill with a blade,” Wysin smirked. “I used a hammah all my life, milord.”
“Thanks,” Parno grinned back and turned his attention back to the front. Only he wasn’t in the front anymore. Taking advantage of his brief distraction, three of the Black Sheep had moved to place themselves between Parno and the Nor. He frowned at that, but a hand fell on his shoulder before he could object.
“Milord!” Karls Willard shouted. “Walk the line! Let the men see you and know you’re safe!” Parno nodded dumbly, not having thought about that. He immediately began moving inside the box, up one line and down the other.
“That’s the spirit, boys!” he shouted and the soldiers cheered in spite of their predicament.
“Hold ’em as long as we can, milord!” one shouted back without turning. Giving deed to his words, he used his shield to slice the throat of a Nor who had gotten too close.
Parno nodded in satisfaction.
They had lost, true. But they were not yet beaten.
Not quite yet.
*****
“Why is it taking so long?” Brasher demanded of no one in particular. One of his aides galloped ahead to see what the problem was. He passed another aide, returning.
“General, sir,” the man reported. “The enemy have formed a box and refused their flanks. Brigadier Semmes reports that casualties are high, higher than expected that is, but he is confident that the position will be in our hands in minutes.”
“Tell him it damn well better be!” Brasher replied harshly. With that the aide whirled away, on his way back to the line. Brasher watched him go, seething. How could it take his tens of thousands of men so long to roll over a few thousand backwoods troops? He would have someone’s . . . .
“General,” his personal aide said in his ear. “We may have a problem.”
“What?” he yelled, looking wild-eyed at the man by his side. The aide wasn’t looking at him, however. As Brasher watched, the man lifted a hand, index finger extended.
Following the pointed finger, Brasher looked to see what the idiot was babbling. . . .
*****
Tammon McLeod took one look at the battle below and turned to the Generals behind him.
“Deploy your men at once, and hit their flank. Ride them down and pursue until the field is ours. Move!” Both men turned and started yelling. Tammon looked at Strong and Willard.
“Take your men and move to support and relieve the survivors,” he ordered more calmly. “They have to be near the end of their rope.”
“Aye, Milord.” Both men likewise began barking orders.
Two minutes later, the air once more filling with the sound of thundering hooves, a battle cry rose from more than ten thousand throats.
“SOULAN! McLEOD!”
Tammon watched them go, surrounded by his personal guard.
He prayed they were in time to save the few who remained.
*****
Parno was exhausted. His voice was almost gone and he was once again on the line, having stepped up to take the place of a fallen militia man when there was no one else to do the job. His sword arm was growing weary and he could only imagine how the men who had been fighting all day were feeling. There had to be a limit to. . . .
“Milord!” Karls Willard was grasping his shoulder. “Look!” Parno followed Karls outstretched finger, looking back to the west. There, in all their glory, came thousands of Soulan horsemen.
“My God!” Parno breathed. He hadn’t expected any help. To see them now, when all was lost, was almost too much. As he watched, however, the troopers kept coming.
And coming.
“It’s 1st Corps!” Karls shouted. “And look there! The King’s Own!”
Sure enough, his father’s personal regiment was thundering down upon his own position, along with what looked like the House Guard.
A Nor swordsman who hadn’t seen the approaching reinforcements, took advantage of Parno’s distraction and slashed across at the young prince. Parno’s reflexes reacted on their own, but he knew he was too slow. He watched as the sword fell, almost in slow motion.
Only to be stopped cold by a hammer. A very large hammer. As the Nor soldier stood there, stunned, a slim sword blade flicked out from Parno’s other side, and disemboweled the man. He fell with the look of shock locked permanently upon his face. Parno turned to see Brenack Wysin and Cho Feng both standing there, smiling.
“You can’t keep outta trouble, can ya lad?” Wysin smiled gently, then proceeded to hammer a Nor soldier into the ground effortlessly. Cho met two more who were coming and both fell in seconds, one beheaded, the other sliced almost in half.
“We cannot have you make it this far, then lose you, my prince,” Cho threw over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” Parno mumbled. He didn’t know what else to say.
“Welcome, milord,” Wysin nodded, not taking his eyes from the battlefield.
Suddenly the Nor were moving away. No, Parno decided, not so much moving as being pushed. Pushed away from the ragged band of men who had fought an entire Nor army to a standstill in the wild back lands of Soulan.
The King’s Own and the House Guard ran amok among the dismounted Nor, hacking and thrusting with strength and determination. In less than a minute the two commands had interposed themselves between what remained of Parno’s men and the Nor. Enri Willard loomed over him out of the dust, grinning wildly.
“I see you’re still in trouble, milord!” he called, then saw his brother.
Enri reached down to grasp his younger brother’s arm. “I’m glad to see you well, Karls,” he said quietly.
Karls grinned up at him, tiredly. “I’m glad to see you at all!” he replied, and the elder Willard laughed.
“I have work to do, but I’ll see you in a bit,” he promised, then turned his horse to return to his own men. In the distance, Parno could see what could only be the divisions of 1st Corps hitting the Nor in the flank and driving them back.
The Nor, afoot due to the terrain between their camp and the battlefield, and caught in the open, were being slaughtered by the highly skilled Soulan troopers.
For the first time in days, Parno began to wonder what the rest of his life might be like.
And to think on how much this battle had cost him.
*****
“Sir, we can’t hold them,” Brasher’s aide said softly. “Wouldn’t it be better to try and save what we can?”
“We can’t be beaten!” Brasher screamed, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “We’re the superior people! The greater force! There is no way we can lose.”
“Sir, we’ve already lost,” his second in command entered the argument. “Our men are exhausted and theirs are fresh. Ours are on foot, theirs are mounted. We have lost.”
“We have not lost!” Brasher screamed, turning to face the two. . .traitors. He drew his sword.
“I’ll kill the next man who mutters such drivel!”
But General Brasher, in his need to see the crushing defeat of his enemy, had ventured too close to the battle. He saw his aide’s eyes widen in terror and had time to realize what must have happened.
Then his head flew from his shoulders, cleaved by the sharp sword of an inferior Soulan trooper, whose mates charged hard after the General’s party.
The Nor 3rd Field Army had been routed. Now it was headless.
General Brasher would not be called upon to answer to the Emperor for his failure. He would not be called upon at all.
Ever again.
*****
“Let’s get the wounded seen to,” Parno ordered his
men. He looked over the carnage that had once been his force, and tried not to let his dismay show. So many good men.
“It is the way of war, Parno,” Cho said softly, and Parno chuckled bitterly.
“One day, you’re going to have to tell me how you do that.”
“What?” Cho asked.
“Know what I’m thinking.”
“You are not the first man I have watched lead men in war for the first time, Parno,” Cho told him. “I have seen it before. It is not so hard to know what is in your mind.”
“Good thing that Nor General didn’t know,” he laughed outright at that.
“Son?” a voice called.
Parno froze at that, and turned slowly. He saw his father, astride his great horse, looking down at him.
“Hello, Sire,” Parno replied respectfully. “You shouldn’t be here, Father.”
“I’m still King,” Tammon replied gruffly, dismounting. “I go where I please.” He walked over to his son, looking him over from head to toe.
“You’ve done well, Parno,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you.”
“Proud of me,” Parno repeated the words tiredly. “Believe it or not, that’s not why I did this, father. I had a better reason than that to lead all these men to their deaths.” He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I did it for my people. For my land…and so did they.” He waved at the men littering the battlefield behind him.
“I know,” Tammon nodded respectfully. “I’m still proud of you. I’m sure Darvo is as well. Where is he?”
Parno’s stiffness left him at that. He fought to keep his face neutral and managed to do it, barely.
“Colonel Darvo Nidiad has fallen in battle,” he reported evenly. “Killed in action just this morning, late.” Tammon’s face fell.
“I’m so very sorry, my son,” he murmured, and went to embrace his youngest son.
Parno rebuffed that embrace, however. “If you will excuse me, Sire, I need to see to my men. I didn’t spend enough time training them and I fear they have suffered for that. My complete report will be finished as soon as possible, but I commend to you Colonel Brian Landers, commander of this garrison, who fell in the line of duty, protecting his post. He should be recognized for his bravery.”
Without another word, Parno turned away. Tammon, pain etched on his face, watched him go. He turned to Cho Feng.
“Give him time, King McLeod,” the oriental war master told him. “He is hurting and not just from the loss of Colonel Nidiad. He feels every death among the men who followed him as if he had, himself, took their life. It weighs upon him heavily.” He smiled. “But he will bear it well. He has the mark of a great man. A very great man.”
“I hope so,” Tammon replied without thinking. “Because I’m going to need him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Parno McLeod stood on the porch of his home inside Cove Canton. He was wearing his dress uniform along with his ceremonial sword. There were no decorations on his uniform although both the King and the Crown Prince had tried to convince him to accept medals for his work at the Gap, but Parno had flatly refused. He couldn’t bring himself to accept awards for something that had left so many of his men dead. He didn’t deserve them anyway, he figured.
Which brought him to the final piece of business where the Gap was concerned.
Sighing, he placed his cap on his head and began the slow walk out of the abandoned encampment.
*****
What remained of the Black Sheep, and it wasn’t much Parno noted sadly, were assembled in two lines outside the gate of the Canton. The line was extended by the survivors of the other units involved in the defense of the Gap. A new unit, the Tinsee 3rd Infantry, was already on post at the gap, rebuilding the defenses and garrisoning the post.
Parno stopped at the gate next to Karls Willard. He nodded to the young bugler across from him and the nervous young man lifted his horn to his lips. The notes of the call were clear and sweet in the cool mountain air.
Slowly a caisson drawn by six horses emerged from the Canton, a single coffin in back. The driver was resplendent in dress uniform. Behind the caisson walked Dahlia Nidiad, along with Edema Willows, both dressed in black, with veils.
“Render Honors! FRONT!” Willard commanded. The entire line snapped to a salute and held it as the caisson slowly made its way down the line. Parno and Karls fell in with Dahlia and Edema as the caisson eased past them. Soldiers down the line dropped their salutes as the wagon passed by, falling into trail in column of four.
Following Colonel Darvo Nidiad one last time.
*****
The ceremony at the grave site was short. Tammon McLeod himself was in attendance, as was Crown Prince Memmnon. Neither had been asked to speak. Neither had protested.
Parno stood silently by Dahlia’s side as the Regimental Chaplain read from the bible over the casket that carried his oldest friend and faithful mentor.
“What will I do now, Darvo?” Parno asked thoughtfully. “Where will I go when I need advice? Turn to when I’m in trouble? Who will bail me out when I screw up?”
There was no answer to these questions, of course. There was no one to answer them anymore.
Parno gave his attention back to the ceremony as the honor guard came forward. Slowly, with the reverence usually reserved for heads of state, they lowered their commander’s body into the grave. Finally, mercifully, it was over. Willard dismissed the men and turned to Dahlia. The two of them had become close over the time spent in Cove Canton and Parno suspected that Karls would like nothing more than to marry the young woman. If so, Parno doubted that Darvo would have protested.
Parno caught Edema’s eye and nodded to Karls. She smiled briefly, returning his nod, and invited Karls to accompany them back to the house. Dahlia would soon be moving to Cumberland House, under Edema’s care. It wasn’t too far from here, Parno thought, and Karls could easily make the. . . .
He broke off that train of thought, remembering that there was still a great war being waged. One that Soulan wasn’t winning. Dahlia might lose Karls, as well, before it was over, and they might lose the war.
Parno sighed in despair, turning his gaze to the valley beneath them. It really was beautiful country, he decided. A man with a future could take a small farm here, raise cows or horses, marry and have fat babies. Live a wonderful, peaceful life. Except for the Nor, of course. Without any conscious thought, he began walking toward the edge of the hillside, a sharp drop off. There was a small trail there which took him up onto the higher ridge, just a hundred yards or so walk.
Once there he took a seat on the ground, knees drawn up, hands gathered together in front of his boots. He’d come a long way Parno decided, sitting there on that mountain top. From the ‘playboy prince’ to a soldier. A leader of soldiers. He, with the help of others, had recruited and trained a regiment of fighting men that had no equal in modern times.
Then he had all but destroyed it in just a few days, fighting over a piece of ground too small for much more than a garden, perhaps a house and barn, and a few horses. Suddenly, the grief was too much for a prince not yet twenty-one years old and tears leaked from his eyes. Before he knew it he was sobbing uncontrollably, his face held in his hands.
“Oh God, Darvo, I am so sorry!” he almost wailed. It came out as little more than a harsh whisper, his throat constricted by the sobs of grief that wracked his body and closed his throat. He had not allowed himself to cry since he was seven years old. Refusing to allow his family to see the sadness that enveloped him as a result of the hostility that he had grown up surrounded by.
Now, a lifetime of grief poured out of him as he sat alone.
For he was now truly alone. The only person who had ever loved him, ever taken care of him, was gone, and it was as much his fault as it had been the Nor. Darvo hadn’t wanted to be a part of the regiment but Parno had insisted, badgered him into it. He’d had no idea at the time that a great war loomed on the horizon.
And, if he was honest, he had never imagined that Darvo Nidiad was anything but indestructible. He had always been there. Always.
But not anymore, Parno thought to himself. One more thing I can take credit for.
“My Prince?” he heard Cho Feng call. Quickly drying his tears, Parno took a second to try and compose himself.
“Over here, Cho,” he called softly, trying to keep his voice firm. The smaller man appeared a few seconds later. He stood there, looking down at Parno for a moment, then folded his legs underneath him, taking a seat beside his young Lord.
