by N. C. Reed
“Mine came before it was even joined,” Beaumont nodded. “So it must be something else, unless Prince Parno is clairvoyant. In which case, we might just win this war,” he finished with a grin.
“We'll win, regardless,” Whipple stated firmly. “I might not have said that this morning,” he admitted. “But now? Now, I'm sure of it. We'll pay a heavy price to be sure, but we will win.”
“It does look better than it did just a couple days ago,” Beaumont agreed. He was watching the enemy through his glass. “They appear to be reforming, but there's no sign they intend to attack.” He made a snap decision and turned to his aide.
“I want our men scouring the battlefield for wounded,” he ordered. “Withdraw at the first sign of Nor attack. Don't wait for orders, just withdraw. Hurry now!” The aide turned to send runners away.
“Those aren't our orders,” Whipple said softly.
“I won't leave good men to the mercy of those heathen bastards,” Beaumont growled. “And we have time.”
No sooner had he said that when he heard a high pitched yelling from his left.
*****
“Northmans have failed,” Blue Dog said to his own subordinates. “Fight stupid, lose.” He watched as the Nor troopers withdrew, noting that there were a few Soulan troopers still on the field.
“We give Southmans battle?” one of his sub-chiefs asked, eyes almost glowing.
Blue Dog considered that. His position as War Chief was held because of his prowess in battle and the fact that he led his people to victory. Attacking now would not be good tactics but it would please his men. And pleasing his men was part of what kept him Chief.
“We attack,” he nodded. “Take hairs, take horses. One, maybe two pass, then withdraw. No need make Northmans jealous,” he grinned. The others returned it and hurried to their own groups.
Blue Dog had the equivalent of perhaps six companies of Nor cavalry with him, around eight hundred men, total. More than enough to take the flank of this group and allow his men to slake their thirst for blood.
A good day, he decided.
*****
Karls Willard had ordered the Black Sheep to withdraw after the flanking regiment assigned by his brother Enri had departed. For some reason Karls was uneasy. They had not seen any sign of the Tribesmen for some time and that worried him. They were uncanny warriors who specialized in striking from ambush. The woods and scrub cover on the army's left provided the perfect setting for their kind of warfare.
Now Karls sat his horse, watching how the rear-guard fared. His men were fairly well concealed at the moment and his own flank was secured by a squad of Parsons' best scouts. Their position was as secure as it could be outside their own lines.
“Sir, I think the rear-guard is going to search for wounded,” Simmons told him, pointing to where Soulan troopers could be seen moving back onto the battlefield. Willard resisted the urge to curse.
He of all people knew what it was to be forced to leave wounded on the field of battle. It was a sickening feeling for anyone and more so for a commander. But Parno's orders had been clear. The Army would withdraw at once when the call came. Technically Karls was violating those orders himself, but unlike most others he had a bit of leeway in what he did and when. He was commander of Parno's personal regiment and not assigned to any greater unit in the Soulan Army. Karls Willard answered directly to the Lord Marshal. Who also happened to be his best friend.
“This might be a mistake,” Karls began, but was cut off as the wood line erupted with howling savages. Hundreds of Tribal Horseman came boiling out of the woods, intent on attacking the Soulan units as they were divided to look for survivors.
“Double lines, lancers front!” Karls called at once and heard the Sheep behind him moving. “Company Commanders, call ready?”
“Ready!” came the cry from four different voices, in order. Calm. Assured.
“Charge!” Karls screamed at the top of his lungs, his own sword now in hand.
He and Parno had often wondered how the Sheep would fare against the Wildmen of the west. Karls figured this was as good a time as any to see.
*****
“What the hell!” Beaumont turned to see what was causing the commotion. Whipple ordered his men to reform at once, yelling for his commanders to engage the enemy at will. He recognized the horsemen as Tribal Cavalry, a hated and notorious enemy feared by his people far more than the Nor.
Beaumont realized that his men were caught in the open, separated and cut off. While his men outnumbered the attackers, they were spread across the battlefield searching for injured. They were also fatigued, having been in battle all morning. The Tribesmen shared none of those disadvantages.
Just as Beaumont was sinking into despair at what he had allowed to happen another sound came to his ears. That of still more charging horses, accompanied by a full bodied yell coming from several hundred throats.
“PARNO!!
As he watched, Beaumont saw two solid lines of well-dressed cavalry wearing the colors of the McLeod Dynasty hit the flank of the screaming savages unaware. Lances skewered horse and man alike as the front wave of Prince Parno's Own collided with the oncoming Wildmen. He would swear that a visible shock wave ran through the Tribal horseman as their own tactic was used against them.
A silent prayer of thanks on his lips, Beaumont gathered the men nearest him and rode to engage the enemy.
*****
Blue Dog could not hide his shock. One moment his men had been bearing down on a tired and disorganized enemy that looked ripe for the plucking, the next they themselves were being hit from the flank by a wave of green and black clad horsemen.
The Tribal War Chief looked on as his men were caught in a trap of their own making. A southern cavalry unit using their own tactics against them on an open battlefield. He had no idea where the unit had come from. He had seen the same unit earlier on the southern army's flank, but had watched them withdraw along with the rest. He'd had no idea they were anywhere nearby.
Not only were they nearby, they were very efficiently killing his men. Intent on their own attack against a tired and disorganized enemy, his warriors had never seen the attack coming.
And neither had he.
*****
Karls slapped a lance tip aside with his sword as he and the Black Sheep tore into the Wild's flank area. The warrior to his front looked shocked to see the Sheep and Karls couldn't help but smile as he plunged his sword into the other man's chest. The warrior's smaller mount was pushed aside by Karls' larger horse as the commander of the Black Sheep looked for another target.
His men were faring very well against the Wilds he was pleased to see. The savages had apparently intended to attack all along judging from their paint and decorations, something they rarely did outside battle. While Karls had a sullen admiration for the westerners fighting abilities it was tempered with complete disgust at their lack of honor. They would attack anyone, including women and children, sparing none unless they were taken as prisoners. Karls rarely wondered at the fate of those prisoners. He really didn't think he wanted to know.
Many of the Sheep shared his hatred of the western tribes and their savagery and took this opportunity to dish out severe punishment upon these representatives of that hated people.
For their part, the westerners were not accustomed to fighting troopers like the Black Sheep. Parno's regiment were finely conditioned, as were their horses. Their training in martial arts, swordplay, indeed in all the arts of war was far beyond the average soldier from either side. As a result, the casual contempt that the Tribal horsemen held for both northern and southern soldiers made them careless.
And that carelessness now made many of them dead.
Seeing that his men were taking serious losses and that the intended targets were now reformed and preparing to offer battle, Blue Dog knew that he had to withdraw his men. This would mean a serious loss of respect among his warriors, but at least they would still live. Some of th
em at any rate.
Using the shaghair horn around his neck, Blue Dog blew a long single note that carried across the battlefield even above the noise of combat. Though in the heat of battle his men turned immediately and ran for their own lines, leaving the southerners in possession of the field. Karls considered pursuit for only a second before having his bugler sound Reform. He noted the reluctance of his men to return to the line but they did return, their discipline holding.
Karls turned at the sound of approaching horses to see the commander of the brigade Parno had selected as the rear-guard approaching with a good many of his men trailing.
“Colonel, I appreciate your timely intervention,” Beaumont said evenly. “I made a severe error and only your being here saved my men from paying for it.”
“Gather your men and let's move,” Karls ordered tersely. “We're exposed here and now that the Army has gone we are alone. We cannot tarry here any longer. Move!”
No one thought to object to Karls Willard giving orders, including Beaumont himself. Chastened, he ordered his regimental commanders to form their units and make ready to depart. Whipple's men were already formed and began slowly moving toward their own lines, staying close enough to support Beaumont should there be another attack.
Karls used his glass once more to examine the Nor lines, now over four hundred yards distant. While detail was hard to get at that distance, he could see no signs that the Nor were preparing for another attack. He shifted his glass to the point where the western savages had disappeared, his glass moving slowly across the area. He stopped short, moving the glass slightly back to his right having seen a splash of. . . .
Sitting alone watching him and his men was a single savage, his body coated in some kind of blue powder. The horn around his neck identified him as a leader of some kind and Karls suspected this was in fact the war leader of the men his own unit had repulsed.
Even as he watched the man in blue raised his short bow overhead. Karls didn't know if that was a salute, a warning, or just a wave, but he raised his own sword above his head, then allowed the blade to lower until it pointed more or less at the bowman in the distance.
The man nodded once, lowered his bow and disappeared into the brush behind him. Lowering his glass, Karls wondered what that had been about. But only for a few brief seconds.
“Let's go,” he ordered Simmons, who had been watching the two Soulan brigades of the rear-guard who were now making their way toward their own lines. Tired men on tired horses.
“What are our losses,” he asked as he and Simmons rode side-by-side along their column.
“Three men wounded, one serious,” Simmons replied. Karls waited for more, then turned to look at his subordinate when there was no more.
“And?” he prompted.
“That's all, sir,” Simmons smiled gently. “Got maybe two, three dozen with scrapes and what not, and we lost four horses dead. We're combat able right now,” he added.
“Forget it,” Karls said at once, recognizing the tone. “We've already exceeded our orders. We're going back.”
“Never thought otherwise, sir,” Simmons managed to get out without his disappointment showing. “We gave them savages what for, though.” Karls smiled at that tone.
“Yes, we did, Major,” he agreed. “We certainly did. I think the Prince will be most pleased with us.”
“Aye.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
-
The Prince was not in fact pleased.
“I ordered you to withdraw as soon as the Army was in the clear!” Parno seethed. To his credit Beaumont took the dressing down like a man.
“The fault is entirely mine, milord,” he said formally. “I sought to take advantage of the enemy's disorganization to retrieve any wounded we could reach. I should not have done so. Only Colonel Willard's intervention saved my men from paying the price for my error in judgment.”
Parno made a visible effort to get control of himself. Beaumont had done nothing that Parno himself might have in that same situation. Leaving wounded behind was anathema to a good leader. And Beaumont was obviously smarting from his lapse. Parno didn't want the man's confidence shaken too badly since he had plans for the fiery brigadier. And nothing Parno could do or say would be more punishing than what Beaumont was putting himself through at the moment.
“In the future, keep what happened today in mind,” Parno settled for saying. “We know that the Nor have at least some Tribal Horsemen with them. We know that they have made treaties with the Wild Tribes to provide both horses and instruction. We will likely face them in battle again so always be aware of that fact.”
“I will, milord,” Beaumont nodded stiffly.
“Very well, General,” Parno almost sighed but caught himself. “See to your men, and to yourself. I'll see you this evening.”
“Sir,” Beaumont snapped a salute and left the tent, leaving Parno alone with Karls Willard.
“And how was it that you came to still be there?” he asked.
“We were watching the withdrawal,” Karls replied. “I've been using every opportunity to give Simmons some field training and this looked like a good chance. I'm glad we were there.”
“So am I,” Parno nodded. “How did you fare?” he asked, almost hesitantly.
“We ripped their guts out,” Karls smiled wickedly. “Not a man lost, either, though we have at least two that won't be returning to duty any time soon. Lost four horses and have a lot of scrapes and cuts but otherwise we're in fine fettle.”
“Really?” Parno raised a brow. This was very good news indeed.
“Really,” Karls nodded firmly. “We caught them by surprise there's no doubt but I estimate they had us by about three hundred men and we still kicked their teeth in. I think the question of whether the Sheep can fight the Tribes has been answered, Parno.”
“Good,” Parno's voice was firm. “That means the newer units should be able to as well.”
“I did see their leader,” Karls added. “Odd fellow, coated in some kind of blue coloring. He may have given me a salute of some kind.”
“I bet he did,” Parno snorted.
“Well, it might have been something else,” Karls admitted. “He raised his bow, then pointed it at me. I returned the gesture with my sword. I prefer to think it's respect,” the young officer sniffed.
“I'm sure it was,” Parno nodded. “But keep an out for him in the future. He'll probably want some kind of payback against you to regain his loss of stature amongst his men.”
“That's fine with me,” Karls nodded, obviously terrified at the thought. “How about the attack? Do we know our losses yet? Or have any idea at the damage we inflicted?”
“I'm waiting for your brother's report on losses,” Parno replied, taking his seat once more. “The reports from the commanders will help us determine how badly we damaged the enemy, but from what I could see we did fairly well. The important thing is that we restored the morale of the Army. At least I think we did.” He looked at his friend. “And if not for you, that morale might have been shattered again had Beaumont and his men suffered too greatly against the Tribesmen. Thank you, Karls.”
“Ah,” Karls waved the thanks away, taking a seat himself. “That's what I'm here for, Parno. To help you any way I can. And I always will,” he promised, leaning forward. “Our men did very well, too, milord.”
“Your men, Karls,” Parno smiled, albeit a bit sadly. “My days of leading the Sheep are over, I'm afraid. If I hadn't realized that before then today taught me that for certain.” He leaned back, his face thoughtful.
“Today was good, but I can't tie myself down that way often. I can't even stay here, not permanently. There are other commands I need to visit. I need to see how things are going at Shelby for one thing. And then there's the problem at sea. I can't be everywhere at once. I can't even be a few places all at once.”
“That's what staff and commanders are for, brother,” Karls said plainly. “You're going to have to dep
end on them, Parno. You simply don't have a choice. Not anymore.”
“I know, but saying that is proving far easier than doing it,” Parno nodded. “I need to be able to trust those commanders, but it's not lost on me that I have no idea how many are more loyal to my dearly departed traitor of a brother than they are to Soulan. There are only a handful of people I can really and truly trust, Karls.”
“Then find out who you can trust,” Karls said simply. “You have good men at your beckon call, milord. Use them to sound out your military. Find the vipers in our midst and get rid of them. We certainly have no time for such things. Not now.”
Parno nodded slowly at that, considering. He was not without resources, that was true enough. He rose, walking slowly around the spacious tent he used for his office. Karls watched in silence, knowing that Parno needed the motion to work out his problems.
“I'm going to make some changes,” the Prince said absently as he paced, hands locked behind him. “I'm going to organize a new unit. One that can operate behind the Nor lines, raising hell with their communications and supply lines.” He looked up. “I'd planned to place Beaumont in command, using his men as the basis for the division, and add Whipple as his second, using his men as well. I had planned to add another brigade of cavalry and perhaps a supporting regiment to their strength and give what support can be had in such a unit.”
“He'll do well at such work,” Karls nodded. “Today will only make him more alert to the dangers of such a command. It will likely prevent him from making another such mistake.”
“You think so?” Parno asked. “I admit that was my first hope.”
“I do,” Karls nodded firmly. “The man is good at what he does. His mistake today was not so much a mistake as it was a miscalculation. He looked at the Nor regulars and thought he had them sufficiently cowed to gather the wounded. And in his place I might have done the same,” he admitted.
“Not against my orders,” Parno shook his head and Karls nodded, conceding the point.
