Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two

by N. C. Reed

  “Dear God,” the guard breathed. “Are you saying the king is dead?”

  “Yes,” the man nodded as he removed a blood soaked cloth and replaced it with a fresh one. “And so is his doctor! We have got to find a doctor and quickly! The Crown Prince must survive! There is treason as foul as any heathen Nor or Godless savage here and it has already cost us the king! We cannot allow the Prince to perish as well!”

  *****

  “Beg pardon milady,” Stephanie looked up to see her escort's Captain standing beside her table.

  “Yes, Captain?” she asked, setting her journal aside. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to inform you, milady, we've replaced the horses for fresh mounts, and . . . it's moon bright, milady and the clouds have cleared. Should you desire to continue on tonight, we can.”

  “Surely the men are tired, Captain,” Stephanie demurred. “They will need rest too.”

  “My Lady's pardon, ma'am, but we're trained to go for days at a time with little or no sleep,” he informed her. “Truth is, it's a good night to ride and allow the men to train in the moonlight. But only if you should desire to do so, ma'am. If we were to continue on in say, an hour, then should all go well, we would arrive in Nasil by noon or soon after tomorrow. At that point I can allow the Palace Guard to assign you an escort for the rest of the day and give the men off to rest.”

  Stephanie considered that for a moment. Was it worth moving on tonight? The ambulance was designed to allow sleeping in moderate comfort, so she could rest on the trip of course.

  “Is there any other reason you'd prefer to press on, Captain?” she asked suddenly.

  “With respect, milady, no one knows you're about yet save our own people. If word travels, you become a target. I've no fear of bandits and the like with forty swords along, half of them Prince's Own. But with the Nor solidly on our ground, milady, and your connection to Himself, the Marshal, you become a target, milady. In Nasil you would be much safer than you are on the road with only us between you and some Nor raiding party.”

  “Would we not be more likely to encounter such a party at night?” Stephanie asked, eyebrow raised at the Captain's 'connection to Himself' remark.

  “If they were to be looking, then yes milady,” the Captain nodded. “But they aren't, as yet, since no one knows you're about. But the inn last night, they know you were there. Was they to be hit, they might tell it, either to save themselves and their family or under torture. Then they'd be after us for sure. If we're still moving, be hard to catch us at this point.”

  She couldn't honestly fault his reasoning, Stephanie decided. And she supposed the fact that she was 'connected' to Marshal McLeod did indeed make her a target. Something she had not even bothered to consider until this very moment.

  But Parno had, she thought to herself. This is the very kind of thing he feared most.

  “Winnie?” she called. In seconds the younger woman was there, still carrying a hunk of lamb the inn manager had offered her.

  “Yes Lady Freeman?”

  “How would you feel about continuing on tonight instead of staying over?” Stephanie asked. “It would mean being on the road until around noon tomorrow, and trying to sleep in the ambulance, but-”

  “Sure!” Winnie nodded enthusiastically. “Let’s go!”

  “Well, Captain, that settles that I suppose,” Stephanie fought to hide a grin. “How soon would you like us to be ready?”

  “An hour will do milady,” he assured her. “Just enough to see to feeding the men and then we'll hitch up the fresh team and saddle up. We'll be ready in an hour.”

  “An hour it is, then,” Stephanie agreed, looking at Winnie.

  “Gives me time to finish eating,” Winnie grinned.

  Stephanie shook her head slowly, laughing despite herself.

  An hour later they were bumping their way down the trade route in the moonlight.

  *****

  “The battle ended rather abruptly,” Tinker reported when he arrived back at the inn that evening. There were no leaves for anyone in camp with the possibility of hostilities resuming in the morning so everyone had the night off so to speak. Bell was sitting on the porch, for all the world looking like a loafer. His sword was within reach, however, hidden by an old blanket.

  “Know why?” he asked, whittling as he rocked back and forth idly.

  “No, but it was quite the surprise apparently,” Tinker replied. “The Nor were pushing hard against the line, then simply withdrew. The Prince offered a truce until morning to allow them to gather their dead and wounded.”

  “Hm,” Bell nodded but said nothing else.

  “I believe we will be safe enough to remain, and in any case the army isn't leaving,” Tinker told him, rising again. “I believe I will have something to eat, since I skipped lunch today,” he smiled.

  “Reckon I'll sit here a spell and. . .watch,” Bell replied.

  “Very good Mister Bell. I expect there will be work aplenty later on tonight and certainly tomorrow for myself, Mister Wysin and the others. I suspect that you and the ladies here will have a slow day tomorrow, however,” there was a hint of humor in his voice.

  “Imagine so,” Bell chuckled. “Enjoy your meal, Mister Tinker.”

  “Thank you, Mister Bell.”

  *****

  “Preliminary reports show our estimate on losses to be holding up fairly well, milord,” Enri Willard reported. The staff were gathered together around a makeshift table in Parno's command tent, having a working meal as they tried to make sense of the aftermath of the battle.

  “I see,” the Marshal nodded. “Did the Nor succeed in retrieving their dead and wounded?” he asked.

  “Yes, milord,” General Davies nodded. “In good order and very proper about observing the truce as well, sir.”

  “Good, good,” Parno nodded absently.

  “What's bothering you?” Karls asked suddenly, watching Parno almost fidget, something he never did.

  “I don't know,” Parno admitted with a helpless shrug. “I really don't. There's something bothering me, but I can't for the life of me put my hand on it. It's almost like we've left something undone, but I don't think we have. Have we?” this to the table in general.

  “No, milord, we haven't,” Davies assured him. “Our men have been well cared for, fed and guard posts set. Our wounded are all being attended to and our dead removed from the field and treated respectfully. We are prepared to receive enemy action with little or no notice and our reserve is assembled again and prepared to support the line when and where needed. We are as prepared as we can possibly be.”

  Parno listened to the list as Davies ran down it and agreed it was sufficient, or should be. So why was he so jumpy? He was not, by nature, a nervous man. Never had been. So what was wrong with him now?

  “There's something wrong,” he said aloud finally, halting the talk that had started again around the table. “I don't know what it is, or where, but something is out of kilter, somewhere. If it's not here, then it's somewhere else. Of course, if it is somewhere else, then I won't know about it for days, will I?” he laughed, but there was little humor in it. He noted everyone looking at him and waved a dismissing hand.

  “Don't mind me,” he told them. “Whatever it is, there's nothing to do about it that we haven't already done. Eat,” he told them. “No telling what we'll find tomorrow, right?”

  They resumed eating, but would cast surreptitious glances at him from time to time, almost as if studying him to see if anything were wrong. Finally, he'd had enough of it. He rose abruptly and the others struggled to get to their feet as well.

  “Oh, stop it!” he exclaimed, waving them back to their seats. “You know I don't cater to that foolishness unless I have to. Keep working and finish your meal. I'm going to stretch my legs is all. I was informed earlier today that I had to distance myself from these minor details and allow my staff to do their jobs. So, do your jobs,” he indicated the papers and logs strewn a
bout the table. “I'm sure I'll be fine.”

  He acknowledged murmurs of farewell as he departed, but stepped out as quickly as he could and took a deep breath of cool night air. He started walking without any real destination in mind, just aimless wandering. He was conscious of a small detail falling in around him but keeping their distance.

  Is this what it will be like from now on? He wondered bleakly. No privacy, no being alone with his thoughts. Always someone watching, listening, guarding. He shook his head at the idea.

  “What bothers you, my Prince?”

  Parno had to force himself not to start as Cho Feng's voice interrupted his train of thought. Feng appeared at his side out of the very night, it seemed, always quiet and deadly.

  “I already said I don't know,” he reminded the oriental warmaster.

  “Something else was bothering you just now,” Feng would not be put off.

  “I was just thinking about how I have no privacy anymore,” he admitted, gesturing to the guard around them. He wondered suddenly if Feng had slipped past them or if they had merely allowed him to pass unchallenged.

  “Understandable,” Feng nodded. “One surrenders a great deal when he moves into a position of authority and responsibility. The greater the service, the more one loses.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Parno agreed. “Anyway, I don't have that much to complain about, really. Heck, do you know my life is actually better now than at almost any point in my life up until now?” he grinned. “How sad a testament is that?”

  “Such a discovery can be both illuminating and disheartening,” Feng agreed with a low chuckle. “Things have gone rather well, all facts taken together. Today you managed to dodge a more serious blow while dealing one of your own.”

  “Nothing but luck,” Parno scoffed. “Skill and ability had little to do with it.”

  “Do not discount luck on the battlefield, my Prince,” Feng lectured lightly. “While it cannot be planned for or anticipated, the wise leader never discounts it as a worthy ally. Or deadly opponent if it falls for the enemy.”

  “Guess that's true,” Parno decided after a minute. “And I wasn't complaining about luck, either,” he stressed. “Just pointing out that it wasn't anything I did that caused the Nor to break off their attack.”

  “That you know of,” Feng reminded him sternly, slipping further into lecture mode. “You took many actions today, and in the days leading up to this battle. Since you have no idea why the enemy withdrew so abruptly, you cannot claim to know that nothing you did played a part in his decision, mistake or no. It could have been Mister Finn's weapons that created the panic in the enemy general and broke his nerve. You are responsible for them, are you not? It could have been the way you marshaled your archers for concentrated fire on the advancing enemy, the bonfires and scouts that gave you warning of the impending attack, the fire that you personally ordered down on the enemy artillery at the risk of allowing the enemy's infantry to approach your lines; all of these are things you did or ordered done or supported in getting done. Any one of them, any combination of them, could have been what caused today's victory.” Conscious that his voice had risen, Feng stopped short. After a moment he continued.

  “Since we do not know,” Feng's voice calmed a bit, “we must not assume. Assumption is the death of all decisions, my prince. It must not enter into your thinking, ever.”

  “Okay then,” Parno decided to simply agree since this was the most animation he'd seen from Cho Feng since he'd known the man. It was obvious that this was a sore topic.

  “Tomorrow is a new day,” Feng noted, refusing to be drawn into another display of emotion. “Perhaps the enemy will come at us again. Perhaps not. Having won the field today, your men will fight harder tomorrow. Do not rob them of that feeling by second guessing what happened today.”

  “I'm not,” Parno defended himself. “I made sure of that in fact this afternoon. Had that same though,” he said triumphantly. “That it was more important that they believe they had won than for me to stress that I hadn't done anything special. Guess your teaching is rubbing off on me after all,” he mock jeered.

  “It was bound to happen eventually,” Feng nodded stoically. “If one flings sufficient manure at the stable wall, some will eventually stick.”

  Feng was already several steps along his path back to the tents when Parno realized what he had said.

  “Hey!”

  *****

  By the time Parno returned to the tent Cho Feng was nowhere to be seen, but Karls Willard was waiting patiently in a camp chair. He pointed to another one for Parno and then handed the prince a beer as he sat.

  “Nice,” Parno complimented after a long pull on the chilled bottle. “Where'd you get it?” he asked.

  “Pair of Urian suttlers make it,” Karls replied. “Husband and wife. Pretty good set-up, really. She dresses like a barmaid and him like a tender. I guess they make it at night and sell it by day. Or maybe the other way around,” he frowned. “I don't know.”

  “Well, it's good beer,” Parno nodded, taking another draught. “What's on your mind?”

  “I'm going to ask Dhalia to marry me,” Karls said suddenly, looking Parno in the eye. Parno nodded slowly, having expected it.

  “I'll expect you to be good to her,” he said simply, eyeing his friend closely. “It would pain me to kill you, Karls.”

  “I'm sure it would,” Karls snorted and Parno had to laugh at the dead-pan delivery. “Seriously, I wanted your blessing. You're the closest thing she has left to family. If you say no, of course, then I'll have to murder you in your sleep,” he added.

  “Of course you have my blessing,” Parno agreed. “But I meant it when I said I expect you to take good care of her. Were I to hear otherwise, Karls, I would be grieved.”

  “I know,” Karls smiled. “But I promise I'll treat her like the treasure she is beneath all that tomboy exterior,” he grinned.

  “Yes, describing her as a delicate flower might be risky even for you, brother,” Parno chuckled. “I assume your visit to her new holding went well, then?”

  “It's a nice place,” Karls nodded. “There is an older couple living there as caretakers. We spent a good while talking to them, then rode over the grounds. The buildings need some work, but it's a nice place, Parno. A place where a man could raise a family and make a good living if he's allowed to. Dhalia fell in love with it immediately.”

  “I hoped she would,” Parno nodded. “I'll see to the repairs,” he said a minute later. “As soon as I can send a rider to Cove, in fact. A detail can escort her down there and she can supervise the work herself if she'd like.”

  “We can do that, Parno,” Karls objected mildly.

  “Consider it a wedding present,” Parno smiled.

  “She'll kill you,” Karls warned.

  “I'll tell her it was your idea,” Parno shot back, laughing.

  “What about you?” Karls asked after a minute's pause.

  “What about me?”

  “You and Lady Freeman,” Karls clarified. “What did the two of you work out while we were at Cumberland House?”

  “We talked,” Parno admitted, fidgeting again. “I hadn't been very fair to her, apparently. In fairness I was trying to be. I didn't think a woman of her quality had any business in the same room with a man such as me. I still don't, to be honest. She informed me, however, that she was able to make those decisions for herself. Rather pointedly I might add,” he shrugged.

  “I bet,” Karls grinned. “And?”

  “And we have agreed to do things her way,” Parno shrugged helplessly. “As I'm sure she knew we would,” he sighed theatrically, shaking his head to Karls delighted laughter.

  “I think she'll make you a fine wife, Parno McLeod,” Karls told him sincerely, though still chuckling. “Everyone knew it was going to happen sooner or later.”

  “Is that a fact?” Parno shot back.

  “Oh yes,” Karls nodded. “There was a pool going among the o
fficer's wives, and another among the NCO wives as well I believe, on when the two of you would stop . . . beating around the bush, I believe was the way it was most often put? Yes, that was it, I'm sure. Apparently your arguments were the stuff of legend around the camp.”

  “Well I'm glad we were able to keep folks entertained,” Parno said. “And I think she just purely likes to argue, come to think of it.”

  “She is a woman,” Karls agreed sagely. “I still think she'll make you a fine wife, my friend. She's strong that one. Stands up to you nicely, in fact,” Karls twisted the knife just a bit.

  “Yes, I've seen the way you 'stand up' to Dolly,” Parno sneered back, causing Karls a sudden fit of coughing.

  “Anyway, I daresay that should I manage to live through the war, the doctor and I might well retire to Cove Canton and raise our own fat babies. You and Dolly can come and visit and we'll return the favor and all just be happy and domestic and live happily ever after,” he finished brightly. Karls looked at him for a moment, a faint look of horror dawning in his eyes.

  “That's a joke, right?” he asked as Parno rose, setting the empty bottle on the table so that Karls could return it.

  “Good night, Karls.”

  “Hey, seriously Parno!” Karls voice followed him. “You're just joking, right? Parno?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  -

  “The blade undoubtedly has penetrated the kidney. That is the source of the bleeding here, externally, as well as the internal bleeding that results in his coughing up blood.”

  “What can be done?” Memmnon's chief adviser and retainer, Henry Govan, was looking at the hastily summoned Army surgeon who had been caring for Memmnon through the night.

  “Ideally the kidney would be removed,” the surgeon replied. “But that takes a level of skill, training and education that few possess, as well as experience that is in even shorter supply. It is a detailed and precise operation that is not routinely performed. I do not have the knowledge or the skill to do this,” he admitted. “I am sorry, truly I am, but. . .I simply do not know how. It is an intensely intricate operation that requires intimate detail of biology and the know how to remove the organ and ensure that doing so does not result in still more damage or blood loss. Lord Smithe would have been able to do this without hesitation, but. . . .” he trailed off, not knowing how to finish. Lord Smithe was dead, as was their king. The surgeon, named Spurgeon oddly enough, Govan thought, had worked through most of the night to try and stop Memmnon's slow and agonizing death, but so far has been unable to do so. Only a large dose of opiates was keeping the Prince from literally screaming in pain.