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

by N. C. Reed

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  -

  Memmnon was vaguely aware of floating somewhere. That was odd since he was nowhere near the sea, and he would never swim in the river. In fact, he rarely went into the water at all, even the pool on the palace grounds. He didn't have anything against swimming, he just didn't really care for it himself all that often.

  That didn't explain why he felt as if he was floating. He tried to look around him but couldn't, seeing only darkness. Why would he be in a pool in complete darkness. That made no sense of any kind.

  How had he gotten here? He tried to track his movement and memories before waking up here and suddenly jerked as the memory of the knife sinking into his back hit him.

  “Milord, wake up please,” he heard a distant voice saying. The pain was still there, however, and he turned to try and lessen it. Did the witch leave the knife there?

  “Milord, it's time to wake up,” a female voice said this time. He didn't recognize it. Had he brought a woman to his bed? That wasn't like him. To carry on like that. Parno, on the other hand, wouldn't hesitate, but Parno wasn't the Crown-

  Memmnon awoke with a start and tried to sit up. Fortunately, strong hands were nearby to hold him steady until he calmed. He saw two women and a man he didn't know, and Howard Govan, his right hand.

  “Howard?” Memmnon said, or tried to. His throat and mouth were so dry that all he managed to get out was a horrible sounding croak.

  “Take this, milord, and drink,” one of the women told him. Pretty thing, he noted in passing as the cup met his lips. As the cool water hit him Memmnon drank greedily, his body crying out for fluids.

  “Not too much now,” the woman advised. “Ease into it, milord. That's better.” Her voice was soothing. He imagined she was a nurse.

  “Welcome back, milord,” Govan spoke gently.

  “Howard,” Memmnon managed to get out. “How long?” he asked.

  “A day, milord,” Govan admitted.

  “Summon Brock at once,” he ordered and Govan nodded, moving to do just that. “And Grey!” he added to Govan's departing back.

  “That will have to wait, milord,” the woman told him. “You're going to have-”

  “No, there is no waiting,” Memmnon shook his head, paying for it with a dizzy spell. “Listen to me, the kingdom is in peril and already a day is lost! I have to speak to Brock and Grey at once!”

  “Very well,” the woman agreed reluctantly. “But if you show signs of fatigue, then the meeting is over,” she told him flatly. Anger flushed Memmnon's face.

  “Who is it you think you are?” he demanded.

  “I'm the doctor that saved your life,” she replied tartly. “I'll thank you to remember that when you address me, too,” she added. Understanding dawned on Memmnon as he shook his head ruefully.

  “You must be Lady Freeman,” he said finally.

  “If I must then I am,” she nodded. “At your service.”

  “Thank you,” he told her simply. “And I am very sorry about your uncle,” he added softly. Her gaze softened for a moment and she nodded slowly.

  “I cannot stress enough how important it is that I see those two men,” he told her. “I do not in any way exaggerate when I say the kingdom is at risk. And please clear the room,” he ordered. “Though you may stay, of course,” he added when thunder appeared in her eyes once more. She shooed the rest of the staff out of the room, though she didn't bother to make the attempt with the younger woman holding the bow. He looked pointedly at her but the doctor shook her head.

  “I'm afraid I can't get rid of her,” Freeman smiled at him and Memmnon was momentarily distracted by the woman's beauty.

  “This has to be kept secret for the time being Lady Freeman,” Memmnon shook the distraction off. “She has to go.”

  “I'm not going if she doesn't,” Winnie said flatly. “She's a possible target of the people who managed to get in here and attack you, milord. I am her shadow, for now.”

  “The people who attacked me won't be back,” Memmnon assured her. “Not for several days, anyway.” Just then the door burst open and Govan returned with Brock and Grey in two.

  “Milord, it's good to s-” Brock began but Memmnon cut him off.

  “No time for that now,” he said. “Sherron killed my father, Physician Smithe, and tried to kill me. Callens and some of his men killed my aide, my guard, and my father's door guard. I don't know how they got in or out, assuming they did,” he frowned. “But Sherron took great delight in telling me that she had learned where Therron was from my father and was on her way to free him. She wants to put him on the throne.”

  “We know she stabbed you,” Grey nodded. “And we assumed it was Callens from the description though you are the first one to name him. He had left two men behind, however, and though one isn't talking and the other can't, they are clearly his men.”

  “They came in through one of the family routes, I assume led by one the Twins' servants that we missed,” Grey continued. “We believe they escaped the same way. As I said they left two men behind and we found one of them there, at the room where the route is hidden.”

  “We have to stop them,” Memmnon said firmly. “Brock we have to assume that Callens' entire regiment is on its way to free Therron. We cannot allow that to happen!”

  “The company I have with him won't be able to prevent it,” Brock said grimly. “I'll have to gather a force to go after them. Callens is a bastard but his regiment is an elite unit. We'll need a strong force to deal with them.”

  “Get whatever it takes and make sure that this doesn't happen,” Memmnon ordered. “We need to spread the word about this, too,” he added grimly. “With my father dead, it won't matter about Therron, and including him in the plot with Sherron will turn most of his followers against him. Have warrants issued for both of them, Callens, and any of his officers you can name. Arrest and question their families as well. I hate to do that but. . .one of them might know something we can use.”

  “Yes sir,” Grey replied as the one who would be responsible for that. “I'll see to it.”

  “Treat them gently, but let them know that this is because of the treason of their family members and the murder of the King!”

  “They will be hard to catch,” Brock returned to the more immediate problem. “Especially with a day head start.”

  “I don't think so,” Memmnon shook his head and again was rewarded with a bout of lightheadedness. “My sister is a creature of comfort. She will ride a horse for a while, but it is a long way to Key Horn. She will not ride day after day without a break and Callens will do all he can to please her because he thinks she will. . .reward him,” he finished with a surreptitious glance at the two women. Winnie chuckled and Stephanie blushed slightly, but having lived on an Army post most of year or more had remove that sort of squeamishness.

  “I see,” Brock nodded. “By your leave, then?” he straightened. He had work to do.

  “Go,” Memmnon nodded. “Has anyone contacted Parno and let him know what's happening?”

  “I sent a courier with orders to kill horses if needed to get word to him as quickly as possible. But he's been gone but a day, or just shy of it.”

  “So at least another day before he even knows,” Memmnon sighed. “He'll be in danger if Callens left anyone behind.” A delicate snort from Winnie drew his attention.

  “You have something to add?” he asked, fighting to be civil.

  “Beg your pardon, mil- Your Majesty,” she corrected, “but the Marshal is capable of caring for himself quite handily, first of all,” Winnie held up a finger. “Second,” she added another, “he is surrounded by the most feared fighting regiment on either side of this war, all of whom would give their lives for him in a heartbeat, and three,” one more finger, “he has at least two full squads of said soldiers who do nothing but protect him, and two other men inside that bubble who could kill Callens and any ten of his men he wanted to choose, alone,” she added one last finger.

 
“So you're saying Parno is probably going to be okay, then,” Memmnon grinned, and Winnie smiled back at him, nodding.

  “I'd say that's a given, sire.”

  *****

  Parno watched the sun rising, relieved that the new day and the expiration of the temporary truce had not brought renewed attacks. His men were ready for it, he knew, but they were tired and the fighting had cost them. If the Nor would hold off another attack for two weeks or so, he might have Herrick and

  Freeman's Corps up and with the army, at which point things would change.

  In his mind he had already made the moves he was going to make. He would send one mounted infantry division to Raines in place of the Cavalry division he had taken from the western forces, along with a militia division of cavalry. Not near the equal of the unit he'd surrendered, Raines would still be able to make use of the horsemen.

  He would then form all of his cavalry divisions into a separate force, six in total though some of the divisions would not be full strength, and send them on an end around to hit the Nor right just as the rest of the army stuck from the front. He did not know exactly how many men he would be able to muster for that attack since five of those divisions had suffered losses in the previous fighting. Davies' men in particular had been in contact since the war began and some of his units had suffered heavily. He made a note to try and place them in the reserve, if he had one. They might be able to avoid the worst of the fighting that way. It wasn't rest, really, but it was better than being thrown against an army that had slowly been beating them back all this time.

  The cavalry force would number about the same as the frontal assault he figured, allowing for losses in the units so far engaged as well as the men he had stripped from them to form Beaumont's command. Thinking of the hearty brigadier made Parno wonder where he was and what his men had accomplishes so far.

  “Sir,” Sprigs' voice cut into his thinking and he turned to face him.

  “I believe that General Beaumont's forces have returned, milord,” Sprigs informed him. “A runner arrived just a moment ago with news of a large group of men approaching the left, with horses, cattle, and a train in tow.”

  “How about that?” Parno grinned. Once more it was as if thinking about someone had conjured them up. He wished he knew it would always work.

  “Let’s go and see, shall we?”

  *****

  “That's a lot of tents,” Beaumont remarked to Whipple as the two rode side-by-side at the head of their column. Both were dusty and dirty and tired, but happy to be in the relative safety of their own lines for the first time in weeks.

  “We may have missed a battle,” Whipple nodded as he observed medics running to and fro. “Those tents appear to be housing wounded.”

  “So they do,” Beaumont nodded. “I wonder how long since the battle?”

  “No way to tell without asking, I guess,” Whipple shrugged. He turned to his second in command.

  “Have the horses taken to the wrangler camp and the cattle to the quartermaster. Tell him we require fifty head for our own us to resupply and the rest are his to do with as he pleases. All wagons other than our own are to be left with him as well. After that, move to the rear and select a place for us to make camp. Keep the units together,” he added.

  “Yes sir,” the colonel nodded and started issuing orders of his own. That done, Beaumont and Whipple moved out, seeking information about what they might have missed in their absence. Even as they rode toward the camp, Whipple spotted the Marshal's small group heading their way.

  “Look,” he elbowed Beaumont. They two pulled up where they were. Seconds later Parno McLeod stopped his charger next to them.

  “Welcome back, gentlemen!” he beamed, taking each man's hand. “Looks like you did well for yourselves,” he nodded toward the spoils that were moving off.

  “Not bad,” Beaumont grinned. “Ate good,” he added, to which Parno laughed aloud.

  “Looks like we missed a brawl, milord,” Whipple mentioned, and Parno's smiled dimmed.

  “That you did.”

  *****

  “Sounds as if it were quite the battle,” Beaumont remarked as Parno finished sketching what had happened in their absence.

  “It was indeed,” Parno nodded. “Don't let me keep you two, though,” he ordered suddenly. “I'm sure you're looking to clean up and sack out, so go ahead. Tomorrow is more than soon enough for us to catch up.”

  “Thank you, milord,” the two replied in unison.

  “I'll see you for lunch tomorrow, then,” Parno ordered and the two bowed slightly and departed. Parno watched them go, pleased with the outcome of their first foray behind the lines. They seemed to have done quite well, so far.

  “Milord,” Enri Willard's voice broke into his thinking and Parno turned to see his Chief of Staff holding a sheaf of papers.

  “Reports?” Parno asked, trying to hide his trepidation.

  “Corps and Division level only, for now,” Enri nodded. He offered the papers but Parno shook his head. “Just give me the gist, for now,” he ordered.

  “Five thousand, three hundred and eleven dead, eight thousand five hundred, ninety-two wounded. Seven artillery pieces lost, five more damaged to the point of needing overhaul. Fortifications damaged but nowhere broken.”

  “Could have been worse,” Parno sighed. It could have been, but it was bad enough as it was.

  “It could,” Enri agreed.

  “Who was hurt the worst?” Parno asked.

  “1st Infantry, Heavy, milord,” Enri replied. “5th Infantry, Standard was right behind. In my opinion, sir, 2nd Corps is approaching being combat ineffective. They have borne the brunt of the Imperial Army since the war began and their losses have been heavy. They are tired, too. They need time to rest, refit, and replenish their losses, sir.”

  Parno considered that for only a moment before nodding.

  “As soon as Herrick arrives, he will move into the line and 2nd Corps will withdraw. We'll attach Herrick's command to 1st Army and Davies will remain in command. Have him select his most able Division commander to replace him, and give him a brevet promotion. If he does well, he can keep it. Tell Davies to select someone able, I don't care who his family might be.”

  “I'll see to it, milord,” Enri made a note to himself.

  “Any estimates on Imperial losses?” Parno asked.

  “We can only estimate of course, but. . .based on counts of those left on the field and what we could count as the enemy gathered their dead and wounded. . .” Enri trailed off, eyes narrowing. Parno raised an eyebrow.

  “That's why you allowed them to collect their dead and wounded,” he said suddenly. “So we could tell how many dead there were, and how many injured.”

  “Didn't even think about it,” Parno said evenly. “Like I said, just didn't want all those bodies lying underfoot. Not healthy.”

  “Of course,” Enri kept a straight face. “Well, our estimates are seventeen thousand dead and at least eleven thousand wounded, though you have to remember that many of their wounded would have been carried away before the truce. Also their rear ranks, including their own artillery, suffered significant losses as well.”

  “Good,” Parno nodded. “Any sign of activity on their front?”

  “None so far,” Enri shook his head. “We hurt them, milord,” he said firmly. “More than that, we shook their confidence. Again. This is the second time you've bested them and it has to hurt. Beyond their losses I mean. You wanted them to see the cost of being here, and now they are.”

  “Costing us, too,” Parno mentioned and Enri nodded.

  “Yes sir, it is. War is costly. In lives, material, money, the list goes on. That's just how it is.”

  “I wanted a decisive victory that would leave me in a position to throw the Nor back and then go after them,” Parno sighed after a moment of silence. “I failed to achieve that. Losses to 2nd Corps, as you pointed out, are such that continuing to use them could well be ruinous.”
His fingers thumped the desk for a moment as he thought.

  “I want you to begin looking at a force structure that assumes 2nd Corps will be off line, or in a defensive garrison position, for the rest of the summer. Using 1st, 4th, and 5th, Corps, how many troops can we muster against the Imperial army? Assume in that factor that we will release one Mounted Infantry division and one militia cavalry division to Raines, but keep the cavalry division I took from him to supplement our striking power.”

  “Examine my options,” he ordered his Chief of Staff. “What can I make work using what we have available?”

  “I'll work on it, milord,” Enri nodded, already thinking. “Anything else?”

  “Not for now,” Parno shook his head. “If the Nor will stay quiet and still, so will we. Our men need rest and refit, and we need to wait for Herrick and Freeman so we can consolidate our strength.”

  “Yes sir.”

  *****

  Royal couriers were tough. Selection was very trying, starting with only the finest horsemen chosen from among men whose trustworthiness was beyond question. Trials were stringent to say the least and any failure would see an applicant washed from the group. It seemed like a great deal of nonsense for a position that left a man basically sitting around for days at a time with nothing to do, save being ready to go at a moment's notice.

  Until times like now. Times of war when the messages that courier carried could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

  The man selected to carry the all-important message to Parno McLeod from the palace was above average even for the select group he belonged to. Knowing the importance of what he was carrying, the man had pushed himself and his horses beyond normal. The first horse he had chosen was lathering heavily when he slid to a stop at the first station, where he relieved himself and grabbed a ready made sandwich while his saddle was placed on a fresh mount. He was on the ground less than five minutes before being on his way once more.

  Normally at some point another messenger would have taken over for him, but not this time. This particular message was too important. Time too precious. For all the courier knew, Prince Memmnon had perished already and Prince Parno had no idea he was already King Parno.