Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two (9 page)

“Thank you, sir!” Beaumont's normally boisterous voice was subdued. “My men appreciate your confidence.” Parno nodded and raised a hand in dismissal. Beaumont raised a hand in half salute and returned to scream at his men a bit more, this time encouragingly. Parno chuckled lightly, shaking his head at the man. He really was a force of nature.

“Any last orders, milord?” Whipple's voice made him turn. The Archery Brigadier was sitting his horse beside the Prince, still carrying his bow. Parno decided the man likely didn't realize he was carrying it at all.

“General Beaumont and his men will screen your men as you engage, should it become necessary,” Parno told the archer. “Remember, three flights and flee. I want no casualties of any kind that we can possibly avoid.”

“It will be so, milord,” Whipple nodded.

“Carry on, then, and Godspeed,” Parno ordered. Whipple raised his bow to his brow and then hurried back to his own men,

“Quite a pair, aren't they, Harrel?” Parno noted. “More like drill sergeants than Brigadiers, aren't they.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Both came up through the ranks, milord,” Sprigs replied. “Whipple had the advantage of nobility in so far as education was concerned, but he entered the army as a private and asked no special privilege. Beaumont actually began his career as a private as well, then left active duty for a while for a posting in the Tinsee militia, after which he was called back to active duty to teach horsemanship. He was commissioned a Captain and placed in charge of the riding school at Donson Academy. From there he managed to gain a field command and since then has worked his way up to his present rank.” By the time Sprigs had finished Parno was just staring at him.

“How in the hell do you
know
all that?” Parno demanded. “I got here the
same time you did
!”

“It's my -”

“-job to know. Yes, I've heard that one already,” Parno raised a hand to stop his aide. “Do you
ever
sleep?”

“Of course, milord,” Sprigs was taken aback by the question. “Whenever I'm tired, in fact.”

“Well, you're doing a fine job,” Parno told him without a hint of reluctance. “What else do you know about them?”

“What do you mean, milord?”

“I mean are they the kind of men to be led astray by Th. . .my brother's actions, or would they remain loyal to Soulan? Are they trustworthy enough to entrust the safety of the Kingdom with? If it became necessary?”

“With respect, sir, yes I believe they are,” Sprigs shocked him yet again. “Both men have worked very hard to gain their positions, and did so in an environment designed specifically by your brother to keep such men 'in their place'. There will be no lingering loyalty issues with those two.” He stopped when he realized that Parno was staring at him again.

“It's my -”

“Job to know,” Parno finished for him again. “Yes, I do believe I've got it. Well, assuming we survive the next two or so hours, give or take, it will be your job to extend an invitation to both men to my mess this evening, and ensure that we can properly entertain such men.”

“I'll see to it, sir,” Sprigs nodded calmly. Parno studied his aide for another few seconds then turned away with a slight shake of his head. It was difficult to rattle Harrel Sprigs.

“Screen returning, milord,” Harrel spoke gently. Parno nodded as he caught sight of the screening regiment coming through the trees before them.

“General!” he called to Beaumont. The Brigadier looked to his Prince, then followed the point to see the regiment fleeing from the trees.

“READY FRONT!” Beaumont bellowed at once, turning back to his command. “STEADY!”

“Milord, you should move back some,” Berry recommended gently. “We're in the way, here.”

“Very well,” Parno nodded, pretending not to notice Berry's relief. He resisted the urge to shake his head. Everyone wanted to treat him as if he would break. His escort formed around him as he moved behind Whipple's waiting archers, the Archery Brigadier's attention focused on the front of the battle line. Enri Willard joined Parno's group as they halted well back from the front.

“Are we ready, Brigadier?” Parno asked formally and Willard nodded.

“All in readiness, milord. We've a regiment on the left to watch for any attack from the west, a line of scouts to the right to keep an eye on the infantry that are trying to reform, and all three divisions are in place on line, ready for action.”

Parno nodded his understanding, watching the distant tree line through is glass now. He had done all he could in the time he had. Like it or not, he would now have to depend on his commanders.

*****

General Brent Stone, commanding the 1
st
Norland Imperial Cavalry Corps, followed closely behind his advancing men surrounded by aides, runners, and a small escort. His last message from General Wilson was direct and to the point.

Attack and destroy. He meant to do just that.

Stone had grown up riding horses and had always been offended at the notion that the Southrons were just naturally better than his own people in the saddle. The opportunity to prove Norland superiority in mounted action was a gift from above as far as he was concerned.

“Southern forces appear to be in complete flight, General,” a rider informed him. “We see no attempt as yet to reform or make a stand.”

“That may be a trap,” Stone replied. “See to it that all commanders know to maintain the ranks. I want our discipline intact. We will attack as a unified force and not as an undisciplined mob. Make sure everyone knows that.” Several runners spurred their horses away to deliver their General's message.

“Send a man to General Taylor and another the General Wilson informing them were are about to engage if the Southrons will offer battle,” he told his aide. “Suggest to General Taylor that if he can be prepared to move against their right, with General Wilson's approval of course, that we will attempt to turn the enemy in his direction.”

“Yes sir,” the aide replied and immediately summoned two more riders. Stone turned his attention back to his own forces. He could see that the tree line was thinning. According to his scouts there should be a clearing ahead. Stone figured this would be the most likely place for the southern cavalry to make it's stand if they intended to make one short of their own lines.

He hoped they would, since his own orders prevented him from pursuing within range of the enemy lines themselves. If the enemy reached their own lines, then his opportunity to engage would be lost.

He saw a slight ripple in his forward ranks and frowned slightly. That shouldn't be happening.

“See what that's about,” he ordered the nearest runner, pointing toward the now ragged area of his formation. The man sketched a salute and spurred his horse in that direction. Stone was about to call his aide over when he saw one of the Wildmen, a tribal leader of some sort named Blue Dog, heading in his direction.

Stone despised the heathens from the west with all his might. They were savage to a fault and had no apparent regard for anything other than the blood they shed so willingly. Stone was a soldier and as such he expected to have to shed blood in battle but. . . .

He shook those thoughts away. His Emperor had dictated that he would work with the godless savages, and so he would. That was that.

“General Stone,” the man spoke in heavily accented and broken Nor. “You mans losing their line.”

“I've sent a man to straighten it out,” Stone acknowledged the failure. “We've been in these woods for some time. It was bound to happen.”

“Line too long, too much mans,” Blue Dog pointed out. “Better to have small line.” This was an old argument with him.

“I'm sure it would,” Stone tried to be diplomatic. “But we don't have that option in this case. The Southrons are here in force. If we use smaller units or shorter lines, we invite defeat in detail.”

“Southmans better at horse war,” Blue Dog said flatly. “Fight them their way, lose much mans. Much horses. Better to fight
Tumcah
way. Southmans not so good then.”
Tumcah
was their word for themselves, Stone remembered. It meant 'the people' as best he could recall. It had always seemed arrogant to him.

“If we could, we probably would,” Stone nodded. “We can't face them in greater numbers like your people. We do not yet have the skill. But we are learning.”

And when we have you'll be sorry you ever met us
, Stone thought savagely. He knew of the plans to turn on the Western tribes once the southern kingdom was conquered.

Blue Dog turned savage eyes on Stone, regarding him so seriously that for a moment Stone wondered if he'd spoke his thoughts aloud. Then Blue Dog shrugged, turning his horse away.

“We hold Right Horn,” he said over his shoulder. “Protect flank. Try save you when time come, but no promise.”

“We'll take our chances,” Stone managed not to snarl. Arrogant heathen bastard. He ignored the departing savage and turned his attention back to his own forces. His front line seemed to have corrected itself, and was emerging into the clearing it looked like.

“Enemy in sight!” a runner cried. “Southern Cavalry formed ahead, offering battle!”

“Excellent!” Stone almost rubbed his hands together. “All commanders!” he called to his runners. “Dress lines at the tree line, prepare for attack! On the double quick!” The runners took off flaying their horses with their reins, others taking their place in line.

Stone watched as his lines reformed, regaining the cohesion lost in the woods. He was almost close enough now to see the enemy lines.

“Sir,” his aide sounded worried as he came to Stone's side. “Sir it appears we are facing at least three divisions of enemy cavalry here. Perhaps the prudent thing would be to await General Taylor and his infantry before we -”

“Nonsense!” Stone cut the man off with a snort. “Our divisions are larger than theirs and better equipped.” It was the standard line, repeated so often that it had become truth. The aide was no fool, however, and knew the lie that lay behind the statement. It was well and good to tell the rank and file troops that their training and equipment were superior to the enemy. It gave them the confidence they needed to meet the enemy in the field of battle.

Generals starting to believe their own propaganda was another thing entirely.

“Sir, I must advise caution here,” his Chief of Staff, an experienced cavalry commander in his own right, added his concerns to the aide's. “The enemy has done an excellent job screening his movements so far. If we can see them now, it's because they
want
to be seen. And I'm not entirely sure that our divisions are numerically superior, either. With their militia units in the field, their ranks could have swelled considerably by now.”

“You're advocating we do not engage?” Stone looked incredulous. “This is the chance we've been waiting for!”

“One the enemy had presented us,” his Chief of Staff reminded him. “They wouldn't invite an attack if they weren't ready for it.”

“I agree, sir,” the aide nodded his agreement. “This doesn't feel right.”

“I can't base our plan of attack on superstitions and 'feelings' gentlemen,” Stone snapped. “If you have sound facts that should be considered then present them. Otherwise as soon as we hear from General Taylor -” He broke off as a runner galloped up beside him.

“General Taylor's compliments, sir, and he is trying to reform the broken divisions with his own men. He estimates it will take at least an hour to have a suitable force into position. His own men are heavily fatigued from the earlier fighting and have taken considerable casualties in that action. Hartley and Raymond's units are mostly routed he reports, and his men and the Provost are attempting to get them into line again.” Another runner approached as the man finished his report.

“General Wilson's orders, sir,” the man held out a message for Stone. His aide took it and passed it along to his general. Stone opened the form and read Wilson's terse orders.

“We are to attack as soon as we are into position, not waiting for the infantry to form. They will form as they can on our left and then support the attack if the battle is protracted. He desires that we engage and destroy the enemy cavalry force if at all possible, though our orders to stay clear of their lines remain unchanged.” He folded the message and looked at his two subordinate.

“Well, gentlemen?” he raised an eyebrow. “I'm listening.” Both men looked away, uncomfortable with such pressure. Orders from so high up the chain of command could not simply be set aside, regardless of their fears. It was well and good to offer advice. Taking responsibility themselves was another thing entirely.

“As I suspected,” Stone didn't hide his scorn and the two men flushed but remained silent. Stone searched behind him, locating the three buglers that accompanied him. He waved the young men over. All three looked as if they had yet to need a razor.

“Sound the Ready,” Stone ordered without fanfare. “Wait one minute, then sound advance.” The men nodded and separated to help their calls carry. Stone looked at his subordinates again, then back to the front. The bugles began to sound, and the matter was out of his hands.