Parno's Peril

by N. C. Reed

  This morning was a little different. Another Imperial infantry division was apparently on the move at first light this morning, moving west along the same trail that the first had followed. Parno sent for Doak Parsons, who was there in less than fifteen minutes.

  “Do you have a man tracking them?” he held up report of the moving Imperials.

  “Three,” Parsons nodded. “I think General Davies is correct, sir. This smells like an exercise, and like it's designed to get and keep our attention. And it's working if you think about it.”

  “How so?” Parno asked.

  “Sir, we've got three of our best cavalry divisions in the field now, shadowing that first bunch,” Parsons reminded him.

  “Very true,” Parno mused. “I need to think that one over. Please make sure that we don't lose contact with this second group.”

  “Will do, milord.”

  -

  Stephanie walked slowly through the large collection of tenting and rough buildings that represented Army Field Hospital Eleven. She had visited two others already where former students of her school were doing very good work. Here she was equally pleased with what she found.

  “Good, clean conditions, proper sterilization of instruments and supplies, and proper disposal of blood-soaked bandages and clothing. I notice there are very few amputations,” she turned to the wiry young physician following her.

  “No, milady,” he agreed. “The few you do see are usually a result of battle injury. Your treatment techniques have allowed us to save many limbs that Army Surgeons in the past would have amputated without thought. Most of these men will be able to fight another day thanks in great part to your teaching.”

  “That is wonderful to hear,” Stephanie said gratefully. “Not that they will have to fight, but that they will still be able bodied. You've done well. No, you've done very well. Outstanding.”

  “Thank you, milady.”

  -

  Parno looked up at the knocking of the framed entrance of his tent, expecting to see Sprigs.

  “Yes Harrel.”

  “I am not Harrel, milord,” Jaelle smiled at him. “I assumed you would pay no attention to the time, and I know you didn't eat breakfast, so I have taken the liberty of bringing you lunch,” she held up a plate in either hand.

  “You're right, I didn't pay attention,” Parno laughed lightly. His stomach growled just then and Jaelle laughed along with him.

  “Come in and join me,” he motioned her over. She gladly moved to his table/desk and sat down with him to eat.

  -

  Harrel Sprigs was an extremely intelligent young man. It was that intelligence that had seen Darvo Nidiad single him out of the application process when the Black Sheep were still just an unnamed penal regiment and make him Parno's secretary. Harrel was not a criminal nor a washout soldier but merely a young man who wanted to serve.

  His education was continued in the regiment, though along a different track. Cho Feng had taken the young man as a student and had taught him several combat techniques for use with weapons or in bare handed combat. As he progressed in skill, Darvo and Cho had agreed that he was a good candidate for a bodyguard that could get close to Parno without arousing the young Prince's suspicion. He didn't like to be 'coddled'.

  Harrel had become Parno's shadow and was all but indispensable to the Lord Marshal. His education had made him perfect for what he did in that regard and his training, done mostly in secret, had prepared him for his secondary and what Darvo considered his primary role.

  Protect Parno McLeod.

  It was that young man that was near Parno's tent when the first courier arrived.

  -

  “Three couriers arriving sir,” an aide announced. “All Royal couriers, milord. One from Shelby, one from Nasil, the other from Savannah.”

  “All at once,” Parno frowned.

  “Apparently so, milord,” the aide nodded. “Should I allow them entrance?”

  “Yes, of course,” Parno nodded, chewing one final bite of his unfinished lunch. Before he could tell Jaelle she should go, three men dressed as Royal Couriers stepped inside the tent. None of the three noticed Harrel Sprigs step inside behind them.

  “So, gentlemen, I understand you have all traveled a very long way,” Parno smiled.

  “Yes sir,” one dust-covered courier agreed. “I have urgent news for you,”

  “As do I,” another stated. “Very important message,” he stepped forward reaching into his bag even as the third, who had not spoken yet, did the same. He spoke as he reached the desk.

  “Assassins!” he heard someone yell. Even as that alarm was called out the last messenger to speak reached him.

  “My Emperor demands your death,” the man hissed and lunged across the desk, a wicked dagger in his hand.

  Parno was caught by complete surprise. It had never occurred to him, even once, that someone would be able to impersonate a Royal Courier, let alone three of them.

  What fools we are, he thought, as the dagger came toward his chest.

  -

  Harrel Sprigs' sixth sense was already screaming at him when three couriers arrived at once. He knew there was something wrong about them but couldn't place it. He kept watching their horses as they were led away, knowing somehow that the clue was there but unable to drag it forth. That sixth sense made him follow the three men into Parno's presence.

  He eased in behind them without the three even knowing he was there and examined them carefully.

  He noticed it just as the second one to speak stepped forward. There was a slit on the back of his jacket. Not much of one really, but it was there nevertheless. That alone would not arouse his suspicions, but the blood stain beneath it did.

  “Assassins!” he yelled at the top of his lungs even as the startled man in front of him turned, dagger in hand.

  -

  Jaelle had kept back at first, realizing that whatever news these men brought was not for her and she had no part or parcel in this business. As the three men stepped forward she saw Harrel enter behind them, his face a mask of concern. It was then that she realized this was a scene she had observed before.

  She closed her eyes for a brief second, her lips moving in prayer, then opened them to watch this play out for the final time.

  -

  Parno became aware of several things at once even as events played out before him as if in slow motion. First, of course, was the courier coming at him with what looked like a krishank knife. The analytical part of his mind remembered from his training that this was the favored blade of the Imperial Secret Police Special Missions Directorate. It was essentially a hand-held harpoon, with only one real use. They were assassins.

  The second was that there was a fight already occurring in the tent somewhere. It had sounded like Harrel's voice that had raised the alarm, leaving Parno to suspect that one of the assassins was killing the secretary.

  The last thing he became aware of before he fell was another body coming between him and the assassin's knife.

  -

  Jaelle leaped from her chair in such a fluid movement that one would think she had practiced it. Without any hesitation whatever she threw herself in front of Parno McLeod, her face almost touching his. She jerked suddenly even as his arms closed around her by instinct as they fell. Her face was frozen in a combination of a painful grimace and a slight smile.

  The assassin's blade had struck her in the middle of the back instead of taking Parno in the heart.

  “M... my Prince,” she whispered then screamed when the blade was abruptly and violently jerked free.

  -

  Harrel faced the man before him with confidence his appearance didn't justify. He recognized the terrible weapon in the man's hand and realized at once that this wasn't the workings of Therron McLeod but was instead a true act of Norland aggression. These men where Imperial assassins.

  The assassin facing him was over confident and took a lazy stab at Harrel, expecting a mere secretary to b
e easy meat.

  The 'easy meat' deflected the blade without difficulty with his left arm even as the web of right hand buried itself in the assassin's throat with a sharp jab. Gasping for air, the assassin managed to grab Harrel's arm on his way to the ground.

  The second assassin took advantage of that, sinking his dagger into the exposed back of the secretary. Harrel felt the knife enter his body and knew he had to prevent it from being withdrawn or it would kill him before he could defend his Prince.

  Twisting in a windmill motion, Harrel managed to throw the weight of the first assassin off of his left arm as his right knocked the second assassin's hand away from the hilt of the blade. Pain shot through the young man as the knife in his back was jolted by the motion, but he kept turning.

  As he faced the man who had stabbed him he realized that the last assassin was lunging at his Prince. Unable to prevent it without getting rid of the man facing him, Harrel drew his own knife. The assassin had produced another of the nasty krishank blades and came at him with the blade held in a downward grip best made for stabbing.

  But not the best for fighting.

  Harrel's blade blocked the first swing in a shower of sparks but the assassin had expected that and merely changed the direction of his swing as soon as the blades made contact. The assassin was trained in a method of knife use that was said to be much older than the Empire, and that method had never failed.

  Unfortunately for the assassin, he was facing a student of Cho Feng, a master of both armed and unarmed combat. A favored student who was the recipient of a great deal of knowledge, learned the hard way.

  Harrel's knife changed direction as well, slicing back down the arm of the assassin's knife hand. The razor-sharp blade easily carved a slab of meat from the assassin's arm, eliciting a surprised scream of pain from him and forcing him to drop his knife. His left hand was waiting and caught the blade, instantly ripping it in a cross slash against Harrel's midsection in an attempt to make him back away.

  His own left hand now free, Harrel grabbed the wrist of the hand that now gripped the assassin's blade and forced it down. As he did that, his right hand turned his own blade horizontal and pushed it into the left side of the assassin's chest. As soon as the hilt struck flesh, Harrel ripped the blade across, the razor edge slicing the assassin's heart and part of his left lung.

  The look on the man's face was one of stunned disbelief as he fell, blood already bubbling from his open mouth. Harrel, gasping for air himself now, turned to the last assassin.

  -

  “M... my Prince.”

  Parno was speechless. Things had happened so fast. One minute he had been having lunch and now... now Jaelle was in his arms, blood streaming from her mouth.

  He was dimly aware of the assassin standing over them, but there was nothing he could do. Pinned beneath Jaelle's limp form, Parno had no weapon on his person. He turned, trying to move himself from beneath Jaelle so that he could fight back, but suddenly the assassin was gone.

  The attack was... over?

  -

  Harrel Sprigs saw the last assassin looming over the prince, with Jaelle between them. He realized at once what had happened and was suddenly filled with a terrible rage that he had never felt before. Without thinking he grabbed the remaining assassin and pulled him back, away from the prince and his woman.

  Surprised, the assassin nevertheless recovered quickly and twisted to confront his attacker.

  With a scream of pure, primal rage erupting from his damaged lungs, Harrel used his left arm to block the assassin's arms down and away while his own blade came up, already coated in blood.

  Without the need for conscious thought Harrel brought his blade across him, horizontal and with the edge pointed away. Then with a slashing motion that began in his shoulder he pulled that edge across, aiming for the assassin's exposed throat.

  On anyone else it would have worked, but this was not just anyone. The highly trained assassin managed to pull his head back the instant before the slash landed, resulting in a severe cut across his throat below his jaw but preventing the life ending slash Harrel had intended it to be.

  The assassin raised his right foot and kicked Harrel's left leg, using that impetus to force the young soldier back. Surprised at the failure of his move against his enemy, Harrel was caught off guard by the kick and stumbled back, staggering three steps backward before he could stop himself.

  The assassin was charging before Harrel managed to stop himself, blade once more held in an overhand grip designed to stab rather than cut. Harrel raised his arms as if trying to block the move, but at the very last second grasped the arm plunging the blade toward him and twisted, pulling with all his might as he stepped inside the swing, back now to his attacker.

  It was the assassin that was caught by surprise this time as he went flying over the right shoulder of his target and slammed into the ground hard enough to force the air from his lungs. As he was being flung across Harrel's shoulder, however, the assassin's knee hit the dagger still buried in the young secretary's back, almost blinding him as dark spots caused by the pain danced in his vision.

  On his last legs and knowing it, Harrel didn't hesitate. His grip on the knife changed in one fluid motion, turning to an overhand grip similar to what the assassin had been using, edge facing back. With no pause in his motion Harrel plunged the blade into the assassin's stomach and fairly ripped the blade back toward himself.

  The assassin's body was cut open from his navel to his sternum. Blood rushed from the hideous wound that left organs exposed and, in some cases, sliced apart.

  The assassin had been eviscerated.

  It was the first still moment in what seemed like a lifetime. Harrel was gasping for air as he managed to get to his feet using the pole near the door to pull himself up, leaving a trail of blood all the way up the pole.

  Heaving for air, Harrel staggered toward his prince.

  “M... milord, are y... are you alri... right?”

  -

  Parno, aware that the assassin was gone, looked down at Jaelle. Her eyes were open and she appeared to be smiling,

  “Why did you do that?” Parno almost cried.

  “W... where I am sp... sup... posed to be... my Prince,” she tried to touch his face but couldn't manage it, her small hand falling limp between them.

  “M... my Prince, I... I lo...,” she managed to gasp, and then she was gone.

  “Jaelle?” he shook her, trying to get her awake again. “Jaelle!”

  But there was no answer.

  “M... milord, are y... are you alri... right?” Harrel asked.

  Alright? No, he wasn't alright. He doubted he would ever be alright again.

  “Mil... milord?” Harrel tried again, even as other soldiers began streaming into the tent, guards that had been too far away to take part in the fight.

  “Mil... lord, I th... think I...” and with that Harrel fell over onto the desk and for the first time Parno realized how badly injured his secretary was as he saw the hilt of a krishank sticking out of his back.

  “Don't touch it!” Parno yelled as one man went to pull the knife from his back. “Get a surgeon in here! And send runners to every hospital! Lady Stephanie is still here somewhere! Find her and get her here as soon as possible! MOVE!” he screamed and soldiers tripped over themselves to get out of the tent and start obeying.

  “We have to keep him face down, so we have to make sure he can breathe,” Parno told two soldiers that had stayed.

  “Milord, we need to get you-”

  “This man and woman just saved my life,” Parno said thickly. “If you think for a second I'm leaving him you are delusional. Now get blankets and roll one up to put to either side of his head! We need to keep his head elevated and still make sure he can breathe!”

  “Sir,” the man nodded and ran to find one of the boards used to ferry wounded to the hospitals.

  “You,” Parno grabbed the remaining soldier and pulled him close. “You stay w
ith him no matter what, you understand me? No, matter, what! That,” he pointed to the hilt sticking from Harrel's back, “is a krishank blade of an Imperial assassin. It can only be removed by Lady Stephanie. If anyone else tries, you stop them if you have to run them through. Understand?”

  “Yes sire!” the man stammered. “I will do so!”

  Patting the soldier on the shoulder, Parno stumbled back to where Jaelle's body was lying on the floor of the tent, her blood flowing quickly into the hard ground.

  “Why?” he slumped to the ground. “Why didn't you just go home?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  -

  Stephanie had just ended her tour of what had been the very first field hospital at the camp, finding the conditions there much worse than in others.

  “The worst cases are brought here, milady,” the physician in charge explained. “Also, we use this as a primary evaluation center for most of the seriously wounded. We have three such evaluation hospitals, of which this is the central one.”

  “A triage in other words,” Stephanie nodded.

  “Yes, exactly,” the physician nodded. “We try to keep similar wounds grouped together, using the personnel that are best in treating that particular type of wound to staff that particular field hospital. Each section of the line is supported by an evaluation center that has several individual hospitals assigned to it for transfer of patients once they are evaluated.”

  “Do you not lose time that way? Treating the wounds, I mean?” Stephanie asked, intrigued by the idea.

  “We do,” the man nodded sadly. “But we keep the evaluation centers over staffed to try and stabilize wounds until we can send them to the proper field area for treatment. While we do fail in some instances, recovery statistics have shown this method to be better overall compared to simply having wounded from everywhere taken to whatever hospital is closer. When we do that, hospitals near the worst fighting become inundated and thus we lose patients due to a lack of personnel on site to treat them all. We have people on staff here and at the other centers whose only job is to keep up with how many patients have been sent where for treatment. In this way we avoid overcrowding any one hospital and the staff working there. We also are able in that way to get particular wounds to the surgeons and physicians that are best able to deal with those wounds.”