by N. C. Reed
If it worked then it would actually be the opposite of what Wilson wanted of course, except that if it worked very well that would give 2nd Army the opportunity to cross the bridge and take Shelby. Even if they couldn't move away from the bridgehead, the Soulanies would have to reinforce the troops opposing them and try to retake the city and push the Imperial troops back. Those troops would have to come from somewhere, and the only place for them to get help was from the army opposing Wilson on the plains.
It took a long view but it was also a good idea. They would just have to see how well it worked out.
“I'll see you back here tomorrow, Cass,” Andrews said. The other man nodded, sketched a salute and then stepped into his own saddle to join his men. Soon they were once more moving north, this time to go as far as the light would allow before making camp.
Now all Andrews could do was wait and see what his observers could make out from the other side of the river.
~*~
Brigadier Alan Simmons watched the Imperial troops moving north through his glass, trying to estimate the number of troops without conscious thought.
“At least a division sir,” the man next to him estimated, and Simmons agreed. From the look of things the Imperials had just sent three or perhaps even four divisions of the troops facing them across the bridge back north. They had to either be heading to the battle along the Tinsee where the main army was, or else they would cross over into Soulan Territory further north to raid down along the Great River and cause whatever troubles they could. Either way was bad.
Simmons orders were pretty straightforward; take his separate cavalry brigade and shadow the Imperial troops moving north to see where they were going and what they were doing. Report back as soon as he knew something, and in the event the enemy troops were moving to the east and the battle there, send couriers to the Marshal and General Davies alerting them to the danger.
“Lets get mounted,” he told his officers. The brigade had been resting for the last ten minutes as Simmons examined the Nor troops they were trailing. He wanted to get moving again before he lost sight of them. He and his men couldn't stop until the Nor made camp. He'd have to decide then whether to start sending messages to Raines.
Until then he would follow.
~*~
“Seemed as if the Princess knew you, Brigadier.”
Johnson's statement was quiet as the two men sat on the porch once more, sharing a bit of bourbon as preparations were made for night.
“Seemed that way,” Whipple nodded, nursing his glass.
“Would a man be out of line to ask how?” Johnson asked. “If so then we can talk about this lovely weather,” he added with a smile.
Whipple sat quietly for so long that Johnson decided that the brigadier did not, in fact, wish to discuss it. He was about to actually start talking about the weather when Whipple decided to speak.
“My father,” he said quietly, “is Tammon McLeod's second cousin. Whipple is my mother's maiden name. I took it when I joined the army to avoid any sort of favoritism. Very few know who I actually am, believe it or not,” he snorted. “The Marshal isn't one of them.” Pausing, he tossed back his drink and then poured another.
“I spent more than one winter here when I was a boy,” he continued. “With her and her brothers, except for Parno, the current Marshal. He was usually left behind at the palace. None of them had any time for him. Hated him in fact. Damn shame really, since they hated him because his mother died in childbirth. That's a lot more common than it used to be I've read, back before the Dying. Don't know why,” he shrugged.
“There was talk at times of Sherron and I marrying, believe it or not,” he chuckled. “My father was all for it, claiming it was a good match. That was when I joined the army using my mother's name. She at least didn't like the idea of letting the witch get her claws into her little boy,” he laughed gently, this time in true mirth. “My mother didn't have a real high opinion of Sherron even then.”
“So, you're actually a member of the Royal Family?” Johnson asked cautiously.
“No,” Whipple shook his head. “Not really. My grandfather I guess would have been in line for the throne somewhere. Fourth I think, or maybe fifth. There were a lot of them in that generation,” he explained. “Nowadays our family is nowhere near the line of succession. For which I give thanks on a regular basis,” he raised his glass in silent salute and then threw back another shot, refilling his glass once more.
“I'm sorry I brought it up, Brigadier,” Johnson said into the silence.
“Ah, hell, don't be,” Whipple waved the apology off as unnecessary. “It's not a big deal really. I just never wanted anyone to make an exception for me because of an accident of birth. I joined the army as a private and was selected from there to attend officer training school. Made grades good enough to attract attention from the War College and eventually made it into active service as a lieutenant instead of a buck private,” he chuckled. “But I earned that,” he added.
“So you did,” Johnson raised his own glass in salute. “And I'm glad for you that you didn't have to marry such an unpleasant woman,” he added, feeling his liquor a bit now.
“Lord, me too,” Whipple said earnestly. “I'd have killed her inside a month.” He said it straight faced and with a flat delivery, and it took Johnson a minute to realize that he'd said it at all. As it finally registered, Johnson chuckled slightly, seeing the humor in the statement despite the fact that Whipple had in fact killed her earlier that day. That chuckle turned into a laugh, which in turn became an actual belly laugh. Whipple joined him and soon the two were nearly howling with laughter over the very notion of anyone having to be married to Sherron McLeod.
They were still laughing when Buford Beaumont joined them almost five minutes later, demanding to know what was so damned funny.
His only reply was more laughter.
~*~
Nelson Pierce brought his horse to a stop when he saw two of his scouts returning. The two men skidded to a halt before him, already talking.
“We found 'em sir,” a breathless sergeant told him without preamble. “They backtracked and then cut over to the Trade Route, sir! They're headed toward Nasil on the Trade! Been at it at least a day, looks like.”
The news hit Pierce like a sledge hammer. One of the things he had been supposed to prevent was any incursion reaching the Royal City. He had failed completely to block the northern cavalry force and now they were in a position to threaten Nasil and the seat of Soulan's government. He sat in silent recrimination of the error in judgment he had made that had allowed this to happen.
“-way across to the Trade from here!” Whit's urgent tone drew Pierce out of his funk and he turned to see the Colonel asking the young Major who commanded the scouts and pioneers how they could move in order to get in front of the enemy. Whit held a map open in his hands and the Major was pointing to it.
“Sir, there's not much in the way of cutting them off,” the young man admitted. “We can take this road here,” he pointed, “and that will get us to the Trade Route they're on quicker than they made it, but depending on where they are, we like as not can't actually get ahead of 'em. Might not even be able to catch them before they hit the river opposite the City.”
“There's got to be a way,” Whit shook his head. “We just have to find it.”
“There's not,” Pierce said flatly, his voice carrying the tone of defeat. “They have a day start on us thanks to my sitting on my ass after our initial engagement. I expected them to come after us and instead they've gone right around us.” He took a deep breath and expelled it.
“Sound officer call,” he ordered his bugler. Five minutes later all his commanders were assembled before him.
“We have to move,” he told them flatly. “The enemy has moved behind us and is now in a position to directly threaten the capitol. There's very little likelihood that we can cut them off or that we can even catch them before they arrive. Still, we have to m
ake the effort.” He paused, thinking.
“Major, cut us a trail out of here and back to the ferry we used to cross the river,” he ordered finally. “If I recall correctly that ferry is actually east if the city by some miles?”
“Yes sir,” the young man nodded. “Not likely to be seen by the Nor if they stick to the Trade Road. But sir, there's a bridge on that Trade Road that will carry them across the river not far from the Palace,” he added.
“So there is,” Pierce nodded. “Colonel I need the three best riders we have, mounted on the best horses available. Five minutes ago. The rest of you have fifteen minutes to inform your men that we're about to be moving at a gallop for the rest of the day. We'll rest horses by walking ten minutes of every hour, but we ride the rest of that hour. Have the wagons and anyone with them to head for the river and the Guard Force there. Drop anything that will slow us down. The wagons can carry it or we leave it here. Anyone who falls behind gets left behind. Meals to be eaten in the saddle. Any questions?”
“Will we make camp at night?” one asked.
“We 'll have to, but not until we literally can't see the road before us. We have got to make up as much time as we can. Anything else?” There wasn't. “Then use your time wisely gents. We move in fifteen minutes.” There was a flurry of activity then as men hurried to return to their own commands. Pierce ignored them as he took is notebook and began to write furiously. He wrote out three different messages, then decided to write a fourth to be safe, ordering Whit to corral another rider. With five minute to spare he handed messages to each man.
“You two are headed to Nasil,” he told the first two. “These messages are for the Palace Guard. There isn't much in the way of actual troops left in the city so they will have to do it. Now go and remember what's at stake!” The two took the rolled up papers, secured them, and bolted south as if demons were chasing them.
“You two are headed for Cove Canton,” he handed messages to the remaining two men. “You know it? Good. Get this message to them as soon as you possibly can. Don't let anyone stop you for any reason, understand? Without their help we may lose the city. Godspeed and hurry!”
Again the messengers paused only long enough to store the messages and then they were gone, spurring their horses and using reins to urge the horses on. Pierce watched them go and then turned to Whit who was still looking intently at the map and shaking his head.
“Forget it, Colonel,” he ordered gently. “This is on me. I've let them steal a march on us and now a lot of innocent people are about to pay for it I'm afraid. Now lets get moving. We don't stop until we can't see to continue.”
“Yes sir,” Whit sighed, putting the map away and signaling for the column to get moving. It took about ten minutes for the column to fold in on itself and point back toward the ferry at least roughly. They would depend on the scouts to find them when they had the best trail worked out but until then they would head that way as best they could.
And hope they were in time.
~*~
Stone rode at the head of his column save for scouts and one battalion of men serving as the van for his forces. His satisfaction was evident to those near him. His troops were finally about to play the role they had been trained for, other than facing the southern cavalry in open battle. They were going to raid the southern capitol and wreak havoc behind the enemy's lines. With luck they would not only create panic among the south's 'rulers', but also cause such a ruckus that their army had to part with troops to send back to meet the threat that Stone and his men represented.
This was definitely more like it, Stone decided. Riding hard and fast at the head of his men, on his way to sow terror and reap distraction. Just the idea made him feel better, lifting the funk that had settled on him after recent setbacks.
A productive raid like this was just the thing to restore the confidence his troops had lost in recent weeks and to reassure people like Wilson that their cavalry was just as effective as the south's when used properly. They had stolen a march on the Soulanie troops opposing them and moved neatly around their blocking force without any difficulty. Now they were galloping toward the southern capitol unopposed and eager for battle. All that remained to do was to get into the southern 'Royal City' and burn it down.
He looked forward to it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
-
Winnie was almost running as she hurried down the hallway toward Memmnon's office. She could tell by the amount of traffic in and out that something was happening but she had no idea what it was. As she rounded the corner before the hallway she needed she met Stephanie coming from the other direction.
“Do you know what-”
“No,” Stephanie shook her head as the two continued together, each trailed by their shadows. “All I know is that an arms-man summoned me from the school and said the King wished to see me at once. I was brought here even as he was talking in fact.”
“I was with the refugee children,” Winnie nodded. “Captain Case came to get me and literally drug me away.” The conversation died there as they reached Memmnon's office.
“Ladies, do come it,” Colonel Robert Moore told them even as he was headed out. “The King is waiting.” With that he was gone, heading down the hall at a near run.
“What in the world is happening?” Winnie asked as the two moved into the office. Memmnon was at the window, his face drawn and pensive.
“Winnie, we need to assemble your archery students and bring them into the palace redoubts,” he said without preamble. “Doctor, we will need to secure the wounded that are in hospitals around the city in the barracks here on the grounds. You will have some limited assistance with that, but only some. There is no time to-” he was cut off by the sound of a bell ringing somewhere overhead. He motioned to Stephanie and the door and she moved at once to close it while Memmnon closed the window. The bell was still audible but now at least they could hear.
“What is that?” Winnie asked.
“We're preparing for an attack here,” Memmnon told her flatly. “There is a great body of Imperial Cavalry, perhaps twenty-thousand in number, headed this way down the Lovil Trade Route. Some of our men are trying to interpose themselves, but they are out of position and outnumbered. Barring a miracle there will be an attack on the city perhaps as early as tomorrow. If we're fortunate then we won't see them until the day after but we cannot count on that.”
“My God,” Stephanie breathed. “Sire, we can't possibly-”
“We cannot concentrate on what we 'can't', Doctor,” Memmnon cut her off gently. “It must be done. This palace is constructed to function as a fortress, as are two other locations. All are reasonably well stocked for a siege and have their own water supply. The problem is that we do not have sufficient troops to man all three. We will instead concentrate on the Palace. Those non-combatants who are mobile will be shepherded south out of the city and hopefully out of danger. Sick and injured, those who cannot make the journey and those who simply don't wish to leave will be here, inside.”
“Is there even enough room for everyone?” Winnie asked, stunned.
“Yes,” Memmnon's voice as firm. “This palace is built in such a way as to function as a citadel. That was in fact what Tyree once called this city. You may have noted that there are walls and buildings surrounding the Royal Palace that create a large square?”
“Yes.”
“Those buildings are crafted to withstand a siege,” he assured her. “And with many people no doubt opting to leave, there will be more than enough room for the rest. I fear the city itself will suffer, however,” he sighed, looking out the window. Outside, the bell in the palace has stopped ringing. As Memmnon opened the window again other bells could be heard in the distance as they picked up the alarm and passed it on.
“The bells will ring all through the city, preparing the citizens for heralds who will give them the news and pass on instructions for them. Meanwhile,” he turned back to them, “we have work of our own,
do we not? Winnie, your archers will be needed. I trust they will be able to serve?”
“Of course,” the younger woman nodded at once. “They were scheduled for training not long from now. Hopefully they will still assemble after this,” she added.
“They will hear the herald’s instructions, I'm sure,” Memmnon told her. “If they are like their teacher I'm sure they will flock here in hopes of serving,” he raised an eyebrow as he spoke and Winnie felt her face burn as she blushed.
“Doctor, you will need to ensure that all medical supplies we could possibly need are inside the citadel when we close the gate. I've assigned all palace staff to assist you in moving your patients. I realize it's not much and almost certainly not enough but. . .you will have to make it enough. I need everyone else working to ready us for the siege. Time is precious.”
“We'll make do, sire,” Stephanie promised. “I need to go,” she said then, looking at Winnie. “Be careful,” she advised.
“I will. You too.”
“Both of you,” Memmnon nodded. “Off with you, now,” he made a shooing motion. “I too have work to do. I expect both of you at dinner tonight to report on your progress. Until then.”
~*~
“Rider coming!”
The call went forth through Cove Canton as the dinner bell rang three times, three chimes each time, announcing a likely courier inbound.
Dory Leman walked toward the gate at a dignified rate, trying to project the calm he needed to show as post commander, but this could not be good news. A rider coming that hard and fast toward them had to be bearing bad news. He waved to two nearby soldiers who ran to him.
“Find Colonel Chad and General Wilbanks if you please, gents,” he ordered calmly. “Ask them to join me here if they would.” The two snapped salutes and ran at once in search of the two officers. Before they arrived, the courier was through the gate and nearly falling from his saddle.