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

by N. C. Reed

  He snorted in irony as he realized that this attack also validated every concern he had voiced to Daly about securing their flank before moving forward. The error was in worrying about the left. Apparently Therron McLeod had at least one competent commander in his retinue of boot licking nobles who knew his business. His spy network had missed that information and now Wilson and his men were paying for it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  -

  Parno felt uneasy for some reason. All the reports were good, the attack succeeding beyond his hopes so far. They had damaged the enemy severely while their own losses were all but negligible. For Parno there were no negligible losses, as each one represented a man lost to Soulan forever. But his losses when compared to the damage he could see in the Nor camps were almost non-existent.

  So why did he feel so uneasy?

  “Enri,” he said, more calmly than he felt. “Sound the Recall and Reform,” he ordered. “Now,” he stressed when Enri looked at him.

  “Sound Recall!” Enri shouted to the buglers nearby and both lifted their horns, one left and one right. As the call went out, Enri turned to Parno.

  “Milord, we are not yet to the objective line,” he said. “Why are we pulling back?”

  “I don't. . .there's something wrong,” Parno said, trying to find the words he needed. “I don't know what, but something is out of place. We need to call it a day, Enri. We've done well. Let's not endanger that by staying overlong.”

  “Milord, resistance is almost non-existent!” Enri pointed out. “We have them on the run! We should at least pursue to our original objective!”

  “No,” Parno shook his head. “There's something off kilter. I don't. . .I can't see what it is, but there's something wrong. I want our men reformed as soon as possible. Make it happen,” he ordered more firmly. He was tired of arguing.

  “Aye, milord,” Enri's reluctance was clear but he followed his orders. As runners began to report units returning to the embarkation line, a galloping courier slid his horse to a stop before Parno's command group.

  “Nor cavalry moving on our left in great numbers, milord!” one of Parsons' men reported breathlessly. “I can't tell how many, sire, there's too many to count effectively. My estimate is two divisions, based on pennant counts.”

  Parno felt his stomach knot. Two divisions of Nor cavalry on their flank and the balance of the Nor Army to their front. It was time to call this a day.

  “How close?” Enri asked, a look of bewilderment on his face as he glanced at his Marshal.

  “Less than a mile, sir!” the courier replied. “Moving parallel to our people for the moment. They have placed themselves between us and the Nor rear areas for now.”

  “All units are reformed, milord!” another rider called. “Awaiting orders.”

  “Sound the return to line,” Parno ordered his buglers. Both began blowing the required call. Parno looked at Enri.

  “We cannot let that force cut us off from our line of retreat,” he said firmly. “Send a man to the commander of the 21st Archers, and have his men ready to screen out movements. A cloud or two of arrows might discourage all but the most hardy.” He turned to Karls.

  “How many men do we have mounted?” he asked.

  “Just over five hundred, milord,” Karls replied at once.

  “Form the Sheep into line, then.”

  “Parno, our mission was to keep you safe,” Karls half objected even as he sent runners to the separate companies to form on his location.

  “I don't know how capable the others are,” Parno said softly. “I do know how capable our men are. If the Archers need assistance, we'll provide it from the line. I want the Sheep to stand by to screen the medical train. Get them and the wounded back to our lines and do so right now! Go!”

  Karls nodded and set his own horse in motion. Parno looked over at Berry, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

  “Don't worry,” Parno half-smiled. “We're not going into the line today.”

  Berry might have sighed in relief. It was hard to tell with his usual stoicism in place.

  “Archer Brigade in screening position, milord,” Enri reported. “2nd Cavalry in support for the moment. How did you -”

  “I don't know and that bothers me almost as much as knowing at all,” Parno told him flatly. “For now let's just worry about getting our men out of here, all right?”

  “Of course, milord,” Enri nodded, and started yelling orders. Parno watched, hoping that he was in time to prevent a disaster.

  *****

  “What do you mean, withdrawing?” Wilson demanded, looking at the courier.

  “They have abandoned the attack, General,” the runner repeated. “They are withdrawing back to the west at this time. General Stone and his men are approaching our own rear-right, but have had no contact with the enemy.”

  “My men report the same,” Taylor added, receiving reports of his own at the same time. “The attack against our front has withdrawn. Not stalled, not halted, but withdrawn. I don't understand either,” he shrugged. Where Raymond and Hartley had failed miserably, Taylor had done well and knew it. His men had held the line. Barely to be sure, but held they had. That gave him a certain confidence.

  Wilson turned to a runner on a fresh mount.

  “Inform General Stone he is to pursue the enemy and destroy them,” he ordered grimly. “He is to press his attack to the fullest extent, halting before encountering the Soulan lines. Clear?”

  “Yes, General!” the runner saluted and rode off at a gallop.

  “Sir, that might not be the best idea,” Taylor said hesitantly. “It's possible that is exactly the move the enemy hopes we will take.”

  “Therron McLeod isn't that smart,” Wilson snorted. “He's a pompous, arrogant ass who is convinced of the superiority of himself and his army. He no doubt thinks he's won a great victory and now he's retiring to enjoy the laurels.” Wilson looked grim as he gazed toward the west.

  “He's about to learn that he isn't quite as smart as he may believe.”

  *****

  “How many?” Parno demanded as Doak Parsons and three of his men rode up, horses flecked with foam from exertion.

  “Was I a bettin' man, which I'm not, I'd say there's a minimum of three divisions as we would count it. We've identified seven different brigades in the last twenty minutes. And they've formed up now and are moving through the wood line. It looks like they intend to try and pursue, or even ride us down.”

  Parno considered that. His men outnumbered the enemy, but the enemy was fresh. The deciding factor would be how well trained, disciplined and mounted the Nor cavalry were. He considered what his 'spy' network had learned.

  “Do they look smart?” he asked. Parsons nodded.

  “They do indeed, milord, bad as I hate to admit it. Dressed lines, flankers, van, and scouts. They know their business.”

  “Thank you,” Parno murmured. “Please stay close by for the moment,” he added absently. Parsons and his men moved just out of earshot.

  He had the numbers, probably. His men had been in action for over two hours, however. They and their mounts were tired. While their losses had been light, there were still holes in their formations. The men would be flush with victory, eager to tangle with this Nor cavalry force, but that same eagerness could turn to ash if the battle was prolonged and the Nor infantry managed to get into the fight.

  Still, he hated to simply turn and go when there was a chance to bloody the Nor again. Mind racing furiously, he turned to Enri Willard.

  “How many archers do you think in the three divisions combined?” he asked. Willard blinked.

  “I, ah, I don't know, sir,” Willard admitted. “I'll find out.”

  “Quickly now,” Parno nodded, waving for Parsons. The scout commander rode to his prince.

  “Take as many of your men as you can lay hand to quickly and do two things. One, I need a screen to the east to warn me if the Nor infantry begin to come into play. Second, I nee
d to know where that cavalry force is at all times and where they're heading. Understand?”

  “Aye, milord,” Parsons nodded. “We're on it.” Parsons rode away with his subordinates running to gather their comrades. Parno waved a runner to him.

  “I want you to find General Beaumont, 2nd Brigade, 6th Cavalry, and have him detach his unit and report to me personally. On the double, now!” The runner was gone at a gallop before Parno finished his last sentence. Enri Willard returned from where he'd been conferring with some of the staff officers.

  “Milord, by most estimates there should be at least a full regiment of bowmen spread among each division. More in some places but at least that many, depending on today's losses.”

  “Have them pulled from the line and attached to the 21st Archer Brigade at once,” Parno ordered quickly. “Then have all three division commanders reform line abreast in the same formation we used for the attack, but oriented east-west this time. Two up and one back as before. The center will be here,” Parno stabbed a hand toward the ground beneath him. “I want it done now.”

  “Aye, milord!” Enri nodded and began dispatching runners with new orders. Parno sat his horse, absently chewing on his bottom lip. Was he missing something? And where had that uneasy feeling come from earlier? Had he ignored it his army would even now be hard pressed and in danger of losing a sizable number of its men and horses.

  And we still might, he thought to himself. This might not work. He shook the thought away. It would work if everyone followed their orders and if orders arrived fast enough to make adjustments. And if the Nor were wanting a stand-up fight the way he thought they did.

  It was too many ifs for comfort, but the truth was, the fact was, Parno needed a victory if he could get one. True he'd already led his men in a good effort and bloodied the enemy very well, but if they could engage and destroy, or at least defeat and drive off the Nor cavalry, that would help him at least two ways.

  First, his men would have their confidence back. Winning on the field of battle was the best morale builder there was combat troops. Secondly, it would shake the Nor confidence in their new-found cavalry force. It might make them more timid the next time they met in battle.

  And, I want to thrash them good just on general principles, he admitted to himself. This might be an opportunity to hand the Nor a good whipping and he couldn't afford to just toss that chance away. If it looked like he couldn't manage it, then he would order the withdrawal. Otherwise he would try and do as much damage as he could while conserving his own force.

  It wasn't much of a plan in all honesty, but it was the best he could do on the fly.

  “What are you planning, my Prince?” Cho Feng's voice broke into his thoughts. Startled, Parno whipped around to stare at his mentor. He hadn't even heard Cho ride up.

  “I'm going to lure them forward into a trap, I hope,” Parno told him, briefly outlining his idea. Feng listened without comment, then nodded slightly.

  “A sound stratagem,” was all he said. Parno fought the urge to curse. There were times when Feng could be infuriatingly quiet, and others when all Parno wanted for the man to stop talking. Feng always seemed to know which it was that Parno wanted and gave him the opposite just for spite. Or for fun, maybe.

  “Archers are on the way, milord,” Enri Willard arrived and reported. “Lines are reforming as well. We currently have one regiment spread across the front as a screen. So far only light skirmishing.”

  “Let's keep it that way,” Parno ordered. “I do not want a major engagement except on our terms. Make sure all commanders know that.” Willard turned and pointed to three runners who had heard the Prince's orders and they took off. Willard then turned back to Parno.

  “What are our terms, exactly, milord?” he asked.

  “Let them come,” Parno told him. “I think they want a fight and we're going to give them one if we can do it in such a way that we have the advantage. I want to bloody this cavalry force, hard and fast, then we'll withdraw to our own lines.”

  “We'll clash if they offer battle here where we want them to and test their mettle. Before we can be hurt too badly however, we'll pull back. At that point the combined archer force will loose three flights as cover, then retreat with the rest of us.”

  Willard nodded as the plan played out in his mind's eye. It was a good tactic. It offered the most reward for the most reasonable risk.

  “And if they refuse battle?” he asked.

  “Then we'll let them,” Parno replied at once. “I want a larger victory today if we can get it, but today has already been enough to help restore morale. And to let the Nor know that play time's over. From here on out, they pay for every inch of Soulan soil they walk on.” The grim tone in his Prince's voice drew a nod of approval from all around him, though he didn't notice. His eyes were set ahead of him.

  On the battlefield where his first large action was about to play out in front of him.

  *****

  “How many?”

  “We've identified at least a regiment of screen, General,” the courier informed Wilson. “We've managed to get brief looks beyond at the main force and they may be reforming. They are continuing to retreat at the present, however.”

  Wilson nodded, considering. The Soulanies rarely formed unique Army Corps specializing in one branch as did his own army. That should mean that the two or three divisions of enemy cavalry facing him would not answer to an organized central command the way Stone's men answered to him directly.

  But the fact that the Soulan Army didn't organize the same way meant that Wilson had no idea which southern General would be in command of this effort. Knowing who was in command might make the difference in battle. If Therron McLeod had organized this attack himself then it was also possible he was along and exercising command himself. That was highly unlikely given what Wilson knew of the Southron Prince. McLeod at his best was arrogant and over-confident.

  “Inform General Stone that the enemy may be reforming to his front, and that I want him to engage the enemy as closely as possible. His orders are to do as much damage as possible to the southerners before they can reach their own lines. He is not, I repeat not, to engage the southern fortifications. Understood?”

  “Yes sir!” The courier replied and spurred his horse away. Wilson sat for a moment, considering his next options. He motioned for another courier.

  “Ride to General Taylor's headquarters. Inform him to take command of any stragglers from Raymond and Hartley's commands, incorporate them into his own force, and begin moving into a flanking position on the southerner's right flank.” He looked to another runner.

  “You will inform General Fairmount to form his entire corps behind Taylor and be prepared to press any advantage we can gain from this engagement. Go!” Both men tore away from him at high speed. Wilson watched them go, and his eye was drawn to movement. A look of disgust crossed his features as he recognized Daly and his retinue moving toward him.

  For a moment he considered heading closer to the battle to avoid the man, but shook the thought away. Runners and commanders knew where he was for the moment. If he moved, they would waste valuable time relocating him.

  “What has happened, General?” Daly asked as he approached. “I thought we were secure here.” Sarcasm tinged the man's voice and Wilson was gripped with a near over-whelming urge to run Daly through with his sword.

  “And I warned you that this was the very reason that we had halted our advance,” Wilson shot back. “The Soulanies have attacked in force from our flank. They attempted to get into our rear areas but have been repulsed. We are now pushing forward in an attempt to engage them more closely before they can return to the safety of their own lines.”

  “I see,” Daly replied. “Apparently our standing on the defensive was not effective.”

  “To the contrary,” Wilson tried to sound friendly but it was a strain. “We were able to prevent the Soulan Army's favorite tactic from being used against us and thanks to Gener
al Taylor's efforts and General Stone's rapid response we still have the chance to do serious damage to the Soulan cavalry force.” He turned away, looking toward the battlefield in the distance.

  “They had to have stripped most of their active cavalry units from their lines to organize an attack on this scale. If we can cut them off, we stand an excellent chance of eliminating the most serious threat against our continued advance. With their cavalry force destroyed or even just damaged we will no longer have to be so concerned with flanking maneuvers such as this one in the future.” He forced a smile as he looked back to Daly.

  “This day may well be the beginning of the end, General.”

  *****

  “General Beaumont reporting, sir!”

  Parno resisted the urge to smile. Beaumont clearly believed in leading from the front. The man's uniform was torn in two places, blood stained in one, and his sword was also bloody as it dangled in his hand, held down to his side. Three men rode with him and no more.

  “How goes it, General?” Parno asked. Beaumont grinned at the Prince.

  “We've given them a hot day indeed, milord!” he replied enthusiastically. “And I believe that we will soon have a chance to bloody them again, your orders permitting of course.”

  “Oh, my orders permit,” Parno nodded firmly. “I want you to form your men right here, General,” Parno motioned around him. “This is going to be the center of our line, and I want you right here. The others will form to your right and left of line. When the Nor come calling, we'll meet them with southern steel.”

  “Outstanding!” Beaumont positively beamed at the chance to be in the thick of the fight. He turned to his followers.

  “Regimental commanders to meet here in five minutes. First and Second regiments to form front, Third in reserve. I want to see lines forming in no more than ten minutes from right now, so move!” All three galloped away, reins lashing their mounts to urge them onward.