by N. C. Reed
“How are your men and horses, General?” Parno asked.
“Winded but able, milord,” Beaumont replied at once. “We'll stand at least one good clash with no great difficulty. After that it will depend on how spirited the fight is.”
Parno nodded. Beaumont's assessment agreed with his own. As he considered that he noted the Brigadier commanding the 21st Horse Archers approaching.
General Horace Whipple saluted smartly. His clean uniform was in stark contrast to Beaumont's, but Parno noted that the man carried a bow of his own already in hand.
“General, I am detaching all mounted archers from the three divisions and attaching them to your command for the rest of the engagement. You will form your men in three ranks behind the main lines, and stay out of the action unless and until you receive orders to the contrary.”
“My plan for the moment is to engage the approaching Nor cavalry in open combat, bleeding them as heavily as possible before our mounts tire. As soon as you hear Recall sound, your men will ready their bows. If the Nor pursue, and I think they'll be mad enough to do so, you will launch three flights in rapid succession the minute they enter your range. The instant you loose the third flight your men will wheel and retreat along with the cavalry. Questions?”
“If the Nor begin to withdraw, may we pursue?” Whipple asked, eyes almost alight.
“Under no circumstances,” Parno replied firmly. “You and your men are not expendable. I expect Nor infantry to approach our right within the hour. Our goal here is to bloody and demoralize the Nor cavalry force. To shake their confidence in themselves and their commanders. We will not seek a protracted engagement without our own infantry to support us.” He paused, then grinned slightly.
“I only want to spank them today, General.” Whipple threw his head back and laughed, Beaumont joining him.
“Then by the Crown, spank them we will, milord! With your permission?”
“Carry on,” Parno nodded. Whipple and his runners turned to carry out their orders.
Parno returned his attention to the action around him. Regiments were already falling into line and Beaumont was riding to the front of his troops, screaming them into line and readiness. Parno caught sight of Enri Willard moving along the front and raised a hand to draw his Chief of Staff's attention. The former duelist reined his horse in beside the Prince.
“All commanders have their orders, milord,” he reported. “I estimate we'll be prepared within ten minutes.”
“Good, because I suspect that's about all the time we'll have,” Parno replied, pointing to the front. Willard turned his mount, gaze following Parno's hand. Two of Parsons' men were riding toward them as fast as their horses would fly. A cloud of dust flew up around them as they reined their mounts to a halt.
“Milord, Cap'n Parsons' compliments, sir, and the Nor appear to be advancing in order. He estimates we're facing a full two divisions of cavalry, sir, with attachments also possible but unconfirmed. He further reports that a Nor infantry force is attempting to form on our right, but show no signs at present of advancing. He believes, milord, that force is the remnants of those units we attacked earlier trying to re-organize. We have men keeping an eye on them too, milord Parno.”
“Very well,” Parno nodded. “Please inform Captain Parsons that he is to take all precautions to preserve his force. You are to fall back under the Nor advance without engaging. In fact, I'd prefer it if they thought we were in full retreat. Please pass that along to the screen commander as well.”
“Will do, milord!” the man nodded and he and his companion headed back for the approaching enemy.
Parno watched them go, trying to picture in his mind the way the battlefield was developing. He had studied maps of this area in detail before he had made the trip west, and had looked again last night to make sure he knew what he was getting his men into. In addition, he had the report of Parsons and his men from two days prior, so there shouldn't be any surprises in the geography.
The unknown factor here was in the abilities of his men and those of the Nor cavalry and their commander. Was he aggressive? Cautious? Would he attack them head on or try for subterfuge and hit them on an oblique? He turned to Enri.
“Make sure we have a few scouts along the western edge of our flank,” he ordered his Chief of Staff. “We don't know who's in command of that cavalry force. I think he'll hit us head on trying to prove himself and his men, but that might just be wishful thinking.”
“Already done, milord,” Enri nodded, smiling slightly. “That's what you pay me for,” he added before Parno could extend his thanks. “Let us deal with the straps and buckles, milord, while you watch over the wagon. We can't have you distracted by mundane tasks that any good commander knows to make.”
“How many good commanders do we have, Enri?” Parno asked, surprising the older man. “How deep does my brother's rot go in this army?”
Willard's face showed his own discomfort at the question, having been one of those duped by the turncoat prince.
“That's not directed at you,” Parno told him flatly. “You should know that, by now,” he added. “You've earned my trust, Enri, and my respect. I'm speaking about those we don't know. Those who may have little or no respect for the authority of the King. Men led astray by promises my brother made when he assumed his ascension to the throne would actually happen.”
“It seems that it almost did happen, milord,” Enri was almost hesitant. “Milord, I want you to know that I had no ide -” He stopped at Parno's upraised hand.
“If I thought you had been, you would be dead already,” Parno told him simply, and Enri blinked. He knew far better than most that the young Prince's words were not an idle threat. “Put that worry from your mind. We have plenty to worry over at the moment without you borrowing useless notions.”
“Aye, milord,” Enri nodded, inordinately pleased at Parno's assurance. It seemed wrong, somehow, that a veteran soldier should be reassured by a man who had fought only one battle so far and had not yet reached twenty-one full seasons of age, and yet. . .Enri Willard shrugged mentally. It was what it was. There was a quality about Parno McLeod that inspired men to follow him. To do more than they themselves thought possible.
And thank God we have him, Willard thought darkly, turning his attention back to the wood line ahead. In mere minutes thousands of Nor cavalry would come screaming out of those trees with blood in their eyes and a need to prove themselves. He and the rest of the army did indeed have plenty to worry about.
Unaware of Enri Willard's soul searching, Parno watched as Beaumont finished dressing his lines, cursing and kicking and even complimenting on occasion. Parno smiled at the memory of Darvo Nidiad that Beaumont's behavior brought to his mind, then the smile departed at the reminder that he no longer had Darvo to depend on.
He had meant it when he'd told Enri Willard that the older man had earned his trust, but Parno would likely never trust anyone to the degree he had trusted Darvo. The old soldier had been his only real father in a time when his family shunned him and the royal retainers followed suit for the most part. It had been a favorite pastime to 'pick' on the royal that no one would defend.
No one but Darvo. The man had never once deserted him, misled him, turned away from him. Always Darvo had been there for him. Always.
But not anymore.
Parno shook those thoughts away. He had no time for this. Self-pity of any kind was as unknown to him as fear for his physical well-being. And right now he had much bigger things than his -.
“Rider coming, milord,” Harrel Sprigs mentioned softly, pointing toward a galloping horse that had just emerged from the woods. Parno hadn't even known Sprigs was nearby.
He squinted at the rider, recognizing him as one of Parson's scouts. The man practically slid to a halt, his horse foaming with sweat.
“Milord, the heathen are no more than five hundred yards out and advancing!” the man reported breathlessly. “Cap'n Parson requests orders, sir!”
/> “Withdraw to the east and continue to screen the flank against possible infantry attack,” Parno ordered at once with no need for thought. “Keep us aware of any danger to our right. We'll worry with the 'heathen' from here on out.”
“Sir!” the man nodded and was once more in motion, on his way back to relay these new orders. Parno attracted Beaumont's attention and waved him over.
“We have minutes at best,” Parno concluded after repeating the warnings of the scout. “You're ready I presume?”
“That we are, milord,” Beaumont nodded grimly. “Ready and waiting.”
“Good,” Parno nodded. “I want you and your men to be the rear-guard when we withdraw,” he told Beaumont and the man literally came to attention in the saddle.
“You'll be there to screen Whipple's men if needed and to prevent a surprise charge from hitting our backs when we're least prepared.”
“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 1st 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!”