by N. C. Reed
“He certainly will,” Grey agreed, following behind.
“I'll have all of your heads for this!” Sherron hissed in fury.
“I seriously doubt it.”
*****
Just entering the palace grounds, Sherron McLeod's footman heard the commotion as his fellow retainers were gathered together, protesting loudly at their treatment. Slipping into the shadows, he watched as Royal Constables gathered Her Highness' staff and as many of Prince Therron's as remained, escorting them away. Further into the palace grounds.
That could only mean arrest. The footman swore softly to himself. His mistress' plans had been found out!
Was there a traitor? Or had she merely been careless? Was there anyone left he could trust? Would they be looking for him? Since delivering her message he had been keeping a low profile, but he had served the twins all their lives. He would be known.
She would want him to notify Callens, but what to tell him? That her Ladyship was being detained? He didn't know that for a fact, but it was easy enough to infer. What he couldn't do was confirm it. If he showed his face he would join his fellow servants in captivity.
Nor could he inform the Colonel where Lord Therron was at present. Despite her Ladyship's best attempts, they had no idea where the Prince had been taken. If he went to Callens empty handed, the Colonel might kill him to help hide his own part in the plot.
But Callens and his men represented the last chance that the Prince might have. He might be risking his life, but someone had to know what was happening.
Decision made, the servant made his way carefully through the night toward the Royal stables. He needed a horse.
*****
General Wilson, commander of the 1st Imperial Field Army, glared at his cavalry commander. General Stone stood before him unflinching.
“Can you explain to me why the ever to be damned southern cavalry are wreaking havoc on my supply lines, General? More importantly, can you explain to me why you and your cavalry haven't stopped them?” Wilson's voice was rising steadily.
“I don't think it's cavalry, sir,” Stone reported evenly.
“What the hell do you mean it's not cavalry?” Wilson demanded. “Of course it is!”
“Every survivor so far reports that the men are not in uniform and show little organization, other than the one they call 'boss'. There appears to be no chain of command, no discipline as we would expect in a military unit, nothing to identify them as anything other than garden variety bandits.”
“Garde-” Wilson cut himself off, trying to get control of his temper. The Emperor was, so far, still on his side, but his messages to Wilson indicated a growing impatience for action, despite the risk. Wilson needed his supply lines to be safe and secure.
“Your garden bandits are stripping our rear areas of supplies, equipment and manpower!” Wilson grated finally. “Seems a bit much for mere bandits, Stone.”
“They are sizable and well led,” Stone allowed, “but I still maintain that they are not a part of the Soulan military. The evidence so far argues against it, sir.”
“I don't give a good flying damn what they are or who they answer to, I want them gone!” Wilson had finally heard enough. “I'll give you two weeks, at the most, to report back to me that they've been dealt with, or I by the Emperor will deal with you!” he threatened. Wilson stiffened to attention and saluted.
“Yes, sir!”
“Get out,” Wilson ordered stiffly and Stone whirled and departed. Wilson sat heavily in his chair, angry still at this and so many other events that were conspiring against him. He looked at his map and frowned. He had to get his offensive moving again, and soon. Waiting for the southerners to attack was a good plan unless they didn't attack. Then it became a first class way to get beheaded. He couldn't wait any longer. Every day the army sat here was costing his Emperor a huge sum. It couldn't last forever.
Decision made suddenly, Wilson called for his aide to summon his staff. It was time to make some adjustments.
*****
As a rule, Edward Willows did not often accompany his wagons unless he was making a trading trip of some size. A routine mission to ferry equipment and supplies, even in time of war, would not usually qualify as important enough to rate his presence. This mission had turned out to be anything but routine, however, from the very moment it had begun.
Having answered a call for transportation services to the Crown, Edward had arrived in Nasil with thirty wagons, plus three more with camp gear and supplies for his drivers and scouts. A total of almost one hundred men and women. Edward had never employed women as teamsters before but manpower was in short supply with the reserves and militia all having reported for duty, and he needed drivers. There were actually several women from Cove Canton among his crew in fact as wives, daughters and sisters of Prince Parno's men had applied for work with the Duke of Cumberland.
No sooner had his train arrived than the IG himself had ordered his train sent to the south of Nasil under heavy escort. Edward had wondered at that as two full companies of cavalry seemed like a large escort for so small a wagon train, but the IG has been notably quiet as to the reason.
The next day Edward had been introduced to a very fussy little man named Roda Finn and told that he would be in charge of the operation. Finn was blunt and not a little rude at times, but Edward soon recognized that this was due to the immense strain the man was under. Edward's own wagons were added to another twenty-two wagons that would be operated by Crown teamsters and other men, a fair few of which were wearing the livery of Parno's personal command. That puzzled Edward, knowing that Parno was now the Lord Marshal and as such was probably a long way from Nasil, but again information was closely held.
The next surprise was when Finn reported that he expected the trip to take almost three weeks. Edward, used to deadlines and turnarounds, had scoffed at that notion once he looked at the map.
“We can make this in ten days or less!” he had exclaimed, only to have Finn shake his head.
“You will make less than ten miles per day, weather permitting,” the little man had assured him. “Faster invites disaster.”
Edward thought this completely ludicrous, but he had already been informed that the speed of the column would be established by the screen commander, not himself. There would be no deviation from the marching order, either. Wagons would be spaced at one hundred yards apart at all times, including in camp. That order went against every possible security measure, but also explained why the screen was so large. The train would stretch for more than a mile with so much room between wagons.
He had watched as each wagon was loaded, the people from the Foundry taking great pains to do so slowly and carefully. So much so that it took two full days to load the train, ensuring that they would not be able to depart until the third morning after.
The last surprise had come when Major Willis, commander of the escort, had informed Edward that by order of the Lord Marshal he, Willows, would not be allowed to ride with the wagons. At first he had been taken aback by this, assuming that this was some lingering animosity for the unpleasantness between himself and the prince that had occurred over the winter. His emotions ran a gamut until he arrived at angry, but Willis had cut his tirade off curtly by assuring Willows that Lord Parno's orders were to ensure Willows safety and nothing more. Though still somewhat rankled at the order, Edward recognized that he did not have much choice but to follow the Major's orders. Parno's orders.
So it was that a train of nearly sixty wagons and well over one hundred horsemen set off from Nasil on a three-week trip to the front, with Edward Willows no closer to getting any answers than he had been when he had arrived. He watched as scouts poured over the roadway before the train, with pioneers ranging ahead in specialty wagons to repair damage to the road and ensure a smooth road bed for the wagons that followed. All of this simply increased Willows' curiosity, but no answers were coming from Willis.
As he chafed under the tight restri
ctions of the trip north, Edward wondered if he'd get any answers when he arrived.
*****
General Raines watched the other side of the bridge and the surrounding land across the Great River from the observation tower through his glass, noting that activity was slight with the rain. The rain impeded his own actions, but it was a small price to pay for a few days of relative quiet for his men. Continually on edge by the presence of a large enemy force so close at hand when they had no help available was starting to wear on his men and their commanders.
He knew how they felt.
Confident he could hold for at least a time against even a determined attack, Raines was under no illusions that he could maintain his position indefinitely against a full scale assault by his opposite number in the Imperial Army. He simply did not have the numbers on his side. If the Imperial commander on the western side of the bridge decided he was willing to accept the casualties that such an assault would bring him, all Raines could do was inflict those casualties for as long as possible. He could not withdraw, so he would hold until his men were overwhelmed. His only hope was to inflict so many casualties on the enemy that their force was unable to capitalize on their victory once 2nd Army had fallen.
He lowered the glass, fighting to keep a sigh from escaping his lips. Wouldn't do for the young Captain in charge of this mission to see his General so frustrated and forlorn, after all.
“Sir?” He turned to see that very Captain standing behind him.
“Yes?”
“Wagons approaching from the east, sir, down the old trade route.”
“From Nasil?” Raines asked. This might be the help promised him by Marshal McLeod.
“That direction, yes sir,” the young man nodded. “Several men in the Lord Marshal's livery with them, as well,” he added.
“Excellent,” Raines felt some of his despondency leave him. Parno had promised that this help might make holding his position much easier. And much more costly for the Nor as well.
“They're making camp well outside, sir,” the Captain noted. “Almost three miles back and more. And they aren't bunching their wagons despite orders to do so. In fact, they've requested a regiment of horsemen for security, stressing that it needs to be solid men with a smart commander.”
“Send Brigadier James, then,” Raines ordered. His nephew was about as smart as any commander he had. “Tell him to listen to the wagon master and follow his instructions. I'll be along presently.”
“Yes sir,” the Captain nodded and disappeared down the ladder to deliver the orders. Raines watched him go before turning back to the view once more. Taking a last look at the far side of the river through his glass, he put it away and started down the ladder himself.
He wanted to see what it was that gave Prince Parno such confidence in their ability to repel an attack.
*****
General Davies watched Marshal McLeod dismount with the slightest bit of trepidation. He had been informed of Callens and his regiment having departed south, but had not taken any action of his own, believing that it was more prudent to keep his forces arrayed against the Imperial Nor army. He knew he was about to find out if that were accurate.
“General,” Parno was friendly enough despite his obvious fatigue and ire. “I understand my brother's former regiment is in the wind?”
“I'm afraid so, milord,” Davies nodded, bowing slightly as he waved Parno into the command post. The small house was heavily guarded. Parno stepped inside, followed by Davies, then by Enri Willard, Cho Feng and Harrel Sprigs, who remained at the door.
“Our scouts report a good deal of activity along the Nor front, milord,” Davies motioned to the map set on a central table in the main room. “Based on their activity, I believe that they are preparing to attack our lines, perhaps within days.”
Parno studied the situation for a moment, nodding absently at the notations on the map. Finally, he looked up at Sprigs.
“Right away, sir,” the young man nodded before Parno could even speak and ducked outside. Parno frowned slightly, then returned to the map.
“When did this flurry of activity begin?” he asked.
“At least three days ago, milord,” Davies replied. “To be honest, I don't know why they've waited this long. They clearly have us at a disadvantage.”
“They won't much longer, I hope,” Parno informed him. He quickly outlined the results of the sea battle and the movements he had ordered based on that outcome. Davies pursed his lips at that, thinking.
“Herrick will likely get here sooner,” he said at last, moving to a map along the wall that showed the entire kingdom. He touched the southern Alma/Misi border and traced an old trade route still in use by the kingdom. “He has a shorter distance to travel. I would think he can be here within three weeks of receiving his orders, assuming no difficulties in getting under way,” he continued, more to himself than anyone in the room. Finally, he turned to face Parno.
“I suspect we will have to face this attack without their assistance, milord,” he said finally. “I'd love to have them here, even in reserve, but I don't see any possible way for Herrick to be here in less than two weeks from today and three is more likely. There is almost no way we'll have three more weeks of inaction on this front. Not with this level of action,” he motioned again to the table map.
“Agreed,” Parno sighed heavily. “That means we'll have to face them with what we have and what we can get in the next few days. We'll need to-” he broke off as Sprigs returned with Parsons in tow.
“You wanted to see me, milord?” the scout asked.
“Indeed, Mister Parsons,” Parno nodded and indicated the map. “Please take a look.” The scout moved forward and studied the map for a moment, frowning slightly.
“Lot of movement, milord,” he said finally.
“So it is. I'd like you and your men to take a look, based on what you see here, and tell me how long you think we have before the Nor are prepared to strike. I can give you one day, tomorrow, and afterward I want you back here reporting in. Understood?”
“I do, milord,” Parsons took his own map from his shoulder bag and made a few notations in short, quick strokes of a pencil. In less than a minute he returned the map to his bag.
“I'll get right on it, sir.”
“Carry on then,” Parno nodded. “And do be careful, Mister Parsons.”
“Will do, milord,” Parsons smiled gently and then was gone.
“Let's look at our own lines and see what changes we can make,” Parno said, returning his gaze to the table. “Harrel, inform Major Lars I'd like to see him as soon as this meeting is done.”
“Sir,” Sprigs nodded and hurried out.
“Enri, have Karls send someone from the Sheep to see if we have a train on the way from Roda, please,” Parno ordered after a minute's silence. “That would simplify things a great deal.”
“Right away, milord,” the swordfighter nodded and went to find his brother.
“Train, milord?” Davies asked.
“I have a surprise for the Nor, General,” Parno smiled wanly. “Assuming it arrives in time, anyway. If it does, then perhaps we'll make a start on throwing the heathen out of our lands very soon.”
“I'd like that milord,” Davies almost growled.
“Let us see what we can see, then.”
*****
Edward Willows watched as the first wagons began easing into the area south of the main camp. There were three buildings there, a small house, a shed and a larger barn. Already two fresh companies of cavalry were patrolling the area, ensuring privacy. As he watched, the first wagon rolled into the barn. Perhaps thirty minutes later, it rolled out again, noticeably lighter and moving faster.
“At this rate it will take all night to offload,” he groused to Major Briggs, the escort commander. The two had become something of fast friends on the long slow trip here.
“That is the schedule,” Briggs admitted. “We're to-” Whatever he was going to add
was cut off when three of his men rode up accompanied by a man wearing the Lord Marshal's colors. His personal colors.
“Sir,” one of Briggs' men saluted. “This man claims he's a courier from the Marshal.”
“I don't claim a damn thing,” the man in question snarled. “Lord Parno wanted to know if your train had arrived. If so, he wanted word of it right away.”
“You are?” Briggs asked/demanded.
“My name is James,” the man said amiably enough. “Lord Parno's personal command,” he added with a tinge of pride. The others looked a bit more wary, now. James looked at Edward Willows.
“Lord Cumberland,” he nodded. “The Marshal will be pleased to see you safe.”
“You know this man?” Briggs demanded, looking at Edward. Willows nodded.
“Yes. He's visited my home more than once as part of Lord Parno's escort. I've seen him there more than once. And at Cove Canton, for that matter,” he added. He hadn't known the man's name, but he had recognized him as one of Parno's escort.
“Very well then,” Briggs nodded. “You three will accompany Mister James back, escorting Lord Cumberland to the Marshal's headquarters. Once there you may return so long as Lord Edward has no need for an escort back.”
“Sir,” the sergeant saluted. Briggs turned to Willows.
“It was a pleasure having your company along this trek, sir,” he said easily. “Fortune favor your road.” He extended his hand.
“And yours, Major,” Edward grasped the hand, smiling slightly. “And yours.”
*****
It was the work of many hours and not a little sweat to get roughly one third of the train's stores brought to the waiting artillery areas of the Royal Army's defensive positions. It was difficult to see as open flame was far too risky around Finn's 'goodies', thus the workers had to make do with reflected light and dimly illuminating safety lamps.
The work continued with the sunrise and went through most of the next day as roughly another third of the stores were placed in a purpose built bunker that had been lined with logs and then covered with dirt. While the loss of one of the storage areas would be horrible, it would not be a catastrophe. All would not be lost.