Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two (34 page)

“Beaumont?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Behind enemy lines and out of reach at the moment,” he shook his head. “Same for Chad, if that's who you're thinking about. And they don't have the numbers, either,” he added.

“They can swell their numbers with the men still in camp,” Feng reminded. “For that matter, those in training could go as well, if it were necessary.”

“No,” Parno's voice was firm. “That's out. I need them training. I can't afford to put that off just to chase down this fire. For that matter Chad's men are supposed to go through that training when they return. I'd rather have them doing that than chasing Therron.”

“Then let us proceed to camp and see what can be spared, or if your brother even needs assistance. Send him the message in the morning to save time,” he temporized, attempting to force his prince to focus on the more pressing threat.

“Yeah,” Parno nodded finally. “That's a good idea. Harrel!” he called out and Sprigs appeared as if by magic. Parno quickly dictated the message for his brother with orders to get the courier on his way as soon as it was light enough to ride.

Thoroughly disgusted, Parno went to bed, wrapping himself in blankets as if they were a talisman against his traitorous brother and sister.

*****

“Good morning, Admiral,” Hampton Rhode said quietly as he entered Semmes room. As senior Commodore, Rhode had assumed command in Semmes' absence. Rhode had one arm in a sling and an angry bruise on the left side of his face.

“Perhaps you should be here instead of me, Hampton,” Semmes offered, managing a slight grin.

“Just a trivial matter, sir,” Rhode assured him. “Nothing to worry over. How are you feeling?”

“I've been better,” Semmes admitted, sitting up straighter. “What is our status?”

“We're shore-side for the time being, sir,” Rhode admitted. “We'll have three frigates ready for service by tomorrow afternoon, and we have five cutters standing ready.”

“That's it?” Semmes tried to keep the grimace from his face.

“For now, sir,” Rhode nodded. “Our losses were heavy, sir,” the other man admitted as he took a seat and removed a small notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. For the next five minutes he droned mercilessly over the list of losses. Eleven cruisers either lost or so damaged that repair would be more costly and time consuming than new construction. Thirteen frigates lost, another five probably beyond salvage. Only the three that were nearly ready for deployment had escaped damage serious enough to keep them in harbor more than a week.

Three thousand seven hundred and twelve sailors and marines either confirmed dead or missing and presumed dead. One thousand nine hundred and eighty-four in hospital. At least in tents around the hospital. There wasn't nearly enough room for them all in the Savannah clinic. Rhode had brought all surviving ships to Savannah, the nearest port to the site of the battle.

Semmes felt a dark shadow fall over him as Rhode read the losses. His fleet had been essentially destroyed in the battle.

“Imperial losses?” he asked, looking out his window.

“Fifteen cruisers sunk or sinking when contact was broken,” Rhode smiled slightly. “Same for sixteen frigates and eleven troop transports or merchant vessels in their supply train. Three hundred and seventy-nine prisoners. Impossible to estimate their losses in men, sir. It had to be high,” he added.

“Their fleet might still be strong enough to attack the shore line,” Semmes noted.

“Admiral, they didn't have much in the way of undamaged ships when we broke contact, or else they would have given chase I believe,” Rhode argued. “However, I had planned to send David out with our surviving ships tomorrow or the next day just in case. His cruiser's damage is slight enough that she's sea-worthy at least. Not perfect, but able.”

“No,” Semmes shook his head. “Keep them in until they have enough to make a good fight. If we use them here, the shore batteries can help stand off the ships the Imperials throw at us.”

“Might try to land a raiding party somewhere sir,” Rhode pointed out respectfully.

“We probably can't stop them from doing it, so we won't try. Savannah is one of our largest shipyards, Commodore. We must keep it safe. We need ships more than ever, now.”

“Yes sir,” Rhode nodded, agreeing with the tactic and the need. “I'll see to it.”

“Has a report been sent to Marshal McLeod?” Semmes asked.

“I sent a report of results and losses sir, but didn't attempt to file a report of the battle on your behalf,” Rhode reported. “The doctor assured me that you would recover, with God's grace, so it wasn't my place I felt to do so.”

“Very well,” Semmes nodded. “Send Mister Nettles. . .” he broke off, remembering that Nettles had perished in the battle. “Send me a secretary to dictate my report for His Highness,” he forged on. “And help me consider someone to assume the duties of Commander Nettles. Proper candidates to choose from and so forth.”

“I'll solicit two names from each squadron commander, sir,” Rhode offered. Semmes nodded, still gazing out the window.

“Have the secretary report as soon as possible.”

Rhode departed, leaving Semmes to soak in his despair at the destruction of his navy. Again he prayed that their sacrifice was not in vain. For the Royal Navy, the war was essentially over, at least for the foreseeable future.

It would be a land war, now.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

-

Memmnon read the report with an increasing furor. By the time he got to the end of Davies' report he was furious.

“Damn it all!” he managed to turn his exclamation into a quiet curse, though his desire was to scream it at the top of his lungs. Callens and his entire regiment had slipped out of camp and deserted. No doubt answering a summons from either Therron or Sherron. His eyes narrowed at the thought of his near deranged sister. Where was she? He turned to his aide who was never far from him.

“Where is my sister?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

“I do not know, milord, but I will send someone to find her at once,” the man replied, a questioning eyebrow raised.

“No,” Memmnon shook his head. “Send me Chief Constable Grey,” he ordered. “Now,” he added. The aide bowed and hurried to dispatch his own staff in search of the chief of the Royal Constabulary. Memmnon sat down at his desk and hurriedly wrote out orders, his anger resulting in having to start over twice as a broken pen tip punched through the paper he was using. As he was writing another aide entered his office, passed through by his secretary.

“Yes?” he demanded without looking up.

“Message from Lord Parno, milord,” the man offered, holding out the sealed leather bag. Memmnon took it as carefully as if he knew there to be a serpent inside, assuming it was more bad news. He relaxed slightly as he read of Parno's offer to send a unit after Callens if Memmnon needed it.

“Very well,” Memmnon nodded. “I'll prepare an answer when I've made a decision. Won't be long,” he assured the man.

“Milord,” the messenger nodded and left the office. Memmnon exhaled sharply as he sat back, rubbing his hands down his face. This was a complete mess. Thanks to his father's desire to 'keep down scandal', Therron was still alive, and in exile rather than prison. Where he could conveniently be freed and allowed to create rebellion among his supporters, since everyone by now 'knew' that Therron had been replaced due to 'ill health'.

“What a mess,” he gave words to his thoughts just as a knock sounded on his door.

“Enter!”

Sebastian Grey entered the office, tall and imposing in his black and green uniform. Grey was the commander of the entire Royal Constable forces of the Kingdom of Soulan.

“You sent for me, sir?” Grey's deep voice nearly shook the desk Memmnon sat behind. He nodded, pointing to a seat. He spent the next ten minutes explaining to an increasingly agitated Grey the situation. By the time he had finished Grey was alternating between shock and outrage.

“What do you need me to do?” he finally asked, unable to really say anything else at the moment. When in doubt, ask for orders.

“First, I want my sister confined along with her entire staff,” Memmnon ordered. “Nor is she to have access to that staff under any circumstances. I want that staff questioned thoroughly to see what knowledge or involvement they have in any of these matters, no matter how small or slight. They are to remain confined until I vet each one, after which they will be released both from confinement and from service. We can't afford to have them here any longer.”

“Yes sir,” Grey nodded. He had known Memmnon a long time, had answered to him directly for several years now. He had never seen the Crown Prince any angrier than he was at this moment.

“You will search my sister's apartments for any damning evidence before confining her to her rooms. You still have female Constables, do you not?”

“Of course, sir,” Grey nodded.

“One will be assigned to. . .no, two will be assigned to her rooms directly at all time, with two male counterparts outside her doors at all times. She is under no circumstances allowed to leave those rooms without my express permission. Each Constable selected for that duty must be carefully vetted as well to ensure that none of them will show allegiance to my sister or brother and assist them in any way.” Grey started to bluster at the implication that his subordinates would do such a thing but a raised hand stopped him.

“I can't afford any more mistakes,” he said simply. “The very existence of the Kingdom is at stake, Sebastian. If they are allowed to make this happen, there is no way the Imperial Army won't conquer us. I have to get this under control as quickly as possible. Understand?”

Grey did understand and nodded his reply. He had not thought about the problem beyond his own duties. He could now see the immense pressure that Memmnon was under. With Tammon's health failing more each day, Memmnon was forced to assume more and more responsibility, and he could not depend on his remaining family for assistance that was rightfully his to demand. Well, other than young Parno, he allowed. That one had matured nicely in the last year it seemed.

“Then get it done as rapidly as possible,” Memmnon ordered. “It may already be too late.”

“At once Milord,” Grey rose and left at once, headed to follow his orders. Memmnon rang the bell that summoned his personal secretary and the man appeared in seconds at his door.

“Milord?”

“Have Inspector General Brock summoned to me at once,” he ordered briskly. “No matter what he is engaged in, he is to report to me immediately.”

“Sir,” the man nodded and was gone. Memmnon sat back again, once more rubbing his face with his open hands.

Today had started out such a nice day.

*****

Sherron checked her bag once more, satisfied that she had all she needed for now. She would be back, after all, she smiled to herself. She indicated the final bag to her footman and he took the luggage and departed. With a final look around her rooms, Sherron was out the door, where she ran straight into Sebastian Grey and a half-dozen Royal Constables, three of them women.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, despite the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I'll have to ask that you return to your rooms, your Highness,” Grey said, his voice soft but unyielding. “There's a matter that we need to discuss with you.”

“It will have to wait,” Sherron said smoothly. “I have a previous engagement.”

“It's been canceled, your Highness,” Grey's voice grew cold. Behind him Sherron could see her footman protesting as two more Constables seized her bag and detained him.

“Release him at once!” she ordered loudly, trying to move around Grey only to have him side-step her and block her way once more.

“That isn't going to happen, Princess,” he told her flatly. “Your staff has been detained for questioning until further notice. Now please return to your room. At once,” he added.

“Step, aside, Constable.” Sherron bit her words off. “Now.”

“Ladies, please escort the Princess back inside and establish your watch,” Grey gave up the pretense of respectful address. The three uniformed women moved as one, seizing the Princess' arms and propelling her back into her suite.

“My father will hear of this!” Sherron shouted as she struggled against them, but these women had been selected for their size and strength, then retained for their intelligence. The struggle was lost before it began.

“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 1
st
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.