Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two (43 page)

Nothing could have surprised Memmnon more than to see Sherron standing there. He froze for a second, caught completely by surprise. In that instant Callens' men struck, killing Memmnon's guard and his aide, surrounding the Prince.

“Brother dear,” Sherron all but snarled. “I really don't have time to deal with you the way I should, but allow me to tell you that father has, sadly, passed away,” she faked a sniffle and wiped an imaginary tear away from one eye. Memmnon stared at her and then to Callens.

“So you are a traitor, then,” he said evenly. “I had refused to believe it until now,” he added, and Callens felt that statement to his bones. But it was too late, now.

“He's no traitor, Memmnon,” Sherron shot back. “He's the most loyal soldier in the army! He just happens to be loyal to the rightful ruler of this land instead of you! Now I have to go, brother dear. Daddy was good enough to tell me where Therron is to try and save your life, miserable though it may be. I have to go and get him. But I do want to leave you with something,” she said, moving around behind him. Memmnon gasped as he felt the blade enter his back, slicing into his left kidney. He could feel the blade being pulled out again as he began to slip to the floor. Sherron bent to whisper to him.

“You will linger for some time, brother,” she promised. “But there's no one to come and see to you, is there? No one to care. And even if there is, Smithe is lying on the floor not far from you, dead already. So you see,” she stood, having wiped her dagger on Memmnon's jacket, “by the time Therron gets here, the kingdom will be in an upheaval, with the king and Crown Prince both dead and no leader to follow. He will restore order and then ensure that the Nor are driven from our lands, as always. Oh, and Parno will be dealt with as well, I assure you,” she added almost as an afterthought.

“Enjoy your failure, brother dear,” she called over her shoulder. “I have work to do.”

Callens looked down at Memmnon and a shadow crossed his face. Memmnon's look was one of pure contempt despite the pain he had to be in.

“Run, Colonel,” he said softly as blood burbled around his lips. “Run quickly and run far, but you cannot hide. Parno will find you. And unlike me, he will kill you and like as not enjoy doing it. She is insane, Callens,” he added. “And you have allowed her to lead you to your doom. Outrun it if you can, traitor.”

With that Memmnon lost consciousness, leaving a now highly disturbed Callens to follow the Princess out of the palace before any alarm could be raised. His shock had still not worn off by the time they were in the saddle and on their way to the rendezvous. This had gone out of control too quickly for him to follow, and now he and his men were accomplices in the murder of the king and his heir.

*****

A guilty conscious is a terrible thing. Tammon McLeod's footman considered himself an honorable and loyal man to his liege. He had served the king well for over thirty years. As he prepared for bed after visiting the kitchen, it gnawed at him that he had not checked in on his charge one last time before retiring for the evening. True, there were guards at the door, but. . .

He shook his head as he pulled his boots back on. A mere soldier would no more know what the king had need of than a horse. It wasn't that they were bad men for they were among the best in the kingdom, but they were fighting men, not personal servants. While warriors might look at men such as he with contempt, serving the king ably was just as important as carrying a sword.

He made his way through the silent hallways toward the king's apartments, taking no notice of the brief bustle of activity on the upper floor. There was always movement about these days, around the clock really with the war on and all. As he rounded the corner to the king's private rooms he drew up sharply.

The guards were prone on the floor, blood running along the marble. And between them, struggling to get to his feet. . . .

“Milord!” the man ran to where Crown Prince Memmnon was trying to move.

“King,” Memmnon said weakly. “Sherron killed him I fear. Check the king.” With that he fell back, exhausted.

“Alarm!” the man shouted, turning his head that his voice would carry. “To arms! Intruders! To Arms!” Hearing the call picked up he ducked into the King's chambers to see physician Smithe on the floor, clearly dead. Leaping across the still form he entered the king's bed chamber to see his liege lying, eyes still open, blood having soaked the bed clothes about him.

“No!” the man exclaimed as he rushed to the king's side. “My lord!” He shook the king, knowing all the time that it was useless. Nothing.

But the Crown Prince still lived. Taking the blanket from the king's bed he hurried back to the hallway, tearing the fabric as he went. Once back he searched Memmnon's unconscious form, finding the wound and using the first of the strips to try and staunch the flow of blood. He could hear the sound of running feet coming his way now and looked up in time to see two members of the Palace Guard coming down the hall.

“Get a doctor!” he called immediately. “The King and his physician are dead! And Prince Memmnon gravely wounded! He must have help at once!” One of the guards turned and ran back the opposite way while the other continued forward, stopping beside the servant.

“What happened?” he demanded as he knelt to lend assistance.

“The Prince said that Princess Sherron killed the king,” the man told him. “I found him and the others like this when I came to check on His Majesty before retiring. I . . . I checked on the king and found the Royal Physician in chambers, dead, and the king murdered in his own bed!” the man's voice was breaking now as the import of the situation began to hit him.

“Dear God,” the guard breathed. “Are you saying the king is dead?”

“Yes,” the man nodded as he removed a blood soaked cloth and replaced it with a fresh one. “And so is his doctor! We have got to find a doctor and quickly! The Crown Prince must survive! There is treason as foul as any heathen Nor or Godless savage here and it has already cost us the king! We cannot allow the Prince to perish as well!”

*****

“Beg pardon milady,” Stephanie looked up to see her escort's Captain standing beside her table.

“Yes, Captain?” she asked, setting her journal aside. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to inform you, milady, we've replaced the horses for fresh mounts, and . . . it's moon bright, milady and the clouds have cleared. Should you desire to continue on tonight, we can.”

“Surely the men are tired, Captain,” Stephanie demurred. “They will need rest too.”

“My Lady's pardon, ma'am, but we're trained to go for days at a time with little or no sleep,” he informed her. “Truth is, it's a good night to ride and allow the men to train in the moonlight. But only if you should desire to do so, ma'am. If we were to continue on in say, an hour, then should all go well, we would arrive in Nasil by noon or soon after tomorrow. At that point I can allow the Palace Guard to assign you an escort for the rest of the day and give the men off to rest.”

Stephanie considered that for a moment. Was it worth moving on tonight? The ambulance was designed to allow sleeping in moderate comfort, so she could rest on the trip of course.

“Is there any other reason you'd prefer to press on, Captain?” she asked suddenly.

“With respect, milady, no one knows you're about yet save our own people. If word travels, you become a target. I've no fear of bandits and the like with forty swords along, half of them Prince's Own. But with the Nor solidly on our ground, milady, and your connection to Himself, the Marshal, you become a target, milady. In Nasil you would be much safer than you are on the road with only us between you and some Nor raiding party.”

“Would we not be more likely to encounter such a party at night?” Stephanie asked, eyebrow raised at the Captain's 'connection to Himself' remark.

“If they were to be looking, then yes milady,” the Captain nodded. “But they aren't, as yet, since no one knows you're about. But the inn last night, they know you were there. Was they to be hit, they might tell it, either to save themselves and their family or under torture. Then they'd be after us for sure. If we're still moving, be hard to catch us at this point.”

She couldn't honestly fault his reasoning, Stephanie decided. And she supposed the fact that she was 'connected' to Marshal McLeod did indeed make her a target. Something she had not even bothered to consider until this very moment.

But Parno had
, she thought to herself.
This is the very kind of thing he feared most
.

“Winnie?” she called. In seconds the younger woman was there, still carrying a hunk of lamb the inn manager had offered her.

“Yes Lady Freeman?”

“How would you feel about continuing on tonight instead of staying over?” Stephanie asked. “It would mean being on the road until around noon tomorrow, and trying to sleep in the ambulance, but-”

“Sure!” Winnie nodded enthusiastically. “Let’s go!”

“Well, Captain, that settles that I suppose,” Stephanie fought to hide a grin. “How soon would you like us to be ready?”

“An hour will do milady,” he assured her. “Just enough to see to feeding the men and then we'll hitch up the fresh team and saddle up. We'll be ready in an hour.”

“An hour it is, then,” Stephanie agreed, looking at Winnie.

“Gives me time to finish eating,” Winnie grinned.

Stephanie shook her head slowly, laughing despite herself.

An hour later they were bumping their way down the trade route in the moonlight.

*****

“The battle ended rather abruptly,” Tinker reported when he arrived back at the inn that evening. There were no leaves for anyone in camp with the possibility of hostilities resuming in the morning so everyone had the night off so to speak. Bell was sitting on the porch, for all the world looking like a loafer. His sword was within reach, however, hidden by an old blanket.

“Know why?” he asked, whittling as he rocked back and forth idly.

“No, but it was quite the surprise apparently,” Tinker replied. “The Nor were pushing hard against the line, then simply withdrew. The Prince offered a truce until morning to allow them to gather their dead and wounded.”

“Hm,” Bell nodded but said nothing else.

“I believe we will be safe enough to remain, and in any case the army isn't leaving,” Tinker told him, rising again. “I believe I will have something to eat, since I skipped lunch today,” he smiled.

“Reckon I'll sit here a spell and. . .watch,” Bell replied.

“Very good Mister Bell. I expect there will be work aplenty later on tonight and certainly tomorrow for myself, Mister Wysin and the others. I suspect that you and the ladies here will have a slow day tomorrow, however,” there was a hint of humor in his voice.

“Imagine so,” Bell chuckled. “Enjoy your meal, Mister Tinker.”

“Thank you, Mister Bell.”

*****

“Preliminary reports show our estimate on losses to be holding up fairly well, milord,” Enri Willard reported. The staff were gathered together around a makeshift table in Parno's command tent, having a working meal as they tried to make sense of the aftermath of the battle.

“I see,” the Marshal nodded. “Did the Nor succeed in retrieving their dead and wounded?” he asked.

“Yes, milord,” General Davies nodded. “In good order and very proper about observing the truce as well, sir.”

“Good, good,” Parno nodded absently.

“What's bothering you?” Karls asked suddenly, watching Parno almost fidget, something he never did.

“I don't know,” Parno admitted with a helpless shrug. “I really don't. There's something bothering me, but I can't for the life of me put my hand on it. It's almost like we've left something undone, but I don't think we have. Have we?” this to the table in general.

“No, milord, we haven't,” Davies assured him. “Our men have been well cared for, fed and guard posts set. Our wounded are all being attended to and our dead removed from the field and treated respectfully. We are prepared to receive enemy action with little or no notice and our reserve is assembled again and prepared to support the line when and where needed. We are as prepared as we can possibly be.”

Parno listened to the list as Davies ran down it and agreed it was sufficient, or should be. So why was he so jumpy? He was not, by nature, a nervous man. Never had been. So what was wrong with him now?

“There's something wrong,” he said aloud finally, halting the talk that had started again around the table. “I don't know what it is, or where, but something is out of kilter, somewhere. If it's not here, then it's somewhere else. Of course, if it is somewhere else, then I won't know about it for days, will I?” he laughed, but there was little humor in it. He noted everyone looking at him and waved a dismissing hand.

“Don't mind me,” he told them. “Whatever it is, there's nothing to do about it that we haven't already done. Eat,” he told them. “No telling what we'll find tomorrow, right?”

They resumed eating, but would cast surreptitious glances at him from time to time, almost as if studying him to see if anything were wrong. Finally, he'd had enough of it. He rose abruptly and the others struggled to get to their feet as well.

“Oh, stop it!” he exclaimed, waving them back to their seats. “You know I don't cater to that foolishness unless I have to. Keep working and finish your meal. I'm going to stretch my legs is all. I was informed earlier today that I had to distance myself from these minor details and allow my staff to do their jobs. So, do your jobs,” he indicated the papers and logs strewn about the table. “I'm sure I'll be fine.”