Parno's Gift, page 36
part #5 of The Black Sheep of Soulan Series
Parno faced them, his face stoic save for a single tear, which he refused to wipe away. His thoughts at that moment went to the one man who had made Parno McLeod into the man that stood before this cheering crowd today.
He hoped, he prayed, that somewhere, somehow, Darvo Nidiad could see him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
-
“Roda, are you aware that I was married less than three weeks ago?” Parno asked testily. He had been 'summoned with great urgency' to the Foundry, with no other information provided, while in the midst of preparing to leave with his bride for Cove Canton.
“And that I am about to depart for the Canton with my new bride?” the young prince grit his teeth slightly.
“Yes, of course I know,” Finn nodded absently. “I was there at the wedding, remember? I was-, oh,” he suddenly realized that, one, Parno was now glaring at him, and two, he had not been asking that as a interrogative question.
“You'll have to forgive 'im, milord,” Whip Hubel sighed. “He's been on about this foolishness for days now, and been working on it non-stop for weeks. He wants you to be seeing it 'fore you leave.”
“Well, here I am,” Parno raised his hands out to his sides. “What is it?”
“Oh, you'll have to come with us to the range,” Finn smiled. “Sorry. Won't take but a minute.”
“Be worth your time, milord, assumin' it works,” Whip noted softly. Sighing, Parno climbed aboard the carriage and took the ten-minute ride to the 'range', an area south of the Foundry where Roda could safely test his new creations.
Upon arrival, Parno could see what looked like a long, iron tube resting on logs. He could also see what could only be pieces and parts of others lying about haphazardly. Very haphazardly.
“Roda, I don't think I like the looks of this,” he waved a uniformed arm at the wasteland of iron around him.
“Tut, tut,” Roda waved his concerns away. “Can't make an omelet and all that. And anyways, those early days are long behind us, eh Master Archer?”
“Not long enough,” Whip muttered but otherwise agreed with the fussy inventor. Parno followed him to a small pile of rock behind the tube. He was surprised when Roda led him behind it to reveal steps leading down, inside a stone and log cellar of some sort.
“Hold on,” Berry commanded before motioning one of his men forward to make sure the cellar was clear of snakes or other harmful occupants. The man was up a minute later, nodding the all clear.
“All right, then, everyone inside,” Roda ordered. “Master Archer I shall leave the honors to you, if you will?”
“Honors, he says,” Whip muttered again, trudging back the way he came.
“What the hell is all this about, Roda?” Parno was rapidly losing his patience.
“A new weapon, milord,” Roda's eyes gleamed with that near madness that always accompanied one of his ideas come to life. “My assistants provided the final piece for it. Observe,” he pointed out the narrow slit to where Whip Hubel was waiting, carrying a torch.
“Anytime, Master Archer!” Roda called. Whip waved and acknowledgment, then lowered the torch to whatever he was standing over. Parno was shocked to see fire spark along the ground, then slightly alarmed to see Whip break into a run back toward the cellar.
“Roda, what's wrong?” he demanded at once. “Why is he running? Are we far enough away to-,”
“All in good time, milord,” Roda never took his eyes away from the window. “I beg only that you watch. I will answer any questions afterward.” Before Parno could say anything else a heaving Whip Hubel staggered down the steps, breath coming in gulps.
“Too old for shit like this,” he mumbled as he rested his hands on his knees, trying to regain his breath.
Parno looked to Whip, and then turned back just in time to see the fire leap from the ground and to the top of the iron tube. Before he could speak, a tremendous explosion rocked the ground around them and a gout of flame longer than a carriage with four horses shot from the end of the tube.
Parno had not yet recovered his senses when there was another crash, this one much further away, and another explosion, complete with flames bursting into the air. Ears ringing, Parno shook his head in a failed effort to restore his hearing as the fire burned itself slowly out.
“So, what do you-, oh, dear,” Roda cut himself off as he saw everyone trying to alleviate the ringing in their ears. “Did I not warn everyone to plug their ears? I knew there was something...”
“What the hell was that?!” Parno had to scream to hear himself.
“I call it a cannon, milord,” Roda yelled back. “It is not yet completely perfected, but it is well along the way. Not only can we use it for land warfare, but with some modifications, we can likely use it for naval warfare as well! Place them on ships!”
“Incredible,” Parno spoke normally, though he could barely hear himself over the ringing. “I want you working only on this project, Roda,” Parno ordered at once. “Do you understand? Others can see that the Foundry stays operating but I want you working only on this. I want this . . . cannon, perfected. I don't want one blowing up on us, or sinking our own ships, so it has to be perfect. Perfect, Roda! Do you understand?”
“Well, yes, milord, of course,” Roda nodded. “But there is the problem of ore and of course the mag-,”
“Send it to my office,” Parno told him, waving the problems away. “Whatever it is, I'll make it happen so long as it's within my power. But I want this. I want this as soon as possible.” He was already climbing out of the cellar to see the destruction first hand.
“Incredible,” he mouthed again as he viewed the distant crater gouged into the ground by the cannon. He rather liked that word, cannon.
“Cannon.”
-
“No, Parno, there's nothing I can do for ringing of the ears,” Stephanie told him again as they climbed into her carriage for the trip home. “It will have to go away on it's on.”
“What?” Parno all but yelled in her face.
“It will have to fade on its own!” she yelled back, rolling her eyes. “What were you doing?”
“What?”
“Never mind,” she made a wave of her hands as she shook her head. “Take us home, please, Captain,” she told Winters. “And we are in no hurry,” she added with an apologetic smile.
“Yes, milady,” Winters returned her faint smile with one of his own as he closed the door.
“It will be good to be home,” she said aloud.
“Your own what?” Parno asked.
“My home,” she said loudly, smiling. “Our home.”
“Yes,” Parno smiled back. “Good to be home.”
-
Therron McLeod heard a commotion below his room at the mansion and looked outside to see a rank of Soulan cavalry coming down the lane. He felt a moment of panic until he saw Horace Whipple leading the column.
“Good old Horace,” Therron smiled to himself. “Decided to marry Sherron after all.” Rubbing his hands together, he quickly gathered his few things before hurrying down the stairs.
“And here he is,” Prescott was saying to Whipple. “All ready for you.”
“Horace!” Therron beamed. “I am delighted to see you!”
“Therron McLeod, you are under arrest for Treason against the Crown,” Whipple said without preamble. “Take him,” he ordered the men behind him.
“What the devil is this!” Therron demanded as he attempted to struggle but was quickly overpowered. Whipple walked over to him, looking down as he reminded Therron how much taller he actually was than the former Marshal.
“This is you, being arrested for treason,” Whipple said quietly. “Go with it.”
Therron read something into Whipple's voice and instantly stopped struggling.
“Very well,” he said instead. “I shall have my day in court!”
“So you shall,” Whipple nodded. “Brigadier, we shall be on our way again, now. There's enough light left for us to travel a good ways yet. We thank you for all you've done.”
“Quite welcome, old man,” Prescott nodded, smiling. “Be a pleasure to have you back when you can stay longer.” Whipple had already arranged for Prescott to see to it that the Marines who had brought Therron this far be returned south and reunited with their commands, so there was only the need to get the disgraced prince to his horse.
Silence reigned as the men mounted their horses. Soon the entire group was moving again at a near gallop.
East, toward Soulan.
-
“This will do,” Horace said, more to himself than anyone else. He turned to his second in command.
“Walk the horses,” he ordered. “Make nature call. I'll take the Prince where he can have some privacy.”
“Yes sir,” the man nodded before turning to start shouting orders. Whipple took the reins to Therron's horse and led him perhaps fifty yards north, to a small stand of pines.
“Here, take these damn things off,” Therron demanded once they were out of sight, holding out his manacles. “Tell me, what has happened in my absence? How bad are things at home?”
“Bad?” Horace looked at Therron as if he'd lost his mind as he removed the manacles. “Things are fine at home, Therron, without you in the mix. War's over, we won. Parno kicked their asses so bad they had to walk home and leave everything they owned behind.”
“Ridiculous,” Therron sputtered as he rubbed his wrists. “Parno would be lucky to fight his way out of a wet back!”
“Beat Enri handily enough, though. Didn't he?” Whipple taunted. “Oh, and Sherron is dead, by the way,” he added conversationally. Therron looked at him for almost a full minute as the words caught him by surprise.
“What?” Therron finally exploded. “What happened to her!”
“I killed her,” Horace smiled at his cousin. “Just like I'm going to kill you,” he added, his voice gently mocking.
“Just so you know, she killed Tammon, and almost killed Memmnon,” Horace continued as he drew his bow from the case along his saddle. “Talked Callens into taking her from lock up and trying to free you from the Key Horn place. Just missed you by three or four days as you took off by ship. She planned to bring you back and put you on the throne by force. Apparently with her as your Queen,” he added as he pulled an arrow from his quiver. He paused and looked up.
“That's just disgusting, Therron,” he said plainly. “I mean, as if treason wasn't enough for you to do to the family name, you had to add that?”
“I never!” Therron was still trying to catch up. “What do you mean, like you're going to me?” he demanded suddenly.
“I'm about to kill you, cousin,” Horace smiled. “Call it a wedding gift to your brother. You've been a thorn in that paw for far too long, and it's time you went. You're a menace to the Kingdom, Therron. And, to be honest, I never liked you. You or Sherron. So take off,” he nodded north. “I might miss, you never know. I'll count to ten before I shoot.”
“You wouldn't dare!” Therron shot back, fear in his eyes.
“One,” Horace said simply.
Eyes wide, Therron kicked his horse, slapping his rein from flank to flank as he took off running.
“Two,” Horace said aloud before aiming and loosing his arrow. It flew true as he knew it would, but he walked his horse over to make sure. He looked down at his dying cousin with no emotion at all.
“I lied, by the way,” he said simply. “I was never going to count to ten.” He watched the light leave Therron's eyes, then went to collect his horse. There were a few raised eyebrows when he returned without the prince in tow, but no one spoke. Whipple had selected these men from Parno's Black Sheep. They would never speak of it.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked them. “Let’s head for home!”
-
It took ten days for Parno's hearing to be restored, during which time he sent Roda specific instructions to ensure the hearing safety of any and all personnel near that cannon, and holding the fussy inventor personally responsible for any further hearing damage to anyone.
He and Stephanie were curled up together on the porch, the nights now cool enough that they could use a blanket. Neither spoke as they simply enjoyed the cool night air and beautiful view of the stars in the sky.
Their peace was interrupted as boots fell on the sidewalk and a man in uniform knocked politely on the screen porch door. Parno rose without worry, knowing that this man had to have passed the guards of his own regiment to get this far. He opened the door to see Aaron Bell of all people, in uniform and holding out a message.
“Hello, Aaron,” Parno smiled. “I didn't know you were back.”
“No need for me there anymore, milord,” Aaron shrugged. “Tinker and his people came this way, anyhow, since Zeke didn't want to sell the tavern. I gotta be near to where Briel is,” he grinned like the teenager he was.
“I can well understand that,” Parno nodded, opening the message. He held the parchment up to the lantern and read it. A look of immense satisfaction came to his face as he read it.
“Thank you, Aaron,” Parno said finally. “There's no reply. Have a good evening.”
“You too, milord.”
Parno watched the young soldier make his way down the walk before touching the parchment paper to the lantern, then tossing the flaming paper into a chimenea that was currently not in use. It burned quickly with little smoke, and was soon gone completely save for a tiny ember of fire. Parno returned to his place on the sofa and beneath the blanket, where he absently rubbed Stephanie's slightly swollen belly.
“What was that all about?” she asked finally as Parno put his head on her shoulder.
“One last wedding gift,” Parno said absently, looking at the starts once more. “This one just for me.”
A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR
(that’s me)
-
First of all, thank you for following the tale of Parno McLeod. It has been a long journey and at times I wasn't sure if I'd ever finish it or not. It grew far beyond what it was meant to be, and that after already being sprung from another story that I still hope one day to tell.
This one has been difficult to finish for a number of reasons, most of which you all know. I appreciate your patience as I worked through loss and pain and endured injury of my own. We all have to go through these things, but that never makes them easier. At the end of the day, we all have to heal in the way best suited to us. It's all we can do.
From a simple idea a decade ago, this story has grown into five novels, at a combined total of some three-quarters-of-a-million words.
Seven hundred and fifty thousand words. It doesn't matter how many ways you say it, it's still a lot of words. Never in my wildest imagination ten or twelve years ago did I see this happening. Sometimes, I still can't believe it, even with the evidence in front of me.
I have to thank my wife and my nephew of course, who pick up the slack when I'm 'working' (you can picture Dr Evil here with his quote marks ;), and who support me when I'm lost. Sometimes we all need encouragement, even for something we love to do.
I also have to thank Dan Edwards and the folks at Creative Texts. I've said before that they work very hard to make me look like a real writer instead of just a story teller who can't type, and it still applies. Thanks Dan, and all the gang, for everything.
I have a lot of work still lined up to do this year, but I think I'll take a day or two off without at least this one brick hanging over me before I dive back into something new. I haven't really earned it, but I think I can use it.
To those of you who send me notes of encouragement, thank you. I doubt I could adequately express just how good it feels when a reader, someone who likes what I do, asks me how things are going or what's on the line next. Your interest is often what keeps me going when I'd rather just yank my hair out rather than keep going. I know some writers don't reply to messages and social media but I do try to. I'm sometimes slow at it, I admit, but I'm slow at a great many things, unfortunately, so please excuse that and bear with me. I'm not going to get faster as I get older, I'm almost certain. Nothing else seems to be improving with age, I can tell you that.
All of you who read my work, who take the time to just drop a line or especially a review, you're the people I work for. I write for you. To entertain you, and give you a break from reality. That's what I look for when I read, so that's what I try to give to you. I hope I've been successful, but I ultimately have to leave that to you, the reader.
I would ask you, however, to consider leaving a review of Parno and any of my other books you read, if you haven't already done so. Reviews generate interest, but they also fall into an algorithm of searches that bring my books to the attention of new readers. Never underestimate how important your review is to your favorite writer. (Or, you know, second favorite writer, or. . .something).
As I end this arc of Parno's tales, I do so with pride that I managed to do it, with a bit of sadness that it's done, and with a glance at the future. I hope you enjoy it, and if you do, I hope you'll let me, and others, know it.
God bless you all, I love you, and good night from the shores of Pickwick Lake.
N.C. Reed
N C Reed, Parno's Gift
