Noble Beginnings

by D. W. Jackson

  They burst into raucous applause. It echoed through the hall so loudly that Dorran imagined the sound of the clamor spreading through every wall of the castle, down to the dungeon where Lyrre and her mother and their would-be assassins were cursing their luck. He knew that their celebrations were being echoed the inhabitants of the city outside and, in turn, by the rest of the newly-formed Queendom. He wondered how long it would take the King to hear their cries.

  Thea walked to her chair and settled onto it amid the tumult, and then, as she raised a hand, it died down.

  "I name as my heir," she said crisply and clearly, "my eldest daughter, Adhara Farlane, and after her, her sister Nora. I decree as well that the authority in deciding Farlan's next heir lies in the ruling figure at the time and if their will is unclear upon their death, it falls to their closest advisor to determine the next heir. I have selected Lady Aiken for this purpose; may she and the rest of my council serve me well.

  "Now," she continued. "I have an important command to make. Miss Edith, step forward."

  Dorran watched, surprised, as Edith came before the new Queen, dressed in a fine purple gown and with her hair properly coiffed for the occasion, and knelt obediently before her.

  "I believe I wronged you before, my dear," Thea said, loudly and clearly but not without warmth, "when I denied you and the rest of Farlan's daughters the opportunity to fight for her honor. Will you aid me now in fighting for her freedom?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty," Edith said clearly. From his vantage point near the side of the room, Dorran could see her face, see the way her eyes shone with a fierce pride at the simple words that had been offered her.

  "Very well. Gather whomever you can of the daughters of Farlan, and help prepare them to fight. I know that His Majesty, the King over the Western Kingdoms, will think us an easy foe to conquer. Help me to prove him wrong."

  "Yes, Your Majesty," Edith said again, and rose to her feet, meeting the Queen's gaze. She saluted smartly, the gesture of a soldier, and turned, dismissed, to listen to the rest of the new Queen's orders.

  There were more commands after that, instructions to Adhara and Nora and handfuls of other advisors, to carry out instructions both publicly given and hidden, as well as declarations made about Farlan's preliminary preparations for the upcoming battle but none of these could make Dorran more certain of Farlan's victory than could the triumphant light in Edith's gaze as it met his on her way back to her seat.

  CHAPTER XVII

  After Thea's coronation, the castle's activity kicked up again, until it was the busiest Dorran had ever seen it in his life, even more so than it had been during the preparations for his father's funeral.

  Whatever Nora had said to Thea to allow the youngest fighters to form a corps under her, they were now a part of the strategy for the capital's defense. From the first day, there were children underfoot everywhere in the castle, as Nora sent them on imaginary errands to learn the fastest ways in and around the castle. Next, she taught them about traps and siege materials and set them to work constructing small, stubborn spiked contraptions from wood. One evening, Dorran passed an unused practice chamber in the barracks where what must have been most of the children in the capital were sitting in quiet, neat rows, constructing small pointed objects to scatter on the ground before the capital's gates and other, yet more devilish, objects.

  In addition to this, to Dorran's surprise and vague worry, Nora had decided to put some of the oldest children in charge. As she explained to him briefly when they crossed paths in a hallway, she needed the extra time to help Adhara coordinate meetings with refugees who wished to help the effort against the King from their new farms out in the countryside. Many of these were unready or unwilling to fight with the futures of their families so uncertain, but Nora was patient, willing to come up with unorthodox ways they could serve the war effort. Already she had gathered surprising amounts of oil, butter, cream, and other fat sources from the homes of hundreds of families; with it, she intended to render fat and other flammable liquids to be boiled and held at the top of the capital's walls to deter any of the king's soldiers planning to climb up it.

  Dorran, thinking of how many soldiers in the King's army were likely in a similar place to the one his own soldiers would have been in had Thea not crowned herself Queen, queasily admitted to Nora that he hoped she would not have to use it. Nora admitted the same, though she thought to add that they also didn't have enough oil to pull the trick off too many times and might end up having to resort to boiling water. Dorran avoided such topics around her after that.

  Adhara herself was little to be seen around the castle; in preparation for the King's retaliation, she was traveling all over Farlan, far and near, announcing herself as the crown princess and asking for whatever support people could give. Many men were already prepared to leave their homes behind due to the muster, and several times in those few weeks she returned home with a small army in tow, ready to be put to work building up the capital's fortifications.

  Myriel, almost fully back on her feet, was quietly expanding her range of direct influence from the castle to include nearly the entire capital. She seemed to have a hand in every aspect of preparation for the siege except for the fighting itself. She had her hands in everything from release of food stores to building up the defensive architecture to keeping track of armor availability for soldiers, including the new female fighters that Edith had quickly commandeered and were currently undergoing basic preliminary training with the rest of Farlan's fledgling fighting force.

  The effects of the coming battle were far from confined to the barracks. More and more, the servants that Dorran passed in the castle halls began to look like soldiers. He had seen the same look begin to grow in young people beginning military training, and it appeared that preparing for a siege had the same effects. Girls that had once tittered and giggled at him now looked him squarely in the face and nodded when he passed, or ignored him entirely as they rushed to give or receive orders. He saw, for the first time, the sort of naked honesty in their eyes that he saw on a daily basis in Edith, Marcus, and any of the other people he had trained with. The castle had been filled with rustle and bustle and chatter, but now it echoed with the harsh reverberations of a large number of people rushing from place to place and ignoring each other unless there was something to be done.

  It seemed the very air in the capital had stilled and quieted. Dorran, in the few minutes of leisure that would occasionally crop up between barracks and castle, wondered privately whether he didn't prefer the castle that way, but quickly concluded that was irrelevant. The important thing was ensuring that the castle would be strong enough to withstand the king's forces, whatever they might be and whenever they might arrive.

  And in truth, he had little time to think about any of it. He had preparations of his own to make, after all. Dorran took a deep breath and pushed the doors to the training hall open.

  He met the eyes of the fighters first the men and women he had known for years, as well as the new recruits from the capital who had been added in preparation for the muster. Many of these looked as uncomfortable as he felt, but he saw a great deal of determination in their faces as well. Most stood already dressed in their training gear, with wooden swords at their hips or resting in their hands, tips against the ground. They were unused to all standing and listening at once, least of all to him, but they still managed to display a basic level of discipline.

  Then there were the others almost five hundred of them, outnumbering the fighters three or four to one. Some of these were wholly unfamiliar to him, but the majority were servants he had seen around the castle. Most of the Queen's guards were there, too, but he ignored them for the most part; they were already fairly experienced in fighting and well used to taking orders from a Farlane.

  They were all staring, waiting for him to start speaking.

  I can't do this, Dorran thought, for one desperate moment. They're expecting a leader. How can I lead if they're just
as inexperienced as I am?

  Then he pushed the feeling down. He was perfectly capable of this. They didn't need a perfect leader or a brilliant military strategist; all he had to do was explain to them what was going on. In fact, it would likely be in everyone's best interest to cut straight to the point. With that thought in mind, he began.

  "I'd like to thank everyone for being here," he said, making his voice as clear and loud as he could and beginning to pace, hoping that the echo in the training hall would allow his voice to carry. "Even if you're still uncertain of your desire to fight alongside us, you have been coming. That tells me that you're at least considering fighting for Farlan. If you do decide to fight for us, you will either help to defend the castle or, more likely, be involved in halting groups of invaders before they can make it that far.

  "Now, this is to be no king's muster," he continued. "My mother has made that perfectly clear, and I'm glad she has done so. Fighting is a challenge enough without doing so with reluctant soldiers. So before we begin the process of forming and training units, I'd like to say this now. Anyone who does not wish to fight does not have to. There are plenty of other roles in the castle which can be fulfilled. If you would rather be away from the danger, you can leave preferably now, but you’re free to go anytime, if you do not wish to be censured by your friends and companions."

  The uneasy silence of his audience was broken by some angry murmurs.

  "Queen Thea has elected for a difficult fight," Dorran said, raising his voice slightly.

  The grumbles reluctantly died down, and Dorran found himself smiling faintly.

  "We need to build up as strong a fighting force as possible in a short period of time," he said next, scanning the room. "We will be receiving backup from other areas, but not as much or as soon as we will need. In the meantime, we are going to need every fighter we can get. First, though, there is an important order of business that I'd like to attend to." He looked around the room. "Gentlemen, ladies, separate yourselves into two groups."

  There was a moment as they absorbed his words, and then the mass in front of him started to shift. Within a minute, there were two fairly distinct groups, all looking at him apprehensively.

  He nodded. "Good. Ladies who have fought with me in the past, step forward."

  Almost two dozen women moved to stand in the front of the large, nervous-looking group.

  "Split the female fighters up among yourselves," he told them. "I expect the most experienced among you to help the less experienced to come up with training regiments."

  They saluted, sloppily but it was done with vigor.

  Then he turned to the men. "How many of you are trained in fighting? Just raise an arm if you are. I'm not asking for much expertise just if you think you could best a stranger in a dark alley." Some two-thirds of the men in the group raised their hands. Dorran looked them over intently before continuing. "All right now, those of you that believe you're skilled enough to instruct others, come forward."

  In the end, there were enough men willing to teach that Dorran ended up re-assigning many of the women to male leaders.

  "There we have it," he said and the new teachers and students eyed each other speculatively. "Those of you who wish to fight, go to your commanders with questions. If you think you can better serve out of the line of action, talk to Myriel, she's at the site of the outdoor hospital. And if you wish to leave now and avoid danger, I would recommend doing so sooner rather than later. You may have to travel a long way indeed to avoid battle."

  "The men are wondering about your motivations," Myriel said one evening as she straightened his room, more for an excuse to talk to him than anything. He had been spending so little time in it that it was virtually spotless, and they both knew that.

  "What do you mean?" Dorran asked.

  "You've declared yourself to be behind the Queen since the first moment she declared her intentions, but in doing so, you seem to have given up your chance to rule Farlan without a second thought.

  "Yes," Dorran said, nonplussed. That had been exactly what he did. Why was it confusing?

  Myriel turned from the spotless vase on the mantelpiece to give him a long look. "You're still thinking with the mindset of a soldier," she told him.

  "What? How?"

  "Assume for a moment, my lord, that we win, that the king goes away and leaves us our independence, that no great catastrophe strikes you and your family. What will become of you after that?"

  Dorran actually froze as he thought about it. He hadn't neglected the idea of the future, of course, but Myriel was right, he was considered as something amorphous, to be dealt with only after the immediate question of Farlan's independence was resolved. "Well..."

  Myriel shrugged and returned her gaze to the mantelpiece. "It's wise enough not to trust to an uncertain future, my lord, but many of those who follow you may expect that you have a plan, for best and worst cases, and everything in between."

  "That's true," Dorran said, taking the chastisement for what it was. "What do you think I should do, Myriel?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know any more than the others, what is it you want. I suppose you could say that to us, your motivations seem rather...mysterious?"

  Dorran blinked. "They don't think I'm planning to take over by force someday, do they?"

  He saw Myriel purse her lips in profile as she turned her attention to the second vase. "Some of them might."

  "Do you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

  Myriel answered neither too quickly nor too slowly, thinking her answer over carefully before speaking. "It doesn't seem in line with what I've seen of your personality, my lord," she answered candidly. "However, since I, too, have been unable to understand the reason for your behavior...the possibility of such a thing happening in the future has crossed my mind."

  "I..." Dorran was thunderstruck. "That's why Nora and Adhara and Mother keep asking me strange questions, isn't it?" he asked, gaping. "They think I'm going to want to take the throne someday."

  "That hadn't occurred to you?" Myriel asked skeptically. "Your mother brought it up to you herself, did she not?"

  "Well, yes, but...I never wanted..." Dorran trailed off, feeling lost. Suddenly certain events and conversations from last few months made a great deal more sense.

  "People expect it because they put themselves in your shoes," Myriel said conversationally, as though stating the obvious for the sake of her own convenience. Dorran got the faint impression that she would use such a tone to explain the rules of etiquette to a small child, but Myriel's flashes of candidness were so rare that he couldn't bring himself to be entirely offended. "They think, 'If I were the formal male heir of the former Duchess, what would I think of this?' Most people would expect you to be angry. You had the closest anyone can get to the right to a throne taken away from you just as you were coming of age."

  "Well..." Dorran allowed. "I can't argue with any of that; it's true." He flexed his hands in his lap, watching them clench and unclench. "But that's not really the light in which I've seen any of this."

  She cocked her head to one side, watching him carefully. All pretenses of her cleaning were gone, and he found himself slightly pleased to have caught Myriel's interest. "How do you see it, then?"

  Dorran looked at his hands again. "Maybe it's because so many of the people in the castle are women," he said, clenching his fists. "They forget something very important."

  "What's that?" Myriel asked, subdued, as though she had already guessed the answer.

  "Ever since I was very young," Dorran said simply, "I've known I was going to grow up to be a man. I've known that so long as I was healthy, I was going to be expected to fight, and that I would probably die. And that my best chance of not dying was doing the best I could to be a good soldier, though that method obviously wasn't a surefire road to survival. I mean, my father, my grandfather..." He shrugged, looking at the calluses and creases he had built up after years of training, now ever so slightly s
ofter than they had once been but beginning to harden once more with his resumed daily training. "I grew up hearing about what great men they were, and how they died. And I knew that if I was going to be like them, then I had to grow up great and strong, but no matter how strong I got, I was probably going to die just as they did."

  He wanted to be surprised by how flat the words sounded when he said them, but he wasn't, not really. They had been truths that he'd first told himself at six years old, alone in the dark, in an attempt to make the nightmares go away. After that, they'd just been something he'd continued to repeat to himself. It seemed an important thing to remember, that you were probably going to die.

  When he looked finally looked up again, though, he thought Myriel looked upset. She had moved to the window and was staring out of it, but the grip of her hand on the windowsill looked slightly too tight to be entirely natural.

  "What are you thinking, Myriel?" He asked softly.

  He had thought he'd seen a glimmer in her eye, but when she turned to look at him, she wore only a soft, sad smile.

  "I understand, my lord," she said frankly. "I grew up knowing that if I was not useful, if I was not clever and quick and kind, no one would want me and I would die on the streets…. alone."

  Dorran thought that he had never understood another human as thoroughly as he did Myriel in that moment. He swallowed back the lump that tried to form in his throat and blinked at the telltale prickle in his eyes as he looked briefly at the coverlet on his bed. Imagining a little girl, especially one who grew up to be as wonderful as Myriel, accepting such harsh thoughts as truth in the dead of night gave him a point of comparison, and for a fleeting second, he thought of how sad it was, that at six he had started the process of condemning himself to death.

  He knew better than to waste any time feeling sorry for himself, though, so after that second he brushed the feelings away. "Then you understand," he said quietly.