Noble Beginnings (12 page)

It was when Dorran watched these youngsters
that he felt the strongest stirrings of panic in his chest. He
found himself hoping against hope that Thea might reverse her
ruling on female fighters in the muster, if only these children,
some of them only twelve or thirteen years old were all they were
able to send than there was little chance of survival for them.
Then again, he argued with himself as he watched Marcus fight a
sporting Kell, would women that were poorly trained in fighting be
any better of an option? They were older than many of those being
considered at the moment, to be sure, but would likely not prove
much more useful as fighters. He wondered how many women were
trained in more than the basics of self-defense, and how he would
feel were he Marcus's age and wondering whether or not he would be
allowed to serve his homeland. It was hard for him to step outside
himself and think of it with a new light. As hard as he might try
he knew he would never truly understand their feelings on the
matter.

As he watched them from a distance one
afternoon, thinking along these lines, he was surprised to hear his
own name mentioned by one of them. Quietly disengaging from a queue
waiting to fight two paired assailants, he headed slowly in their
direction, hoping to overhear their conversation. He knew
eavesdropping was wrong but sometimes curiosity got the better of
everyone.

"Nah, that's not how it works," one of them,
a boy named Den, was saying self-importantly. His back was to
Dorran, so that he couldn't see his expression. "Experience is too
important, we won't be serving under him right away." He paused,
and his head dipped slightly before he continued. "He might start
out as a troop commander, though..."

"I'd want to fight under him," someone else
said, and several of the others nodded vigorously.

"Do you really think we'll be fighting at
all?" Marcus asked, raising his voice and looking over at Kell, the
nearest of the adults assigned to watch them. "Ma says we're not
old enough, that they can't let us go, but we are trained, so I'm
not so sure, and everyone knows there's nowhere near enough
fighters around anyway."

Kell shrugged, face impassive. "You might or
you might not. It's out of your hands, so maybe talk less and train
more, yeah. So that in the event you have to fight you don’t just
feed the buzzards on your first foray."

Marcus stuck out his tongue briefly at the
companions who echoed Kell's words in mocking tones, and brought
his training sword into the ready position. "All right, then, let
me take you on!" he said. "The more I can prove myself the better,
right?"

Dorran was shocked to hear his name discussed
as a potential for leadership, even if it was by the youngest of
possible soldiers. He briefly imagined the idea of leading these
boys, many of which he had known for years, into a fight against
real opponents. His stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought. He
found himself sidling over to Tam, who was watching Vernis give
instructions to the youngest of the fighters with a conflicted
expression. "How many of these boys have families?" he asked
quietly.

"Most," he said. "Some of them don't, but
that Marcus boy? He's the only son of the miller. Runs half a mile
to get here every day, he says, brags that his mother's already
given up on him being anything but a soldier but he has no reason
to be that way." The man sighed, shaking his head. "When this
muster is called, boys like Marcus will be the lucky ones, and the
only way even they will survive their first battle is through dumb
luck. And having enough other incompetent fighters in the
field."

Dorran sneaked the man a sidelong glance. He
looked as though a drop of acid had fallen onto his tongue as he
continued, grumbling, "Well, that's the case for every battle you
don't need to be the best fighter on the field, just better than
the one in front of you. Isn't that how the saying goes?"

"You really hate battle, don't you?" Dorran
asked quietly, respectfully; any man, young or old, who had been on
a battlefield had earned enough honor in Dorran's eyes to excuse
any but the worst cynicism. "Are you planning to go again?"

"Of course," the man answered at once. "If I
can take anyone, most of all a child not even old enough to shave,
out of danger until he's old enough to risk his life properly, I
will."

Dorran watched as Marcus was overpowered by
Kell for the fourth time running. Whereas many fighters would have
been frustrated by such an exercise, Marcus pounded his instructor
on the back, retrieved his sword, and was back to ready position
within a minute. Even from this distance, he could see the
determination in his eyes.

"I know what you mean," he said. "Even if it
is only saving them for later. When it comes to the people who
train here, like Marcus, the delay could be the difference between
surviving your first battle or not."

"You can say that about every other soldier,
too," Tam pointed out, voice mildly acerbic. "Especially nowadays.
And speaking of that, what about you? Are you coming with us, or
will you sit this one out? I fear if you do the latter, you'll be
in for a heavy shortage of male company."

Dorran shrugged. "I don't know yet,
unfortunately. It's Mother's decision more than anything. Though
I'm old enough and I've trained enough, I'm not sure Mother saving
me for later will do much good. Most of all I don’t believe she
will let me go even if I were to beg."

"Waiting on your mother's orders, eh?" Vernis
said, shaking his head in mild disapproval. "Maybe that should be
your own decision?"

Dorran snorted quietly. "I don't think that's
how it works when you're the son of the Duchess. We may be
intending to fight for the King, but I think we'd be hard-pressed
to find a commander ready to take me on against her wishes."

Tam shrugged. "Well, I guess that's true
enough."

"What about the women, though?" Dorran asked,
wanting the old man's opinion.

"Most of 'em aren't trained to fight," Tam
answered bluntly. "Don't see how that's any better than the
boys."

"They're older..."

"True. But for the boys, it's only a matter
of time at this point," he pointed out quietly. "Or at least,
that's what it's starting to look like."

Dorran looked at Marcus as he jumped once in
triumph after landing a hit on Kell's side; Kell was smiling
sardonically at him, but still seemed pleased with the boy's
progress. "That's...rather a grim way of looking at it," he said,
keeping his voice low.

Tam raised an eyebrow. "Really? You tell me,
boy. Your father and grandfather ending up dead on a battlefield
and all, do you really expect something different for yourself? War
is a bloody thing and even those who come back home aren’t really
the same person as they were before. No matter how you look at it
the second those boys touch the battlefield who they were will
die."

The answer to that question was engrained in
too deeply at this point to avoid. "No," Dorran admitted.

Tam stared at him for a long moment, then
turned his gaze to a corner of the ceiling and sighed. "See, even
in my time, we never figured it would get this bad. I always
thought that if I just survived enough battles, I'd get to come
home and see my children and grandchildren. I didn't expect that
I'd get called back even when my hair was old and gray. I also
didn’t expect that my friends would be called back even though
they're ailing, or that my grandkids would…" he broke off, glaring
at the ceiling.

Dorran's heart sank. "You have family
entering the muster?"

"One grandson a few towns over, only a year
or so older than these young'uns, now," Tam said, sighing gruffly.
"I felt like sending my oldest girl a letter of condolence when he
came along. I knew when he was born it was only a matter of
time."

Dorran scuffed at the floor. "I'm sorry," he
offered.

Tam made a face. "See, that's what I mean. Is
that all we're good for, now? An apology in advance?"

“I didn’t mean…” Dorran stammered.

Tam patted him softly on the shoulder. “I
know boy, it’s no more your fault than it is the duchess’s. It’s
the idiot king’s order that has sent so many of us to our deaths.
And for what? A dusty throne, that has long since lost all of its
power?”

Tams words echoed in his mind for the rest of
the day. Is that all Farlan had to look forward to. Were they
nothing more than a breeding ground for death? Was a birth of a boy
no longer something to celebrate but only a future soldier one will
have to watch go to war and die one day? An apology in advance, it
would make a good motto for the people of Farlan.

One evening a day or two later, he was
surprised by a knock on his door. When he opened it, he found Nora
on the other side. She looked as calm and collected as ever, but he
immediately wondered why she was there.

"Brother. May I come in?" she nodded to the
tray in her hands, soup and hard, flat bread. "I brought our
supper."

"Of course," he said, taken aback, as she
swept in and set the tray down on his desk. "Sit wherever you
like," he added belatedly as she looked around. She elected to
perch at the foot of his bed, her bowl of soup balanced on one
knee. She began eating right away, and he noted that her style of
eating quick and neat was vaguely reminiscent of Myriel's. He also
noticed that his sister, who had always been pale and small, looked
skinnier than ever. He walked over to his desk, picked up his own
bowl and bread, and looked down at them. His stomach was rumbling
hungrily, but he was well used to that. He dipped a corner of the
bread into the soup and took a bite, chewing well to make the food
last longer.

"How are you doing?" he asked her, with more
feeling than he usually would. "Are you holding up under the
rationing all right?"

She nodded. "It's no great concern. I would
imagine it would be worse for you, with the way you exert yourself
both physically and emotionally."

He raised an eyebrow. "You train in fighting
sometimes."

"Perhaps, but it's not the same. Anyway..."
She paused, then: "Have you had any girls recently?" she suddenly
asked out of nowhere, and Dorran almost choked in his surprise.

He swallowed, then coughed, then spluttered,
"What?"

"Any girls, the ones at the barracks or the
castle, or Lyrre. Had any of them?"

"You mean...?" She continued looking at him
patiently, and he felt himself turning bright red. "Why are you
asking?" he demanded desperately.

"Because it could be important," she said
simply. "Couldn't it? Mother hasn't told you yet whether you're
going with the muster or not, after all."

He looked her over. "She told you that?"

Nora gave him a small, rare grin. "Not in so
many words. But you just did."

"Ah!" Nora had played that game with him
several times when they were younger, and he felt the same surge of
annoyance he always had at it, and it was even worse now that she'd
played him perfectly. "Fine. No, I haven't," he grumbled.

"For how long?" she demanded.

He crossed his arms, thinking that it was
wrong that someone six inches shorter than him could make him feel
tiny. "Months," he admitted. "At least two or three months.
Probably more like five."

Nora sat back and casually scooped a spoonful
of soup into her mouth. "I'm impressed," she said. "But aren't you
worried about not leaving behind an heir if you go away?"

"Are you kidding?" Dorran said. "What good
would an infant heir do? You and Addie are more than enough to keep
Farlan running if something happens to both Mother and me."

There was a peculiar glint in Nora's eyes as
she pondered his answer. "You do realize that the only reason Thea
came to rule Farlan is that there weren't any other heirs
available, right?" she said. "You've been the next in line for the
duchy seat since you were born behind Father, when he was still
alive. But that's not something you seem to be keeping in
mind."

Dorran shrugged. "I always figured it would
be something I worried about when I returned from battle." He
replaced the when with if in his head, but decided that there was
no reason to put that to his little sister, no matter how blunt she
herself might be.

"Hmm." Nora looked him up and down. "Have you
given any thought to marrying before leaving?"

Dorran fought the urge to answer with a
squawk. "No, I have not," he said resolutely. "And I don't plan
to."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I can think of
several candidates off the top of my head who would be more than
happy to have you, and one of them is closer to home than you might
think."

Dorran's intuition took a leap, though
admittedly not a very long one. "You mean Lyrre, don't you?" he
asked, and she nodded. "No," he said simply. "I'm not interested. I
mean, I suppose that if Mother ordered me, I would...and she's very
pretty, but..." he trailed off helplessly. "No. Just no."

Nora looked vaguely amused. "I see. Well,
have you considered informing Lyrre of that? Or asking Mother about
it?"

"Not until right now," Dorran admitted. "I
have wondered whether bringing her here was an elaborate ploy to
marry me off, but I thought it didn't make sense, with the muster
so close. What am I supposed to do celebrate my wedding day while
my friends go off to die?"

Nora shrugged. "You make a point."

Dorran set aside his now-empty bowl and
leaned back slightly, watching her warily. "Why are you asking me
all this?"

"I just...wanted to see what you were
thinking about in all this," she said. "Mother threw you into the
mix of court life at a rather turbulent time, and I have to admit
that you're a bit of a wild card."

"That and I suspect you enjoy just being able
to ask blunt questions like that," he said, only half teasing.