Noble Beginnings (13 page)

"Maybe a bit," she said unrepentantly. "I'm
sure you understand why that sort of thing doesn't tend to go well
with the other nobles, but I enjoy it. But more seriously," she
said, her face hardening from its expression of amusement, "you're
a bit of a wild card in all this. You may be a fighter, but you're
still the Duchess's firstborn son and sole male heir. I have a
vague idea of what the various nobles think of you, and a few
thoughts about Mother's plans, but I don't know much about what you
think yourself."

Dorran made a face. "What do I think? I think
that part of me would really prefer to stay on a battlefield, where
stabbing someone in the back is something that can be performed
literally and is occasionally stopped by chain mail."

Nora was quiet for a long moment at that.
"You know," she said quietly, "I'd be the first to admit that
politics can be dangerous. But when it gets right down to it..."
She looked him straight in the eyes, and he thought he could see a
flicker of vulnerability in her own. "Do you really want to end up
in similar positions as Father and Grandfather?"

Dorran sighed. "You're not the first person
to ask me something along those lines lately," he admitted. "'Do I
want to follow in their footsteps?' 'What are my plans for the
future?' I'm starting to wonder how long it'll be before somebody
just asks me if I'm looking forward to dying in battle."

"Are you?" Nora asked, keeping her face
carefully blank, and he grinned appreciatively at her.

"No, that's not really something I hope to
accomplish in the near future," he told her, then sighed slightly.
"Though I'm beginning to wonder exactly how much my will factors in
to that."

"It depends on your choices, I think," Nora
told him, and he couldn't help but agree inwardly as she stood and
took his plates. "Well, Brother," she continued, "thank you for
letting me share this meal with you. You've given me valuable
information to think over."

"Have I?" he said nonchalantly. "Well, you've
given me plenty to think over as well. Thank you for coming
by."

She gave him a polite smile. "It was my
pleasure. Good night."

She shut the door behind her, and Dorran sat
back in his chair and stared at the faint engraved patterns on the
old wood, wondering about the importance of their conversation. One
of the tricks one of his sisters had mentioned to him once about
motivation was that focusing on what motivations made a
conversation topic more likely was more important than the topics
themselves. Or something like that, he thought, though he hadn't
had much patience for such things when he was younger. Still,
though, he wondered at the fact that Nora would come all the way up
to his chambers just to have a slightly rambling conversation.

She was feeling me out, he thought. That, at
least, seemed fairly obvious. But for what?

To see if he hoped to get married before
leaving? The possibility that Thea wanted him to marry Lyrre and
had sent Nora to him to test the waters crossed his mind, but he
dismissed it almost at once as not either woman's style. He had the
feeling, as he often did, that Nora was working on her own. Unlike
Addie or Thea, she was willing to stoop to slightly eccentric
methods of information collection. Not for the first time, he was
glad he'd given his sister knife lessons when they were younger.
She seemed the most likely of his three family members to put
herself in situations where she would suddenly need the ability to
defend herself.

But if she had been investigating him
herself, what was she looking for, and who, if anyone, did she
intend to report what she found to? Dorran pondered it for a long
while, but eventually gave up. Too many questions floated in his
mind so he did the only thing he could think of, he changed into
his nightclothes, tightened the piece of rope he wore as a belt at
night to stop his stomach from rumbling, and crawled under the
covers for a night of nightmares featuring Lyrre hunting him with a
bow, clad in a wedding gown. The dream was far more terrifying than
it sounded something which he would inwardly blame on his younger
sister the next morning.

CHAPTER XII

He didn't see much of any of his family
outside of councils after that. Time whittled itself away as the
approach of the muster's departure got closer and closer, and
everyone in and around the castle seemed to be getting
progressively busier. Even Myriel's appearances had become more
intermittent; after coaxing a few hints from her about her other
duties, he had put his foot down several times until she had agreed
that she would only come to tend to his chambers when she had
nothing better to be doing, including resting. He suspected, from
the frequency with which she continued to come by, that she was
either following someone else's orders due to her frequent presence
or they had very different definition of better thing to do.

Strangely enough, in the flurry of
preparation for the muster, the training hall in the barracks
swiftly became the only constant. Most of the women were completely
absent from the hall by this point in time, and Dorran and the
others missed their company, but all the barracks' current
occupants were too busy focusing on training for an actual battle
they might be preparing for. This meant that the training was more
focused than ever, and Dorran found a level of peace in the flurry
of blades and bruises that could not be found in any of the soft
words of the council or the hushed voices in the castle's
hallways.

Every day, though, a few more soldiers would
come in with a slightly crumpled scroll in their hands or with the
news on their lips that they had been formally added to the muster.
The capital had so far been the slowest to collect its fighters,
which made sense on a certain level since the force would formally
depart from there, it meant they had the most time for organization
and to fix problems or mistakes should they arise.

By a similar token, Dorran was perfectly
aware that he might not be informed of his own status within the
muster until the very last minute. That was if he was not simply
intentionally overlooked by Thea and the rest of the muster
officers. He tried not to let it bother him, simply enjoying the
feeling of certainty that fighting could at least temporarily
provide, but he couldn't help but notice that the fighters that
seemed the most at peace, and the most intense, were the ones that
knew that they were going away to fight. He had also started to
notice more and more looks directed at him the more days that
passed without an answer to the question of whether he would be
gong with them or not. But there was little he could do, so he did
his best to simply continue helping all he could with the muster
effort behind the scenes and keep training when no other demands
were made of him.

One morning, six days before the muster was
scheduled to depart, Dorran woke up on his own to find that, just
as on the day before, Myriel had not come by. Taking this and the
absence of any other messenger as his cue, he decided to spend the
majority of the day training. He dressed at a leisurely pace in his
training outfit, stretched carefully, and picked up his training
weapons and a few spares before heading down to the barracks.

It looked to be another ordinary day there;
except for the ever-increasing number of stares he could feel aimed
at his back and the more fluid (or desperate) look of some of the
fighters, no one would ever guess that most of the men here were
leaving in less than a week, for a year or more if they were lucky
enough to return at all.

As usual, though, these thoughts slipped away
as he was placed in a group of fairly inexperienced fighters and
told to teach them half-hours of drilling followed by cycles of
two-minute freestyle fights. Dorran quickly settled into the rhythm
of the familiar attacks and blocks, though he had to keep a patient
eye out for his less experienced comrades. Soon, he was sweating
with the fervor of training thoroughly performed, thinking absently
that the future seemed less daunting now than it did a moment ago.
He knew the calmness was only temporary, but he still aimed to
enjoy it as much as he could while it lasted.

He certainly hadn't, however, expected it to
be broken in the next instant by a high-pitched, wordless, feminine
shriek, coming not from anywhere in the training field, but from
somewhere in the hallway.

Dorran took a split second to stare at
Vernis, but the older man was already moving, breaking into a
sprint towards the door with a haste that belied his age. All the
seasoned veterans were right behind him, with a few of the younger
soldiers close behind Dorran and the others

When he reached the hallway, however, a path
melted away in front of him, and he only picked up speed as he
realized who was at the other end of it.

"Nora?" he asked, pulling himself to a halt
with difficulty as he approached her. "What's…"

"There's no time," she panted. She looked all
the soldiers over with a quick and commanding glance. Her hair and
dress were in disarray, and her eyes were wild, but her tone was
cold and clipped. "There are assassins in the castle. They're on
their way to the Duchess, and we don't have enough guards to ensure
her safety. Get whatever weapons you have at hand and come on!"

Dorran gulped and looked at his empty hand;
he'd laid his practice sword down to leave the training hall, and
besides, those weapons were made of wood. As he looked around
desperately, he saw many of the other fighters doing the same,
beginning to mutter to one another.

"Oh no!" someone exclaimed.

"Are we.." Dorran heard from behind him.

"There's no time!" Vernis shouted at the
group.

"Where are…" Dorran started to ask but was
cut off.

"All right!" A commanding voice cut through
the babble, which instantly died. Dorran found himself standing at
attention and facing Vernis without having made a conscious
decision to do so. "Everyone who knows where there's weapons
nearby, grab a handful of people and go there. Everyone else, with
me, there's some old blades in storage here. They're not great, but
they're better than nothing. Go!"

Dorran grabbed the two nearest soldiers to
him and tugged, indicating that they follow him. Then he dived into
the sudden chaos of frantic limbs that had become the hallway,
leading them to Edith's room. He threw open the door in three
strides, tossed one of the soldiers the one spare training blade of
Edith's he could find, and took her brother's sword for himself. He
had been about to send the other soldier away with an apology, but
instead watched as the youth, whom he now recognized as Kell, took
Edith's heavy practice quarterstaff instead. As they turned and ran
back the way they came, he mentally apologized to Edith for
borrowing the cherished weapon he held, and promised that he would
look after it.

Then he turned his attention to sprinting at
top speed along the hallways without colliding with the walls,
corners, or other fighters rushing beside him. Those with the
presence of mind to notice him got out of his way, and by the time
they were on the third story of the castle he was able to work his
way up to Nora, who was flying up the stairs.

"Where?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she panted. "I saw them
headed, for Mother's council chamber five, maybe ten, minutes ago.
There were too many, to engage, so I ran for backup. I think
Mother, would have run for cover, this way." She nodded in the
direction they were moving, up and to the left. "But I'm not sure,
so the forces should split up. Stealth will not help us here."

"Right," Dorran said, and as they reached the
top of the staircase, he swung him around behind him. "Half of you,
follow me!" he barked. "Other half, scour the castle. Stop and
question any stranger you see. Do not hesitate to use force if they
make any threatening moves! Aim to capture, but do not be afraid to
kill if you must. Understood?"

A scattered chorus of assent echoed up the
staircase, and he hoped that would be enough. "Go," he said to
Nora. "I'll follow."

And go she did, rushing at ridiculous speeds
for one who was as small as she was, dressed in a gown and
accustomed to what he had thought was a fairly sedentary lifestyle.
The hallways are too long here, he thought as he sprinted around a
corner, hearing the footsteps and harsh breathing of a dozen or
more soldiers trailing behind them. What if Mother and Addie
are…

His thoughts were interrupted by the distant
echoes of pounding and the faint impressions of shouts, and every
conscious thought but reaching his destination was wiped out in a
wash of fear. He surged ahead, and was at the front of the group
when they rounded the corner and came upon the assailants

There were at least a dozen of them in the
hallway, probably considerably more. Dorran charged them without
bothering to check how far the others were behind him, knowing that
even a sufficient distraction could potentially save his mother’s
and sister’s lives.

He cut down the first with a well-placed
blade to the side of his neck as he began to turn. He jumped back
to avoid the momentum of the dying man's return stroke, and his hip
bumped something or someone hard enough to almost knock the wind
out of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his fellow
soldiers coming to his aid, all of them unarmored and many under
armed against the leather-plated assassins.

He engaged with another man in front of him,
who pulled his sword into a clumsy block. Dorran swiftly tugged his
blade away, just in time to deflect a fairly wild swing aimed at
his head from another assailant, then jumped into an awkward angle
in an attempt to counter both the men's blades at once. One of
them, unused to such an outcome, disengaged sloppily; Dorran
pounced, getting the unfortunate man between himself and his other
assailant and landing a strong slash to the stomach before one of
his allies' sword managed to spear him in the side. Then Dorran
used the man's falling body as an obstacle to attack the next man.
Had he the time or the philosophy to spare, he might have compared
it to an incredibly fast game of chess, with the way he had to
balance the cuts and gashes he could afford in return for as many
of the lives of the assailants as possible, and as much speed as
possible in reaching the door, which was his ultimate goal. For
though as far as he could tell, he and his men were besting the
enemy, there were still several pushing through the splintered
remains of a door, and who know how many were already inside?