Noble Beginnings

by D. W. Jackson

  "Hope I didn't hit you too hard," he said, nodding at the bruises.

  She snorted. "I hope you're joking. I was considering scolding you about that. You do realize, I think that the point of training is building habits. If you train yourself to be afraid of bruising your opponent, how do you expect to be able to kill a real one?"

  He looked away. "I know that, but it won't do me any good if I broke my fellow soldiers' trust in me. And fighting is more about self-control, anyway. Isn't that what Vernis has always told us?"

  Edith shrugged and turned around, reaching for a nearby bar of soap and beginning to scrub her back. "Should that really matter, in my case?" she asked.

  Her voice was perfectly casual, but Dorran froze. They'd never talked about this, about Edith's chances of being allowed to become a soldier. "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "I want to be a soldier," she answered, still casual. "But..."

  "I know." And he did, she had mentioned it so many time over the years the fact had been branded into his mind. "But how..."

  "There already aren't enough men in the kingdoms to sustain the war," Edith said, "and I don't intend to have children for years yet, if ever. I don't see why I can't do the same things my brothers did."

  Dorran just shrugged, then used a basin to rinse the soap off his body. He sat back and watched the ceiling, enjoying the sensation of heat sinking from the water into his bones.” I think you should."

  There was a beat of silence, than a soft and surprised sounding “oh," escaped her lips

  "Yes," he said awkwardly. "I mean, you have a point...there's no reason for women not to join the King's army as soldiers. There's no law against it, and several of the other duchies have started allowing it, I think. I bet the number of women soldiers will only grow the longer the war continues...and to be honest, I don't think that the war is going to stop anytime soon. Don’t get me wrong I wish it would but with four different armies trying to win the same throne and none of them with an advantage over the others.”"

  "Good point." He heard the sound of water sloughing off a standing body and respectfully kept his eyes turned the other way as Edith stepped out of the tub. "Anyway, I'm leaving now. I have work to get done back at home. Thanks for inviting me down here."

  "No problem," he said easily. "Take care, And...Edith?"

  There was a rustling of cloth, and then silence. Dorran peeked over his shoulder, and when he saw that Edith was already wearing her tunic and trousers, he turned around fully to look at her. "Yes?" she prompted him with a smirk on her face.

  "Do whatever you need to," he said. "I like to rely on you to help out with the barracks, since you've helped me with it from the beginning, but I know you've got your own priorities and in the end I trust you, so I believe that if you find it important than it must be." He looked her straight in the eye, watching as her eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Just...take care, all right?"

  She looked at him, face level but perhaps, he thought, vaguely approving. "Yes. Thank you...my lord."

  He sighed quietly to himself as she left, but found himself smiling as well. It was far from a complete victory. He still hadn’t learned what she had been up to but at least they were back on friendly terms and that alone meant a lot to him.

  CHAPTER VII

  Striking a balance between training and his study of court life proved difficult. Dorran asked Myriel for advice as often as he could, and checked in with his sisters whenever he was able to find them. He started to feel like he was jumping at shadows in his attempts to be where he was needed without having to be asked, for all that Myriel occasionally assured him that he was improving. Those few words while heard rarely were a great prize for him.

  The most annoying aspect of balancing his time, he thought, was how unrelated the two activities seemed. Even though thousands of Farlan's men were fighting and dying abroad, this topic was only rarely discussed in court, and even then never in detail. It was the King's business, he supposed, rather than his mother's, but he couldn't help but be frustrated nonetheless. Every now and then he would dream about confronting his mother about being sent with a band of soldiers to the King, a shadowy figure who looked him up and down before gesturing with an imperious hand and releasing a horde of shadowy soldiers on him. Just as his sword was about to clash with that of the first foe, Dorran would wake up.

  He was absent mindedly contemplating his latest dream as Thea opened the council. She looked pleasant, almost jovial, but somehow more tired than usual.

  "I'd like to begin this meeting with some pleasant news," she announced. "I've decided to invite the family of my late husband, Jaren, to live with us in the castle. Several months ago, I invited the Lady Alven and her daughter to come live with us, in my late husband's memory. They have happily accepted my invitation, and after they have put their affairs on their ancestral estate in order they will be arriving here at the castle. I expect them to be here within the week. I hope all of you will show them hospitality befitting the joy their presence will bring me…and, indeed, all of us. I have organized a small feast to celebrate their arrival, and they shall thereupon be honorary members of our council."

  Dorran had no particular reaction to the news it only meant a few more nobles in the area of the castle and he didn’t expect that was going to change his daily life much. Even if they were family members, he only dimly remembered Lyrre as a girl a year or two younger than he was. She had always been much more interested in playing with his sisters than with him. As he tried half-heartedly to remember more details about Alven and Lyrre from his childhood, Thea briefly outlined her plans for their arrival at the castle, and polite agreements were exchanged around the table.

  Then Thea straightened, looking solemn. "I'm afraid that my next piece of news is not so easily prepared for," she said, looking around the table. "His Majesty has sent us a new missive."

  There was a low murmuring around the table, but it quickly fell into a deep silent as everyone awaited the news. "He says he has made significant headway on the southern front, but that he needs a significant force to ensure the best chances of a successful push into enemy territory. He is requesting an additional muster…Thirty thousand healthy, equipped men of any age and supplies to last them at least two months. He has also asked that whatever additional soldiers we may be able to spare would be greatly appreciated. He would hope for more, but thirty thousand, he says, are all he is formally asking of us."

  There was an outbreak of talking around the table, but rather than cutting into it right away, Thea let it continue, sitting back and watching the council members with wary eyes.

  Dorran almost couldn't believe his ears. An actual discussion of military concerns? He sat still and expressionless, trying to avoid showing his surge of interest on his face. The last special missive had been when his grandfather had joined the front line, some three or four years ago; normally, only approximately two thousand men were asked for yearly. He couldn't remember how large the last special muster was, but something told him that it hadn't been quite this large. The faces around the table were grim and for once the reason for it was clear in his mind.

  Dorran knew that the war in the western kingdom was the cause of many hardships, both individual and wide-ranging, in Farlan...But still, he felt himself tense with a strange sense of eagerness. It wasn't excitement, exactly, but still for once, they were discussing a subject he had studied, one he understood.

  "To explore our options in meeting the terms of this request, I would have Lord Dorran meet with our civilian community leaders. Dorran, I will provide you with a list of these individuals; please meet with them and report to me with the results of your conversations."

  Dorran stood and bowed from the waist, nodding. Talking to community leaders? He wondered. He could do that, he supposed. He pondered it quietly as the meeting progressed, and was, for once, not bored by the proceedings. As excited as he was for his abilities to be relevant for once, he couldn't help but notice ho
w shaken the other people at the table seemed to be. The other men had fallen silent as well, but Dorran noticed that none of them were meeting each other's eyes. He wondered how many of them were considering joining the muster themselves or in fear that they wouldn’t have a choice.

  I wonder if I'll go to battle for the King? He quietly asked himself, but knew that it was up to his mother to decide that question. He had plenty of work to do so he tried not to spend too much time on things he had no power over. I have a job to do in the meantime, he reminded himself. If mother wants me to go, she'll send me...but if not, I can at least do the best I can to help the forces before they depart.

  His assignment was the first thing he mentioned to Myriel the next morning, almost before she was through the door and stirring the embers in the grate. He was surprised, however, by how cautious she seemed at the idea.

  "Do you have any idea of how they'll react?" she asked quietly, straightening up to look at him.

  "Not yet..." Dorran realized that in his excitement he'd overlooked the finer points of what he'd be doing namely, court business. He quickly came to the conclusion that he should ask Myriel for as much advice as she could give, and proceeded to set out a plan. "Myriel, have you eaten breakfast?"

  She blinked at the sudden change of topic. "...No, my lord."

  "All right," he said, not really surprised. "Don't leave yet, I'll be back shortly."

  He hurried down to the kitchen and snagged two bowls of porridge and a handful of rolls. The fare was already lighter than usual the arrival of a missive from the King immediately brought more severe rationing into effect but both he and Myriel had been used to that since birth, so he mentally resolved himself to a bit of belt-tightening without much fuss as he carried the food back up to his chambers.

  "Here," he said, pushing the door open with a careful foot. "Go ahead and sit at the desk, if you like."

  She smiled and perched on the edge of one of his chairs, taking the bowl and spoon and balancing two of the rolls on her knee. "Thank you," she said, before digging in with neat but voracious efficiency.

  He started in on his own bowl, raising an unseen eyebrow at her. "If you're this hungry in the mornings, why haven't you eaten already?"

  "I find I move more quickly if I wait to eat until I've finished the morning's tasks," Myriel answered, after swallowing a large bite of porridge. "Did you always eat breakfast, my lord?"

  "Usually," Dorran said, then continued to a more relevant topic. "Myriel, do you know anything about how most of Farlan views the war?"

  Myriel focused on her food for a bit longer than necessary at that, and Dorran wondered if she was stalling. "Many in Farlan have lost fathers and grandfathers, uncles and brothers and sons in the war," she said finally. "You don't need to be told this, as you've experienced some of it yourself. You've also experienced the famine growing up, just as I have." She paused and looked at him with a hard stare for a long tense moment. "Dorran...are you excited about the idea of going to fight for the King?"

  Dorran surprised himself with his answer. "Yes," he admitted. "It feels like something I've been training for all my life, though I don't know if Mother intends to let me go yet."

  He thought Myriel looked sad. "Do you resent your mother for not letting you go?"

  Dorran shook his head. "No, not at all. It's my job to follow her orders, not have opinions on them. But...it will be difficult to help all the men leave this time, if I end up having to stay behind."

  Myriel nodded slowly. "I've never really understood the war," she admitted. "It's probably because it's usually only men who are raised as soldiers, but all I see, all that a lot of women see, is the men in their lives being taken from them and sent to die. I've lived in the castle for as long as I can remember, so I don't actually recall the people I've lost, but the war is a source of sorrow and bitterness and need for the people of Farlan."

  Dorran nodded. "I've spent most of my life thinking about the war," he admitted, "and maybe I haven't spent enough thinking about what it does. I will have to give this a lot of thought, Thanks, Myriel...I'll try to keep what you have said in mind."

  She gave him a small smile. "You're welcome, my lord." She replied standing. She set aside her tray, and picked up a broom from the corner. "And I wish you the best of luck." She said giving him one final glance before returning to her chores.

  The first man Dorran met was a once retired general named Grayson. They had agreed to talk in a private chamber of the Silver Crown Inn. The man was probably in his fifties, with hair that was mostly white with streaks of gray where it hung down his back in a small plait. He shook Dorran's hand with a firm but gentle grip and spoke to him jovially, describing his years in service, the awards he had won in service to the king, and the children he had growing up down south...both of which, he noted quickly, were daughters.

  Then he got down to business, and his expression became grimmer as Dorran reviewed the muster and the King's expectations. Finally, he set aside his notes and rested his chin on his hands. "What news can you give me, sir?"

  "I..." the man looked at the list in his hands, shaking his head slowly "I don't think we have this many men in the south by any count, let alone accounting for age and fitness."

  Dorran blinked. "Really?"

  "I'll have to look into it, but unless we've underestimated the number of new families in the past six months, this request would be literally impossible to meet, even if we include newborns and great-grandfathers."

  Dorran frowned, wondering if the man was bluffing. He could understand why he might men were valuable workers, and enough of them drained from a region could spell out a future of poverty and famine for a full generation but he didn't know how he was supposed to respond if that was what the man was doing. Actually, he didn't quite know how to respond to a negative assessment at all. What am I supposed to do? He wondered.

  "I...don't suppose you have any formal records that you could give me to back up your figures?" he asked weakly.

  The man nodded. "I do, actually.” Grayson said as he pulled a handful of rolled parchment from a brown satchel that had been under the table. “Please deliver these to the queen."

  Dorran wondered whether or not it was suspicious that he was so well-prepared. "This war has been hard on all the regions," he offered finally. "I suspect that your answer has been anticipated by the Duchess."

  The man nodded, then bowed deeply at the waist. "Thank you for your understanding, my lord."

  Dorran smiled ruefully. "'Understanding' is not a virtue that I deserve to be praised for at this point, sir."

  The man smiled again, for the first time since the muster had been directly mentioned. "If you'll forgive my temerity, my lord...you do have the look of a hard-working young man who's feeling a little out of his depth."

  "It's more than a little," Dorran admitted. "If I may ask….I'd understand if your figures were… exaggerated a little..."

  He shook his head solemnly. "I wish they were. They're not perfect but they’re close, but...by our best estimates, a muster of this size is literally impossible. If the numbers asked of each area were adjusted by the actual male population, it might be possible to meet the King's request, last I heard, but...well, I suppose we'll see how that goes."

  "I see." On impulse, Dorran bowed lightly to the man, whose eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you for your insights. They are much appreciated."

  He was taken aback for a minute, but then bowed in return, expression apologetic. "The honor is mine, my lord. I wish my news could have been more agreeable. Honestly I don’t envy you the duty you have been given."

  So do I, Dorran thought, but left unsaid he simply gave the man a final, tight smile and left.

  Over the next few days, Dorran met the rest of the leaders. Most of them had similar news. A few thought they could meet the muster, so long as recent immigrants and refugees to the area were recruited in sufficient numbers and the King's officials were willing to overlook traditional
age restrictions, as they had been more than happy to do in the past. Most, however, were not so hopeful. Dorran met with men whose friends and families were frantically planning to survive on the brink of starvation, leaders of communities where men were so scarce that women had almost exclusive ownership of property and marriage was considered a luxury to be practiced only by the most fortunate, and representatives of areas where mothers of young boys had begun to discuss fleeing Farlan with them before they could be taken.

  It had been anything but an easy task. He had never been met with so much distaste and hate in his life. When he arrived in town everyone smiled and greeted him with kind words but the second the words of a muster was out of his mouth their attitudes changed to that of hidden vipers.

  By the end of the week he had been allotted to speak with the muster officials, Dorran was downright anxious. He had no idea what to expect when he returned these reports to his mother. What was she going to say when he told her that the men she trusted could not meet the King's expectations?

  It turned out that while he still had to face his mother's disappointment, Dorran would not have to do so in public; Thea was kind enough to call him to her private council chamber to discuss the reports he had gathered.

  The Duchess was not surprised by the difficulties Dorran reported or if she was, she did not broadcast it. She took the sheaf of reports he had received from various areas alongside some notes he had written out of his own observations. Thea read them over while he haltingly reported the gist of the conversations he had had with the muster leaders as well as what he had picked up from the common citizens.

  "Very well," his mother said grimly when he was finished. "I will have my replies delivered to each of them. Now..." She ran a hand absently across her forehead and over to her ear, as though sweeping an invisible lock of hair behind it. "Dorran..."

  He straightened. "Yes, Mother?"

  "You have met these men for yourself. What are your personal thoughts?"

  "They seem to me to be loyal and hard-working men," Dorran began uncertainly. "I wondered at first whether they were not falsifying their reports due to self-interest, but it is my personal belief that what they have reported is the truth to the best of their knowledge."