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 a
nd 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?
Dorran felt several allies surge up behind him, covering his back, and a quick glance over one shoulder showed that they now outnumbered their visible attackers. Making a split-second decision, Dorran dove straight past the next three fighters he encountered, trusting to those behind him to engage them, and sprinted straight for the door.
He managed to slice Edith's brother's sword through most of the spine at the neck of the man who had been pushing through the door; then there was a long, ghoulish moment in which he couldn't disentangle the man's limp limbs from the wreckage of the door enough to push through himself. When he did, though, he saw a sight that made his heart turn over: his mother and Adhara with hands covered in ripped sheets, armed only with still-hot braziers from the walls were being attacked by three men.
Dorran yelled as loudly as he could as he charged for the man nearest Thea. All three men started and turned around, which was all the opening Dorran needed to slide his sword into the first man's ribs and feint away from the second as he pulled the blade free. Adhara helped to make the remaining man's target more distant by getting behind Thea and pulling her quickly out of the way, brazier still raised in her free hand. As Dorran fought, strike for precious strike with the man, who seemed more talented than the last, another one loped straight for Adhara and Thea, who broke for the now-disheveled bed in the corner in the hope of gaining some distance. In the meantime, Dorran heard more men forcing through the wood of the door, and could only hope that they were allies and not more enemies.
A few moments later, as he caught sight of the ragged edge of a training tunic, his hopes were confirmed. He swung wide in his relief, and his enemy got a cut in, scoring almost lightly against his ribs. He heard a woman's scream, and the panic it caused fueled an incredibly quick swing that bit through the leather in the man's shoulder, scraping and then cracking his collarbone. He screamed raggedly in pain and collapsed to his knees, his sword dropping from nerveless fingers to cradle uselessly at the bleeding and broken bone.
Dorran was already in mid-swing when a sharp voice commanded, "Stop!"
Recognizing the voice, he immediately stepped back, raising his sword to ensure it did not connect with its target. He scanned the rest of the fairly small bedchamber for any other assailants, but all he saw were dead, grievously injured, or men at the sword point of one of his fellow fighters.
"Keep an eye on all of these men," he called out. "If you've got them at your mercy, call someone to help tie them up and don't take your eyes off them! We don't want any unnecessary casualties because we were careless after the fight." He raised his voice slightly. "That means any free fighters out there, get in here! We could use some extra hands." He waited for a minute, until Tam and a man whose name Dorran didn't know relieved him of the task of watching the man with the broken collarbone. Only then did he turn to his mother and sister.
"Are you all right?" he asked breathlessly, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face in an unconscious movement.
"Fine," Adhara answered, just as Thea said "We're unhurt." He scanned each of them from head to toe, automatically distrusting their words, but they seemed to be telling the truth; aside from some ripping to the hems and sleeves of their dresses and a general appearance of disarray, they seemed unhurt. He did, however, notice a hint of red near the edge of Adhara's arm.
"Let me take a look at that," he said, hurrying over.
"What…" Adhara said, then hissed suddenly as he took her arm and twisted it to see a thin gash down the back fortunately it was in the soft meat of her arm, where it would do little more than scab over uncomfortably and possibly scar. "I didn't even realize that was there," she said numbly, watching him examine it. Then she added, "But, Brother..."
"My wounds, right? In a minute," he said briefly. "What happened?"
He caught the movement of Thea shaking her head out of the corner of her eye. "We should move this to a more appropriate venue," she said, glancing pointedly over the room and the dead and prisoners inside it. "I would like to gather information in as organized a manner as possible. Shall we adjourn to the main council chamber?"
"Maybe the second one?" Dorran suggested quickly. "It seems slightly more defensible, in case this wasn't the only group roaming the hallways."
Thea considered this for only a moment before nodding her agreement. Dorran went to the destroyed door, unlocked it, and swung it open. It creaked open on newly crooked hinges to show an anxious Nora hovering at the door with several fighters clustered protectively around her.
"Are you all right?" she asked, quiet but intense. "Dorran, you're injured, put pressure on your side. We don’t need you bleeding out just because you want to show how manly you are."
"Yes, I know," he told her without heat, beginning to rip the side of his ruined tunic away from the wound. "What about you?"
Nora shook her head. "They never even came close to touching me. Mother, Addie?" She asked her voice slightly rushed.
Thea shook her head while Adhara showed her sister the small wound on the back of her arm. Nora raised an eyebrow at that, but was obviously relieved.
"It looks like most of your fighters are more or less unscathed," she said to Dorran, "though I'm not sure about all of them." Her eyes darted to a darkened corner, and he was dismayed to see Den leaning against the wall with Marcus squatting beside him, talking continuously to him in a low voice as two more fighters tried to stop the bleeding from what looked like a deep stab wound in his right leg.
He swore under his breath for a long moment as he scanned the rest of the room. There were a few more knots of people scattered around bodies, but most of these seemed to be those of the enemy; he could also see a few knots of people around the more severely injured, but many of these were already on their way to the infirmary, leaning on the arms of their comrades.
"Well, it looks like it could have been worse," he said finally. "A great deal worse, actually. Do we have any idea how they got in?"
"None yet," Nora said tersely, "but I've got a lead or two." That was all she said, however, as the leader of the guard on duty came up to Thea and apologized for the failure of the guards on duty to protect Thea and Adhara during their private lunch together in one of the council chambers.
Thea shook her head, face grave. "Three of your men are dead today, Halvor," she said. "I do not think any of you have been remiss in your duties. You came up against a great and unexpected force. That is not your fault; indeed, if anything, it is mine." The man tried to protest, but Thea raised a hand. "Look after your men, Halvor, and see to their families. I assure you, you will have your work cut out for you in the future, but for now, I'm sure that there are guards aplenty for myself and my family."
With a final, reluctant nod, the man vanished down the hall, and it wasn't until they began to set out for the second council chamber that Dorran realized that Nora had vanished in the interim. If Thea or A
dhara had noticed, however and he was sure that they had they made no mention of it, and so he decided to leave the issue be for the moment.
They relocated to the chamber room with a straggling cloud of fighters following them and without further incident. Within minutes of their arrival, the servants began arriving requesting their orders, asking the duchess for advice, sending reports about what they had or had not discovered as the scoured the hallways in teams, and, in one specific case, bringing Dorran a new shirt and a wad of bandages, which he put to immediate use outside at a side door so as not to alarm anyone else. He would have to go to a healer within a few hours, to have his wounds cleaned before they could fully close, but in the meantime there was no reason not to look presentable. He also took the opportunity, now that he was away from prying eyes, to use his ruined shirt to clean Edith's brother's sword and return it carefully to its sheath. It looked none the worse for wear, and Dorran felt the same affection and awe he had always had for the blade only increased now that it had helped save his life and the lives of his loved ones. He resolved to thank Edith as well as apologizing when he returned the sword, then squared his shoulders and reentered the hall.
In the brief period he had been gone, the man with the broken collarbone had been brought before Thea for interrogation. He refused, for the moment, to give any information about leaders or employers, glaring balefully at Thea while she asked her questions and looking as though he were ready to spit at her feet. In the end, though, she had him sent away to the dungeons to cool his head.
Noble Beginnings Page 10