Noble Beginnings

by D. W. Jackson

  "You didn't see me with the girls," Edith reminded him, and chastened, he fell silent. "Though...that wasn't quite a rout," she admitted a minute later, her tone quiet but proud. They held their own fairly well."

  "I believe it," Dorran said. By now they had wandered out of the healers' tent, and Dorran took a breath of what remnants of once-fresh summer air they could get in what had become, in essence, a huge battlefield. He stared up at the sky; a few thin, distant white clouds were scattered overhead, but below that was the low-hanging smoke that meant someone was starting in on the work of burning bodies. He said his goodbyes to Edith and, too tired to consider going all the way back to his lodgings, found a place to lean out of the way and drifted off under the light of the mid-morning, edging into noon.

  Dorran awoke a few hours before evening when the sun disappeared behind the castle, his face almost numb from the burns it had taken from sun and wind.

  He spent the next several hours patrolling the wall with small patrols, but it appeared that the enemy was as exhausted by the strange timing of attacks as were the capital's defenders. He went to a brief strategy meeting that evening, but there was not much new to say. Vernis and several of the older soldiers predicted that now that the King's army had tried attacking in the dark once, they would stick to more normal battle times in the future, and Dorran saw no reason not to believe them. They also said that the next large-scale attack might signal the end of the army's strength, but Dorran didn't know whether or not to believe that, and decided on private pessimism in the meantime, just in case.

  After the meeting, with twilight falling over the capital, he wandered quietly around the outer streets, from campfire to campfire. He saw Kell waving to him from one and waved in return, but didn't come over. He watched a circle of children around a fire from a distance, listening as one child awoke wailing from a nightmare, or after a day like today, perhaps only a memory, and the other children converged to comfort their companion. He considered stopping by the temporary lean to that had taken the role of a mortuary, but feared he lacked the heart to see faces he recognized there. He promised himself he would return when the night was over, but when he found his feet carrying him to the infirmary instead of to his small tent near the outskirts of the capital, he did not intervene.

  He found both of his sisters there, to his surprise. They sat together beside one of the healer's beds, and as he walked closer, he heard the distinctive mid range, lilting alto of Adhara's singing voice. She was humming an old nursery tune over one of the beds. For a second, his heart shrank at the thought of what he might find, but the sadness in his sisters' poses was enough to convince him to come closer.

  The child under the blankets was, he believed, one of Nora's extended brood, though he couldn't be positive. He looked to be about eight or nine, curled on his side with a thumb suspiciously close to their mouth and thick bandages wrapped around his other shoulder.

  He greeted his two sisters quietly, not wanting to wake the child, especially since he was probably in pain. Upon noticing him, Adhara immediately stood and gracefully wrapped her arms around him.

  "How's Mother?" He asked quietly, holding her tightly for a short moment before turning to Nora and hugging her in turn.

  "Doing well," Adhara said. "I'm her eyes and ears, and I've been gathering reports for the past several hours. Fortunately, I'll be able to say that we seem to be holding our own."

  "That's good," Dorran said with relief. "Nora?"

  "There have been very few casualties in my corps," she said softly, though her eyes as they examined the sleeping child were uneasy, "and we've stayed surprisingly effective. We may run out of materials for some of our maneuvers soon, but either way, the overall battle seems to be progressing well."

  "I'm glad to hear it," Dorran said. "You don't see that much at once, staying in one place on the field."

  "No?" Adhara asked.

  He shook his head, privately glad for them. "No. Any news from the latest council?" He had missed it, he knew, and while he'd intended to go to Vernis or Tam to receive his orders, hearing from his sisters would work just as well.

  "Tomorrow's expected to be the turning point," Nora said. "The king's forces are likely to go all-out to try to defeat us they came here quickly, passing towns they should have raided, and are running low on supplies even with their fairly small numbers. So we'll be playing some of our hidden cards as well, with the signals we discussed." She paused, and when she went on, her voice was quiet and sharp as a knife, thinking of the delicate operation ahead. "You will remember them, right? Even in the midst of battle?"

  "Yes, we will" Adhara said, and then turned to Dorran. "And remember to listen for something from me as well."

  "What's that?" Dorran asked.

  "The rhythm of the first three bars 'Two Moons Rising,'" Adhara answered, referring to a popular folk song from the south that was under discussion as an anthem of Farlan. She hummed the rhythm on a single note. "It means that help has come for us."

  "What sort of help?" Dorran asked.

  Adhara shook her head. "Sorry. I'm not sure if they'll make it or not yet, and I don't want anyone relying on aid that may not come."

  "I see." He levered himself to a standing position and looked down at them where they still perched on a stool and an edge of the child's cot. "I'm afraid all I have to offer is my sword arm and the men behind me. Let's hope that between the three of us, it will be enough."

  He saw only the shadow of their nods in the dying embers of the nearby fire. He wished them farewell, embracing them both again and smelling the wood smoke on them just as it likely layered him, and tried not to imagine what the King might do to them if they were captured or harmed. Grimly, as he returned to his tent, he swore to himself that he would do everything he could to ensure victory if not for the people that needed him, then for the two young women that he wanted to protect more than anything else in the world. The trouble was that he couldn't come up with much that was left for him to do, aside from being ready to fight.

  Finally, he fell asleep, exhausted. He was awoken by horns at dawn, when the enemy renewed its attack with the rising of the sun.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Dorran suspected that he wasn't going to last much longer. There seemed to be a permanent haze over his vision, so that even with the light of the noonday sun overhead, he couldn't seem to focus clearly on anything but what was straight in front of him. He had forgotten what it felt like for his limbs not to tingle at the extremities and weigh him down, and he was starting to experience brief moments during which he genuinely forgot that the point of holding a sword was to stop other people from hitting him with theirs.

  He engaged wearily with another fighter for several strokes before getting in a slash at his chest, finally breaking the leather straps of his armor and leaving him a deep laceration from the bottom of his rib cage to his hip. The man stumbled away, clutching at the wound, and Dorran's eyes followed him blindly for a moment as he let the man go. Then came two more fighters, fresher and more determined, who Dorran managed to sidestep into neatly colliding with each other. The second they were off balance, he slashed the first through the neck and struck the other a solid blow in the leg, finishing him off with a stab to the throat.

  The whole process felt as though it took half an hour at least, but Dorran knew it had probably been under a minute. He took a deep breath and centered his weight over the balls of his feet, trying to stay alert and prepared for his next opponent. He looked around and saw several companions nearby, but they were spread too thin to bear the brunt of anything more than the small, tired force they were currently facing.

  Then he heard the rattling and clanking of armor coming down some nearby cobblestones. It started softly at first, but distressingly varied; then it grew louder, and Dorran, glancing at the bare dozen fighters in visual range, realized that they were about to be sorely outnumbered.

  "To me!" he yelled. A few more men jogged into sight, until the
ir number had risen to slightly less than two dozen, but he knew it would not be enough. He was fingering the small horn at his belt, wondering whether signaling for help would bring enough forces in time or only get whoever came to rescue them slaughtered, when that he heard the telltale three horn calls in the distance, and somehow he found the strength to raise his arms and yell at his soldiers with an enthusiasm that sounded almost genuine. He heard a host of shouts in return, both nearby and, more faintly, throughout the city. That was Nora's signal for the deployment of the force of the refugees she had managed to convince to wait outside the capital until a critical moment. Dorran couldn't help but be grateful for her timing; he took the opportunity, while this fresh force was looking over their shoulders to wonder what was coming, to let off a short horn blast of his own. In under a minute, two, three, nearly four dozen men were by his side, ready to face this new band of enemies.

  When the two bands clashed together, there were several moments of utter chaos. Dorran aimed for anything that wasn't covered in two moons or blue colors, and felt a sword slice into his lower calf without any idea whether the wound had been intended for him or even who had inflicted it in the first place. Then, as the first few unlucky on either side died and slid off their enemies' swords to fall to the ground, the space at arm level began to open up. Dorran, grateful in that moment for the high sun, could tell friend from foe easily even with his failing vision. He found himself wishing the melee would ease up, however, as injuries seemed inevitable regardless of how carefully he tried to defend himself. He had a stinging score of a cut down the blade of his sword arm, and another cut on his other shoulder. He wished that he had considered carrying a shield and a smaller sword as he was bashed in the side for at least the third time, but in return he managed to get in an excellent slice to the crook of his opponent's elbow; from the nerveless way he dropped his sword, Dorran suspected that he had managed to at least damage his tendon.

  He was so engaged in avoiding imminent death that it took him a while to realize that many of his allies were backing away on purpose, and to finally hear what was making them do so one single, long, wailing note. A sign for available troops to draw back and protect the Queen.

  Dorran looked desperately at the enemy before him, still arriving in numbers exceeding what the current nearby force could handle. Backpedaling, he blew his horn once more, a quick, sharp plea, but it seemed that no one was available to help. Instead, he yelled helplessly and threw himself into a charge toward the mass of enemies, drawing most of the men behind him. The queen may well have been in trouble, and it might have been any dutiful son's job to protect his family first and foremost, but Dorran had all of Farlan to protect...and in any case, any of the fighters that got past him would only continue moving toward his mother and sisters.

  Dorran's fighters used the width of the road to their advantage, fanning out so not all of the enemy could engage them at once, but Dorran estimated that they were currently outnumbered two or three to one, and knew that unless something changed, it would only be a matter of time until they were surrounded.

  Still he fought, desperately, and again heard the long wailing note echo from the direction of the castle. He gritted his teeth and continued fighting, listening for the horn's continuing cry, straining to hear every second of it that he could over the grunts and clashes of combat, the battle cries of the enraged, and the lower groans of the injured and dying.

  Indeed, it was only because he was listening so closely that he heard it the faintest echo of the rhythm of a lullaby.

  He thought he imagined it the first time, but then it rang out again. Still he ignored it, knowing from the faintness of the sound that whatever Adhara had pulled off, it was yet too distant to affect him here. And still, overlaid on it, he heard the distant cry of his mother's distress.

  Then came a different echo a signal he didn't recognize, but which was soon echoed throughout the city, bouncing off walls and being repeated by designated soldiers until it was barely recognizable to his untrained ears. He watched the enemy soldiers carefully as he fought, watching for their response to the signal, but he saw no immediate reaction; they continued fighting with the same ferocity they had before, so far as he could tell from his angle.

  The cry for help from his mother echoed out yet again, and he felt a sob of frustration try to burst its way out of his clenched teeth. He spent half a breath blowing out for assistance once more, but then returned immediately to fighting.

  It was then that he felt, rather than heard, hooves in the distance.

  Immediately, the enemy began to retreat. Dorran followed them at first, but then halted, watching as they carefully retreated the width of several buildings, and the back of their force carefully turned itself around, swords facing outward, until the enemy was in a sort of lopsided, bristling ring in the middle of the street. It then began to retreat slowly the way it had come.

  The sounds of hooves grew louder.

  They think they're about to be surrounded, he realized slowly. By…Horses? And then, Addie, what did you do?

  He could see them in the distance now horses turning onto the main street from a handful of different side streets, each bearing a rider dressed in what looked like it had once been the King's colors...but as they approached, Dorran saw that where the royal insignia would normally have been was a blue patch of fabric that he was fairly certain would, under closer examination, prove to bear the symbol of two moons.

  When the first wave of riders reached the King's soldiers, Dorran's suspicions were confirmed they cut the first line down with little effort, with only a few horses cut down before they could disengage and circle in again.

  One horse, however, galloped around the fight entirely, the man atop it working through the thin line of fighters on the side to break through to the other side. When it reached Dorran, the man astride it swept off his helmet and went into a deep bow.

  Dorran looked back, shocked. "Lord Goldwood?"

  "The same, my lord," Goldwood said, replacing his helmet. "I apologize for the lateness of my arrival. Did Her Majesty tell you that my intention was to gather some of Farlan's fighters and bring them from the King's army to help defend us?" He smiled slightly, and twenty years seemed to melt off his severe face. "Or was that a surprise?"

  Dorran shook his head, too numb even to feel amazed. "A surprise," he answered. "And more of a miracle than I have words for. But at the moment…"

  "The Queen's signal," Goldwood finished. "Yes, I had word." He wheeled his horse and looked back at the battle, where his cavalry forces were slowly but surely decimating the enemy. "I think we have these men contained, my lord, and Her Majesty may be somewhere where our forces cannot reach her quickly. Go!"

  Dorran nodded, then yelled at the top of his lungs. "Farlan, with me to the Queen!" The men around him all fell into a steady jog, the fastest pace they could maintain without wearing themselves out on the quarter-mile trek to the city. As they made their way toward it, Dorran heard the horn once more, and kicked up his pace ever so slightly, thinking: Please, Mother, let me be in time.

  They ran across the first patch of the King's fighters halfway through their trek. They were few in number, and looked like they had already been almost wiped out in their drive to the castle. Dorran estimated that it took less than five minutes for his fighters to overtake them, wipe the majority of them out, and continue on.

  The second knot of fighters, they came across five minutes later, only a few hundred yards away from the castle. These men turned their back on the castle and focused on rebuffing their advance; they had the advantage of picking the area of street on which they fought, even if they were not as familiar with it as Dorran's fighters, so his progress was immediately slowed to a crawl. Dorran had not yet had much experience with being on the attacking side of a conflict, but found himself learning quickly. Whenever his strength flagged or his vision flickered, he reminded himself that his mother and likely one or more of his sisters were on
the other side of his enemies, and found his strength renewed enough to cut one more man down.

  Dorran realized that he had not heard the single horn for several minutes, and did not know whether to be relieved or more frantic than ever. But there was nothing to do now but wait for the fighting blocking his way to disperse.

  He was saved again from his own impatience by the clattering of hooves behind him. This time, he waited only for the instinctive recoil from the enemy before he pressed the advantage, leading a small wedge of men through the enemy ranks and opening a passage for both his fighters and the cavalry behind them. Dorran, on the other side of the enemy, took a quick look around for Goldwood and found him leading the charge. He raised an arm in greeting, and the man wheeled around, waving a hand in return.

  "Dorran!" he called. "No luck so far?"

  Dorran shook his head. "Thanks for the help!" he yelled, and started to run in the direction of the castle, yelling orders to the others to follow him as he went.

  The minutes it took to find Thea were easily the most tense of Dorran's life. He ran first to a point from which he could see the place that had been her vantage point in the castle a high balcony well out of the range of arrows and all but full-sized trebuchets, only to find it empty. Approaching the castle's front gate, he saw clear signs of a struggle, including oil in puddles on the ground and bodies in varying poses of death. He scanned quickly for injured, and, finding none, surmised that the battle in the area had finished hours ago. The question was, which way had they gone?

  Shaking his head, Dorran sent half of his men down the streets and took the other half into the castle himself. He almost hoped for another horn call at this point, and was beginning to worry that he could find no sign of where the Queen had gone.