Noble Beginnings

This book is dedicated to my
sister Deadra

Copyright © D.W.
Jackson

SMASHWORDS
EDITION

Names, characters, and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual event, organizations, or
persons, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the
author.

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Chapter I

Dorran Farlane stumbled backward and fell as
his sword flew from his hand, his hip jarring painfully against the
hard ground. A stream of curses were cut short as he felt the cold
steel of the blade of his enemy softly pressing against his
throat.

"Surrender!" The inevitable command rang in
his ears.

Dorran blinked the sweat from his eyes and
stared for a long moment at the distant, decrepit ceiling before
meeting the hard, fierce eyes of his opponent. He knew that nothing
short of full capitulation would free him from his predicament. He
waited for a long moment, licking his lips, and then he let out a
heavy sigh. “Fine,” Dorran said blandly. “I surrender, it is your
victory…today.”

Edith let out a bark of victorious laughter
and lifted her dulled practice blade. "If you spent more time
practicing and less time longing after the barmaids you might have
fared better." She taunted Dorran as she turned and walked away
from him. The small circle of spectators around them laughed with
her, and Dorran felt himself frown.

"Your victory, Edith, but only by luck this
time," he said, pushing his sweat soaked hair away from his eyes.
"I only lost sight of your sword for a second."

She gave him a look of disapproval. "Excuses
don't count on a battlefield, Dorran. You should know better than
to make excuses like that. What would you tell your opponent in a
real battle, go slower?” she replied mockingly.

Dorran sighed. It was humiliating enough to
be been beaten by a girl in a fair fight even once but Dorran was
not so lucky. Fully a third of their audience of fighters was
female, and all except the most inexperienced had managed to beat
Dorran at least once while sparring at least once. His mother had
always said there was no shame in losing to anyone no matter their
sex as long as you lost by skill and not by your own devices, but
it was still hard for Dorran to get used to it, though thanks to
Edith he was getting plenty of practice in the art of humility.

Edith reminded Dorran of his mother in some
ways, she had more nerve than the rest, none of the others in the
group, except for the older and more seasoned fighters, would dare
to lecture the Duchess's firstborn son. That was just Edith,
though, he supposed; she'd known him too long to care that he was
anything other than simply Dorran, and he knew her well enough to
attribute her words to her long-held love for getting the better of
him and her enjoyment of battle training.

He pushed himself up and swung his practice
blade over his shoulder, starting to scowl. "Rematch?"

She gave him an arch look. "I don't know, I
would like to get some decent practice in today. Are you going to
at least give me a challenge this go around? Edith replied
glibly.

"Might I have a turn, Lord Farlane?" Marcus,
one of the youngest in the group piped up. The youth was already
halfway to standing, even though Vernis had him by the elbow and
several of the other onlookers were starting to laugh again.

Dorran turned to see the boy looking up at
him with large, over-eager eyes, and sighed, biting back a smile.
He remembered that look. The eagerness to prove oneself and their
skills, and indeed he still felt it himself on any day he had to
face Edith. "I see no reason why not Marcus," he said smiling. "And
remember, I go by Dorran here. Next time you call me lord on the
practice fields I will have to act like one and have you
punished."

Marcus stood awkwardly, shaking his arm free
from Ethan's grip, and nodded a jerky half-bow. "Yes, Lord
Dorran."

Dorran chuckled, then glanced over at Edith.
"Will you take him on, then?"

She winked at him. "You know you can count on
me, I just love playing with new toys."

And indeed, Dorran knew he could. Edith loved
to win but she never purposely embarrassed the other fighters. She
knew how to defend and attack while allowing the others to bring
out their true potential.

Dorran sat between Vernis and Tam as Marcus
swung his blade several times to loosen his arm; the boy was
left-handed, which made him that much more interesting to fight
with and watch. Dorran prepared to take mental notes of the coming
sparring match.

They were about to begin when there was a
soft, firm knock on the door at the end of the hall.

The sound was quiet, but every head turned as
the door swung open and a small, dark-haired girl stepped inside.
She surveyed them all quietly for a moment, "Dorran." She called
out in a high pitched near squeal.

Giving his companions an apologetic look
Dorran walked to the doorway to meet his little sister. "Nora. What
is it?"

As he walked over and got a closer look at
her face, he felt apprehension begin to curl in the pit of his
stomach. Nora had always been quiet, with her large, deep blue eyes
giving away nothing despite their clarity. This stillness, however,
seemed slightly tense.

"Mother has sent me to escort you to her,"
she told him quietly. "I'm sure she'll want to tell you the
details. But first..."

Dorran looked over to his companions as Edith
stepped forward. "My lady, what's going on?" she asked, cautious
and polite.

Nora glanced over at the older girl, and her
expression relaxed somewhat. "Edith. All of you." Her gaze passed
neutrally over the others. "I take it the rest of you haven't heard
the news. Our grandfather, the former Duke of Farlan, has been
pronounced dead in battle. He has been granted the honor of
Protector of the King, and his sword and personal effects were sent
back by messenger. I believe a memorial service is being prepared
in his honor."

The words were delivered in a monotone, but
Dorran stared at Nora with all the shock she refused to let show.
He hadn't seen his grandfather in years, but he still had memories
of the tall, imposing figure the man had cut in his childhood. "How
is Mother?" he asked in a low voice.

Nora barely spared him a glance. "You can ask
her yourself, if you like."

The familiar hallways of the old barracks
passed him in a blur as he hurried to meet the Duchess, but certain
details stood out sharply as if his mind was looking for things to
distract him from his own depressing thoughts: the first hints of
buds on the ivy on the murky window, the cracks in the walls, the
shadows and cobwebs in the little-used corners. It had been a long
time since there had been enough men to defend the capital, much
less enough to justify use of the barracks.

He had been using the barracks along with a
group of what fighters still remained near the castle as a pet
project for a while, though most of them were still far too young
to see battle. They hadn't spent much time on renovation, merely
using the open spaces and old padding to train for combat.

The reason for the poor upkeep of the old
barracks could be understood but the rest of the castle, was
beginning to look similar, so that when he traveled down the
disused hallways, only the slightly higher degree of cleanliness
reminded him of where he was. The war effort, far away as it was,
had been taking its toll on Farlan since his mother was a very
small child. Dorran, for his part, could not remember a time when
the war had not affected his life. When there had not been whispers
behind hands of the ongoing war effort, of the threat of famine, of
fresh lists of deaths from the front lines arriving every few weeks
or so. His father's name had returned on one of those lists when he
was six years old, and now, it seemed, the list had extended itself
to include his grandfather’s name as well.

His mother was waiting in the main council
chamber. He didn't know how long ago word had come, but the room
was already draped in somber black wall hangings, clean but like
most things in the castle they were worn with age. The Duchess, as
well as the others in the council chamber, was already dressed in
the discreet colors of mourning. Her gown was in muted tones of
gray and black, and her hair was tied tightly at the nape of her
neck, revealing hints of gray at her temples. Her eyes, a lighter,
grayer blue than Nora's, but they held a fierce strength that could
bend even the most stubborn of advisers.

She was seated at the head of the long table,
speaking with a small group of advisers when Dorran entered;
knowing his cue, he went quietly to stand behind his mother's
high-backed chair. Nora joined him on his mother's left-hand side,
her pose demure and exuding a comfort that came with long practice.
His younger sister tended to dress in modest earth tones, so her
outfit was not out of place; Dorran, however, felt slightly awkward
in his dirty well-worn training uniform.

The small knot of advisors bowed to Duchess
Thea at the waist and made their leave. As soon as the hall was
empty Nora and Dorran took the chance to sit beside their mother,
though Nora left one space open between the Duchess and herself.
They sat in silence, Dorran fighting not to tap his fingers or
otherwise fidget. Keeping court, at least the way his mother did
it, involved a great deal of sitting in quiet dignity, something
Dorran had never had the knack for. He felt, not for the first
time, the strange, vague sense of being an interloper, a mere
unruly child in the castle where he had been raised from birth.

His thoughts were disturbed by the door
opening again unannounced. Instead of more subjects, however, it
was his other sister, Adhara. She was only one year older than
Nora, and the two girls were very close, though they were as
different from one another as spring from autumn; where Nora was
quiet, Adhara was loud-spoken, and only years of training had tamed
her brashness to merely a sparkle in her eye. Where Nora favored
silence and terseness, Adhara reveled in speech; she had a quick
and barely respectful wit that could be frankly intimidating when
roused. The only trait his sisters shared was certain sharpness,
inherited at least in part from their mother, which any smart
person Dorran included knew better than to cross.

Adhara's bow was flawless and unhurried, but
when she rose she spoke quickly. "Word is spreading among the
servants, and I've alerted the town criers. It'll be officially
declared this evening.” She reported to her mother her voice
remaining calm though Dorran could tell that sadness hid behind her
eyes. “I take it I'm not late for the weekly council?"

Thea shook her head. "No, daughter, you're
right on time. Thank you for the added effort. Come, take your
seat."

Adhara stood and made a small, polite bow to
Dorran before walking obediently to her seat. Dorran took the
opportunity, in the silence, to examine his sisters: one of the
privileges of being an older sibling was that he was allowed to
watch them, but they were to respectfully avert their eyes unless
he spoke to them. He considered doing so now there was only so much
he could gain from silent observation but he wasn't sure what was
going to happen next, and didn't want such an important intimate
gathering with his family to involve a chiding directed at him.

He didn't have long to wait; within a few
minutes, the first of a procession of lords and ladies came into
the room, sitting quietly at various positions around the table.
They spoke to each other in hushed voices as they waited to be
addressed, their gaze darting up to where Dorran and the rest of
his immediate family sat. He had met many of the lords before but
now everything seemed different and his control began to slip.
Clutching and unclutching his hands below the table Dorran forced
himself to remain stiff under their gaze. It was uncomfortable but
was less likely to cause trouble for his mother and that seemed to
be the most important thing considering the circumstances.

When the last of the almost two dozen places
had been filled and the talking had died down at some signal that
Dorran had missed, Thea stood. Everyone else in the room stood by
reflex, bowed, and waited for Thea to retake her seat before taking
their own.