Noble Beginnings (7 page)

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 how 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."

She smiled slightly. "No; so far as I know,
these men are trustworthy. They are former men in the King's army
that were released of duty after their last period of service, but
who have now volunteered to fight again to serve us. They will be
in charge of the forces that will march to serve the King. They
wish for the loyalty of the men they take with them to fight
honorably for Farlan and bring her men safely back home."

"I understand," Dorran said. "But then...if
their reports are accurate, then Farlan is running out of soldiers
to provide."

Thea nodded. "This is true, and has been so
for a good amount of time now. However, the situation is now
growing desperate, as I'm sure you have seen for yourself."

He needed to ask. "What are you going to do
the next time the King asks for reinforcements?"

She looked at him for a long moment, and then
sighed, glancing at a spot over his shoulder. "I do not know," she
admitted. "Though I will say this, and no more: that I have been
preparing for this possibility for a long time. Dorran, I will let
you know when and if it is needed, you are dismissed."

Dorran blinked in surprise, but quickly knelt
and left. It was only once he was back in the hall when he realized
he had missed his opportunity to ask when he himself would leave
for the King's army.