Noble Beginnings

By D.W. Jackson

The duchy of Farlan has been caught up between the civil war of the empire for so long no one remembers a time when war has not graced their lives. Though not on the battle front the king constantly calls for supplies and more importantly men. When the king calls for the largest call for soldiers in decades, Farlan finds itself at an crossroad. Either send every last able bodied person to the war front or turn their back on the king and declare their independence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.W. Jackson
• Release date: Aug 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301348244

Book preview

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.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

If you would like to be placed on a list to be notified of future works from this author or if you would like to comment on the book you may send a request to [e-mail]

Your email address will not be sold or given to any third parties or used outside to promote other works.

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.

I'm sure you have all heard by now of the death of my father, the former Duke of Farlan, Thea said briskly. Word arrived this morning, with his name at the top of a list of our brave men lost in battle. His loss is a serious one that affects me personally, but I am aware that all of you have lost many friends and family of your own over these many years of war. As such, I would like to request that we limit our mourning to our traditional moment of silence for all the men we have lost in the service of the king.

Dorran bowed his head. He was surprised that Grandfather would only be getting a few moments of silence instead of a royal sending. Letting the thought slip away Dorran took a deep breath and tried to recall his grandfather. No matter how he tried nothing came to mind. His grandfather and father had both died in the same way in a far-off battlefield, fighting to serve interests only tangentially related to their own home and family. Was he supposed to feel proud? Resentful? Frightened?

Finally, Thea raised her head, and the rest of the people at the table, watching her out of the corner of their eyes, followed suit. Very well, then. Let us begin.

Dorran was able to follow what was going on fairly easily at first, since Thea began the meeting by reading the latest letter that had been received from the king alongside the list of casualties. There was a short discussion of his military position and the possible demand for future soldiers, but then the talk turned to economic concerns mainly the state of farming and other local industry, the small trickle of refugees that occasionally came and went, and the prevalence of legal debate over inheritance caused by the number of women inheriting family businesses.

Dorran found himself tuning out, until, during a lull in the conversation, Lady Aiken unexpectedly turned to him. He had never known what to make of the older woman, when he had come across her in the past; her hair was impeccably styled, and she dressed in the latest fashions despite her age, but her eyes were sharp and she had none of the flirtatious traits so common among women of the nobility. He hadn't expected to be singled out by her, however, and jumped when her eyes fell on him, examining him from head to toe almost as though he were a prized piece of livestock.

Milady, if I may be so bold...have any plans been put in place in regards to young Lord Dorran's marriage? Aiken asked. I'm sorry, my lady, but the question needs to be raised. He is the next in line for the seat of the duchy, and Farlan can only benefit from returning a line of robust males to leadership as soon as possible. She looked around the table with a look that was very far from what he would consider apologetic. I am sure I am not the only one here who had hoped, upon entering this chamber and seeing the young lord's presence, to hear a happy announcement that could lead to an extension of the dwindling Farlane bloodline.

Thea gave Lady Aiken a sardonic look, and Dorran fought and lost against a blush that was strong enough to be painful. He remembered acutely now why he'd never been comfortable with politics. Nothing was every what it seemed. There was always a reason for the reason.

Dorran had the urge to run but a quick look around the room told him that no matter how fleet of foot he was it would not avail him. There were too many women in the room, all examining him minutely with expressions he didn't understand, and while the few men in the room had the kindness not to stare, they didn't offer him any support, either. Believe me when I say that I have kept not only my firstborn son's but Farlan’s interests firmly in mind, Aiken, Thea said reassuringly. Indeed, that is one of the reasons I have summoned him today.

Then Thea’s tone changed, becoming authoritative, almost sharp. Lord Dorran, stand.

Dorran swallowed hard and rose to his feet, his chair screeching awkwardly for a split second on the stone floor. When his mother spoke again, her voice was only slightly warmer the voice she used with him normally. Dorran, it is time that your voice was heard in the counsels that illuminate our path forward. Are you prepared to offer your best in these talks, and help the duchess and her advisers to guide Farlan down the best paths?

Was this some sort of ritual he wondered wildly? Suspecting that it was, he followed his mother’s lead. Yes, Duchess, he answered, bowing at the waist. I'll do the best that I can in all things for both you and for Farlan.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but he couldn't tell whether or not she was truly pleased with his response. Very well. With that settled, shall we continue?

As the discussions around the table continued, Dorran was surprised to be reminded of the weaving