Noble Beginnings (23 page)

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 their 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.