Free Firstborn by Brandon Sanderson Page B

wasn’t certain what he’d do once he was released from military command—but whatever he chose to do, he couldn’t possibly be any worse at it.
    “I have arranged a new commission for you,” Sennion finally said.
    Dennison started. Then, he closed his eyes, barely suppressing a sigh. How many failures would the High Duke need to see before he gave up?
    “It’s aboard
The Stormwind
.”
    Dennison froze in place.
    Sennion stopped, finally turning to regard his son. People streamed to either side on the lower walks, ignoring the two men in fine uniforms standing on the crimson carpet.
    Dumbfounded, it took Dennison a moment to begin to respond. “But . . .”
    “It’s a fine ship—a good place to learn. You will serve as an adjutant and Squadron-commander for High Admiral Kern.”
    “I know it’s a ‘fine ship,’” Dennison said through clenched teeth. “Father, that is a real command on an Imperial flagship, not some idle playing in the Reaches. It’s bad enough when I lose a dozen men fighting pirates. Need I be responsible for the deaths of thousands in the Reunification War as well?”
    “I know Admiral Kern,” Sennion said, ignoring his son’s objections. “He is an excellent tactician. Perhaps he will be able to help you with your...problems.”
    “Problems?” Dennison demanded quietly. “Problems, father? Has it never even occurred to you that I’m just not any good at this? It isn’t dishonorable for the son of a High Duke to seek another profession, once he’s proven himself unsuited to command. Goodness knows, I’ve certainly satisfied
that
particular requirement.”
    Sennion stepped forward, grabbing Dennison by the shoulders. “You will not speak that way,” he commanded. “You are not like other officers. The High Empire expects more. The High Empire
demands
more!”
    Dennison was taken aback by his father’s lack of formality, and some of the passers by stopped to regard the strange sight of a High Duke acting with such passion. Dennison stood within his father’s stiff grasp, reading the man’s eyes.
It isn’t the High Emperor, is it, father?
Dennison thought.
It’s you. One genius son isn’t enough. For you, one success and one failure simply cancel each other out.
    “Go prepare yourself,” Sennion said, releasing him. “
The Stormwind
is expecting your speeder in three days, and it’s a seventy-hour trip.”
    * * *
    “With permission, Your Majesty, I don’t think this is the command for me,” Dennison said, kneeling before the speeder’s wallscreen.
    The High Emperor was a middle-aged man with a firm chin and a full face. He was balding in a time when most men got scalp rejuvenations, but his refusal to enhance his appearance lent him a weight of . . . authenticity. He frowned at Dennison’s comment. “It is an enviable post, Dennison. Most young High Officers would consider it an amazing opportunity.”
    “I am hardly like most young officers, Your Majesty,” Dennison noted.
    “No, that you certainly are not,” the emperor said. “However, I would think that this post’s near proximity to your brother would interest you.”
    Dennison shrugged. “To be honest, Your Majesty, I don’t know Varion. I’m curious about him, but no more so than another person might be. I maintain my Petition to be released from this commission.”
    The emperor’s frown deepened. “You need to show more initiative, young Crestmar. Your pessimism has been a great annoyance to the High Throne.”
    Dennison glanced down—it was always bad when the emperor switched to the third person. “Your Majesty,” he said. “I really have tried—I’ve tried all my life. But I received near-failing marks at the Academy, I never managed to even place in the games, and I’ve bungled every command given me. I’m just not any good.”
    “You have it in you,” the emperor said. “You just have to try a little harder.”
    Dennison groaned softly. The emperor had obviously been speaking