She froze, and held as still as a statue as the gryphon tipped its mighty head down to hers. Its beak was large enough to fit half her body in its mouth, but it didn’t even attempt to nip her. The heavy links of the chain grated as it nudged her shoulder, much like her mare did when it was seeking a treat.
Serwren smiled to the gryphon and murmured, “Sorry, I didn’t bring you anything. I’m not even sure what I would have brought if I had thought about it.”
The gryphon chuffed again, contemptuously.
“Well, yes, of course, I’m sure a juicy rabbit would have been just the thing.”
“Serry, what are you doing?” Jorrell’s hushed shout was closer than she’d anticipated it would be. She turned to find that he had left the cover of the cloister and was almost by her side. The gryphon regarded their new companion silently, then huffed and settled is wings as if to show its acceptance of the boy.
“It’s beautiful. Come, stroke it. It’s perfectly friendly.”
Jorrell didn’t say anything, but she could see the trepidation in his eyes. After a heartbeat or two, determined to appear undaunted, he stepped forward and laid his palm alongside hers. The gryphon seemed content to be petted, having made up its mind that if Serwren showed no fear of the new arrival then it posed no threat.
“It’s so warm,” Jorrell murmured in awe.
“Isn’t it glorious?” Serwren whispered, almost to herself, completely oblivious to anything other than the wondrous animal standing over her and Jorrell’s hand next to hers. There was an aura of body heat around the animal that was comforting and cosy in the chill air. The smell was not unlike that of horses, but deeper, darker, somehow, maybe more musky.
“Serwren! Jorrell! What in Thyar’s name do you two think you’re doing?”
Serwren and Jorrell both jumped at her father’s shout, having been taken completely by surprise. The gryphon wheeled and let out a piercing shriek, over the rattle and clank of the chain that restrained it. But it did not make to attack Serwren or Jorrell, instead it darted at Dimacius, putting itself bodily between them and her father.
General Hitaal and the leader of the En Dek ran forward. The man with the golden helmet shouted commands in a language that Serwren did not recognise, but they did not seem to calm the angry beast in any way. If anything, it was becoming more agitated, having obviously decided to protect Serwren and Jorrell from a perceived attack.
When Serwren took a step towards the gryphon, her father shouted out again, but his cry was cut short, and he stumbled back as the gryphon squawked and darted at him.
Serwren walked up to the gryphon, with all the confidence she could muster given that her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest. With no small amount of effort, since she had to stretch right up on her toes, she laid her palm over the gryphon’s shoulder and began to murmur calming sentiments at it.
The gryphon darted its head once more at the two military men, but did not take another step. Once the humans had backed up further, the gryphon seemed content that they were no longer a risk. She felt a hand on her shoulder and twisted to see who it was. Jorrell was with her; he had not let her move to tame the animal alone. The gryphon, satisfied that it had protected its new charges, settled down and dropped to its belly with a puff, throwing up clouds of dust that made Serwren and Jorrell cough and sputter. It folded its forepaws and inclined its head towards Serwren. Understanding what it desired, Serwren used her fingertips, delving between the feathers, to scratch its head, roughly behind where she thought its ear might be. The gryphon chuffed in contentment.
Once she felt sure that the gryphon had calmed, Serwren stepped away and went to her father. Jorrell was at her side; he slipped his arm around her waist and left his hand to rest lightly on in her hip. Dimacius had been joined by Consul Sephan. The adults were still staring, dumbstruck, at the now relaxed beast, although they flinched when it huffed derisively at Serwren’s decision to approach those it had been trying to protect her from.
“Father, I...”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Jorrell interrupted her apology. This is my fault. I persuaded Serwren to come with me to see the gryphons. She told me that you had forbidden it and I encouraged her anyway.”
Erkas appeared from behind the adults, and by the smirk on his face, Serwren knew that it been no accident that they had been spotted. She felt Jorrell stiffen, and knew that he, too, had spotted their betrayer. This was not the time to begin hurling accusations, though; that was a fight they would not win. Regardless of how they had been found out, they had been disobedient.
Her father looked between the two of them. “I’m disappointed in both of you, and do not doubt that I’m furious in good measure. You both could have been badly hurt. There was a reason that I told you stay away. Gryphons are not stable creatures.”
The gryphon that she had been petting huffed. If an animal could be sarcastic, this one clearly was. It evidently disagreed with her father’s assessment of its humour.
“Serwren. You will go to your rooms immediately. Jorrell, as always I expected better from you. I will leave you to your father’s punishment.”
Consul Sephan looked no less enraged than her father. Serwren did not intend to leave Jorrell to take full responsibility for their joint actions. “Father, it was my idea to approach...”
“Now.” Her father cut her off with his firm command.
Jorrell quickly squeezed her hip before he released her. Serwren turned to him, unsure as to what she could say in the presence of their audience. She was prevented from saying anything by her father sternly calling her name.
“Go.” Jorrell mouthed.
She nodded, hoping that he understood how reluctant she was to leave him to face the wrath of their parents. When she walked away, she did so with a measured pace. She held her head high and her spine straight. She would own her actions and would not scamper away like a shamed child.
Chapter Two
Jorrell watched Serwren walk away. He couldn’t help but be proud of the way she maintained her composure. She was every inch her father’s daughter. He knew she was conflicted about leaving, but it would only have made matters worse if she’d tried harder to stay. They were in the wrong, and they had been caught, they would have to face the consequences. The best they could do now was to manage the situation and not anger anyone further.
That acceptance didn’t stop Jorrell’s eyes sliding to Erkas. The little shit was positively glowing with his self-satisfied smile. As jealous as he was about his sister, Erkas did not try to win her favour by rescuing her from the trouble he landed her in. He was more than happy to see her punished, too. Jorrell would have to be wily, it wouldn’t do to simply start a fight with the son of the First Father, but he would find a way to have his revenge on the sneak somehow.
His father, Serwren’s father and General Hitaal were making their apologies to the leader of the En Dek. Jorrell used the time to prepare himself for whatever punishment his father would come up with. Since Jorrell had grown to be taller than his father, and was filling out with muscle, it would not be a physical punishment. His father hadn’t raised a hand to him in years, but there was still plenty that his father could do to hurt him. Keeping him away from Serwren would be one of those things, and well his father knew it.
The gryphon, exhibiting a sense of solidarity, since both of them seemed to be the target of some irritation, nudged Jorrell’s shoulder. Without thinking, Jorrell reached out and scratched the feathered head as Serwren had done. The gryphon chuffed with satisfaction, which drew the gaze of the adults again. The leader of the En Dek looked... curious. He did not seem to be particularly angry. When he stepped forward, the gryphon ruffled its wings, but the man spoke a word that Jorrell did not understand and the beast settled, although Jorrell could sense the renewed tension running through it.
“Boy.” The leader of the En Dek was addressing him, which surprised Jorrell. He dropped his hand from the gryphon and stood a little straighter
. “Do you know why that one is chained?”
“I assumed it was nervous, that you wished to keep it from being startled, sir.”
“Aye, that’s part of it. That one is not yet properly trained to take a rider, but it follows the flock, regardless. No one else has been able to approach it without risking injury. It was all we could do to leash it.”
“Yet you didn’t leave it on the Isle?” Jorrell was curious himself now. Why would they bring an untrained beast, a potentially dangerous one, into the vicinity of the First Father? Why would they allow one near the city? He ignored his father’s exclamation of chastisement at his audacity.
The En Dek smiled. “It’s not a good idea to keep a gryphon tethered when it doesn’t want to be, boy. If we’d left it chained on the Isle, it’d have turned almost feral by the time we returned, and done who knows what damage. It would never have trusted us again. And yet here you two pups have been petting it with impunity.”
Jorrell bristled at that. “Perhaps it’s because we weren’t trying to tame it. And we aren’t wearing armour.”
Jorrell could see that his father was only growing more furious with him. So much for damage limitation. But the En Dek smiled. “Perhaps. Perhaps we’ll have to try different methods with this one. Or perhaps you should come to the Isle and train it for us, since you seem to be the expert.”
“I’m no expert, sir.” Jorrell said, swallowing the retorts that he would have liked to have spoken in response to the sarcasm. “This is the first time I’ve seen a gryphon.”
“It’d be a shame if it’d been the last, boy.” The En Dek chuckled at his own joke.
“Jorrell.” His father was still sounding less than amused, although some of the fire had gone from his tone now that it was obvious that he and Serwren hadn’t caused a major diplomatic incident. “Go and wait for me by the gateway. Where I can see you.”
Jorrell nodded once, sharply, to show that he understood. “Sir.” He acknowledged the First Father with a brief bow, and with a last pat on the gryphon’s neck, which earned him a small cluck of solidarity, Jorrell walked over to the largest arched entryway from the cloistered walk into the parade ground. He deliberately avoided catching the eye of any of the soldiers, native or foreign, or any of the staff. But he would not hang his head in shame and cringe. He did look directly at Erkas as he passed his school mate. The look that passed between them promised many things, none of them friendly.
It took his father a little while to take his leave of Dimacius and the others. While he waited, Jorrell made sure to stand straight, his hands clasped in front of him. He did not slouch against the ornately carved pillars. Jorrell watched his father walk past the seated gryphons and their riders, who were still standing to attention beside their wards. At least his father no longer looked incensed; rather he looked stern and resolved. Jorrell knew that look. His punishment had been decided upon.
When Consul Sephan reached the entry, he walked straight through with hardly a glance at his son. Jorrell bit back his sigh and followed his father obediently. They did not speak as they navigated their way through the barracks.
They exited the barracks through the other side of the building, into the late afternoon sun, but his father did not lead them into the palace gardens. He took the route that would lead them around the palace and eventually down into the city. They were heading for home.
There was a series of houses situated in the upper reaches of the city, twelve houses, one for each consul, one consul for each moon of the year. They gathered in the Forum, a circular room at the centre of the palace that was crowned by the largest domed roof of the building. The centre of the room was a flat space, the stage on which each consul argued their point of view. Benches ringed the floor in ever-increasing tiers that climbed the walls, providing seating and vantage points for the other consuls.
There were two breaks in the tiers; one was to provide access to the doorway to the room, the other, directly opposite, was to provide space for the seat of the First Father. It was a serious faux pas to refer to the seat as a throne. The First Father was not constitutionally able to make unilateral decisions about the business or the fate of Felthiss, but the position did hold the deciding vote in the Forum.
It had been that way since the time of Thorak. King Ekvit had been the last member of the royal family that had ruled Felthiss since the records began. He had sought much glory for Felthiss, and for himself. He had been the first monarch to take an army west, through the Cradle of the Cumeelii, to chart that new passageway through the Heranuc mountains, and to negotiate safe passage with the cloud people. King Ekvit had easily conquered the unorganised and savage tribes that had occupied the neighbouring country of Dassrin, and then he had turned his attention elsewhere.
He had ignored the country of Dorvek, to the north of Dassrin. Dorvek was populated by shapeshifters who took the form of wolves. Ekvit had been disparaging in his assessment of them, referring to the country as little more than a glorified kennel. Likewise he had ignored the country of Morjay, a realm inhabited by giants, perhaps fearing that his army was not equipped to stand and face ranks populated by soldiers that were five times as tall. Instead, he had taken his armies east and west over the oceans to see what, if anything, lay beyond the great seas.
Under his command, the first navigable route around the Neldinean Pool, a great whirlpool that swallowed whole ships attempting to pass the western reaches of the sea of Thleen, was charted. He sent his ships east, through the treacherously narrow, cliff-lined Aelda Pass, and across the sea of Cevnavor. In all directions he had found other countries, which he had then conquered, and which all now owed some fealty to Felthiss.
King Ekvit’s undoing had been his decision to invade the country of Vuthron, the country that directly bordered the eastern reaches of Felthiss. Vuthron was a civilised country, with its own monarchy. There was a constant debate as to which country had emerged from the chaos of its beginnings first. Many educated people held that Vuthron was older than Felthiss.
King Ekvit had thrown the might of his armies against Vuthron on a point of prejudice. The people of Vuthron were blood drinkers. They worshipped the same four deities as the Felthissians, but Vuthron was a volcanic country, and rather than maintain that the four deities were equal, they believed that Taan, God of Fire, was master of the other three.
Vuthroans bought their blood slaves from Veltharesh, a hot desert country on the southern coast of the sea of Thleen. Vuthroan families kept at least one blood slave, owning more than one was a sign of great wealth, and the veins of that slave would be opened to provide a toast at the beginning of each evening meal. Some slaves lived for many years with this routine, others didn’t live to see their first nightfall.
Ekvit, who had become bloated with pride from his victories, had taken personal offence to that custom, and he sought to eradicate it by invading the country and killing every member of its royal family. But Ekvit had not paid the proper attention to his histories. The royal family of Vuthron had been declared so because the members of its line were all gifted with the power of necromancy. To most outsiders, the country appeared to have no army, no defences. But those who had paid attention to the writings of well-travelled scribes knew that the ruler of Vuthron was simply able to raise his army literally from the ground, from the bodies of the dead that were laid to rest in mass graves beyond the walls of the city of Vulc.
The war that Ekvit started between the two countries had lasted for thirty-nine moons. The ordinary people of Felthiss cared little for glory on the battlefield. But they cared a great deal that sons, brothers, cousins, fathers, were trooping off to war to die in the middle of some bleak and blood-soaked field, only to be raised by the enemy to be absorbed into the ranks of his army. A revolution was raised. The people of the towns and cities of Felthiss marched through the streets, the armies away on the front lines revolted against their commander in chief. King Ekvit was killed in the midst of battle by one of his own soldie
rs.
Thorak was the leader of the revolution, and he had been installed by his supporters as the inaugural First Father of Felthiss. The Forum and the consuls had been chosen and formed, and Felthiss had become a democracy. Thorak had immediately ceased all hostilities against Vuthron and had negotiated a solid truce.
To show the sincerity of his intentions, he had ordered a great forest to be planted on the battlegrounds between the two countries. The trees had long since matured. They were massed closely together, tall, thin columns that were usually shrouded with a cloak of mist volcanic ash. The eerie forest certainly made a person think twice before attempting to cross the border. Further still, Thorak had come to the agreement with the king of Vuthron that they would always have a representative in each other’s ruling bodies, an acknowledgement that they could not plot openly against each other. Consul Seddrill was the current representative from Vuthron. Emissary Otal, a native of Thrissia, had been resident in Vuthron for more years than Jorrell had been alive.
Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
