Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1)

by Catherine Johnson

  Serwren closed the book in her lap, giving up the pretence of reading entirely.

  “I don’t think my husband would be supportive of such a plan.” Serwren replied bitterly.

  Her life was stretching out before her now, an endless stream of emptiness. She had no idea how to be a mother; she’d barely been around any small children, save for Jorrell’s little sister. It was almost a certainty that this would be her only child. She certainly didn’t plan to conceive one with her husband, and by the time it was grown, she would still be relatively young. There was the probability that it could be twins, which meant her worries about her ability as a capable mother might be doubled, and then there was her fear that she might die in childbirth as her mother had done, leaving her own child to face the cruel world alone.

  “Do you need his support?” Remmah’s tone made it obvious that she didn’t think Serwren did.

  “No,” Serwren answered honestly. She had considered her shattered dreams at length in the dark hours when she could find no rest in sleep. “But I need him not to get in my way, at least. And at the moment, I don’t have the ability to keep him out of my way.”

  “So you know now what your first goal is. You have plenty of time to achieve your ambitions, Serwren. Find a way to get what you want.”

  Serwren coughed as the thoughts of all the things she’d been powerless to control nearly choked her. All this was easy enough for Remmah to say; it would be much harder for Serwren to do.

  Serwren tried to think of something civil to say in reply, but Remmah began to speak again.

  “Such a curious thing happened the other night. The meeting of the Forum had continued until well after dark, as it sometimes does. After all that stuffiness and hot air being blown about by people bloated with their own self-importance, I took a turn in the gardens to refresh myself. I saw a small glow in a secluded corner. I immediately went to investigate. I’m sure you can understand how concerned I was, with the earth as dry as it is, a fire might rage out of control quite easily, and for it to happen within the palace walls would be disastrous.

  “By the time I reached where the glow had been, it had gone out. I heard scurrying. I couldn’t see clearly as the boughs of some plant obscured the scene, but I am sure that someone had started a small fire and had fled when they had realised they were discovered.”

  Serwren was horrified. “You think someone was attempting to destroy the palace, to hurt my father?” she exclaimed.

  “No.” Remmah shook her head. “There are other places in which a blaze could be started with greater chances of success if that had been their aim. I was able to search a little by the light of the moon. I believe that someone was trying to destroy something.” Remmah reached into the folds of her gown and brought out a piece of charred parchment. “I found this half buried. I think someone intended to prevent it from reaching its destination.”

  Remmah handed the scrap to Serwren. Serwren took it, unsure as to the point of Remmah’s meandering tale, until she saw the few lines of writing that had survived the flames.

  “You recognise the script, of course.” Remmah said.

  Serwren struggled to find words for a moment. “Of course I do.”

  It was Jorrell’s handwriting. There wasn’t much left of what had obviously been a letter, but she was able to discern that she had been the intended recipient, and that it had contained some form of apology. Suddenly, Serwren was able to imagine very clearly that Remmah had stumbled across Erkas in the act of destroying the letter, having somehow managed to intercept it. If not for the consul’s fortuitous stroll, Serwren would never have known of the letter’s existence.

  Some of the singed edges crumbled as Serwren tried to examine the script more closely. She bit back a sob. She would have to guard this treasure most carefully.

  Remmah rose and fussed with her gown until it hung correctly, making a small huff of dismay at the creases in the fabric. Serwren was almost too preoccupied to pay attention to the consul, but once she realised that Remmah was preparing to leave, she looked up. “Thank you,” she said simply. She knew that Remmah must have realised the importance of the parchment, or she would not have saved it for Serwren. How much of the sorry saga Remmah was aware of, Serwren was not sure.

  “You are an intelligent young woman, Serwren, with a gift for knowing what must be done, and an uncanny ability to win the respect of those that you meet.”

  When Serwren made a scoffing noise, Remmah’s brows drew down in irritation, but she did not chastise her former pupil. “Don’t give up, Serwren. It would be a terrible shame if you did, for the country, I think, as well as for yourself.”

  Remmah turned and walked away. Serwren stared in surprise at the consul’s retreating back. A memory whispered to her, in Seddrill’s voice. Serwren added Remmah’s name to the pitifully short list of people that she might attempt to trust, or at least give the benefit of the doubt to, once.

  Alone in the library once more, Serwren returned the large book to its shelf, and instead selected a smaller volume, a book of children’s tales that had entranced her when she was younger. She hid the scrap of parchment between the pages and kept it obscured in the folds of her dress as she left the echoing loneliness of the room.

  Still unwilling to return to her home, Serwren decided to take a turn around the gardens herself. She wanted very much to go to the minaret, but she didn’t dare negotiate the staircase in her condition.

  As soon as she stepped out of the cool shadows of the palace, sweat beaded on her skin. The day was fading, but barely cooling, as the sun sank lower in the sky. As she meandered through the rows of brown stalks and leaves, the dead remainders of ornamental plants that could not be spared nourishing water, Serwren determined that she would leave before her father and her brother returned from their excursion.

  She wandered by herself for some time, clutching the small book to her heart now and then when she was sure she could not be seen from the palace. She came across Aileth, who was valiantly working to save the herbs that were grown for use in the palace kitchens. Glad to see a friendly face, Serwren paused to enquire after Aileth’s health and well-being.

  Aileth confirmed that she was well, or as well as could be expected for someone of her age with ever-growing stiffness in her joints. Then she looked carefully at Serwren.

  “You’re round for one moon along, my dove.”

  Serwren was only speechless for a heartbeat. She knew that her dress concealed her belly well, but if there was anyone in Thrissia that would see through the disguise, it was Aileth.

  Serwren craned her neck as she looked around to ensure that they would not be overheard. “I haven’t had a cycle for a lot longer than that. Five moons now,” she murmured.

  Aileth immediately comprehended the situation. “Oh, my dove.” Her voice was heavy with pity.

  “It might be Jorrell’s,” Serwren whispered, a little frantically. She wanted to believe that possibility so much she felt a little crazed.

  Aileth’s mouth twisted into half a smile. “Busy little bee, weren’t you?”

  “I didn’t intend to be,” Serwren replied coldly.

  “I know. I’m sorry, my dove. And for your sake, I hope the babe is the young master’s. How is your husband taking these glad tidings?”

  “I haven’t told him yet,” Serwren admitted.

  “He hasn’t noticed?” Aileth asked. Her tone was full of disbelief.

  “He hasn’t been near me since our wedding night. I gave him good reason to stay away.” Aileth smiled and nodded approvingly at that. “As long as he leaves me alone I don’t care if he thinks I’m the lowest whore.”

  “People will talk when you birth a healthy child four moons early.”

  “Let them. I care not,” Serwren replied with some bravado, but even to her own ears she sounded a little childish.

  “Brave words, my dove. But why make life even more difficult for yourself. You should think more on this,” Aileth advised.<
br />
  Serwren turned the problem over in her mind, stroking the sprigs of a rosemary plant as she did so. The scent that the spiky, stiff leaves released gave her a pang. Rosemary and lemon reminded her of Jorrell.

  “My husband keeps a home in the country. He is supposed to live there, it’s where his constituents are, but he has an infinite preference for the city and never even visits it. I could go there and remain in some sort of confinement. If people cannot see me, they cannot talk.”

  “You may possibly only need stay away a year at most,” Aileth mused, considering Serwren’s suggestion. After a little while, the child would just be considered big for its age, and you could get away with the lie.” Aileth nodded to herself. “I think that is a wise plan.” She looked Serwren over again. “But you should go there soon. You don’t have time to dally.”

  Serwren fiddled with the book she was still holding. She did not need to hide it from Aileth. “If I made the request to father, would you come with me?”

  “Oh, my dove. I would be honoured to.”

  “I will speak to my husband this evening. I’m sure he won’t deny my request. It would give him free rein in the city again. I’ll return to speak to father as soon as I have the appropriate consent.”

  Serwren was already wondering what measures she could put in place to ensure that her household staff did not suffer in her absence. There were one or two maids that would be safer if they accompanied her to the country house. With one less person to care for, they could be spared for a finite period.

  Her mind was whirring, plotting and planning. She was so full of the various aspects of the preparations that she needed to consider, that she would have missed Aileth’s next words if the old woman had not put her gnarled fingers on Serwren’s arm.

  “Happy birthday, my dove.”

  ~o0o~

  Serwren had been happy in the house the country. The scenery was rugged, but beautiful to her in its uncompromising harshness. The great mountain range of Heranuc rose in the distance. The slopes appeared blue, only a few shades darker than the sky, and the peaks were tipped with snow and wreathed with clouds. The ground of the great plain, in which she was situated, was rocky and gritty at the best of times - it had been nothing more than dust during the warmer seasons - but now the soil was rich and black again.

  Her husband had not voiced any objections to her request to leave the city and had left her to her own devices. She had been able to imagine that the house was hers, and that she was independent. She had enjoyed the degree of freedom.

  The season of Taan had been brutal for her. The intense heat, without the cooling ocean breezes that she had taken for granted, had been increasingly hard to bear as she had grown bigger. Now it was nearing the end of the second moon of the season of Thyar. The temperatures were dropping rapidly, but that was small respite when she could only waddle and required help to sit or to stand.

  A large source of her irritation was that she had been confined to the house, and could not venture outside the doors at all, and would not be able to do so for some moons yet. She wanted very much to explore the area and to meet the people that her husband neglected. he had to content herself reading, and assisting with the household chores when Aileth wasn't around to stop her.

  Serwren had so far spent the majority of this particular day in her room. When she had woken she had been filled with a incomprehensible need to clean the spotless house. She had been banished to her room before she had been able to draw a bucket of water and chance hurting herself. The pains had started in the middle of the morning, and had been growing in strength and frequency all day. Now, Serwren called for Aileth as she felt another contraction start to grip her body. She could only pray that she would live to be able to bring her cherished wishes to fruition.

  Chapter Twelve

  For more than seven moons, the Naidacans had tried to fight the Felthissian army using Felthissian tactics. They were, after all, a colony of Felthiss, and any military training that had been undertaken, had followed the model of the Felthissian way. But that was not the natural way of the Naidacans. They had been suffering heavy losses in the pitched battles, and finally, they had reverted to the ways that they knew best.

  The Naidacans were natural guerrilla fighters. That heritage showed in the way they dressed for battle. They wore no clanking chain mail that was the very opposite of all things stealthy. Their blacked out faces, furs and bones melted into the undergrowth of the twilight forest rendering the fighters invisible, until they moved.

  They used the knowledge of the terrain of their homeland mercilessly to further their advantage. The Lord Protector that had been put in place to rule the country on behalf of Felthiss had grown complacent and dismissive regarding his charges, whom he viewed as uneducated savages. As he had not formed any links at all with the local people, he had even less intelligence than the lowliest foot soldier as to where the Naidacans made their camps, how they hid so well, or where and who they received their supplies from.

  Their opponents had disappeared into the forest, and for the full span of a moon. With no glimpse of a Naidacan for so long, the Felthissian commanders had begun to think that they had won the war. They thought the Naidacans had given up. They’d been wrong.

  Soldiers in the Felthissian camp began to fall sick. At first it was assumed that it was simply another pestilence borne of the cramped and filthy living conditions, until men started dying. At first the doctors attached to the camp couldn’t figure out why their patients were getting worse rather than better, and then the doctors became sick.

  When investigations looked for a reason for the sudden plague, they found that the river that they were using for their water supply had been poisoned. Carcasses of dead animals were found far upstream. The bodies were in varying states of decay, suggesting that the Naidacans had planted only a few initially, but had then added to the pile over time, a plan calculated to draw out the sickness to its fatal end without arousing suspicion.

  One night, the camp was suddenly overrun with thousands of rats. The Naidacans had collected them, kept them, starved them, and then set them free at the edge of the ground that the Felthissians had appropriated. The rodents, half mad with hunger, had streamed like a flood towards the nearest sources of food. As well as destroying the food stores, the rats had attacked the soldiers, seeing them as a source of fresh meat. Most men escaped with only a few bites, but some of the wounded lying in the infirmary tents were horribly mauled before the pests could be beaten off by those more able-bodied.

  On another night, wild boars were loosed at the camp, and several men were viciously gored before the beasts could be killed or driven away.

  Naidacan raiding parties started to attack the Felthissian camp, drawing skirmishes ever closer to the trees and then into the forest. The soldiers began to fear those small battles. It became inevitable that any man who ventured beyond the tree line did not return alive. The Naidacans always killed their prisoners and kept the bodies of those they killed during the fight. Then, days later, the Felthissians would wake to find the heads of their comrades lined up in the space between the camp and the trees. The eyes were always gouged out, and the sightless sentinels were placed to stare unseeingly at the encampment.

  The Felthissians were floundering, struggling to find a way to keep themselves safe from their tormentors and too preoccupied with that to find a way to beat them.

  Eventually the commanders made the decision to leave the forest for more open ground, where they could establish a secure perimeter for the camp and operate a sentry duty who would not be stymied by trees and shadows. That day, as they marched through the forest they were attacked by the Naidacan spectres. A third of the army was killed or wounded before they could make the safety of the meadows beyond the trees.

  ~o0o~

  The new camp had been established for some weeks now, but there was still no sign of their enemy. The infirmary was beginning to clear its pallets, and some of the injured m
en were healed enough to be able to return to active duty, although the ranks were severely depleted.

  Desperate for a solution, an end to the stalemate, and in the face of increasingly strident demands from home for positive progress reports, the commanders of the Felthissian army developed a new tactic. They decided to hit the Naidacans where it would hurt them most, where they were vulnerable. A plan was formed to attack the villages that had been left more or less defenceless when the men of the country had become spirits in the trees. There had been a division in the central command about the methods to be used. Some thought that it was not an honourable course of action, that such low tactics would only inflame the Naidacans and make an eventual peace more unlikely. Unfortunately, ultimately, the majority had won out.

  Many of the soldiers had been less than happy with what was now expected of them, but they had no leeway to refuse, no grounds to disagree. If their officers commanded them to do a task, they had to do it, no matter how horrific. The penalty for insubordination was harsh.