Jorrell finished tidying his belongings away and lay down on the nest of blankets and cushions that served as a bed. “Maybe.”
Cael doused the candle in the lamp that was providing the only illumination. The darkness was complete, and before his eyes adjusted, transforming everything into muffled shades of grey, Jorrell heard Cael’s derisive snort.
~o0o~
By the end of the next day, the caravan arrived in the city of Velth. As always, especially as the traders offered their enthusiastic thanks to the soldiers for protecting them, in the middle of the bustling city, Jorrell experienced a maddening sense of claustrophobia, immediately longing for the empty openness of the dunes once more. It would take him a day to adjust to the press of bodies, the stifling scents and the jarring noise of the crowded city.
Velth was a city constrained by massive walls that had been built at the very birth of the city to keep the dangers of the desert at bay. On the other side of the wastelands, Nari had grown much more organically, and consequently the outlying villages, that gradually increased in size and density, eased a weary traveller into the city.
They would have to report to the commander at the barracks, a short walk through the city, but first Jorrell and his men stopped at one of the ornate public fountains. These sculptures, which spewed fresh water tapped from reservoirs and streams deep in the earth, were popular places to stop and chat to neighbours, to swap snippets of gossip and to share news.
Having existed on brackish, warm rations from leather canteens for days, the fountains were a bounty of cool, fresh liquid. The troop laughed and joked as they sluiced off the dust and grit of their travels and drank their fill until they were refreshed. Once they had been officially released from their duties, until the next caravan was due to depart, they would refresh themselves further with the sweet wine of the country.
A small boy, a thin, scrappy thing, one of the street urchins often employed as runners by people with business to communicate, darted through the throngs around the fountain and tapped Jorrell lightly on his arm.
The other soldiers carried on with their ablutions, but Cael had seen Jorrell turn to the boy, and he shook the water from his beard and came to Jorrell’s side.
“Commander Roosk sends for you.”
Jorrell nodded and tipped the boy a few coins. The wraith beamed and melted into the crowd, his task compete.
“Damnit. He must have been watching the fucking gate for our arrival,” Jorrell muttered.
“I wonder what he’s got in store for us now?” Cael murmured back.
Jorrell spoke a few words to the most responsible of his men and left his command enjoying their respite. Cael, of course, accompanied him to the commander’s quarters.
Night was closing in fast, but the city was no less busy. Only the nature of the commerce changed, not the rate at which it was conducted. The stalls selling meats and sweet pastries continued to do brisk business, as did the wine merchants. Traders of flesh replaced traders of jewels, gold and silk. The perfume of spices and warm bodies was heady, almost chokingly so, as they made their way to the barracks.
They were admitted without question; their drab robes distinguished them from the vibrant civilians as much as any military uniforms. A guard clad in the traditional Felthissian armour, who was probably sweating his bollocks off, escorted them to Commander Roosk’s rooms. The commander himself answered the soldier's knock at his door.
“Come in, come in. Sit. The wine is still cool.” The commander waved them into the room.
Jorrell noted that the commander had prepared two seats and two goblets for his guests. He had known that Cael would be with him.
The commander was a tall man, with broad shoulders and eyes as dark as his skin, who did not adhere to the tradition of maintaining a full beard in the hot climate. Jorrell didn't know if it was personal preference, or habit developed through time away from his homeland, but the commander shaved completely, every hair from his head, chin and chest. Roosk took his own seat and waited until Jorrell and Cael had taken a sip of the wine that was still cold enough to leave condensation on the outside of the glass. Jorrell knew that the flask had been newly removed from the deep cellars to be this cold. That considerate hospitality unnerved him.
The commander took a healthy drink of his own wine before he spoke. “You two have certainly made your mark here. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that every single caravan you’ve had the task of escorting has reached its destination, most of them wholly intact. That’s an impressive list of successes, gentlemen.”
Jorrell remained silent. He knew that he and his men were damn good at their job. That someone had taken notice did not fill him with pride, rather, exactly the opposite. Successful men were given more work, dangerous work.
“You’re both from Felthiss, a warm enough country. How are you two finding the climate here?”
The inane question did nothing to dispel Jorrell’s concerns. “Hot,” was his simple reply.
The commander laughed, amused, as well he might be. “Indeed. Have you had enough of the desert?”
Jorrell and Cael both remained silent. The commander had a plan for them; nothing they said would alter it, only delay its delivery. Their accepting expectation made the commander chuckle again.
“It’s good news, gentlemen, in part, at least. Jorrell, I’m promoting you to commander; Cael, you to lieutenant. You’ll still serve together, of course. I see no reason to break up such an effective partnership.”
That news had not warranted freshly cool wine. Jorrell nodded his thanks, as did Cael, but they waited silently for the rest of the commander’s instructions.
Their impassive resignation made the commander chuckle again. Jorrell wondered if he hadn’t over indulged in the wine already.
“You’ve both grown so dark in the sun, you almost look like natives. I think it’s time for a change of scenery. I’m sending you to command a battalion in Litt. The First Father, in his wisdom, has decided that we need to conquer that country, for reasons he hasn’t yet deigned to impart.
“You may want to pick up some furs, gentlemen. It’s a damn sight colder that far north. I’d keep the beards, though, they’ll save your faces from the frostbite, mostly. You should prepare for snow.”
Jorrell and Cael thanked the commander, finished their wine at his insistence, and then walked to their own quarters to mull this latest turn of events. This was a soldier’s life, travelling to wherever they might be sent, fighting whoever they were told to fight. This was their life, until some ignorant bastard got lucky with a sword or a lance.
Chapter Fifteen
Serwren and Elthrinn were attending a meeting of the Forum. It was a momentous occasion, not one to be missed. They were seated near the chair that the First Father would occupy, but were on one of the higher tiers. The first tier of benches, the one that bordered the Forum floor, was reserved for the consuls. Dignitaries, merchants and other important and influential citizens jostled for places on the rows behind that. The very top rows were usually occupied by the ordinary folk, those of least importance. Serwren and Elthrinn had found themselves shoved and cajoled onto one of the upper tiers. That she was the First Father’s daughter, that Elthrinn was the daughter of a former consul, held no sway in this room. Ulli was being cared for by Aileth. A crowded room and such solemn business was no place or interest for such a small child.
This time, it was Serwren holding Elthrinn’s hand for support. The twelve year old understood the basics of what she was about to witness, but she couldn’t possibly comprehend the true meaning of it for Serwren, the true horror of it.
They were here to see Erkas be inducted into the Forum as a consul. Erkas had stood as candidate in the elections that had been held to find a replacement for Consul Sephan. That he had done so was a surprise to everyone except Serwren. He had charmed the people that he vowed to faithfully represent, and now he would take the seat once occupied by Elthrinn’s father.
The ev
ent was only so much politics to Elthrinn. She hadn’t much cared who held her father’s seat. Serwren thought that Elthrinn was settling well in her new home, but there was still a blank space in the girl, a vacant area that the love of her blood family had once filled.
That it was Erkas who replaced her father meant little to Elthrinn.
It meant everything to Serwren.
Her brother was living her dream. He’d snatched it from her, and now he was flaunting it in front of her very eyes. Now she could truly say that there was nothing that he hadn’t stolen from her, no hope or dream that he hadn’t shattered.
She knew it was his ambition to become First Father one day. Dimacius could spend a day and a night and more listing every reason why her brother should never achieve that position, but there was no denying that Erkas had now stepped onto the first rung of that ladder.
Serwren stood when the rest of the crowd scrambled to their feet in salute to the elected consuls who entered the room in single file. The men and women of varying ages stood in front of their traditional places around the floor, and remained standing until the First Father, her father, had entered.
Everyone remained on their feet as Dimacius made a speech to expand upon the events about to take place and to celebrate the importance of the occasion. The other consuls sat then, and the people on the gallery seats followed their example. Serwren watched stoically as her brother entered the room, as her father formally inducted him into the arena that she had hoped to have a place in.
Serwren wondered whether her brother’s success would be short-lived. He was a natural politician. He was articulate and spoke well in front of crowds, and he had a knack for knowing what would please people. He was a silver-tongued bastard, but he also had a habit of telling people what they wanted to hear, and then doing whatever he wanted to do anyway. Serwren had no doubt that the gullible people who had voted for him would find that out soon enough.
Once the ceremony had been completed, the room cleared a little as those who had only intended to be passive observers of the initiation left. Serwren and Elthrinn streamed out along with that first tide. Serwren certainly had no wish to actually watch her brother act the part of consul.
They made their way back to Serwren’s house, safe in the knowledge that Bornsig would be occupied for some time yet. Ulli was overjoyed at the return of his two favourite people in his whole world, and threw himself against their legs, beaming a bright smile and babbling tales of his exploits in their absence. Elthrinn, with the small half-smile that she reserved only for Ulli, took the young boy out into the gardens to play. Serwren watched them go; it was a tiny, odd, family of three, but it was her family and she would protect them. She had noticed that her husband was becoming less discreet in the way that he allowed his eyes to follow Elthrinn, and, still more unnervingly, he was beginning to pay more attention to Ulli than Serwren was comfortable with.
Since she had noticed the changes in her husband’s behaviour, Serwren had begun to make plans. Her plots would be executed the following morning, but there were some supplies that she still needed to purchase. She informed Aileth that she was taking a trip into the city and set out into the cool day. The Twelfth Night celebrations would begin soon. Serwren felt a brief nostalgic remembrance, but she would not be sorry to miss them. For years now they had not held the same excitement that she had felt for them as a child. Now they reminded her only of the end of her freedom.
It did not take long for her to purchase the items that she needed. She bought heavy fur cloaks for herself, Elthrinn and Ulli, clothing that would be warmer than was necessary for city dwelling, and bolts of thin cloth that could be used to make summer clothes, cool enough to be comfortable in a climate less temperate than one affected by its proximity to the bay. There were some other items, too. She gave instructions for them all to be wrapped and delivered to her house, ready for her return.
Her shopping spree completed, Serwren meandered through the lower streets, determined to take in a little more of the city before the day ended. She was admiring some of the exotic animals and breathing deeply of the spicy, foreign aromas, when a shadow, darker than the other long silhouettes cast by the setting sun, signalled a presence by her side. Serwren looked up to find Consul Seddrill next to her.
“Lady Serwren, might I trouble you to join me for an hour?”
If Seddrill was in the city, then the meeting of the Forum was over. It might be that Bornsig was drinking wine with his cronies, or it might be that he had returned home and found Ulli and Elthrinn more vulnerable than usual in her absence. Serwren was both suspicious of Seddrill’s motives and immediately desperate to leave. She knew that Seddrill had noticed that she had stiffened with the tension of her concern.
“An hour of conversation only. Please, it is important. And opportune for you.”
“I need to return home. My husband will be waiting for me.” Her tone was bland, not that of a loving wife at all, but then she had never attempted such a pretence, particularly not in Seddrill’s presence, but she’d be damned if she would detail the evils her husband was capable of, not out in the street where anyone could hear.
“Your husband is sitting in a comfortable chair drinking wine with those snivelling wretches who will tell him he’s the wittiest, most engaging, most intelligent person who ever walked the streets of Thrissia. It will be some time before he makes it back to his own bed, if he does so at all tonight.”
Serwren was relieved on that point, at least. If she did not need to protect Elthrinn and Ulli, then she had no particular need to hurry home, other than the gathering dark. Aileth would ensure that the children were safe and cared for. Serwren was no less suspicious of Seddrill’s motives, but curiosity had always been her downfall.
She smoothed her palms over the skirts of her dress. It appeared to be an unobtrusive, habitual motion. In some ways, it very much was; she was checking for the presence of the knife that dangled on a small chain from her waist. Feeling the weight of the weapon shift with the motion of the material, and satisfied that she was protected should the need arise, Serwren decided to accept Seddrill’s invitation.
“Very well, but only for an hour. I have a household to attend to.”
“Of course. If you will follow me, I know a place where we can speak privately.”
Privacy was in short supply in Serwren’s world. Intrigued, she followed Seddrill through the rows of foreign merchant shops and into the back streets of the city. She knew Thrissia well, but not these narrow, murky, twisting alleyways. Seddrill, however, seemed certain of his route. He paused at the door to a dwelling that looked no different outwardly to all the others. He knocked, and from the syncopated tempo of his fist against the wooden door, Serwren could tell that the knock was a signal rather than a mere request for entry.
The door opened, and Serwren followed Seddrill through the opening, having to hunch almost as much as the taller man to pass under the lintel. Inside, Serwren looked around at the many tables, all surrounded by chairs occupied with all manner of citizens of the city, and realised that she was in one of the houses that served wine, and other refreshments, to anyone willing and able to pay for their requests.
Seddrill was speaking to a burly man, who had a thick beard woven with every shade of grey, but not one wisp of hair on his shining head. There was a certain authority about him that led Serwren to identify him as the owner of the establishment. There was nodding and handshaking and an exchange of coins, then Seddrill returned to her.
“Come, I have secured a room upstairs. Food and drink will be sent up.”
That sent a thrill of fear down Serwren’s spine. She trusted Seddrill, to the extent that she trusted anyone, which was barely at all, but even such a fleeting amount of faith had often been misplaced. She was about to stutter an apology and declare her urgent need to return home when Seddrill interrupted her.
“Please, Serwren. I have nothing nefarious in mind. I simply wish to speak without being overhe
ard.”
He extended this hand to her. His expression was open and honest, as far as she could tell in the gloomy light. Unsure why she should trust him now, except that he had often shown her small kindnesses, Serwren took his hand and allowed him to lead her up the staircase that built out from one of the walls. There was a short corridor at the top with many doors leading from it. Seddrill walked directly to one, retrieved a key from his pocket, and opened it.
Inside, a roughly made bed dominated the small room, but two chairs and a table had been set up in front of the open window. The room was cool with the evening breeze, and the drapes blew inwards, flapping lightly. Seddrill motioned towards the table and chairs. Serwren took one seat as Seddrill took the other.
As they were making themselves comfortable, a young girl entered with a jug and two earthenware cups. She placed them carefully on the table, averting her eyes from the adults in the room. Seddrill gave her a few coins, and she bobbed in some semblance of a curtsey and hurried out. While she watched her leave the room, Serwren tried not to think about what else the girl might be employed to do. She turned back to Seddrill to see him pouring wine into the cups. When he was finished, he handed one to her. Serwren took a taste of the wine, which was so crisp and sharp as to be almost too tart to enjoy.
Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1) Page 17
