Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1)

by Catherine Johnson

  “Yes, he would gladly use this as an excuse.”

  She’d had enough of being talked over, and now they were toying with her sanctuary. Serwren reluctantly opened her heavy eyes and struggled to sit up, batting away Jorrell’s attempts to make her lie down again. Seddrill was still standing at the end of the bed. She struggled to speak, so Cael assisted her to drink another sip of water to moisten her throat.

  “Jorrell is right. You must go. They will kill you if you stay.”

  “Serwren, if I leave, you will have to return to the palace. Erkas will see to that.”

  Serwren nodded, and regretted doing so immediately. “I can manage him. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.” Better that Seddrill leave of his own volition, even stealing away in the shadows, than to suffer the invasion of their home. Serwren did not want Ulli to experience the uproar of a phalanx of soldiers barging into their house, or for him to witness Seddrill being dragged through the streets and executed.

  “He was not so aware or so jealous of your standing with the people then.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “Your popularity has grown since then. If Rekseth dies, you would be a logical choice to stand for consul.”

  “I’m sure that Erkas will do everything in his power to ensure the well-being of his friend. If he does indeed accept that I could win an election, he’ll take every measure to ensure that Rekseth pulls through. He’d far rather have his supporter than have a challenger. I’ll be safe, for the time being."

  Seddrill looked to Jorrell and Cael then. “If I leave, I need to know she’ll be protected.”

  “She will be.” Serwren was surprised that it was Cael who answered first, although Jorrell seemed amused rather than shocked.

  Seddrill was obviously still reluctant, but Serwren knew that he had a politician’s instinct to live to fight another day. No one could survive in the Forum for long without such an impulse.

  “I’ll get word to Aileth to gather your belongings, and I will find a way to stay in contact. I think it would be beneficial for us all to be able to communicate in truth rather than relying on the lies that Erkas will perpetuate.”

  Serwren nodded. “I will do anything I can to ensure that this madness does not continue.”

  “Take care...”

  “Thank you, for... everything,” Serwren said honestly, trying to communicate in those few words how grateful she was for the invaluable safety that Seddrill had offered her.

  Seddrill looked uncomfortable, as if there was more that he wanted to say, but from the way he was glancing between Jorrell and Cael it was obvious he did not wish to keep an audience. From the stern, implacable look on Jorrell’s face, it was evident he had no intention of leaving the room.

  “Very well, then. Goodbye.”

  With that, Serwren’s best barrier between herself and Erkas left the room. Try as they might, Jorrell and Cael would not be able to protect her from their place in the barracks, or from the front lines of a battle. Serwren closed her eyes again and concentrated on getting up from the bed. Now was not a time to show weakness. She could not afford to exhibit vulnerability, not to anybody.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  General Vassant's funeral had been lavish and extremely well-attended, as befitting a well-respected politically-connected General of the Felthissian army. Initially, Erkas had planned for the army to march through the streets in a glorious homecoming parade, but someone, Jorrell wasn’t sure who, had persuaded Erkas that such a display would not be wise after the assassination attempt and the death of Vassant. Instead, as Vassant's only family - his brother Bornsig - had preceded him into the ever after, Erkas had taken it upon himself to act in the role of family on Vassant's behalf. The First Father had personally made the arrangements for the funeral.

  On Erkas' instructions, the army had marched from the barracks to the bluff where the blackened, dusty ground, littered with nothing more alive than stones, bore testament to the number of pyres that had burned in that spot over the centuries. The battalions had been arranged in formation along either side of the path. There were so many men now that all the ships had returned from Litt, that some did not even manage to march three steps out of the parade ground. The dignitaries walked through the avenue of armoured sentries, until they surrounded the carefully constructed mound of pitch-smeared wood. The civilians were arranged in their own manner, according to their own rank, with Erkas commanding proceedings.

  At a regal wave of the First Father's hand, a hundred flaming arrows had soared over the crowd and into the foam-capped waves of the sea of Thleen. Erkas had announced the display as a warning to Taan that one of his warriors was returning home. Words had been said, by the priests as well as Erkas, Jorrell had paid little heed to any of them. Vassant had been a tolerable colleague. Jorrell had not considered him to be a talented military leader, at most he could say that Vassant had not been dangerously foolish.

  Now the mourners, the term made him want to sneer, had returned to the palace for the customary food and drink. Erkas had been boasting about the lavishness of the arrangements, but privately, Jorrell had heard murmurings from the staff at the barracks about the gauche excesses that the First Father had a tendency towards. Whichever turned out to be the case on this occasion, Jorrell had no intention of participating in the proceedings. His head was full of other thoughts. He had waved Cael's concern away; he wanted to be alone. His friend had not been happy, but he had stumped off, back to the barracks, as he had been bid.

  Jorrell stood and watched the funeral pyre burn. The uppermost layers of wooden scaffolding had collapsed into ash, depositing the charred remains of the body into the very depths of the fire. In his mind's eye it was not Vassant's bones that were charring to ash, it was his father's. He knew that his father would have been cremated on this hallowed spot; Sephan had was too important a man, too great a friend to Dimacius, to have been snubbed in any way.

  Jorrell had missed the funeral, he'd missed news of his father's death by years. Without knowing he had missed any opportunity to heal the rift between him and his father that had opened when he'd been sent away. Now his little sister was in Dorvek, sent there to be an unwilling bride, and there was nothing he could do about it without taking Felthiss headlong into a war with the wolves, not to mention a military coup against the First Father. His imagination dwelt in dark places when he thought of Elthrinn enduring a marriage to someone that she hadn't even known, let alone loved.

  "You're not coming back to the palace?"

  The soft voice, almost carried away on the wind, startled Jorrell into turning around. Serwren was standing alone, watching him expectantly. He hadn't noticed that she'd remained behind. Ulli had accompanied his mother to the funeral, along with a much older woman who seemed vaguely familiar to Jorrell. The crone must have taken Ulli back to the palace. Serwren was wearing a cloak of black wool, with the hood pulled up against the damp breeze that was growing stronger and sharper with every passing moment. He could make out her face in the shadows, but little else about her form or dress. He was wearing his own heavy cloak of fur and wool. He'd been making an effort to make do without it, but this day was not the warmest of days, and the cliff top was exposed to the elements. Dark clouds had blotted out the sun, they promised heavy rain before nightfall.

  "Where's your boy?" Jorrell asked, in lieu of an answer to the question that he'd been asked.

  "Aileth has taken Ulli back to the palace." Serwren answered as she approached him. He stood his ground and waited for her to reach him.

  He was not in the mood for polite conversation. His mind was too full of bitterness and regret to be circumspect. He simply asked what he wanted to know. "How old is Ulli?"

  Serwren was startled, but only for a second. Jorrell supposed that she might have been expecting the question, and was only surprised by the blunt manner in which it was delivered.

  "He's eleven, his birthday was a little more than a moon ago."

  Jo
rrell did some mental arithmetic, he'd left Thrissia during the second moon of Aweer. Serwren hadn't married Bornsig until several moons later; the betrothal had been announced at the Feast of the Twelfth Night. If Ulli was Bornsig's son, which he very much doubted that he was, then Bornsig had pre-empted his wedding night. There was another possibility for Ulli's heritage. Actually, if Jorrell were honest with himself, there were another two possibilities, but Ulli's colouring and features were strongly indicative of one of those options over the other. But still, he didn't dare hope that he and Serwren could be so inextricably linked.

  "He's a strong-looking lad."

  Serwren canted her head to one side. Her eyes were curious. "He is strong. He's had to cope with a lot."

  "He's settled now, with you, in the palace."

  Serwren shrugged and her eyes turned a little towards sadness. "Not really. He enjoys it there, it's full of hiding places." Her thin, sad smile reminded Jorrell of the trouble they had found themselves in as children, not much older than Ulli. He answered it with an unconscious smile of his own before he realised that his lips had curved. Serwren continued, "But we hadn't long been living with Seddrill. There has been a lot of upheaval in Ulli's life."

  Jorrell's smiled twisted. Serwren's face hardened. Her tone was pure acid. "I see you've heard the rumours."

  He remained silent. It was not for him to offer an explanation, if one should be forthcoming.

  "That's all they are, rumours, designed to keep me safe from Erkas." Her voice had lost none of the frosty edge it had attained.

  Jorrell was confused as much as he was curious, now. "And yet you're living in the palace again, under the same roof as Erkas. Why don't you go back to the country?"

  The ice thawed from Serwren's face and voice. When she spoke, her tone was shaded by exhaustion. "Erkas would only command me to come back. He'd drag me back by force if necessary. It's better for Ulli if he doesn't see the struggle. It's better this way."

  Jorrell's promise of a few days before rang hollow in his ears. "I can't protect you there, Serry." It cost him dearly to admit such a thing. He hadn't been able to protect Serwren. He hadn't been able to protect Elthrinn. He had failed everyone he loved.

  Serwren was the very picture of obstinacy. "I can look after myself. I don't need your protection. I've managed without it for a decade."

  If he hadn't known before, he knew now, Serwren had no idea that Jorrell knew just how much danger she was in from Erkas.

  "I made a promise. though, that you would be under my protection."

  "Really Jor. There was no way you could keep that promise." It would have hurt less if she'd have taken his sword and stabbed him.

  "I take my oaths seriously, Serwren."

  "Why do you even care anymore?" Something in the way that she asked the question, something that was truly curious rather than belligerent, kept the tiny flame of hope alive in his soul.

  "I never stopped loving you, Serry."

  Serwren looked lost. Jorrell couldn't stand it; he went to her. She was shivering, despite her thick woollen cape. She wasn't used to the cold and damp as he was. She didn't move, not an inch. He couldn't leave her, alone in whatever emotional sea she was tossing in. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close against his body. She allowed the contact, not willingly, but she didn't fight it.

  She felt like she belonged there, it felt like they'd never been apart. Serwren felt warm, enticing and right in his arms, just as she always had. Jorrell's heart stuttered as his mind processed the touch, its significance for the present, the possibilities for the future. For several heartbeats, she didn't move an inch, then, before he could think about what his next action should be, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. He was acutely aware of the layers of armour he was still wearing, the layers that prevented him from feeling the heat of her skin through their clothing, that prevented him from feeling much of her at all.

  He had to feel her, he had to feel something of her, he had to feel something more than that numb weight. He allowed one of his arms freedom from her waist, but only so that his fingertips could capture her chin to tilt her face upwards, so that he could look at her, without the cowl of her hood to obscure the sight. Serwren's expression was innocent and open; she was waiting. That she was so trusting for anyone, for him, hurt in places that he had never thought to feel pain. She was accepting of whatever he would do next.

  There was only one thing to do, well, only one thing to do on a cold and blustery cliff top. Jorrell kissed Serwren. He kissed her for the last ten years, kissed her for every time he should have been able to kiss her, kissed her for every time he had needed to kiss her, kissed her for every time that he knew she'd needed him. He kissed her, literally , as if his life depended on it.

  The way she felt, the way she tasted, all of it was exactly the same. Jorrell was catapulted into the past, everything good, everything innocent, everything he'd yearned for, was contained within it. Their tongues danced the steps that his body ached to follow. The wet, slick, slide was intoxicating, but it couldn't last forever.

  Serwren pulled back; when Jorrell tried to recapture her, she untangled her arms from around his waist and took a full step back. It was possible that an axe to the heart would have been less painful.

  She was wearing the carefully blank expression that she saved for the times when she was absolutely sure that revealing her true emotions would drop her into trouble that she couldn't get out of. "It's been a long time, Jorrell. We're two very different people now. I know I'm not the girl you left in Thrissia."

  "I don't want it to have been too long, Serry. I don't want for them to have taken that from us."

  "What either of us wanted never made a difference before."

  The rain that the clouds had foretold began to fall. It started as drizzle, but it rapidly became a thick mist.

  "I don't remember you being this defeated, Serry. You were always a fighter."

  "That was a long time ago, Jor."

  The drizzle graduated into a driving sleet. The clouds murked the day until it was almost night. The thick thunder clouds hung low, so low that they shrouded the bluff in wreaths of fog. With a sad, despondent glance, Serwren began to walk away. After two steps she appeared as little more than a ghostly shadow in the mist.

  Before the grey clouds swallowed her, Serwren turned. "I never stopped loving you either, Jor."

  The encroaching storm had almost stolen her words, but Jorrell had heard them. He clutched them to his heart, determined to keep them close for all time.

  ~o0o~

  The storm seemed to have blanketed all of Thrissia. The people of the city had taken shelter from the weather. The streets had been deserted as Jorrell had tramped back to the barracks. The parade ground was empty. Although he paid no mind to the rain, he'd lived in far worse conditions for years at a time, he avoided the open expanse of the arena and kept to the cloisters. He knew that the dust, soaked into mud, would suck at his boots. The earth spat the droplets of rain, tinged brown with dirt, back at the sky; the ground could absorb no more moisture.

  That there was a fire burning in the hearth of his room was a luxury that Jorrell hadn't been expecting. Such a comfort, a footnote to his position, never failed to make him feel guilty. He could never forget that the rank and file soldiers did not enjoy such consideration. They had their blankets and their cloaks, and would have to make do.

  Cael had drawn his chair up close to the flames. There was no point ignoring the benefits of the warmth. A second chair was waiting on the other side of the hearth, equally close. Cael glanced up when Jorrell entered the room, and then went back to watching the fire. Jorrell shrugged out of his sodden cloak and spread it over the back of the empty chair so that it draped over the flags. Immediately, rain water darkened the stones. Jorrell removed his armour, piece by piece, and laid it out on his bed. It would need oil once it had dried to ensure that the movement of the scales remained smooth.
Once he was undressed to his damp shirt and trews, Jorrell took a seat on the chair, perching on the edge to avoid the dripping fur behind him.

  The two friends did not speak for long moments. The fire crackled; kindling snapped in the heat. The sounds of daily life in the barracks murmured through the door, almost blotted out by the insistent tapping of the rain on the roof and window.

  "You spoke to her, then?" Cael spoke as he reached his palms out to better capture the heat of the fire.

  "You knew she'd stayed behind?"

  "I saw her loitering as I walked back. She seemed to be trying to stay back without being noticed."

  "Yes. I spoke to her."