Cael raised an eyebrow in Jorrell's direction. "I can tell from your exultant expression, cleverly concealed behind that glowering brow, that it went well."
Jorrell looked up from the dancing flames and finally focussed fully on Cael. "Has anyone ever mentioned to you that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?"
Cael smirked. "Yes. You have, I believe, several times."
Jorrell laughed, a short huff, that expelled all the humour left in him.
"Oh, we had a visitor while you were out whispering sweet nothings to your long-lost love."
Jorrell considered knocking Cael off his chair, but the effort required was too great, considering that humanity was just about seeping back into his bones. "Who?"
"One of the consuls."
"Which one?" Jorrell was used to Cael's games, such as this one of being deliberately obtuse. His friend mostly played them to distract him when he tended towards a melancholy state.
"A miserable-looking bastard. Had a nose to rival a gryphon's beak. I doubt he's ever smiled once in his life, much like a certain General I know."
"That'll be Astol. What did he want?"
"For us to make some investigations into the incident that resulted in the death of our colleague."
"He wants us to find the assassin? There's a palace guard for such enquiries"
"He seemed to doubt their aptitude for the task."
Jorrell sighed and leaned back, and then jerked forward when his shirt met the cold, wet pelts of his cloak. "Erkas probably had a hand in their recruitment. They're all half-giants. He'll have picked them because they look impressive, not because they're actually any use at their jobs."
"Regardless, do we accept the assignment?"
"It would be unseemly not to."
"You don't sound terribly enthusiastic?"
"The only reason I want to find out who poisoned that wine is that whoever did it was clumsy, and nearly caught Serry in their crossfire. I couldn't care less if they're successful in killing Erkas."
"So that's a yes?"
"No." Jorrell stared into the flames. "It's an excuse."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jorrell was chaffing at the yoke of his duties for the first time since his first promotion. At that particular moment, he was overseeing the training drills at the barracks. Although it wasn’t generally an essential part of his duties, on this occasion he felt that it was. His men had been living and fighting in a climate that was vastly different to that of Felthiss for many years. He needed to assess how the change in environment was affecting them. Vuthron, although broadly considered to be a similar climate with defined seasons, was also more unpredictable. The volcanic nature of the region precipitated violent storms that could strike with equal ferocity at any time of the year.
Jorrell was trying to keep his impatience under control. His men did not need to know that his mind was elsewhere. There was a war coming; they needed to know that their General was giving them his undivided attention.
But his attention was firmly fixed on Serwren. For the past eight nights she had been living in the palace, under the same roof as Erkas. Jorrell had barely had time to talk to her, let alone protect her. His promise to Seddrill rang hollow in his ears.
Once these exercises were over, he was scheduled to attend some sort of performance or presentation that had been arranged in the Forum. He knew Serwren would be there, he would be in her presence, at least, but he doubted that he’d actually get chance to be close to her. Every time he’d had chance to visit the palace, he’d found that there was always something or someone that managed to get in the way of them even being able to stand next to each other.
That would change today. As soon as he was free of his obligations he fully intended to hunt Serwren down and speak to her. He had no idea what he was going to say to her. He doubted that seeing him would inspire her to conversation. From what he’d seen, he didn’t think she’d appreciate him barging into her life playing the role of bodyguard, even if that was what she needed.
Not that he truly knew what she wanted or needed. It had been so long since they’d even been in the same country. They were strangers who simply shared a past, but he still felt the undeniable pull of their bond. It was the same pull that had landed them in trouble over and over again in their youth. The only things he knew for certain were that he would still lay down his life to protect her, recklessly, foolishly if need be, and that the opportunities he’d had to touch her, so far, were far too brief. The passion, the lust, the want, from all those years before, was shaking off the dust of more than a decade and reasserting itself.
“You’d better tell her you’re sorry, that should get her smiling again. And you.”
Jorrell was started from his musings by Cael’s voice. He hadn’t even realised that his friend had approached him.
“And what do you know of women?” Jorrell was aware that his tone was gruff and unfriendly, he didn’t appreciate being caught out in his inattention, but he knew there was no point denying the subject of his contemplation.
“I know that when one is angry with you, that the quickest way to stop her being angry is to apologise. It doesn’t matter if you know what you’re apologising for. A blanket ‘I’m sorry’ usually does the trick.”
"I did apologise."
"You need to say it with the kind of tone that makes it sound like you mean it, and preferably without scowling."
“And when did you become an expert?”
“I’m not always keeping your arse out of danger, you know.”
Jorrell snorted in response.
Like the good soldier, and excellent commander that he was, Cael then directed Jorrell’s attention back to the matter that he should have been concentrating on. The men appeared to be coping well with the transition, but it would be a fault on Jorrell's part if he didn't anticipate problems and keep watch for them.
One question still troubled Jorrell. If he was to believe Seddrill, and take the Vuthroan’s word that he hadn’t poisoned the wine, that meant that whoever had done it was still walking around with impunity. And that meant that they would have the opportunity of making a second attempt. Jorrell had no intention of allowing Serwren to become a target, or even collateral damage, but he was running out of ideas of how to get in the way of an unknown enemy.
If this had been a task under his professional remit, he would have applied his military logic. Unable to see the threat, and therefore unable to protect Serwren completely, he would have removed her to a place of safety, one where the enemies approaching them would be exposed. He knew enough of her already to know that she would never allow that, and given the situation they were in, he knew their presence would be missed. A commanding General could not simply disappear on the eve of a war, and Serwren would see such a move as abandoning the people who needed her.
Once the exercises and drills were completed, Jorrell and Cael returned to their quarters to wash the dust of the arena off and to change into more casual clothing. Although their next appointment was reasonably formal, it would not require any armour to be worn. Jorrell changed into the leather trews, woollen tunic and leather jerkin which allowed him an agreeable range of movement. He would not leave the barracks without his sword and dagger, but he had been gradually weaning himself from the need to always drape his cloak around his shoulders. He felt uncomfortably naked without its weight on his shoulders.
Cael dressed in a similar fashion. His friend had taken it upon himself to become his unofficial bodyguard, more so than he usually did. Almost since setting foot in the palace on their first night in Felthiss, Cael had declared that he didn’t trust anyone they could meet there. Although, much to Jorrell’s irritation, he seemed to get along just fine with Serwren.
Jorrell had only been paying half a mind's attention to Remmah when she’d invited him to this function. Although ‘invited’ implied that he’d had a choice about whether to attend or not. Despite the situation that they were currently mired in, Re
mmah had been very adamant that he should not attempt to excuse himself.
The Forum was already full of people when he and Cael arrived. Most were seated, some were squeezing their way between the tiers, trying to find a gap. He cast around, trying to pick Serwren out of the crowd, but he could not see her. He did spot Remmah, sitting between Ulli and Erkas on the front row. It appeared that Erkas was relinquishing his usual seat for the duration of the performance. Indeed, the seat itself had been removed from the dais to provide a clear stage for the performers. While Jorrell was looking in that direction, Erkas caught his eye and enthusiastically waved him over. Jorrell decided that his bad day was about to get a lot worse. There was no way that he could refuse Erkas’ invitation without appearing ignorant, and to so ostensibly snub the First Father would almost be actual, as well as political, suicide.
“Ahh, General. I’m so pleased that you’ve been able to make the time to attend this little diversion. It’s so important to my sister.”
Jorrell smiled tightly as he sat down. He remembered now that the performance was something to do with the orphaned children that Serwren championed. Remmah and Ulli and Erkas all shuffled to the side to make a little room for him. The row was packed, and Jorrell heard some muttered curses as Cael made a space for himself directly behind his seat.
Remmah leaned into Jorrell, without turning her face from the centre of the room. “Thank you,” she muttered.
“For what?” Jorrell asked in a mumbled return.
“Your presence is beneficial.”
This did not seem like a safe conversation to be having whist he was sat side by side with Erkas, but Erkas' attention appeared to have been claimed by one of the other consuls who had been minorly inconvenienced by Cael's choice of seat. Besides, Jorrell was curious. He leaned in a little to speak directly at Remmah’s ear.
“Why didn’t she invite me, then?”
“Because she can’t be seen to be talking to you.”
Since Erkas had apparently gone out of his way so far to ensure that the Generals were surrounded by company, it didn't make much sense that Serwren wouldn't feel that she could claim some familiarity in order to have a conversation with him. However, in light of what he now knew about her position on the political chessboard, he supposed he could understand her reticence. Not that it would matter once his time was his own again. He wouldn't give her the option of avoiding him again.
Ulli leaned across Remmah, which caught Jorrell's attention. Remmah leaned back to make room for the young boy.
"General Jorrell?" Jorrell smiled and nodded to encourage the boy to continue. "Consul Astol is my tutor in Geography. I've to do a piece of work on the Southern Wastelands, and he said that you had spent some time there. Will you tell me about it? He says you'll know more than I can find in any book."
The simple request left Jorrell momentarily speechless. The idea of recounting his adventures, the edited tales of his battles, of describing the lands, the people, the animals that he'd seen, of spinning those tales to his son, was beyond anything he could have imagined that he might have wanted. And no one could persuade Jorrell that Ulli was not his son. Ulli's age placed his birth and conception within the right timeframe, and his features and colouring were undeniable. Jorrell would ask Serwren for confirmation, but in his soul he knew the answer. Something inside him cramped at the opportunity he was being offered so innocently, but he couldn't put that feeling into words, not when he was surrounded by strangers and enemies.
Ulli was looking at him, his expectant expression becoming more unsure as Jorrell's answer became more delayed.
"Yes, of course. I'll come to the library tomorrow and tell you some of my stories," he promised.
Ulli's expression brightened instantly. He spoke his thanks and then sat back in his seat.
Remmah herself was smiling at Jorrell indulgently. It was obvious that she knew the secret, and that she approved of his agreement to assist Ulli and to grasp the chance laid out before him. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps the homework regarding the Southern Wastelands, accompanied as it was by the advice to seek him out for information, had not been a coincidence, and that Consul Astol knew of Ulli's true heritage as well. The consul, whose hooked nose, prominent chin and iron grey hair gave him a severe and uncompromising air, had appeared to be maintaining a careful impartiality between Serwren and Erkas, at least from what Jorrell had seen so far. Perhaps he was not as committed to the middle ground as he had first appeared to be.
A hush seemed to fall instinctively over the crowd, although Jorrell had not seen or heard a sign given for everyone to be quiet. The musicians, who were arranged to one side of the dais, began to play a cheerful, but subtle, melody. Jorrell's attention was turned to the children who were walking through the doorway, through the seated crowd, and up onto the dais, singing as they proceeded.
He didn't pay much attention to the music. It wasn't giving him a headache, so he supposed it must have been of a reasonable standard. He was concentrating more on the children themselves. They were all woefully thin. Although not emaciated now, it was obvious that they were only a few decent meals from that dire state. Their slight frames spoke volumes about the malnourishment they must have endured. All of them had eyes that appeared too large for their faces, eyes which darted suspiciously, warily, around the crowd.
There were several quite talented youngsters, and Jorrell found himself enjoying the performance more than he had initially supposed that he would. Serwren was standing in the shadows by the side of the dais, offering encouragement to the more nervous children and prompting with words and lyrics where needed. Although Jorrell was listening, it was Serwren that he was watching, and judging by the way she was determinedly avoiding looking anywhere in his direction, he guessed that she knew she was the focus of his attention.
Jorrell wasn't so distracted that he didn't feel Erkas leaning into his shoulder so that he could speak at his ear. Erkas' voice was barely more than a whisper, and as soon as he spoke, Jorrell knew that his observation of Serwren had not gone unnoticed.
“Of course, you know that I fucked her. I didn’t realise until I was deep, deep inside her that you hadn’t been there first after all. All that time I thought she was spreading her legs for you like the most wanton whore, and really, she was a pure virgin. And I got there first.” Erkas voice lilted with an almost childish glee.
Jorrell struggled for calm. He knew what Erkas had done, and he knew that Erkas was baiting him into making a public exhibition of himself. If Jorrell was to attack him, here, with all these witnesses, he would surely be executed for treason. He was determined not to give Erkas the satisfaction he craved, but the words hit him like the thrust of a sword. He was shaking with the need to do violence, to lash out. He had to lock that down, he had to call the cold calm that numbed him and tempered the red fury. It was a skill he'd learned on the battlefield. The fury was mindless, the cold rage was calculating, it was something he could think through.
Jorrell felt a hand on his knee and glanced down to find Remmah's gnarled fingers on his leg. She squeezed once before she removed her hand, a silent message to maintain a composed demeanour. She couldn't possibly have heard the cursed words that Erkas had spoken, but no doubt she knew the intent of his murmurings. Jorrell didn't need the warning, but he appreciated the support.
In a voice tight with rage, he leaned towards Erkas, enjoying the way the man flinched. Erkas had been expecting violence, not conversation.
"One of these days," Jorrell breathed, "I will slip a knife between your ribs."
"That's a treasonous thing to say, General," Erkas remarked on an exhale, plainly as furious as Jorrell was.
"Only if I'm caught." Jorrell smiled as he spoke. It might have been a breach of protocol, but he absolutely refused to give Erkas his official title, especially during this degrading interchange.
"I could ask Serwren to suckle at the wound, "Erkas countered, unwilling to admit defeat, "I hear that s
he's taken to those barbaric traditions."
"She shows ingenuity in her search for strength, as any good soldier should," Jorrell muttered confidently.
Erkas stuttered, searching for a response. He tried to speak, and stopped. He tried again, and had to turn the attempt into a feeble cough hidden by his fist. Jorrell knew he'd won the exchange when Erkas slumped back with a disgruntled huff.
Erkas was obviously still put out at being verbally bested when the show ended, because he rose immediately, with almost ill-mannered haste, and spoke the words of his official thanks quickly before leaving in a rush. Remmah was smiling widely as she rose to undertake a more leisurely, yet still sincere, speech.
Jorrell and Cael remained seated as the Forum emptied. Jorrell watched the exit carefully, but although he did not spy Serwren leaving, when the room was mostly empty, he could not find her in the few knots of people who remained. She had somehow managed to slip past his keen eye. He rose with a grunt, knowing that Cael mirrored him, and determined that he would search every inch of the palace before the day was out, if that was what it took to find her.
Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1) Page 30