Lost in the Dawn: Erythleh Chronicles, #1

By Catherine Johnson

Welcome to Erythleh; a world of politics, love, hurt, heartache and war. This is a world where farmers live side-by-side with werewolves, where soldiers fight alongside a cavalry of gryphons, and where your worst enemy might be the person that should be closest to you.

Jorrell and Serwren are in love, naively and completely in love; in the way that only teenagers can be.  They have their whole lives planned out ahead of them and then fate, and Serwren's jealous brother, conspire to keep them apart. 

Despite years of separation, through all the mortal challenges that they face, their love barely falters. They grow and learn more about themselves and the world around them.  When they are, finally, reunited, they realise that duty, responsibility and the fate of their nation may ultimately take precedence over their own desires.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catherine Johnson
• Release date: Mar 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781524248338

Catherine Johnson

Catherine Johnson is a screenwriter and bestselling author of several books for children and young adults. Shortlisted for the 2020 UKLA Book Awards, Race to the Frozen North is a perennial bestseller with sales of over 40,000 to date. Her acclaimed novel Sawbones won the Young Quills Award for Historical Fiction, and The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo was nominated for the CILIP Carnegie Medal and the YA Book Prize. Catherine is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature.

Book preview

Chapter One

Do you want to see a gryphon?

Serwren jumped at the whisper by her ear, only because it was unexpected, not because she didn’t know who would be sneaking up behind her.

Father specifically said we shouldn’t try to go near them. She whispered in response to her friend. The great library appeared empty. She’d been sure she’d been alone for awhile, but she kept her tone low in deference to the respectful silence out of habit.

And you always do what your father says, of course, Jorrell mocked.

I try to.

Just like the time you got caught riding one of the Cumeelii steeds, or the time he found you in the highest minaret of the palace, or the time he caught you swimming in the Moon Cave, or the time...

Serwren interrupted the litany of her misdeeds. Jor, everything you’ve listed was your idea to begin with. She paused when he raised one eyebrow at her. Okay, almost everything. But still, every time we get caught, I’m the one that ends up in the most trouble. Serwren twisted around Jorrell, who was leaning on the back of her chair, and took a thorough look around the room. She still couldn’t see her twin brother, Erkas, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t somewhere close, listening. She dropped her voice back down to little more than a murmur. If Father finds me near the gryphons, he’ll say I can’t attend the Feast of the Twelfth Moon. I want to go to that ball, Jor.

Jorrell was the same age as Serwren and Erkas. As the son of a consul, he was receiving the same education as the offspring of Dimacius, the First Father and ruler of Felthiss. They’d been friends since childhood. In fact, more often than not, people assumed that all three children were siblings. Although Erkas' hair was a ruddy shade, Jorrell’s was so dark it was almost black, and Serwren’s was a brown that was somewhere between the two, all three shared clear blue eyes, although Erkas' were often darkened by anger at some perceived slight. Elthrinn, Jorrell's younger sister, who was ten years his junior, had their mother’s hazel eyes and was educated separately at a level more fitting to her age.

Jorrell shrugged nonchalantly. So? We won’t get caught. And anyway, why do you want to go so badly? Are you thinking that you might find a husband? Catch the eye of one of the wealthy, old men that will be letching all over you?

Actually, I was hoping to show off my new gown, and I thought that maybe you’d ask me to dance with you.

I don’t dance, Serry, you know that.

You do for me.

I do when it’s only the two of us.

So you wouldn’t ask me, not even this once? Not even in a room so crowded with people that there’ll barely be room to breathe let alone dance?

Especially because we’ll be in a room full of people.

Spoilsport. She pouted and he sighed. Besides, I need to study. You should have your head in a book, too. You know Consul Remmah is going to test us on all this. Serwren waved her fingers over the large tome of the political histories of their country that she was reading.

Serry, you know all that stuff already. And my brain is as full of as much as it can hold. If I read anything else about that megalomaniac, Ekvit, something really important, like how to ride, is going to fall out of my head to make way for the useless facts.

They’re not useless, Jor. Your father’s a consul. Don’t you want to follow him into the Forum one day?

What? Jorrell reared back, looking genuinely shocked. By Thyar, no. I can’t imagine anything more tedious.

If not the Forum, what do you plan to do with yourself, then? Serwren asked with more exasperation than curiosity.

An impish grin curled his lips and he leaned down to her shoulder again. I can think of lots of things I plan to do. Serwren was still half-turned in her chair so that she could look at him as they spoke. When Jorrell spoke next, his lips brushed her ear and his breath whispered across her cheek. That was playing dirty. She’d agree to anything when he got close like that. Do you want to see a gryphon, or not?

Serwren turned her face just a little, just enough that her lips were almost brushing Jorrell’s. It was only so nearly a touch, but considering that the room they were in was not at all private, it was everything, and it was not nearly enough. She thought about taking advantage of their close proximity to each other, but that would be foolish in the extreme in a public space such as the library. And besides....

Serwren sighed in defeat. Yes, I want to see a gryphon.

Jorrell turned his face, just enough, to brush Serwren’s lips with his own. It wasn’t a kiss, not quite. Then he pulled back before she could do anything foolish.

Come on, then.

He stepped back to make room for her to push her chair away from the desk at which she’d been studying. His eyes, the clear blue of the summer skies, were twinkling with triumph. Her book lay forgotten on the desk as they made their escape from the oppressive solemnitude of the cavernous room.

Jorrell linked his fingers with hers as they made their way through the palace. It was Serwren’s home and Jorrell had spent virtually as much time in it as she, so they knew all the fastest routes through the building, and all the most concealed hiding places. They hurried through the lesser-used corridors. Anyone seeing the two of them together, at a time when everyone knew they should be studying, would know instantly that they were up to mischief.

Running along the corridors that were lined with windows was a little like dashing through a rainbow. The windows were mosaics of small panes of glass in every hue and shade. The effect of the sunlit glass, and the corresponding patterns that the panes projected onto the floor, was almost dizzying. They wove their way between the ornate stone columns which supported the arches that criss-crossed the ceilings of the palace. The high, vaulted ceilings and the windows which spanned almost the full height of the exterior walls did much to prevent the shady interior of the palace from appearing gloomy.

Serwren didn’t even catch one glimpse of her brother. They were supposed to be studying the history of Felthiss and the other realms and countries of the earth at the request of their tutor for the subject, Consul Remmah. The consul had all but given up on Jorrell and Erkas. The two boys had paid the subject its due attention, but no more than that. The consul was disappointed, particularly in Erkas’ lack of enthusiasm. Although Serwren knew that her brother studied outside the class room, concentrating solely on the portions of subjects which excited him. It was possible that he’d taken the books he wanted to read to his rooms, but she was rarely that lucky.

Since they had been very young children, Serwren had followed Jorrell into trouble. That was, perhaps, slightly disingenuous. If she were honest with herself, at least half the time it was she doing the leading, or putting ideas into Jorrell’s head. Erkas had always been both jealous of her friendship with Jorrell and resentful that she could be closer to anyone than the brother she’d shared a womb with. Those emotions had made Erkas bitter, and a little twisted. If either Jorrell’s father or hers found out that they had been up to something that they ought not to have been, it was usually because Erkas had provided the intelligence.

They were seventeen now, and Serwren had come to the realisation that she should begin to behave better than a rebellious child. And yet here she was, running alongside Jorrell through the corridors of the palace, hiding in the scant shadows if they heard anyone approaching, just as they had when they were seven.

They escaped from the palace into the open air. It was the tenth moon of the year, the first moon of Aweer. The crops were dormant for this season and the air was crisp and fresh, devoid of the heat that the season of Taan brought.

The year was counted out by the twelve new moons and quartered into seasons which were named for the four deities that all Felthissians worshiped. The season of Doohr – Goddess of Water – was the time of growing and new life. All crops were planted during the time of the first moon of that season, and it was typically the time when livestock birthed their young. The season of Taan - God of Fire - was when the temperatures reached their peak. By the third moon of that season, it was time for the crops to be harvested. The season of Thyar - God of Earth - was a time of fertility, the season to care for the fields, to prepare them for the next cycle and for livestock to mate. The season of Aweer - Goddess of Air - was the coldest season, the time of storms, and the time during which the animals that hibernated did so.

The night of the third full moon of Aweer was a time for great celebration. Felthissians visited the temples to make sacrifices and to pray to all four deities to entreat them to look kindly on their efforts and to gift them with prosperity and good harvests. Having demonstrated their devotion to the gods and goddesses, they held parties to welcome the coming year. It was a time that families came together without the distractions of everyday life.

Despite the drop in temperature, it never snowed in the city of Thrissia during the moons of Aweer. Thrissia’s position above the port was too near the salt of the ocean air for that, but there would be deep drifts on the Heranuc mountains, the white peaks of which were visible from the upper stories of the palace. The Cradle of the Cumeelii, the only point through which the range could be crossed, would be impassable. During this season, Felthiss was cut off from its friendliest neighbour, Dassrin.

The front of the palace seemed to balance precariously over the city, which fell away down the steep hillside, almost into the waters of the natural harbour below. It was that curve of the cliffs, which provided a sheltered bay on the edge of the sea of Thleen, which had been the seed for the port, which in turn had grown into a thriving town, and then bustling a city. The port was the lifeblood of Felthiss, the beating heart of Thrissia, and the reason that the city, and the country that surrounded it, had become a force to be reckoned with anywhere in the realm.

Behind the palace was an oasis of beautiful, extensively landscaped gardens. Beyond that was the barracks. The buildings that housed the army were long and low, and enclosed the parade ground at their centre. It was in that massive arena that they would find the gryphons, if they could sneak in undetected.

It was probable that they hadn’t been supposed to overhear the conversation between Dimacius and Consul Sephan– official overseer of the army and Jorrell’s father. Serwren and Jorrell had been in the gardens, tucked in a shaded corner. They had remained silent, rather than face the consequences of being discovered, and so had heard the private plans that the First Father and his military advisor had made to bring the gryphons and their keepers, the En Dek, over from the Isle of Gryphons on the pretence of a parade. In truth, they would be negotiating support for their army. Neither eavesdropper had been able to make out who the intended adversary might be.

Although her outfit might seem impractical for sneaking around, the range of movement provided by her full, floor-length skirt easily allowed her to be as stealthy as Jorrell in his leather trews and cotton shirt. The soft leather of her shoes was easily more silent that Jorrell’s boots. In a concession to the cooler season, Serwren was wearing a long shawl, a length of material twice as long as she was tall, wound around her body to cover the skin of her arms and abdomen that her fitted top left bare. Her only disadvantage, given the disparities between their outfits, was that the full skirt impaired Serwren’s climbing ability, but that was not a skill she would need for this excursion.

They were able to gain entrance to the barracks through the door that was usually used when supplies were delivered to the kitchens. Although they were less familiar with this building, having spent less time in it, they had still done enough exploring over the years to know how to get to the parade ground without passing through the more occupied areas. It helped that the arrival of the gryphons was a rare sight. Anyone who could, would have their attention diverted by the spectacle.

Serwren and Jorrell made their way to the far end of the parade ground. They spotted Dimacius, Consul Sephan and General Hitaal talking to the leader of the En Dek, identifiable by his golden helmet, which was formed into the likeness of an eagle’s head. They knew that they needed to find a vantage point as far away from the quartet as possible.

There were twenty of the majestic animals in the arena. Each one was four times the size of the biggest horses which pulled the ploughs in the fields. The gryphons sat patiently, their massive wings folded against their sides, their forepaws crossed under their beaks, their tails swishing and flicking to keep the insects at bay. Their riders waited alongside them, impressive in their leather and chain mail armour. All except one. One beast had been separated from the others, at the farthest reaches of the space, away from the dignitaries. This gryphon did not sit patiently; it stood to attention, despite the heavy iron collar around its neck and the solid chain that tethered it to a stake in the ground. It did not appear to have a rider to mind it.

Serwren and Jorrell ventured out into the cloistered walkway which would lead them within touching distance of the alert animal. It was a risk. The gryphon might easily react to their presence and give them away. They got as close as they dared. It was rare for the gryphons to be gathered in such a manner on the mainland. It was more usual for them to join the army directly at the front lines of a battle. This was the closest that Serwren and Jorrell had ever been to the magnificent beasts.

Come on. Serwren whispered. She crept forward as her sense of adventure overcame her sense of reason.

Jorrell caught her arm to hold her back. No. See the chain? It’s to keep it grounded, it must be a nervous one.

Serwren had no intention of getting so close to something so unusual and then letting the opportunity pass her by. Don’t you want to touch one?

Not that one. You could lose an arm.

Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ll regret it tonight if you don’t. Serwren didn’t wait for Jorrell. Determined, she stepped carefully along the walkway, intending to leave its cover where the gryphon would obscure her from her father’s view.

I have a feeling there are a lot of things I’ll be regretting tonight. She only just caught Jorrell’s mutterings as he followed her.

Serwren slipped out of one of the open arches in the cloister wall. The gryphon, detecting her proximity, turned its eagle head to keep her in sight and resettled its wings, but it did not squawk. Its body was that of a lion. Its tail, tipped with a tuft of fur, swished and twitched.

Serwren stepped closer. She did not crouch; she kept her stance assertive, but her pace slow. The massive body shielded her from sight. The beast huffed once, but made no other movement as she approached, close enough to touch. She held her hand out slowly, her hand open, her palm upwards, to let the animal get used to the idea that she wanted to touch it. She had no intention of losing a limb if she could help it. Although the gryphons were renowned for their viciousness in battle, they were equally lauded for their adherence to their training.

The smooth fur of its body and legs was perfectly black and rippled like the water of a pool at midnight. The wings were equally dark, apart from the longest feathers at the tip, which were so brightly white that they almost glowed. Its golden eyes gleamed with intelligence. Serwren made sure to keep an awareness of the proximity of its cruel beak, which was golden near its face, but tipped with the same inky black as the majority of its form. As the gryphon was standing proud, Serwren was able to slip under its wing and lay her palm on its flank. The fur was every bit as silken as it had appeared. Undaunted by the fact that her head barely reached its shoulder, Serwren smoothed her hand in soothing motions along the heaving ribs, being careful to keep her feet clear of its forepaws, which were tipped with gleaming, jetty talons.

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