Iron Will

by James Maxwell

  Feeling her heart reach out to him, Chloe helped him stand and led him into the villa. There was no one else home: Sophia was at Balion’s apothecary and Amos was busy at the lyceum. They had the place to themselves.

  ‘I came to see you. The city is safe?’ Dion murmured.

  ‘You’re exhausted,’ Chloe said. ‘Rest first, and then we’ll talk.’ She led him toward her bedchamber. He was barely able to walk.

  ‘You . . . You are safe?’

  ‘We’ve lost some people, but it’s nothing like as bad as it is outside. Everyone’s fled to the city.’

  ‘It’s the same in Xanthos.’

  Chloe helped him down the hallway, supporting him with an arm around his waist. As soon as they entered her bedchamber, Dion fell face down onto Chloe’s bed. ‘There’s no food in Xanthos,’ he whispered, struggling to stay awake. ‘I came here to ask . . .’

  ‘Our population has tripled, but we have still have grain,’ Chloe said.

  She sat beside him on the bed and studied him. She hadn’t seen him this way before. He was always so strong. She smoothed a few loose locks of his hair.

  ‘What happened to you?’ she asked.

  ‘I was . . . coming here when they found me,’ he mumbled. ‘I had to get away from them. I hid, but then they came after me again. I fled . . .’ He suddenly jerked. He rolled over and gazed up at her. ‘Sindara! I have to tell you.’

  ‘Rest, Dion. You can tell me later.’

  He spoke urgently. ‘The dragons won’t enter Sindara. It’s safe there.’

  Chloe’s eyes widened. ‘You’re certain?’

  He nodded. ‘You have to tell Amos.’

  ‘But we can’t leave Phalesia.’ She shook her head. ‘This is my home.’

  ‘You may have to . . .’ His eyelids drooped again. ‘Must get back to Xanthos. Need to know . . .’

  His eyes closed, and his breathing became slow and even. Watching him sleep, Chloe wondered how bad things were in Xanthos for Dion to consider evacuating the city. But then she thought about Amos. He had told her in confidence that he didn’t hold out much hope for Phalesia if the dragons attacked in force.

  Dion was right. Saving lives had to be their priority.

  27

  The sky was completely gray. It felt smothering, like a heavy woolen blanket covering the world. Frigid air stung the skin wherever it was exposed. White mist clung to the sea, which looked black and sinister. The fleet of twelve ships ponderously navigated the floes and icebergs drifting on the surface of the dark ocean.

  Kyphos felt like he had gone back in time. Once again he wore the furs and heavy clothing he had worn for most of his life. He had grown the hair on his face until he had a thick beard covering his chin. The warriors he’d brought with him had done likewise; where before their chain mail made them look like soldiers, now they were what they had always been: cold bloods, clad in smoky colors, warriors from a frozen land.

  Kyphos had ordered the fleet to travel in close formation. He paced the deck, frequently checking that the ships were staying together, but the mist was making it almost impossible to see the more distant vessels, and in truth he could only confirm that the closest few were following. The square sails were down, and oars jutted from every ship, slowly slapping at the water. If the vessels struck something submerged – which had already happened more than once – they would escape damage provided they hit with the gentlest of nudges.

  He blew on his hands, his breath steaming in the air. He realized he hadn’t missed the cold. Living in these parts was purely about survival. In the Realm of the Three Seas things were different. His people could thrive.

  He traveled to the bow, watching as a pair of men at the front fended off lumps of ice with long poles. Moving past them, he peered ahead.

  ‘Slow!’ Kyphos called back.

  The crew relayed the order down to the oarsmen. Kyphos’s ship, the Targus, lost speed until it was moving at a crawl. The floes were becoming thicker and thicker; the sea was more ice than water.

  Kyphos narrowed his eyes, staring intently. Half a mile ahead, a brief gust of wind blew the mist apart. He realized he was gazing at a long, unbroken coast, a plain of pure white. The fleet had gone as far as it could go.

  ‘Finally,’ a voice said.

  Kyphos turned to see the sorcerer, Elmar, standing at his side and watching with him. The older man’s thin hair was as white as the land they were approaching. He held his ever-present sun staff.

  ‘This is the place?’ Kyphos asked.

  ‘I am sure of it.’

  ‘Show me again.’

  Elmar sighed, but he closed his eyes and concentrated. The hoop of gold on top of his staff lit up a moment later. The sorcerer opened his eyes and looked intently at the glowing circle. He fixed his attention on the gold as his hand moved slowly around it. A single yellow flame appeared in the middle of the hoop, barely as big as Kyphos’s little finger. The flame turned and elongated. It pointed in a clear direction: the same way the ship was facing.

  ‘There,’ Elmar said. The glow faded as he spoke. ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘For now,’ Kyphos said.

  As leader of the expedition, everything depended on him. Kyphos left his place at the bow, bellowing orders. They would soon disembark.

  It took some time, but eventually all twelve ships were drawn up side by side in front of the frozen shoreline. Anchors on short lines kept them bobbing on the water; Kyphos wanted them to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Gangways leaned down to the icy ground.

  Kyphos assembled his search party on the shore.

  He stood in front of the group and inspected them. There were twenty cold bloods, men he knew well, who would act as officers and keep the rest of the party moving. Another fifty were swarthy men from Malakai. A skeleton crew would remain with the ships.

  There were dangerous natives sharing this land with Kyphos’s people. The nusu were docile, but the kona had been fighting the exiles of Aleuthea for as long as Kyphos could remember.

  ‘Men!’ Kyphos called, sweeping his eyes over the group. ‘Our mission is clear. Our people are in dire need of help. When we left, searching for warmer lands, there was barely enough food to last the winter and the hunting grounds had been feeding too many for too long. Our people may need our assistance to make it back to these ships. In truth, we don’t know what we will find.’

  ‘There’s nothing here,’ a skinny man from Malakai called out. He was wearing layer after layer of clothing but still hopping from foot to foot. ‘How will we find them?’

  ‘The magus here’ – Kyphos nodded at Elmar – ‘can use his talents to find those of his brethren we left behind. Gold seeks gold. He will guide us.’ He paused while everyone gave Elmar a curious inspection. ‘We also have trackers.’ Kyphos indicated Nero, a middle-aged warrior with a shaved head and a salt-and-pepper beard. ‘Nero, here, is one of our best. We are familiar with this region. We will find them.’

  The men from Malakai exchanged anxious glances, but the cold bloods in the group returned Kyphos’s determined stare.

  ‘Now,’ Kyphos continued. ‘Do you all have the extra food?’ He scanned the party and waited until everyone had nodded. ‘Good. Remember, if you eat it yourself’ – he lifted his chin – ‘I will kill you. Understood?’

  Every member of the group nodded slowly. Kyphos might be shorter than them, with an odd bend to his back and his head hunched forward, but the biggest warriors all deferred to him. He was the king’s representative, and wouldn’t hesitate to challenge anyone to a fight.

  ‘We find them. We feed them. We get them back here. Clear?’

  ‘Yes, Kyphos.’

  ‘I’m sure I can count on all of you,’ Kyphos said. ‘Come on. Let’s move out.’

  The sky cleared as the group traveled; the worst weather seemed to hang over the sea, and the farther they made it inland, the more they saw patches of blue. It was summer, after all. The light would dim as the day progressed, bu
t it would never get truly dark.

  Kyphos’s boots crunched on the ground, compressing already packed snow. It was easier going than he had feared, and they were making good progress. Magus Elmar regularly checked their bearing and, leading from the front, Kyphos set a brisk speed. With his short legs, it was harder for him, but he would never be the one to slow them down.

  They ate hard trail rations as they walked. Hours passed, and the members of the search party soon found themselves moving through a white, featureless plain. There was nothing in any direction to break up the monotony. If they became lost, they could follow their own tracks back to the ships. But if it snowed, they would have to put their faith in the gods.

  At some point someone handed Kyphos a flask, and he drank greedily. The water was ice cold, but he forced himself to swallow several large gulps. He had to keep up his strength. The column would move only as fast as he did.

  After a long time walking, Kyphos spotted a dark shape in the distance.

  He didn’t say anything, but he changed his angle of approach to head directly toward it. The shape grew bigger, and soon he could hear murmurs behind him as the men discussed it. Over the next hour it became a long crest of black rock.

  Kyphos exchanged glances with Elmar, who was walking beside him and doing surprisingly well given his age. Elmar nodded.

  Kyphos knew that rock formation well. Necropolis was located at the fork between two ridges. This was one of them.

  He increased his stride. Groans sounded behind him, but he glanced back at his men and scowled, silencing any complaints. The ridge grew longer and bigger. More rock became visible around it. Kyphos felt his anticipation build, along with his anxiety. He panted as he walked, desperate to see the first signs of the settlement. Palemon had confided in him about his nightmares: the king dreamed constantly of the people he had left behind. He saw them starving, dying in vast numbers. Now Kyphos was here to find out the truth and put the king’s fears to rest.

  Like a headland sprouting from a white sea, the nearest ridge was now tall, looming over the column of approaching men. The light was growing dim; they had been marching all day, but Kyphos would never stop now that he was so close. It began to snow, tiny flakes darkening the sky further, blown by the wind against Kyphos’s face and beard.

  They rounded the promontory and saw the second ridge. The two were at angles to each other. Ahead lay the settlement of Necropolis, city of the dead.

  Kyphos saw the caves on his left, where the bodies of his ancestors had been laid to rest. But his concerns were for the living. The two ridges became higher, blocking the wind. The snow now fell in long vertical lines.

  He spied the first huts.

  They were conical in shape, made from whalebone and the skins of animals. There were two of them, spaced far apart. Kyphos frowned. He glanced at Elmar, whose face was drawn with tension. One of the huts was open, its protective cladding torn wide and exposing its interior to the elements.

  There were more huts, beyond the first couple, dozens and dozens of them. Kyphos quickened his pace. He realized he was traveling the road that bisected the settlement, but what had once been a well-trodden path was crusted with fresh snow. He now saw the occasional wooden house made from the timbers of the ships that had sailed here from the Realm long ago. The king had lived in one of them, as had Zara. Rather than being swept clean, snow was inches deep at the doors. He glanced left and right. Through places where the snow was patchy, he saw that many of the huts had been flattened and were now half-obscured by white.

  Kyphos came to a halt in the middle of the settlement. He gazed around him, despair sinking into his stomach. There was no smoke curling up from the tops of the huts that were still standing. There wasn’t a soul to be seen.

  Necropolis had been abandoned.

  Kyphos saw Elmar walking away, frowning as he followed the pull of his staff. Finally the sorcerer stopped near a conical structure. He crouched and began to dig at the snow. A moment later he lifted a long wooden pole, crowned with a hoop of gold. He glanced back at Kyphos. His face was grim.

  Wherever the people had gone, the sorcerer could no longer find them.

  Kyphos’s mind worked as he tried to understand it. Finally he shook himself and called out. ‘Trackers!’

  Nero hurried forward, along with two companions. They knew what was expected of them.

  ‘Find out what happened here,’ Kyphos said.

  While the three trackers dispersed, Kyphos headed up to the storage caves. They were empty. No supplies, no people. As he returned to the settlement, impatience and frustration coursed through him in equal measure. What fate had befallen his people? Were they all dead?

  He decided to investigate more thoroughly, while his search party huddled in the center of the road. He trudged through the snow and then saw what he hadn’t before: bodies.

  They were scattered about haphazardly. It was easy to miss the long mounds covered in white. He crouched by the nearest and cleared the snow, revealing a frozen, bearded face. The man’s eyes stared up at Kyphos accusingly. He was middle-aged, and when Kyphos brushed the snow away from the man’s hands, he saw that he held an axe. The blade was crusted with blood.

  He was one of Kyphos’s people, but Kyphos couldn’t remember his name. The thought bothered him. When Kyphos left, this warrior had stayed behind to protect those weaker than himself. Now he was dead.

  Kyphos walked to another mound nearby. He dug at the snow with both hands; the body was deeper this time. This man was lying on his side. When he finally revealed his face, Kyphos started.

  The dead man had brown skin the color of leather and long black hair. He wore no beard, and his clothing was simple, made of skins sewn together. He had a cord around his neck, with a thumb-sized tooth threaded through it. His eyes were bulging. A gash just below his collarbone told the tale of his death.

  ‘Kona,’ Kyphos whispered. He glanced up as his three trackers returned to make their report. ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  Nero glanced at the body. ‘The snow is recent. The raid happened a week ago . . . no more than two. There were guards posted. The kona . . . They must have come in the night.’ He shook his head. ‘No, it’s summer, so probably a whiteout.’ The tracker swept his gaze in a wide circle around the settlement. ‘Guards were posted on the perimeter. The kona took them out first, quickly. Then they attacked while people slept. Someone raised the alarm.’ Nero nodded toward the first body Kyphos had found. ‘Many were killed as they left their homes. The sorcerers were targeted.’

  ‘And our people? They aren’t all lying dead.’

  ‘They fled.’ Another of the trackers spoke. ‘Ran until they disappeared into the white. The kona took whatever food they could find. Then they left.’

  ‘So where is everyone?’

  ‘They came back after the raid,’ Nero said. ‘Picked up clothing, blankets, material to make shelters, and timbers from the houses to burn.’

  ‘They left?’

  ‘The kona took the last of their food,’ Nero said simply.

  ‘Can you tell where they went?’ Kyphos asked. He held his breath.

  ‘South and west. It is the only direction that makes sense. Away from the kona and toward new lands.’ Nero met Kyphos’s gaze. ‘We will find them.’

  Kyphos looked away. His people had given up. Their king had left and taken the strongest warriors and hunters with him. They couldn’t wait forever.

  Demoralized and in despair, the people of Necropolis had done the only thing they could. If their king was not coming to rescue them, they would have to find a new home themselves.

  ‘Tell everyone to get ready,’ Kyphos said in a low voice. ‘We leave immediately.’

  28

  Dion walked in a daze. As he followed the inside of the palisade that guarded the shoreline, the morning sun climbed the sky above him. He hadn’t yet announced himself; perhaps there was no point.

  He had already missed the battle.

&
nbsp; On any other day the soldiers manning the defenses would have called out to him or bowed as he passed. But the men at the ballistae stood grim-faced at their weapons, heads tilted back, utterly consumed with scanning above their heads. There were half as many defenders as there had been the last time Dion came this way. The rest were nearby, but these were men who would never fight again.

  The bodies of the fallen had been lined up on the grassy bank, too many of them to count, and covered in linen sheets. Occasionally red splotches showed up against the white material. They would need to be moved soon, for the summer sun was beating down from above. But those who could move them were busy.

  Higher up, where the bank leveled off and gave way to the footpaths and streets of the city, men were lying on their backs and groaning while priests and priestesses hunched over them. Dion met the eyes of a soldier standing alone; the man’s shredded right arm hung loosely at his side and his face registered shock, while a young priestess of Aeris tried to convince him to sit down.

  Dion was numb as he took it all in. Guilt overrode every other emotion. He had left, and while he was gone Xanthos had suffered the worst attack so far. He had been fast asleep in Chloe’s bed, yet his people had been here fighting to defend their homes and loved ones.

  Groans filled the air. Women wailed over their husbands, sons, and fathers. It was all so senseless.

  Dion tried to get a grip on himself. Heading toward the palace, he tore his eyes away and looked at the barrier of spiked wooden logs that made up the palisade.

  A scarlet dragon grinned back at him.

  He jumped. The creature was impaled on the spiked logs, wings crumpled around it. Its almond eyes stared menacingly, even in death.

  Dion took a shaking breath and concentrated on the number of soldiers left to man the defenses. There were far too few of them. If there was another attack, the city would be overrun. And then, with so many refugees in the city, the feasting would begin.