Still shaken, he crossed the wooden bridge that spanned the ravine dividing the royal quarter from the residential district. The Royal Palace loomed over him. Its three stories made it the tallest structure around, far bigger than the marble-faced temples nearby. Desperate to find his uncle, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
Close to the steps leading up to the Orange Terrace, there were more linen-covered corpses on the grass. One dead man was on his back, a little apart from the others. The material had been pulled back to reveal his upper half.
A garishly dressed man with long hair parted in the middle knelt beside the body. He stroked the dead man’s cheek and his lips moved, perhaps in farewell or prayer.
Dion recognized Finn.
His footsteps quickened. He tried to see who Finn was leaning over, but the dead man’s features were obscured. Finn bent over him and rocked back and forth. His cheeks were wet. Dion saw that the dead man was tall and wore dark clothing.
Dion started to run.
Time slowed to a crawl as he threw himself onto the ground and stared down into the face of his uncle. Glaukos’s hair was neatly combed in the way it always was. His sharp, patrician features looked composed, as if he was sleeping. Someone had closed his eyes, most likely Finn.
Dion’s eyes traveled down, to his uncle’s chest. The gouges were deep and terrible, shaped like triangles and lined up in a row. He could read the story in the wounds. Jaws had closed over his uncle’s torso. They must have abruptly released, otherwise his uncle would have been in a far worse state.
Finn turned to meet Dion’s gaze, revealing pained, reddened eyes. ‘They killed the monster that did it,’ he said. ‘But it was too late.’
Dion stared at his uncle’s face. He remembered Glaukos tossing him in the air when he was a child, and putting him on a horse’s back for the first time. After Nikolas learned about Dion’s heritage and forced him to leave, Glaukos had welcomed him back, and said it didn’t matter to him at all, he was still the same man. When Dion had suffered at Palemon’s hands, his uncle had helped him to be strong. He was always riling Dion about one thing or another, but always with Dion’s best interests at heart.
‘How?’ Dion asked. Moisture burned behind his eyes.
‘How do you think?’ Finn made a sound somewhere between a sob and a short laugh. ‘He was trying to play soldier. Telling the men to hold fast, that sort of thing. He wasn’t even carrying a weapon.’
Dion shook his head. ‘It should have been me.’
‘You know he would have given his life to save yours.’ Finn smiled through his tears. His voice lowered, changing pitch. ‘Dion,’ he intoned, ‘you are the king. You must not risk yourself.’
Dion laughed; Finn had imitated his uncle’s voice perfectly. His laughter slowly faded as he looked down at the older man’s still face. He leaned over his uncle and kissed his brow. ‘I will try, Uncle. I will try to be what you wanted me to be.’
‘Dion.’ Finn’s gaze told Dion he was saying something important. He wanted Dion to know. ‘I loved him. He was everything to me.’
Dion was perplexed for a moment, but then he realized. His uncle had always been a bachelor, in all the years Dion had known him. Dion cast his mind back to the times he’d seen Finn and his uncle working together; they were always side by side. They were as unlike each other as two men could be. But they had found something, even if it had been abruptly taken from them.
Dion reached out and clasped Finn’s shoulder. ‘I wish you’d told me.’
Finn shrugged. ‘We made no secret of it.’ He smiled through his tears. ‘You just had your mind on other things.’
‘I suppose I did.’ Dion sighed. ‘But there is no use fighting in a world without love.’
‘That’s true,’ Finn said. He gave Dion a penetrating look. ‘I don’t regret a moment we spent together, even if right now it hurts more than I can say. Remember that, Dion.’
Dion sat at a wooden table in his banqueting hall. Three other people sat with him, and his eyes slowly moved from face to face.
He first looked at Cob. The old man’s arm was in a sling and there was a bandage covering his shoulder. During the struggle to save Xanthos from all-out attack, Cob had rallied the men when the line was about to be breached. Without Cob’s swift actions, the dragons would have wreaked havoc in the town. Dion could count on him more than any other.
He next glanced at Roxana. She had a new scar on her cheek, a long, ugly red line. She had been by her husband’s side, in the thick of the fighting. She was obviously perplexed at the summons: Roxana was responsible for the ships of Xanthos’s fleet. There had been little call for the navy.
Finally he regarded Finn. Dion had been worried about him, but Finn was strong. His eyes were red, but his bearing was steady.
These three people were Dion’s friends as well as his advisers. Cob had known him since he was a boy. He had met Roxana when he’d masqueraded as a marine in Lamara, and together they had hunted wildren and fought sea battles. It was Finn’s suggestion that led Dion to enlist as a pirate with the Free Men.
Dion let out a heavy sigh. He had their full attention. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Lad—’ Cob began, but Dion held up a hand.
‘I wasn’t here when you needed me. There is no excuse. Now my uncle is dead, along with a great many of our men.’
‘What could you have done?’ Finn asked with a shrug. ‘You prepared the city’s defenses. Everyone knew their parts.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Glaukos was your heir. If you had fallen, who would lead us then?’
‘You made it back,’ Roxana said. ‘That’s the important thing.’
‘Lad, just tell us what you learned,’ Cob said.
Dion looked down at the table. ‘I wanted to see if there were more refugees on their way to Xanthos. I searched everywhere,’ he said. ‘And everywhere I saw the same thing: homes abandoned, bodies . . . If you could call them that. There is no one alive beyond the city.’
‘Which explains why they came,’ Cob said. ‘No more easy pickings, not in these parts anyway.’
Dion nodded. ‘I was also looking for an answer. We have too many mouths to feed here in Xanthos.’ He glanced at Finn. ‘Against Finn’s advice, I sold our winter stores.’
Finn interjected. ‘To build weapons . . . The only reason we’re still alive.’ His lips thinned as he shook his head.
‘I flew toward Phalesia,’ Dion continued. ‘But I didn’t make it, not at first.’ His voice became grim. ‘The dragons found me. I hid from them, and then I tried to lead them away, out to sea. They were almost upon me . . . surrounding me . . . I fled to Sindara. And then suddenly’ – he glanced at his three friends – ‘they were gone.’
The faces around him were puzzled.
‘I was inside Sindara’s borders and I could see them, watching me. I could sense their frustration.’ Dion leaned forward. ‘The dragons won’t enter Sindara.’
Cob and Roxana exchanged glances. Finn nodded slowly to himself.
‘I visited Eiric,’ Dion said. ‘I told him what I’d learned. He has offered refuge to any human who can make it to Sindara. I then went to Phalesia on the way home. That’s my story.’
‘You saw Chloe?’ Cob asked. ‘Amos?’
‘I saw Chloe and told her what I’ve told you. By now Amos already knows.’
Cob pondered for a moment. ‘How fares Phalesia?’
‘A little better than us, but not much. The city’s defenses have been tested. Our problems are the same. Before, when we killed a few dragons, they would leave and hunt elsewhere. Now? Chloe told me that she heard there’s barely anyone left alive in Galea, from Sarsica all the way to the Waste. Unless by some miracle the dragons turn their attention to Salesia, Xanthos and Phalesia will fall.’
‘What about grain?’ Finn asked.
‘They have enough in Phalesia to last a while.’
‘Even with our numbers added to theirs?’ Finn persisted.
Di
on nodded.
‘I don’t understand,’ Cob said, glancing from face to face. ‘What are we suggesting here?’
‘Isn’t it clear?’ Roxana snorted. ‘Evacuation.’
‘We’re abandoning Xanthos?’ Cob asked incredulously.
‘We have to,’ Dion said. ‘It’s clear that we can’t hold out much longer. Either we will die of starvation, or, more likely, the dragons will kill us all. Only Sindara is safe. This isn’t a conventional war, Cob. The dragons don’t want our city.’ His voice firmed. ‘They want our people, and it’s our people we have to save. Now’ – he turned to Roxana – ‘what is the state of the fleet?’
‘Strongest it’s ever been,’ she said. ‘We have twenty-two fully equipped biremes and triremes.’
Dion rubbed his temples. ‘I always thought Xanthos would need a strong fleet. I never imagined it would be used like this. How about fishing boats and merchantmen?’
‘Another forty, fifty . . .’
Dion swiftly calculated. ‘We can’t take everyone by sea. But easily all the oldest and youngest, the injured and the weak. The rest can walk.’
‘To Sindara?’ Cob spluttered. ‘It’s too far! The dragons would find us!’
‘I agree,’ Dion said calmly. Now that he had made the decision, he was surprised to find that his ragged nerves had settled. ‘The refugees say that the dragons rarely attack at night. So we will first travel to Phalesia. Half of the people will go by ship, via the Narrows. The other half will travel through the Gates of Annika.’
‘When they discover the city is empty . . .’ Cob muttered.
‘They will set their sights on Phalesia,’ Dion finished for him. ‘One step at a time.’
‘Someone will need to tell Amos we’re coming,’ Finn said. ‘I’ll send a fast runner.’
‘Do it right away, as soon as it’s dark,’ Dion agreed. He stood and gazed down at his three companions. ‘We don’t have much time. It’s already midday. We have a busy night ahead of us.’
Snaking clouds crossed the waxing moon, occasionally shrouding the fleet in darkness but then passing to reveal it in sudden light. Ship after ship slid over the sea in a long, ragged column, with the smaller vessels trailing after the warships. Oars were muffled; men spoke in whispers. Only the splash of the paddles and the occasional sailor’s voice split the silence.
Dion stood near the mast of the Liberty, the largest of all the triremes. He glanced up at the sky, jaw clenched tightly, watching the last cloud as it drifted over the moon. As soon as it was gone, bright light glistened on the ripples of the dark sea, shining on the ship’s timbers and the steel weapons and armor of the soldiers. It lit up the faces of the people sitting on the deck, crowded close together, eyes wide with fear. From now on the moon and stars would reveal everything. There were no more clouds to come.
Dion crossed the deck to approach Roxana, standing at the stern and gripping the helm. The moonlight was both a curse and a blessing. It meant that the fleet could be seen easily. But it also aided the difficult task of navigating the Narrows.
Roxana nodded to Dion but kept quiet. Like him, she had one eye for the open sea and another for the vessels following behind. The cliffs on both sides of the narrow passage they had just passed through were far taller than the masts of the ships. The fleet was forced to go one at a time, in single file. Most Xanthian captains were familiar with the route, but few had ever attempted it at night.
Dion was tense as he grabbed hold of the rail and prayed to Silex for the fleet to make it through unscathed. The oars sprouting from both sides of the Liberty moved quietly, but constantly, and the ship’s motion developed a rolling sway as they began to travel the open channel that separated Xanthos from Phalesia. Peering intently, Dion saw that a handful of vessels had made it through already, but it was becoming difficult to make out the rest.
‘Roxana,’ he murmured. ‘Change our angle. I want to be able to see the rest of the fleet.’
‘Of course,’ Roxana replied. ‘Don’t worry, Dion,’ she said quietly. ‘I know every captain. They’ll make it through.’
The Liberty veered off, leaving the vessels behind it to continue the crossing to Phalesia. Dion moved from place to place, stepping with agility around his people, who all watched his face intently as if trying to read what he was thinking. He counted, and saw that all the bigger ships had emerged unscathed. Dozens of smaller boats now exited the Narrows to join the main fleet. There were fishing boats and tiny skiffs, goods barges and small sailing boats. Everything that floated had been assigned to the evacuation. Every vessel was full of pale white faces, drained of all color by the moonlight.
Dion clenched his fists at his sides. Those traveling by ship were the weakest people, the young and the old, who couldn’t make the journey by land. He counted every single boat, desperate to ensure they were all still with the group. He finally let out a sigh. They had all made it out of the passage.
His thoughts turned to the others. His officers were leading the stronger men and women through the pass called the Gates of Annika and then following the high road to Phalesia. It was an arduous journey to make in a single night; the march would test their endurance to the limits. Everyone, whether leaving Xanthos by land or sea, would feel the way Dion felt now.
Afraid. Desolate. Filled with something akin to grief.
He had left almost all his personal possessions behind. All he had now was some clothing and his bow. He had been one of the last to leave the Royal Palace, and had taken a final tour, remembering his doting mother, his stern father, and growing up in the shadow of his older brother. He had left via the Orange Terrace and breathed in the scent of citrus. He had heard the angry shouts as his soldiers forced the locals out of their homes and down to the waiting vessels.
Dion glanced around at the multitude of people on the Liberty’s deck. ‘We will return,’ he said softly. Only some could hear him, but they nodded. ‘I promise you. We will return.’
He walked back to Roxana and asked her to resume her course for Phalesia. He then stood by her side and focused his attention on the coast. With more oarsmen than the biremes, the Liberty soon returned to the head of the fleet. They followed the barren coast, heading for their sister city. Hours passed as the sky shifted hue, changing from dark blue to purple, and then developing a yellow glow in the east.
Dion gnawed his lip. He heard a babe somewhere wailing, its plaintive call becoming louder and louder despite the shushing of its mother. He scanned the heavens as the darkness gradually became light.
Every flock of birds caught his eye. Every sound from the ships around him made his body go rigid with tension.
The coast ahead revealed coves and inlets, but Dion knew this area as well as he knew the corridors of his palace, and they still weren’t at their destination. Then a bigger bay appeared around a headland. The Liberty slid past the promontory, and a grand city of lofty temples and clay-tiled houses appeared: Phalesia.
‘Take us in,’ Dion murmured to Roxana.
He looked back in the direction of Xanthos. He swallowed.
Winged creatures, the arcs of their wings appearing tiny, were circling over a particular place, somewhere distant, past the Narrows. Dion knew they were above Xanthos. They suddenly darted down, their attention caught by something in the city.
They would discover a city abandoned. The ballistae were all gone and now occupied the holds of the ships. Every bow, every arrow, and every piece of armor had come with them.
The dragons would soon become frustrated. It wouldn’t take them long to refocus their attention on Phalesia.
29
The group of seventy fur-clad men trudged through the snow, brows furrowed, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other. The sun was high, what passed for midday in these parts, and it was hot and cold, both at the same time. The march was taking its toll. No one spoke. Instead the crunch of boots and hoarse breathing filled the air.
As always, Kyphos led from
the front; what he lacked in speed or dexterity he made up for in stamina. The only man who managed better than him was Nero. Sometimes he scouted behind, other times ahead. The bald, bearded tracker was indefatigable.
At the moment Nero was nowhere to be seen, but for a long time now he hadn’t been needed to guide the group. Several hundred men, women, and children, along with all their possessions pulled on sleds, cut a wide path, easy to follow. It was almost like a road, the churned-up snow marking out the countless crusted imprints of footsteps. The sight of it brought Kyphos hope: his people were alive, and his search party was gaining on them. They were undoubtedly heading south, looking for warmer lands and new hunting grounds. Kyphos shook his head. If they only knew what he knew, after sailing in the area, they wouldn’t bother. There were no warmer lands. In this direction there was only the sea.
Hearing a call, Kyphos glanced over his shoulder and saw Nero making his way through the rest of the column, heading up to the front to join him. Kyphos held up a hand, calling the party to a halt. With exhausted relief, the men sank to their knees in the snow.
‘What is it?’ Kyphos asked.
‘We’re being followed,’ Nero panted. He turned and pointed back in the direction of a black ridge they’d passed a few hours before. ‘Saw a group of four or five watching from the cliff.’
‘Kona?’ Kyphos growled.
Nero nodded.
‘Everybody, get up!’ Kyphos called.
The men groaned as they returned to their feet. The cold bloods were faring better than their skinnier companions from Malakai, but surprisingly Kyphos hadn’t yet lost a man. They were sharing the ordeal together. A spirit of cooperation now prevailed.
‘Ready?’ Kyphos scanned the group. He waited until they returned his query with tired nods. He glanced at the gray-robed sorcerer, Elmar. The man was old, but he’d lived most of his life in these parts. Even so, he was swaying on his feet. If the magus did falter, Kyphos knew he couldn’t let him slow them down. Elmar knew it too. ‘Move out!’
The blizzard struck sometime in the evening.
Iron Will Page 19
