Kyphos smiled. Storms were absent, and the repairs were going well. The workers were all eager to finish. He had promised them fires, a hot meal, and a night of decent rest.
The repairs to the last ship now progressed with speed. There was another cheer, although there were so many people crowded around that Kyphos couldn’t see what was happening. But then ropes were flung out and men hauled on them to bring the vessel upright. It teetered for a moment, but then straightened, and now rather than a crippled framework of wood, it was a proud Ilean bireme. Water fountained at its sides as it slid down the shore and entered the water.
Kyphos left the low hill to approach the people smiling and clapping each other on the shoulders. ‘Men!’ He grinned – there were women with the group. ‘And ladies. Our work is finished. Take today to rest and enjoy yourselves. You have all done well.’
He watched the crowd disperse to swarm onto their vessels. It didn’t take long for them to clamber down the gangways with wood and tinder. A few had blankets. Others carried bunches of fat fish tied mouth to mouth with string.
Kyphos remained apart from them: this was their moment. He climbed back to the hill and sat down to take in the sight of so many smiling people. He gave thanks to the gods for this island; without it they would surely have lost several ships after the damage wreaked by the storm. It was a strange place, long and thin, bereft of plant life, so far out to sea. But it had helped them in their time of need.
Soon they would be home. Kyphos wondered what had been happening in the Realm in his absence. He regretted not being able to fight with the king, but he knew that what he’d accomplished was perhaps even more important, for Palemon was fighting so that these people could return to a land at peace, where no one would ever be able to turn them away.
When Kyphos departed several weeks ago, Palemon had commanded an unstoppable army. Even without warriors on their backs, the dragons themselves were weapons beyond compare, able to strike from the sky and evade traditional defenses. Kyphos thought it likely that the war was already over; who would be foolish enough not to sue for peace? Tribute would flow to Malakai. Aleuthea’s greatness would be restored.
The ground beneath him moved.
Still sitting, he frowned, wondering if he had imagined it. He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, but no one was looking surprised. Instead a dozen or more people were gathered around a roaring fire down near the ships. A stocky man threaded fish onto skewers, to be grilled when the flames died down. Farther away, several other fires were getting started.
The island moved again.
This time it was a solid shift, like a shudder. A crack appeared in the white crust just a stone’s throw from where Kyphos was sitting.
He shot to his feet; now he was alarmed. The people around the fire exchanged confused glances.
Kyphos’s brow furrowed. He wondered if it was just a momentary tremor or heralded real danger. He turned and looked along the spine of the island to the narrow end, where it thinned to a spear-shaped tip.
His eyes widened. The island’s tip twitched and then swept back and forth. Every time it moved, the island gave a jolt.
Fear stabbed into his chest.
‘This is no island,’ Kyphos whispered.
Marrix, ancient king of the eldren, had a task left unfinished. Long ago, as the mightiest serpent the world would ever see, he had swum down to the seams in the planet’s crust, deep in the Aleuthean Sea. Following the directions provided by the Oracle of Athos, he had found the place of seismic activity she said would break in a thousand years.
Marrix brought that fate forward.
He had felt savage satisfaction when Aleuthea collapsed and sank beneath the waves. The Aleutheans had destroyed everything he had. They had captured the eldren of Sindara, forced them to change their shape, put collars on them, and controlled their will with copper chains. In their greed for captives, they enslaved hundreds upon hundreds until few remained. When Marrix fought back, they took his magical horn, and many more eldren became wild forever.
Marrix and his people defended themselves valiantly, but the growing number of wildren drained the energy of the Wellspring until Sindara became a new land: Cinder Fen. The last few eldren fled to the Wilds or the Waste. Many years passed before Marrix would have his vengeance, after finding help in the unlikeliest of places. The Oracle told him that the Aleutheans were preparing a new magic, something darker than anything before it. She then explained what he needed to do to end their civilization.
After Aleuthea sank Marrix hunted down the fleeing ships. Without remorse he destroyed them one by one.
But then something unexpected happened.
A great wind rose out of nothing. Waves the size of mountains pounded over him, forcing him to take refuge beneath the sea. When he resurfaced, the Aleuthean fleet was gone.
Marrix had roared in anguish. He searched in a rage before he came to a decision. The wind had come from the west, propelling the fleet in the opposite direction. He needed to travel east, where the great ocean led to places even he had never been to.
His search was in vain.
In the end, Marrix forgot who he was. The eldran king who once made the world tremble would never walk on two legs again. He became tired and slept. All that was left were his dreams, dreams filled with the pursuit of ships and a terrible lust to see them destroyed.
For hundreds of years he slumbered out in the open ocean. High seas washed grains of coral onto his back. Birds excreted onto his leathery hide. Algae grew on his underside. Dust fell from the sky, along with rain. His serpentine body became weighed down with it all.
He was floating, untethered to the ocean floor, but so huge that to all outward appearances he was an island.
Now he could feel an irritating, fiery pain on his back. He twitched the end of his tail. The pain was growing.
He began to wake up.
48
Sindara’s shore continued in both directions without a headland. The beach was wide and descended to pale-blue water that became darker out to sea. A tall barrier of black cliffs loomed over the area.
The great army stood ready. Thousands of people – both human and eldran – waited in silence.
There was no organization by nation. Hoplites stood together, ready to link shields and lunge with long spears. Archers gathered in ranks behind them, and ninety-six ballistae stood in a row after the archers. It was the task of those around the ballistae to hold off the dragons while their crews wound cranks and loaded fresh projectiles. At the very back were supply stations, places with bandages, water, iron projectiles, spare arrows, and barrels of poison.
The hundred eldren were at the very front of the army. Dion stood with them, along with several officers. He and his captains had finally decided that the army was ready, after spending the morning getting the men formed up. Chloe stood beside Liana.
Hot air blew. The midmorning sun beat down; it would only get fiercer, but at least it was behind the cliffs and wouldn’t shine in their eyes.
Dion wore leather armor and had a crimson cloak on his shoulders. Both hands were wrapped around the hilt of a sword. It was an immense, two-handed weapon, glossy and bright as it reflected the sunlight, with strange swirls and designs etched into the blade. He turned to face the army and lifted it high.
The men in front of him roared.
Dion met Eiric’s eyes and then walked along the shore, scanning the faces of the fighters of all nations while he held the sword aloft. The roar grew louder. Dion had selected the weapon for a reason. The soldiers of Xanthos followed the war god Balal, as did many of the Phalesians. Dion’s father would have been proud. Today he was truly a warrior king.
He lowered Palemon’s sword, and the shouts and bellows of the army slowly faded.
‘This day will always be remembered,’ Dion cried. ‘Today we make our final stand. It is a time and place of our choosing. Today we hide no more.’ He swept his eyes over his men while he took a deep breath. ‘If
you have fear in your heart, remember that without fear there can be no courage. Your comrades stand with you. Your wives, mothers, and children are safe. It is our children that we fight for, here on the shore of Sindara. We fight for their future. We fight so that they may walk this world in peace. We fight so that they may breathe the open air, grow in the light of the sun, and never live in fear. Today we are taking back our fields, our waters – by the gods, even our hills and mountains. We are taking back our cities.’ Dion raised the sword high once more. ‘We are taking back our homes!’
Thousands of men raised their weapons and bellowed as one. The sound filled the air, and then the men stamped their boots on the sand, so that Dion imagined he could feel the ground shaking. This time it didn’t matter if the dragons heard them. These men were shouting out their fear, letting the world know that even if they didn’t survive the day, they were alive at this moment.
Dion paced along the army’s front, making sure everyone could see him. He reached the end of the formation and turned back. Every time he raised Palemon’s sword, the roars began anew.
Then he thrust the blade into the sand and approached the artifact placed a dozen paces ahead of the army. The orb of solid gold rested on a sturdy stand with clawed feet. Chloe left the eldren to join him.
Dion glanced at her; they still hadn’t spoken after their argument in the forest. She wore a plain white chiton, looking incongruous among the armored soldiers and eldren clad in deerskin. Her dark hair blew about her face in the constant breeze. Their eyes met for a moment, but then she looked away.
Dion’s heart was pounding in his chest. Every time he saw her face, he wanted to send her away rather than let her attempt dangerous magic somewhere that would soon turn into a scene of blood and death. He shouldn’t be using her like this; he should be protecting her. But he knew that if he forced her to leave, she would never speak to him again. He had to respect her, even if it meant losing her.
Without saying anything to Dion, Chloe sank to the sand in front of the orb. Kneeling with her back straight, she looked at him only long enough to nod.
Dion returned his attention to the front of the army. His gaze moved past his officers, capable men from all nations, and past Liana, pretty and delicate, with long silver hair. When he met Eiric’s golden eyes, he murmured for Chloe’s ears alone. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ Chloe said in a clear voice. ‘Call them.’
Dion nodded to Eiric. ‘We are ready, my friend.’
Eiric nodded back. His crown of laurel leaves marked him out as king, but other than that he wore the same deerskin clothing as his people. He solemnly took the white conch shell from Liana. Liana’s hands were shaking.
Eiric lifted the Horn of Marrix. Rainbow light shone on the face of all the eldren around him as he prepared to put the horn to his lips.
‘Let us end this,’ Eiric said.
49
‘Put out the fires!’ Kyphos bellowed.
He raced to the nearest fire and kicked at it, heedless of any burns to his legs. Flaming planks and burning coals scattered in all directions.
‘Put them out! Quickly!’ he roared.
Some people tried to help, but most were uncomprehending, unable to connect the fires with the fact that the island was moving under their feet. Kyphos scanned the shore and saw that there were far too many fires, all surrounded by crowds. He staggered; the ground was moving so much that it threw several people to their knees.
Sea birds rose into the sky, crying out to each other in alarm. The island rolled to the side, sending waves up its shore to douse the fires. Everywhere people were stunned and confused. The lines tethering the ships to the island strained.
In the distance Kyphos saw the part that he had decided was a tail flick back and forth, sending sand and spray scattering to the wind. Then it dipped under the sea.
The island was suddenly still.
Kyphos knew they didn’t have much time. ‘Get back on the ships! Everyone, back on!’
He sprinted along the shore, herding the crowd of sailors, warriors, and skinny women and children toward the gangways. Slowly at first, but then in a frantic rush, everyone sped for the vessels. Rapid thumps sounded as footsteps clattered on all of the wooden ramps. Women picked up their children and ran. Possessions were ignored and left behind. Kyphos orchestrated it all from the shore, shoving frantic people toward one vessel or another.
The island started to move again.
He felt a shift, somewhere at the opposite end from what he thought was the tail. He whirled, and his eyes darted from one place to another. When he saw it, a shiver of cold fear stabbed him in the heart. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away. He was frozen into place.
A head was rising.
Holes at the head’s front ejected first one puff of misted air, then another. At another section, two round protrusions the size of tables slowly opened up. The crusted skin parted to reveal mirror-like surfaces and continued to peel until both of the huge eyes were open. Pupils as big and black as holes to the underworld roved around.
Kyphos looked behind him. More of the long body was moving now; the island was beginning to writhe like a snake, dislodging particles of sand and grit and revealing patches of scaled, leathery hide. Even as it happened, Kyphos couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had seen eldren in the shapes of serpents at the Chasm. They were all tiny compared to this monster.
Suddenly it occurred to him.
There was only one serpent mightier than any other . . . A serpent named by Palemon the First in the ship’s log in the Solaris. The tale of the destruction of Aleuthea described it as truly immense. Its fate had always been a mystery.
Thoughts darted through Kyphos’s mind. After the fall of Aleuthea, Marrix must have continued his quest for vengeance. The fleet came this way, and the serpent did too.
Kyphos had woken the ancient king of the eldren . . . the most formidable enemy Aleuthea had ever faced.
He turned to face the ships, all straining and struggling, still tethered to the knobs on the leviathan’s body. He immediately saw the danger. If the serpent plunged, the fleet might be dragged down with it. Even if they cut the lines loose, Marrix had been burned, and was obviously angry. The ships were filled with the descendants of Aleuthea. Marrix’s hate might still be buried in his consciousness. It would take just a few flicks of his tail to destroy them all.
‘Cut the lines!’ Kyphos cried.
The last of the people had boarded; he was now the only one left. But rather than cut the ropes, the crowds of panicked men, women, and children on deck were all transfixed with horror. No one was moving.
Kyphos ran to the nearest tether. Fumbling in his haste, he grabbed the axe from his belt and brought it over his head. The taut line severed with a snap. Immediately the ship began to drift away from the bucking serpent.
The other ships’ crews took action. More lines snapped. Kyphos raced to cut rope after rope, and soon all twelve vessels of the fleet were pulling away. Oars jutted out from every ship’s side; voices roared at the oarsmen to row harder.
Kyphos heard people calling out his name, telling him to jump. But he ignored them and looked once more at the serpent’s head. He saw part of what he judged to be the neck peel up, discarding more grit in all directions. A frill began to straighten, quivering as it moved.
The serpent’s tail violently thrust at the water, nearly knocking Kyphos to the ground. It was moving regularly now; the creature was turning. It would soon face the nearest of the ships.
Kyphos realized the danger. With the ships vulnerable to attack, there was only one thing he could do. He needed to reach the serpent’s skull. He needed to kill it.
His short legs pumped as he ran toward the head. The frill was opening to reveal silver scales untouched by the crust the rest of the creature’s body was covered with. When he reached it, Kyphos bunched his muscles and jumped to throw himself over the barrier. He felt his clothing tear, bu
t he gained enough height to slide down the slope on the far side.
He took stock and dread twisted his guts. The serpent was pushing a wave of water in front of it as it headed toward the Targus. And, despite the oars hauling furiously, the serpent was gaining on the bireme.
Water had swept aside much of the filth, and it was clear Kyphos was standing on top of an immense skull wrapped in leathery hide with the serpent’s eyes just below him. With both hands, Kyphos raised his axe over his head. Despite his hunched frame, he was a strong man, stronger than most.
He swung with all his might.
The axe cut deeper than he had expected, sinking and splitting the skin apart. Blood welled around his feet. He pried the axe out of its entry point and lifted it again, bringing it down into the same area. A growing gash opened up, an area of pink flesh that filled with blood before the rising water washed it away.
Kyphos risked looking ahead. The helmsman had turned the ship sharply to try to get away from the leviathan heading toward him. Kyphos was now close enough to hear screams from the people on board.
He lifted the axe high and bellowed as he brought it down. This time he struck something hard in the base of the wound. The axe became lodged in bone.
Everything around him shuddered. The serpent’s huge nostrils blew out a fountain of spray.
The creature dived.
The movement was sudden and unexpected. Kyphos was in water up to his knees before he realized what was happening. He took hold of the axe’s haft. He pulled himself forward to grip it high with both hands. Taking a deep breath, he sucked in the biggest lungful of air he could.
He gritted his teeth as water filled his vision.
50
Dion watched, tensed, as Eiric raised the Horn of Marrix and pressed it to his lips.
At first nothing happened, but then a powerful rumble came from the horn, so deep that Dion could feel it in his bones. Across the army, shields and weapons rattled, reverberating with the blast. The sound became louder. It traveled through Dion’s ears until it was inside his skull, pounding at his temples with force. It filled the heavens.
Iron Will Page 30
