Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1)

by James Maxwell

  ‘Let me go first,’ said Tomarys.

  The tall, muscled bodyguard entered the alley with Chloe just behind. Once again they followed its interminable curve.

  One moment the boy was just ahead, the next he suddenly put his head down and ran.

  There was a sound of running footsteps from behind. Chloe started to turn. A man’s arm went around her neck.

  He held her up on her toes and she felt sharp steel pressed to her throat. She couldn’t see his face, but she could smell his rancid breath. Tomarys stood looking at her, half a dozen paces away, trapped in the middle of the alley. Chloe saw another man approaching behind him. He carried a long curved dagger and was as lean as a pole, with a narrow face and a diagonal scar across his nose.

  Tomarys stood with his back to the wall, Chloe held captive on his left and the second attacker on his right.

  It had all happened in an instant. Chloe’s heart pounded in her ears so loudly that for a moment it was all she could hear. Fear clutched hold of her stomach; she forgot to breathe. Finally, she gasped. But she was terrified that the slightest movement would cause the sharp steel to cut her neck. Her chest rose and fell with an irregular rhythm, short gasps followed by great heaves as her lungs forced her throat to bring more air.

  Chloe felt the blood drain from her face as she turned pleading eyes on Tomarys. Her toes barely touching the ground, she was trembling.

  ‘Give my friend the silver,’ the assailant with his arm around Chloe’s neck hissed to Tomarys, ‘or she dies.’

  Tomarys’s eyes shifted as he looked from man to man. He was penned in the alley with opponents on both sides. His gaze suddenly shot to the right and Chloe saw a third brigand standing back, arms folded over his chest as he watched.

  Making peaceful motions with his hands, spreading them out so they could see he was unarmed, Tomarys spoke. ‘My pouch has only copper.’ He moved slowly to touch the leather vest. ‘The silver is in here.’

  ‘Get it.’ Chloe’s captor clutched her harder, making her yelp as he pushed his knife harder against her throat. ‘Hurry up!’

  ‘There is no need to harm her,’ Tomarys said. ‘Here.’ With his right hand he reached into his open vest.

  Faster than Chloe had thought a man could move she saw him bring out something small and triangular. He made a flicking motion with his wrist. Steel flashed through the air, on a direct path for Chloe’s head.

  The grip around her neck melted away and she heard a gurgling sound. A moment later the brigand behind her crumpled.

  Tomarys hadn’t stopped moving. His left hand reached inside the other side of the vest and he took out a small silver throwing knife.

  The whipcord-thin man charged, his curved blade held high in the air.

  Tomarys weaved around him and pulled his attacker’s extended arm forward, sending the man crashing to the ground. As the last of the attackers realized what was happening and ran forward to help, Tomarys crouched and tossed his knife. It struck the third brigand deep in the center of the chest. With a cry of pain the man sank to his knees and then fell to the side. Blood welled on his clothing and his eyes, staring directly at Chloe, began to glaze.

  Turning his attention back to the scar-faced swordsman on the ground, Tomarys walked forward and saw that the sword had fallen out of the man’s hand. He was scrabbling on the ground, reaching for it. Tomarys stamped on his wrist and Chloe winced as she heard a sickening crunch. The swordsman rolled and moaned, staring up at his assailant.

  Tomarys bent down and gripped him around the throat. He took the man’s shoulder in his other hand and grunted, his thick muscles bulging. With an expert twist, he broke the swordsman’s neck.

  Finally, Tomarys strode to Chloe, staring past her shoulder and nodding in satisfaction when he saw there were no more attackers.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  Chloe tried to speak but choked. She tried again. ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Keep an eye out.’

  She turned to the body behind her and saw Tomarys pluck his throwing knife from where it was embedded deep in the brigand’s eye. He wiped the blade of the triangular weapon on the dead man’s clothing and then returned it to his vest, before retrieving his other blade from the chest of the other assailant.

  The struggle was over in seconds. Chloe was still trembling.

  She looked away from the body at her feet as she watched Tomarys returning the last of his knives to his vest.

  ‘Look out!’ she suddenly cried.

  A newcomer ran at Tomarys with sword held high. He must have been hiding around the curve of the lane. Tomarys was unarmed and crouched on the ground. She knew he would be killed.

  Glancing up and seeing the danger, Tomarys shot to his feet and spun on his heel as the sword speared the air where he’d been a moment before. His hand was suddenly on the hilt of his enemy’s sword, and then as Chloe watched wide-eyed she saw the point come around until it was in the air. The swordsman cried out in pain.

  And then the sword was in Tomarys’s hand.

  He didn’t hesitate to strike, thrusting in a practiced way that told Chloe this wasn’t his first time holding a sword. He pushed hard, bringing the blade up into his opponent’s chest, holding grimly until he yanked the weapon out. Blood gushed from the man’s mouth and Tomarys stood back as he fell face forward, sprawling on top of his friend.

  Tomarys threw down the sword and turned to Chloe. ‘We need to leave. Now.’

  Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she shook her head. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘Did you hear me? This is their place. More will come.’

  ‘Tomarys, we can’t go. I need the flowers. Please,’ she implored. ‘I need your help.’

  He hesitated, aware that every second was precious. ‘All right. Come.’

  Stepping past the four bodies, Chloe followed him to the end of the alley, where previously they had seen little more than an opening. They came to a crossroads, an intersection between four lanes, where sunlight overhead revealed a small square and a row of rickety shacks against the longest wall.

  Tomarys entered the first of the huts and came out a moment later, shaking his head. ‘Roof fallen in.’

  ‘That one,’ Chloe said, pointing to the most structurally sound of the huts.

  This time she followed close behind him as he entered. She knew she’d come to the right place when she saw tables with strips of tar drying on leaves. Tomarys looked at her inquiringly.

  ‘Keep moving,’ she said.

  At the back of the shack she lifted the lid of a large ceramic urn. Inside were flower pods, dozens of them. Chloe searched the dark interior until she found a sack. Her heart raced as she tossed pod after pod into the sack while Tomarys stood guard outside. She’d only half filled the sack when he called out. ‘Voices. Quick. We need to go now.’

  He held her by the arm as they left the way they’d come.

  They made the journey back to the palace in silence.

  32

  The long warship passed the southern lighthouse and then the statue of the sun god before following the river to the harbor. The thudding of the drum was slow and stately; the oars plunged into the water with a walking pace. Roxana was giving the slaves some respite after the frantic chase. Behind the vessel was a rope, and attached to the rope was a long reptilian body.

  Two days had passed since the hunt. Dion was looking forward to a decent night’s rest when he returned to the House of Algar. Though the room was expensive, and there were simpler lodgings close to the harbor, he still had to find Chloe.

  As the Anoraxis approached the shore, heading for a narrow stretch of beach between two other biremes, Roxana joined Dion at the rail.

  ‘So tell me, Dion of No-land, where did you learn to shoot a bow like that?’ She turned an inquiring gaze on him.

  ‘My father was a great warrior, and my brother follows in his footsteps,’ Dion said. ‘I tried, but I could never use a sword.’ He shrugged. ‘So I learned arche
ry. I practiced for years. My brother helped me get instruction from the best archers and I became good.’

  ‘Did you make your father proud?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘My father thinks archery is for commoners.’

  The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back, but Roxana only grinned. ‘Well at least I can make use of your skill.’

  Dion sought to change the subject. ‘The wildran’s corpse,’ he said. ‘What do you do with it?’

  ‘We’ll be able to make leather and lamp oil, though the flesh is rancid.’

  He nodded and scanned the deck. ‘I should lend a hand.’

  Dion felt her eyes on him as he left, but then the vessel was beaching and everyone on board was busy as they gathered all the equipment and supplies on the upper deck before disembarking and hauling it onto the shore.

  With their work done, Dion waited with the other marines as they formed up with firm sand under their feet.

  Roxana came and looked them over. ‘Well done, men. You’ve earned your pay. Return to your billets and come back tomorrow morning for practice. Archers, I saw some of those shots go wild. I want you to work until you strike targets at fifty paces nine times out of ten. Soldiers, not all wildren we hunt are serpents. Hone your weapons. I want each of you to spar with every other marine in our group. Dismissed.’

  The marines dispersed and Roxana issued instructions to the master of the oars and the other officers. Dion started to follow his companions up to the city, when a gruff voice called his name.

  ‘You still have an interest in shipbuilding?’ Roxana asked.

  Dion felt a thrill rise as he nodded. ‘I do.’

  ‘Then follow me.’

  She led him to the sheds at the harbor’s far end, where he had first met her at one of the biremes under construction. He once more saw the supports holding the vessel in the air over the tiered depression in the ground. It was late afternoon, and the workers had gone for the day, meaning that the two of them were alone.

  ‘Understand anything about carpentry?’ she asked.

  Dion smiled. ‘Not much.’

  ‘Know what a mortise and tenon joint is?’ When he didn’t respond, she continued. ‘Imagine you’re trying to fit two pieces of wood together at an angle. You need something strong to hold them together; a few wooden dowels aren’t enough to do the trick. Come.’ She walked down the outside of the ship, weaving around the supports, until she came to the ribs on the hull. ‘See here? The wood fits seamlessly together. The best way to understand it is to think of the parts of a man and woman.’ She grinned. ‘We shape the end to give this plank here’—she touched one of the horizontal pieces of what would become the deck—‘a tooth . . . an appendage . . . a man’s knob. Whereas this rib here’—Roxana slapped the wood—‘we gouge so that we have a hole. Understand?’

  Dion ran his eyes over the warship, and now that he was looking, he could see where every joint had been carefully fitted to connect one piece of timber to another. ‘How long are the teeth?’

  ‘At least as long as what you have in your trousers.’ She chuckled. ‘Sometimes a lot longer.’

  ‘Where do you get the timber?’

  ‘The pine comes from central Salesia. We also use oak for extra strength.’

  ‘How is the wood warped?’

  ‘Heat. We soak the timber then bend it over iron.’

  The more Dion learned, the more there was to learn. The carpenters in Xanthos would know most of what Roxana was telling him. But to make one of these ships, a bireme, would require intimate knowledge of stresses and forces, combined with precise measurement and, most of all, experience.

  ‘The hull is built first, completely finished before we work on the decking and the interior.’ Roxana looked at the vessel proudly. ‘She’s given a shallow draft not just so we can beach her, but also so she’s agile and can turn quickly.’

  ‘How far away is this one from completion?’ Dion asked. He could see that the hull was close to finished, although much of the exterior planking still needed to be laid over the ribs.

  ‘Another six months,’ she said. ‘At least.’

  Roxana frowned as she walked along the vessel’s belly, dodging around the supports and examining the work. ‘I need to speak with the overseer,’ she said. ‘No more forays for a time. It looks like I’m needed here.’ She glanced back at him. ‘Dion . . . If you want to, you can help here for a time. No extra pay, though.’ She smiled.

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Come back tomorrow. You deserve a rest.’

  Dion nodded. ‘I’ll see you then.’

  She grinned. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ He frowned. Roxana’s smile broadened. ‘Your bonus. Go visit the paymaster. Ask at the mess, they’ll tell you how to find him.’

  Dion was surprised to find Anoush waiting for him outside the fenced-off area, hopping from foot to foot. The boy’s round face broke into a beaming smile as he saw him emerge.

  ‘You killed one? I saw you come in. You got a bonus, yes?’

  ‘I did.’ Dion smiled.

  Anoush followed him as he entered the city. ‘Anything you need, master? Anything I can do for you, anything at all? You need a woman? You need new clothes?’

  Dion tried to discourage him, but the orphan continued to follow as he skirted the bazaar and climbed to the upper city, entering the wealthy quarter around the palace. He climbed the main boulevard that would take him to the guesthouse, a wide street with steps at regular intervals. Well-dressed Ileans in flowing robes passed him on both sides while the occasional signboard above an entrance marked jewelers and dressmakers.

  Dion absently scanned the street ahead. Two sun priests chatted as they walked in the direction of the palace. An old merchant argued in front of his shop with a scowling noble. Further still, a huge man – one of the biggest men Dion had ever seen – walked alongside a dark-haired woman in Salesian clothing with a blue shawl on her shoulders. Despite her fine clothing, she carried a rough hemp sack.

  ‘Anoush, I—’ Dion was in the process of telling the boy that after he paid Algar, there wouldn’t be much money left in his purse.

  But when Dion saw the distant woman he stopped in his tracks. He then began to hurry.

  ‘What is it, master?’

  Quickening his steps, Dion almost broke into a run as Anoush scurried to keep up with him. He passed the people arguing and weaved around the two priests. The street forked and the woman and her escort took the right fork toward the palace.

  As they turned, the big man looked directly at Dion, who shielded his eyes, pretending to be searching for someone. The tall man’s eyes dismissed him and the pair continued.

  The young woman’s face was in profile for the briefest instant. Dion saw pale skin and an upturned nose. He took note of the flowing dark hair to her waist and her slim figure.

  Dion immediately knew he was looking at Chloe, daughter of Aristocles, the first consul of Phalesia.

  Taking the right fork at the top of the boulevard, he continued to follow.

  The next street was short and opened out onto the wide road that skirted the wall of the sun king’s palace. The warrior kept close to Chloe as they walked; without a doubt he was there to guard her and ensure she didn’t escape. Dion knew that if the man turned around he would see him, and his suspicions had already been raised.

  ‘Who are they, master?’

  ‘Hush,’ Dion said, waving his hand behind him. ‘Stay quiet.’

  Dion ran plan after plan through his head but discarded each in turn. Chloe and her escort were a hundred paces ahead and would soon be at the palace gates. He had his bow, but it was an impossible shot. Even a well-placed arrow might not finish off Chloe’s grim-looking warden.

  He finally hung back as the pair approached the gates to the palace, putting his back to the wall as they passed the guards and entered.

  Chloe looked well and unharmed, but she was under guard. She was now gone fro
m him.

  ‘What is it, master? Do you know her?’

  Dion thought furiously. He couldn’t be in several places at once. Until he had a plan, he couldn’t jeopardize his position with Roxana.

  ‘Anoush.’ He crouched, looking the boy in the eyes. ‘I have a task for you. I want you to watch the palace. Be careful not to be seen, but get to know everyone who goes in and out of those gates. Can you do that?’

  Anoush nodded vigorously. ‘Of course.’

  ‘If you see that woman again, give her a message. Tell her that the curious sailor is at the House of Algar.’

  He made Anoush repeat the phrase and nodded. ‘Good. And follow her. I want to know where she goes.’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  Dion handed Anoush one of the silver coins he’d been given by the paymaster. ‘Are you sure you can do this? Do you need more money?’

  ‘It is too much,’ Anoush said. ‘Thank you, thank you. I will begin watching right away.’

  As the boy scampered away, Dion pondered as he returned to the nearby guesthouse. Algar asked him for more money after his absence, taking most of what he had. He wondered if he should get cheaper lodgings, but his instinct was to stay close to the palace.

  He had found the first consul’s daughter, and she was apparently allowed into the city. Anoush would keep watch for him. Dion now wondered how he would deal with Chloe’s guard . . .

  33

  Chloe sat on her bed pallet, grinding one of the flower pods, her eyes unfocused as she thought about something else altogether.

  She shivered as she relived the fight in the tight alleyway. She remembered her terror and helplessness; she’d been completely incapable of defending herself.

  She never wanted to feel that way again.

  Tomarys sat with his back against the wall nearby, his broad face inscrutable as ever. He watched her for a time as she worked, before looking away.

  Chloe frowned as a sound filled the air: the staccato rhythm of footsteps. Both she and Tomarys glanced at the thin slit high on the wall that was the closest window. The din was rising from outside the palace. Many men were marching. It grew in volume until it became a thunder of clumping feet.