Without another word he ran to the rail bordering the deck and leaped over the side, plunging into the water.
Kargan turned his dark gaze on Solon. ‘A useful ally.’
‘That he is.’
‘But what is it he wants? What’s in the ark that’s so important to him?’
Solon shrugged. ‘We won’t give him a chance to find out.’
Kargan uncharacteristically reached out to grip Solon’s arm. The sun king’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his commander, but the big man wasn’t to be deterred.
‘He would be a powerful enemy,’ Kargan said. ‘Perhaps we were better off when he was safely collared and behind iron.’
‘Never fear,’ Solon said. ‘As you say, metal interferes with their abilities. They cannot even willingly touch it. If we keep whatever it is he wants confined, we will be able to control him.’
Kargan released Solon and watched as, in the distance, the leviathan that was Triton easily dispatched a smaller serpent, clouding the blue water with red.
‘I hope you’re right,’ Kargan muttered.
The days blurred together as Solon struggled with his soul’s steady passage to the afterlife. They beached at hidden coves on islands whose names he neglected to discover, then set off early each morning to continue the voyage.
He husbanded his strength; he knew he would need it in the coming confrontation.
Then Kargan joined him at the rail and pointed to a rising cliff ahead. ‘Look. The island of Coros. And there.’ He indicated a passage to the left of the island. Solon saw a dozen huge, sharp rocks poking their tops above the water. ‘The Shards.’
Solon tugged on his beard. The decks bustled with activity as the crew lowered the sail and the oarsmen reduced their pace to a crawl. ‘Remind me of the plan,’ he said finally.
‘The army of Xanthos is at Phalesia. Xanthos has no navy. Our objective is to seize the city and push immediately for the pass, the Gates of Annika. With our men at the pass our enemy will be forced to confront us. That’s when we strike from the sea, with their forces divided.’
Solon watched as the looming rocks grew closer. He couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of danger. ‘And you know the way?’
‘I have the directions memorized. The fleet is falling in behind us and we travel slowly, in single file. We also have help.’
Solon saw the sinuous shape of a one-eyed serpent slinking through the water to draw ahead of the Nexotardis. Triton would see them safely though.
‘It is time,’ Kargan said grimly. He looked over his shoulder and called out.
‘Advance!’
51
Dion and Chloe lay on their stomachs just behind a rocky rise. Ahead of them, on the other side of the hill, the slope gently descended until it reached a dusty road.
‘The Phalesian Way,’ Chloe said. ‘Heading west leads to Phalesia while to the east lies Tanus. The road follows the high ground, passing above Phalesia before continuing to the Gates of Annika.’ She glanced at Dion. ‘On the other side of the pass is Xanthos.’
Dion felt he could almost reach out and touch the road. They had crossed the Maltherean Sea. They had made it out of the wasteland that was Cinder Fen.
But there was a problem.
At the point where the road came closest to the dangerous land where wildren roamed, a giant sat hunched over a recent kill.
He was a big one, the largest Dion had ever seen. His bony head was devoid of hair and in profile his reddened teeth were visible even from this distance. Crouched on legs the size of tree trunks, he held a horse’s head in the air as he tore at the neck with savage bites. The bodies of two men lay near a second dead horse. The giant didn’t look like he would be moving on for a long time.
Dion cursed. They were so close. As soon as they were on the road they could leave caution behind and make a dash for civilization.
‘I can fight,’ Chloe said.
‘A giant?’
‘Time is against us.’
Dion hesitated. ‘I’ll fight. You wait.’
‘I’m not waiting.’
‘Stay here,’ Dion ordered.
He rose to his feet and slowly approached, an arrow fitted to the string as he walked cautiously toward the feeding wildran. Circling around, he came at the giant from the side, so that if the creature charged, he would be drawing him away from both Chloe and the road. When he’d reached eighty paces, the limit of his bow’s range, he stopped.
Dion made a swift prayer to the gods. His heart hammered as he drew the string to his cheek. He sighted along the shaft, taking note of the wind and angling the bow into the sky. It was the most difficult shot he’d ever tried. He pictured the arrow plunging into the giant’s neck.
His muscles strained with effort as he held the shot for a moment, and then he released.
The arrow flew through the air, sailing in an arc, but plunged into the ground by the giant’s foot. The creature continued eating, turning the horse head in his hands and gnawing at the bloody flesh at its base, taking no notice.
Dion drew in a shaky breath and looked for Chloe as he fitted another arrow to the string. His eyes widened as he saw her circling on the giant’s other side. She was already closer to the site of the kill than he was. She had no weapon.
He swiftly drew on his bow again and this time hardly thought about the shot as he released. He immediately nocked another arrow and sent it straight after the first; for a heartbeat both shafts were in the air at the same time.
The first arrowhead sliced into the flesh of the giant’s shoulder, then fell away. The giant roared and wheeled, trying to find the threat as it threw the horse head to the ground.
The second shaft would have missed if the giant hadn’t moved. It struck the creature squarely in the center of its chest, sinking deep in the area of its sternum.
The monster rose to its full height and bellowed. Faster than Dion would have thought such an immense thing could move, the giant saw him and charged.
Dion forced himself to stand firm as he loosed yet another arrow, aiming for the giant’s eye. But the shaft went wild, flying past its shoulder. The distance between them narrowed to twenty paces.
With shaking hands he fitted an arrow to the bowstring, knowing it would be his last opportunity. He pulled and released. A heartbeat later the shaft sprouted from the giant’s shoulder.
But it wasn’t a kill shot.
Dion threw his bow to the ground and ran. He weaved from side to side and felt a meaty hand grasp at his tunic before he slipped free. The giant swiped and a second fist scraped the back of his head, shattering his thoughts and making his senses reel.
He tripped over a defile he hadn’t seen and his vision sparkled with stars as his forehead cracked into hard stone. Dion retained enough of his wits to roll to the side as fists the size of his head pummeled the dust where he’d been a moment before. He continued to roll and then felt the ground drop away beneath him. Suddenly he was on his back, wedged in the cleft.
The giant loomed over him, crouching and reaching into the defile. A hand went around Dion’s throat, fingers clutched his neck, and with his arms pinned there was nothing he could do. He felt himself lifted forcefully out of his wedged position and then the hand holding his throat began to squeeze.
Dion’s vision narrowed. His chest heaved as his lungs desperately tried to suck in air. He felt his consciousness ebb away. Darkness encroached.
The giant’s eyes suddenly widened. It opened its mouth to roar but instead blood gushed out. The hand around Dion’s neck released and Dion tumbled to the side, coughing and gasping. The giant toppled forward, falling face first into the cleft that Dion had just vacated.
Looking up, Dion saw Chloe standing behind the giant, a blood-drenched sword held in both hands. He wondered where she’d found it, but then remembered her circling toward the bodies of the two men.
He tried to thank her, but could barely speak. Chloe simply smiled, lowering the sword. ‘It wa
s a good plan,’ she said.
Dion recovered his voice and they now traveled the road with speed, heading west for Phalesia, with mountains on their right and the sea a distant blue expanse on the left.
An hour into the journey they came across a horse.
It was alive but the dead rider lay diagonally across its back, tangled in the reins. The sturdy mare watched with sorrowful brown eyes, skittish as they approached.
‘He must have been part of the same group,’ Chloe said, looking at the dead man. His head was twisted to the side and half the skin was torn from his face.
They exchanged glances. ‘We need this horse,’ Dion said.
He walked slowly toward the mare, his arms spread peacefully as he made soothing sounds. He’d always been good with horses, and the horse allowed him to carefully take the bridle. Chloe came to join him and together they untangled the rider. The body fell to the ground with a heavy thump, startling the horse, making the ears go back and nostrils flare.
‘Shh,’ Dion soothed. ‘She’s thirsty,’ he said to Chloe.
Leaving Chloe holding the bridle, he found a depression in the stone and poured the last of his water from the skin.
‘Bring her over.’
The mare drank greedily. Glancing up, Dion saw Chloe watching him.
‘We both know you should take her,’ she said.
Dion tried to protest, but Chloe held up a hand. ‘Xanthos is further than Phalesia. We’re past the threat of wildren now. You need to warn your father. I’ll get to Phalesia and we’ll send out the fleet.’
‘But you—’
‘We don’t have time to argue. The road continues for a time and then forks at the city. The right-hand path continues along the high ground to the Gates of Annika.’ She met his gaze with a steady stare. ‘Go.’
‘Chloe . . .’ Dion said. He hesitated. ‘I—’
‘There is a traitor in your father’s court. If Xanthos is not yet under attack, it soon will be. Solon has eldren fighting with him. Go!’
Dion looked at the mare; the horse’s spirits had improved with the slaking of its thirst and the removal of the dead rider. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and hoisted himself up onto the saddle of cloth spread over its broad back. From his new height, he could see that the road stretched on and on.
‘Good luck,’ Chloe said.
‘And you. Get to your father as quickly as you can.’
Dion dug in his heels, urging speed into his mount. He glanced over his shoulder once, seeing Chloe growing smaller and smaller, her hand raised in farewell.
And then she was gone from sight.
52
Dion had never ridden so hard. He gave both himself and the mare no respite, kicking her ribs every time she flagged and keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead.
He passed way stops for travelers and watered the horse twice more, but always he pushed on, never taking food himself or allowing his mount to graze. The mare’s entire purpose was to get him to Xanthos as swiftly as possible. If he killed her as a result, it didn’t matter. The promise of saving his homeland and his family’s lives would be worth it.
He rode all through the day and night, and early on the second day he came to the fork in the road. Gazing at the city of Phalesia below, spanning the wide curve of its harbor, he saw a scene of utter normality. Fishing boats dotted the blue water and galleys headed out on a day’s patrol. The walls on the landward side showed little activity, while within the boundary the clay-tiled roofs of the houses clustered around the winding streets and alleys, obscuring the everyday movements of the city folk. He could see the agora hugging the embankment and the glistening structures of white marble around it. The largest of them – the lyceum – stood proud and tall. The peaked roof of the library crowned rows of sturdy polished columns. The sight of the city made him finally realize he was back in Galea.
Tearing his eyes from Phalesia, Dion took the right-hand fork, following the high ground. As he passed farmland on sloping hills at his left and rugged pastures with clusters of milling goats on his right, the ground began to climb.
Two farmers stood by the roadside ahead. Rather than working, they were grumbling, arms folded over their chests as they looked at something below.
Reaching them, Dion suddenly reined in. He felt the blood drain from his face.
The farmers were looking at a large military encampment, evidently muttering about the rapacious appetites of soldiers. Taking in the size of the camp, Dion saw red pennants flying above tents.
He realized he was looking at the army of Xanthos.
Nikolas had brought his army where it would be close at hand if it was needed in Phalesia. With the Shards protecting Xanthos and the sun king’s desire for the Ark of Revelation, everyone thought the Ileans would come for Phalesia.
After all, Xanthos could be assaulted only if Phalesia fell first.
Dion could even make out his brother’s flag, crimson bordered with black, rippling in the breeze as it flew above a large tent. Down in the city he realized he could see red-cloaked soldiers manning Phalesia’s walls, side by side with warriors in blue.
Xanthos was undefended.
Fear taking hold of his heart, Dion slipped off the horse and cried out to the farmers. They turned, surprised, and saw a haggard young man in foreign clothing, dragging a horse by the bridle as he ran toward them, calling out and waving.
‘You have to send word to the army, to Nikolas, son of Markos! Can you hear me?’ Dion’s voice rose in urgency. ‘Xanthos is under attack! You have to do it now!’
‘Eh?’ said one of the farmers, an old man with a pinched face. ‘Who are you?’
‘Dion, son of King Markos, the brother of the commander of that army down there. Do you hear me? Xanthos is under attack!’
The two farmers exchanged bemused glances.
‘How do we know you are who you say you are?’ the old man asked, while his younger companion scratched his head.
Dion thought furiously. He had a sudden idea, and ripped the silver chain from around his neck, with the trident of Silex bound by a circle of heavy metal.
‘Here,’ he said.
The old farmer came forward and took the silver necklace and amulet. His eyes widened, and Dion knew the thoughts that were going through his mind. He could sell it in the city for a great deal of money.
‘Show Nikolas this, he knows it’s mine. Do you understand? Do you think I would just give this to you if the need wasn’t urgent?’
‘Why don’t you give it to him yourself?’ the younger farmer spoke for the first time.
‘Because I have to get to Xanthos. Please,’ Dion said in frustration. ‘This is urgent. All of our lives could depend on it.’
The old farmer made a swift decision and then turned to his younger companion, handing him the necklace. ‘Troi, go! Run like the wind!’
The younger man nodded and started to run.
Dion leaped back into the saddle. He spurred the horse forward, leaning forward on its back, his brow furrowed as he hoped desperately that he would get to Xanthos in time.
Dion cut the journey to the pass down to hours. He knew the horse was weary to the core, and that if he kept up at this pace she would collapse beneath him, but with Nikolas in Phalesia and his family exposed to the sun king’s imminent attack he pushed harder than ever before.
The steep stone walls of the Gates of Annika went by in a blur. He exited the pass and emerged into the land of hills and forest that led down to Xanthos.
He rode recklessly on the downward slope, galloping where he should be walking carefully, holding the mare by her halter.
He tried to ignore what he was seeing as he plunged down the winding hillside, wheeling around groves of olive trees and sliding on rolling gravel. His jaw was set so tightly that it ached. He kicked his heels into his mount’s ribs again and again.
The city drew ever closer in his vision. He lost track of all time as the mare scrabbled down the treacherous
terrain. The walls could now be seen as separate from the structures within. The Royal Palace rose from behind, surrounded by its own walls. Dion could now make out the Flower Terrace, facing the surrounding countryside, where his mother often went to be alone. It was her favorite place.
Five hundred paces from the city walls, Dion heard a snap like the crack of a whip as the mare’s leg broke.
He catapulted forward, flying through the air as he tucked in his shoulder to break his fall. Rolling and tumbling, he felt the hard ground battering his body until he finally came to a halt.
The mare screamed.
Dion shakily climbed to his feet, ignoring the cries of distress coming from the horse behind him. He looked up at the palace, distant, yet so clear in his vision that he felt he could reach out and touch it.
His family was out on the Flower Terrace, gazing out at the city and the surrounding hills, where they could be easily seen by anyone below.
He saw his father, readily recognizable in his purple toga. The gold circlet of his kingship no longer crowned the white curls on his scalp, but his equally white beard was just the way Dion remembered it, although it was now flecked with ugly splotches of red.
Beside King Markos was his queen, Thea, Dion’s mother, small in size compared to the towering king. Her black hair looked neatly combed. Her white silk chiton was stained with crimson.
Next in the line was Helena, Nikolas’s wife. Her blonde hair framed a face stretched wide in an expression of utmost agony.
All of their mouths were open in endless screams. Sharp wooden stakes jutted from their jaws.
They had all been impaled.
The horse screamed again.
The animal’s cry of pain shook Dion out of his trance, making him realize this wasn’t a nightmare, it was actually happening.
He now took in what he’d been seeing as he made the frantic descent. Ilean soldiers with yellow cloaks and triangular shields were rapidly assembling in front of the conquered city. Officers bawled orders as rank after rank formed up. Spears held in right hands, shields on their left, they prepared to march. An officer wearing a steel helmet crowned with a vertical spike pointed at the distant pass and called out.
Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) Page 32
