Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1)

by James Maxwell

  Finally, he crested the steps.

  The first thing he saw was a Phalesian archer dead at his feet. Barely pausing, Dion crouched and picked up the man’s bow and quiver before joining the soldiers forming up along the defensive bastion.

  The two forces both paused to gather themselves.

  Standing with the last of the defenders arrayed along the summit of the curved stone wall, Dion saw that the fallen of both sides littered the curving shoreline, but the beach was now firmly in the sun king’s hands. The last pair of survivors made it up to the embankment, joining their fellows in guarding the steps that led from the harbor to the agora.

  As order gradually came to the ranks of the yellow-cloaked soldiers below, Dion saw a barrel-chested commander, who could only be Kargan, gesturing as he barked orders to his officers. A lanky man with long dark hair and a curled beard, wearing a spiked golden crown and a bright yellow robe – he must be the sun king himself – stood tall on the upper deck of a warship and surveyed the area, before descending a ramp to the shore.

  The last defenders waited along the embankment. The Phalesians had lost at least half of their number. The consuls who made up the city’s leadership milled behind them.

  He heard Aristocles speaking loud enough for all to hear. ‘No! I refuse to leave the city.’

  Dion looked frantically for Chloe, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  Out of bowshot, the sun king’s soldiers prepared to make their final assault. Rank after rank of yellow-cloaked soldiers assembled in orderly rectangles. A silver-haired eldran now stood beside Solon; both were gazing up at the Temple of Aldus. The Ileans had conquered the Phalesian army as easily as they’d crushed the navy.

  Dion swiftly assessed the defenders’ numbers. He knew they would fall in the first wave.

  A trumpet blared.

  The attackers roared. The defenders shook their weapons.

  The sun king’s men began to run.

  Instantly, every archer atop the bastion drew his bowstring to his cheek and released, and Dion fired with them. But the attackers raised their shields to ward off the volley and few arrows struck home. The Ileans rushed the twin sets of steps and there were suddenly so many soldiers milling below that Dion couldn’t miss striking limb, torso, or shield.

  The sun king’s soldiers reached the top of the steps and the Phalesians cut them down. But for every man that fell, another took his place. The rush became a flood, and the flood became a torrent. There were simply too many of them.

  Dion continued to loose arrows into the mob below, but he knew that despite his efforts the struggle was pointless. He tried to aim at the Ileans cresting the wall but there was too much chance of striking a Phalesian.

  He reached for an arrow, but his quiver was empty.

  Then he saw Chloe.

  She had a sword in her hand and was high on the cliff, climbing up the steep stairway, heading for the Temple of Aldus. Realizing she planned to defend the ark to the end, Dion scanned the ground, frantic as he bent and his hand closed around the hilt of a fallen soldier’s blade. He tried to push through to the edge of the embankment, striving in vain to reach the base of the steps against the surge of soldiers.

  Amos and a hundred hoplites were now the last men trying to hold the wall. Scores of yellow-cloaked soldiers made it to the embankment with every passing moment. Amos fell when a shield struck his forehead. The blue-cloaked soldiers around him turned and ran.

  Dion deftly weaved around the fleeing Phalesians as he reached the base of the cliff. He turned and faced the agora, feeling the iron hilt in his hand burn, and knowing the sensation now for what it was, knowing that it stemmed from who he was, what he was.

  He prepared to defend the steps, protecting the ark with his life.

  Protecting Chloe.

  The attacking soldiers knew the sun king’s desire, and as they swarmed into the agora while the consuls fled in front of them, a broad-shouldered Ilean with a plume of orange horsehair cresting his helmet saw Dion, the sole defender of the path to the Temple of Aldus.

  The soldier charged.

  The sword felt impossibly heavy, even though Dion held the hilt in both hands. He nonetheless lifted the weapon and knocked aside the first savage thrust of his enemy’s spear. Dion raised the weapon again and attempted a fumbling thrust, but the blow was easily deflected by the shield on his opponent’s left arm. The Ilean suddenly threw his spear and Dion barely managed to lunge to the side as the weapon skewered the air.

  Revealing a scarred, snarling face under his plumed helmet, the enemy soldier drew his sword from the scabbard at his waist. He took his time, slashing overhead and forcing Dion to raise his weapon to block. The force of the blow made the sword fall out of Dion’s hands, clattering to the stone.

  Dion prepared to die.

  Then a horn rumbled, deep and thunderous, overriding even the battle cries and the crashes of steel against steel. The strident note sounded from somewhere down in the city. He heard a roaring voice he knew well: ‘The sun king’s head is mine!’

  Like a rising tide creeping up from the lower city, countless crimson-cloaked warriors of Xanthos swarmed into the agora, crashing against the sun king’s men and fighting in a fury of hand-to-hand combat. Nikolas’s bearded face was twisted in a fierce snarl as he led his men in the charge. The fleeing Phalesians cheered as they changed their path, turning to join the newcomers.

  The hoplites smashed into the attackers before the Ileans had realized their peril. Soldiers in yellow cloaks continued to crest the wall and pour into the breach. Soldiers in red rushed the agora in greater and greater numbers to meet them. With a new danger to face, Dion’s opponent turned, uncertain, then ran to the aid of his men.

  Still standing on the steps to the temple, Dion watched with wide eyes as the melee in the agora became a frenzy of blood and death.

  The battle could go either way.

  59

  Solon, king of kings, ruler of the empire of Ilea, was standing close to the water’s edge, the bulk of the Nexotardis above and behind him. He was confident of victory: his stronger, more disciplined soldiers had crested the embankment and would soon seize the city. Beside him the one-eyed eldran king, Triton, had his fists clenched at his sides.

  Solon frowned as he saw Kargan running in the wrong direction. For some reason Kargan had descended the steps; he was leading hundreds of men away from the defensive wall.

  He raised an eyebrow when Kargan arrived, covered in blood. The big man gasped and wheezed as he made his report. ‘The battle is lost! We must retreat.’

  ‘Lost?’ Solon’s eyes widened. ‘The city is yours!’

  ‘The army of Xanthos has arrived,’ Kargan panted. ‘We don’t have the numbers to push them back.’

  Shielding his eyes as he gazed up at the city, Solon saw soldiers in crimson cloaks fighting with savagery as they cleared the embankment. The Ileans began to flee, their flight becoming a desperate retreat down the steps as the bravest among them tried to hold against the onslaught of the soldiers at their backs. Yellow-cloaked soldiers tumbled from the high wall of the embankment, screaming until they struck the ground.

  Kargan barked orders at his men. ‘Get the ships off the beach! Hurry or you’re all dead men!’

  ‘No,’ Solon said, shaking his head. ‘No!’

  Kargan turned his dark gaze on his king. ‘Solon, your prize is lost. If we don’t leave now we’ll lose the fleet.’

  Solon watched in disbelief as Kargan ordered the men who’d stayed with the warships to get them afloat. As more soldiers rushed down from the city he bellowed commands and instilled order in the terror-filled men.

  The newly arrived Xanthian soldiers, under the leadership of a broad-shouldered bearded warrior in a crimson-plumed helmet, poured down the steps and began to gather in numbers, preparing to make a final charge to destroy their fleeing enemies and seize as many ships as they could.

  Solon realized in a daze that he would soon b
e leaving. But he couldn’t leave. The ark at the temple remained tantalizingly in reach.

  Beside him, Triton spoke. ‘You can still be victorious, Solon. When next will you see enough gold to send your soul on its journey to the afterlife?’

  ‘I . . .’ Solon shook his head, at a loss for words.

  ‘I can win you this city,’ Triton said. ‘But I cannot open the ark. For that I need your help.’

  Solon looked from the eldran to Kargan, still bellowing orders to get his men moving.

  ‘I can take you to the ark,’ Triton continued. ‘The lid is heavy but you will be strong enough to open it. Give me what is inside and I will win this battle for you. You can have the gold. You know that gold is not what I want.’

  Solon saw the crimson-cloaked soldiers now had the numbers to attack. The big black-bearded commander stood just below the wall, his men ranked behind him, standing shield to shield. He held his sword in the air, then waved his men forward.

  The biremes were moving off the shore as the sailors and soldiers got them moving. Once away from shore, those on board would be safe.

  Solon met Triton’s eyes. He nodded.

  ‘Take me to it,’ he said.

  Triton smiled.

  Clouds of gray smoke gathered around the eldran until his body was completely obscured. The smoke elongated and thickened, becoming dense and massive as Solon stood back.

  The mist shimmered.

  Triton was suddenly gone, and a monstrous one-eyed dragon now stood in his place. The dragon dipped a leg, and Solon knew what he was supposed to do. He clambered onto its back, gripping the scaly, leathery flesh just behind its forelegs with his knees and leaning forward to hold the protuberances behind its head.

  With a surge of terrifying power, the wings lifted and descended, propelling them up into the sky.

  Solon felt his spirits soar, as if he were suddenly released of a terrible burden. He no longer cared about Triton’s plans: as long as he could bring about his successful entrance to the homeland of the gods, it no longer mattered what transpired in this mortal world. He would be the sun king no more; he would become more than a man.

  After death, he would be a god.

  The dragon’s wings, each as big as a bireme’s sail, flapped steadily, thrusting at the air as it flew high into the sky. The incredible perspective revealed the ships of Solon’s fleet drawing away from the shore and clusters of fighting men on the embankment and the beach. The occasional soldier stared up at him with horror combined with fear, and Solon smiled as Triton took him above the temple, giving him a direct view of the summit. He saw the columns framing the golden ark in the center. Behind the Ark of Revelation, the eternal flame burned brightly on its pedestal.

  The dragon and its rider plummeted down to the plateau.

  Landing lightly on the cliff edge, the winged reptile came to a rest and Solon slipped off its back. A sudden spike of pain speared his chest, but he pushed it aside with an iron will. At such a height, gusting winds buffeted his body, slowing his steps as he walked toward the golden ark.

  ‘You will find a horn within,’ a voice behind him said. Glancing over his shoulder, Solon saw Triton had shifted back to his usual form. The eldran stood impatiently with legs astride, his brow furrowed as his expression urged Solon to haste, although he was evidently reluctant to approach the chest of gold himself.

  ‘Give me what is inside,’ Triton said, ‘and you will triumph.’

  Solon continued his approach to the ark. He saw fanciful designs in the gold. It was even larger than it appeared from below; he knew it would give him everything he needed and more. He inspected the lid. It was much smaller than the ark itself, embedded in the very center, just a couple of feet to a side. A long handle ran horizontally across it.

  Something glittered out of the corner of Solon’s eye. It was at the corner of his vision but startling enough to make him turn as he frowned.

  He saw a young woman with long dark hair step out from behind a column. She carried a shining steel sword, holding it by the hilt in both hands. The sparkle of the afternoon sun on the blade had alerted him to her approach.

  She had thought to surprise him, but the sun god Helios had warned him of her presence and she was unable to make her hidden strike. When he recognized her, Solon gave a dry chuckle.

  ‘I remember you, girl,’ he said. He waved a hand dismissively. ‘Now get out of my way.’

  ‘No,’ said Chloe. She continued to approach him with the tip of her weapon slightly raised. ‘I won’t.’

  Solon was unarmed, but he was unperturbed. He turned completely so that his back was to the ark, raising his voice as he called out to the one-eyed eldran king.

  ‘Triton,’ he said. He nodded in Chloe’s direction. ‘You know what to do.’

  60

  The battle was won. Dion felt the tension in his shoulders slowly relax as his countrymen cleared the agora, pushing the Ileans all the way to the embankment and finally forcing them to flee the shore.

  Nikolas was at the forefront, baying for the sun king’s blood as he led his men down the narrow steps to the harbor. Dion’s brother had come. Phalesia had survived.

  Chloe was safe.

  From his vantage Dion could see the tall man with the spiked crown standing near the warship and the tall scar-faced eldran at his side. The sun king would flee. He would be forced to return to Lamara without his prize. Sweeping his gaze over the agora, Dion saw too many bodies to count, a gruesome sight worse than any slaughterhouse.

  But when Dion looked back to the harbor he felt the blood drain from his face. His eyes went wide with horror.

  He saw the one-eyed dragon and the sun king rise from the shore.

  Dion knew that Solon had lost the fight, but for the sun king the struggle was far from over. There was only one place the pair could be traveling to.

  Panic overwhelmed him as the dragon climbed high in the sky, then swiftly plummeted down, in the direction of the nearby summit.

  Dion’s eyes traveled up the cliff face. Chloe was up at the temple, preparing to defend the Ark of Revelation with her life. He had been too late to save his family in Xanthos, and he would be too late to help her.

  The climb would take him far too long.

  He thought about all he and Chloe had been through. He remembered the men he had set out with on his quest to travel to Lamara, all killed by wildren. The vision of the serpent’s huge head plummeting as it swallowed Cob along with half of their boat would stay with him to the end of his days. He recalled the mermaid that saved him and the strange seer at Athos who gave him the incredible Calypso. Chloe’s own travails filled his mind: she had been imprisoned and her only friend and protector had experienced utmost agony in front of her eyes. She had learned to fight and freed herself from the sun king’s clutches.

  The words they’d spoken on their frantic voyage home came to the forefront of his awareness, but along with the words were the looks and gestures. He remembered her clutching onto his arm, and his own desire to protect her as they’d watched the enemy fleet approaching the harbor.

  Desperation coursed through every fiber of his body.

  Dion knew he would be too late to save Chloe’s life.

  61

  Chloe stood on the smooth floor of stone within the temple’s framing columns, at an equal distance between Triton and Solon. She tried to face both opponents and keep her sword point up, just as Tomarys had instructed. Blood roared in her ears as her heart raced. Her palms sweated; the hilt in her hands felt slippery.

  ‘Understood, sun king.’ Triton fixed his stare on Solon. ‘I will deal with the woman. You open the ark and give me what is mine.’

  Solon frowned at the golden chest. ‘I may not have the strength—’

  ‘Then find it!’

  Chloe wondered if she could reach Solon before Triton could strike. She needed to attack the Ilean king before he could open the chest that must never be opened.

  In her mind, T
omarys was speaking.

  ‘Be strong. Be confident. Nothing is more powerful than the warrior who will achieve his objective or die trying.’

  But Chloe didn’t know if she was strong enough for this.

  Gray smoke suddenly misted around the eldran king. In a heartbeat his body was completely enveloped as the cloud thickened and grew to an impossible size.

  The mist shimmered.

  The huge one-eyed dragon roared as it flew out of the smoke. An immense silver-scaled body of muscle, sinew, and bone rose into the air as outstretched wings flapped. The jaws gaped as the beast revealed a mouth filled with white teeth the size of daggers.

  Chloe saw Solon’s outstretched arms as he reached for the handle on the lid of the Ark of Revelation.

  She turned to face the dragon, but then moved again to face Solon, trembling with indecision. The veins in Solon’s temples were clearly visible as he grunted with the effort.

  A crack of light poured from under the slowly opening golden lid.

  Chloe decided to charge the sun king, knowing the dragon would kill her before she came close to the tall man at the golden chest.

  Then something incredible happened.

  A second dragon plummeted down from the sky, but where the scales of the one-eyed Triton were glossy silver, this dragon’s scales were as black as night. Until now the one-eyed dragon was the largest Chloe had ever seen.

  The newcomer rivaled it in size.

  The black dragon’s claws were outstretched from its body as it swooped, screaming a challenge to the eldran king. It struck the one-eyed dragon with lightning speed, gripping hold of its enemy’s body with muscled forelegs until both creatures tumbled one over the other, rolling over and over, smashing into one of the temple’s columns with enough force to shatter the marble and break the column in two, toppling it with a crash of shattering stone. The two tumbling dragons flew up into the sky, writhing in an embrace of terrifying strength.