Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  It slowly leaned far enough that its weight was pulling it forward.

  Ponderously, inexorably, the chest of gold fell.

  The shining box tumbled down the cliff face, bouncing and rolling, so heavy that any human caught in its path would have been killed. It fell in slow motion, tearing at the rocks it encountered, knocking them free and bringing them along for the journey.

  When it struck the ground Liana felt the earth tremble. The crowd around her tried to press forward and the soldiers cried out, spears held horizontally, forcing the onlookers to stand back.

  Liana put a hand to her mouth.

  She knew suddenly what the golden chest was, and she knew now what she had just witnessed. She remembered overhearing Zachary’s conversation with Aella. They were both gone now, and only Liana could bear witness to what they’d discussed.

  The horn is powerful, and containing its power saps the energy of its container. The ancient Aleutheans built a golden ark for a reason.

  The crowd surged forward, every man and woman desperate to see the ark up close.

  They were willing to leave the ark alone for as long as they thought it was sacred to their gods. But now that they know the truth, nothing will prevent them from claiming the gold it is made of.

  Liana struggled to maintain her footing. With the golden ark now resting at the foot of the cliff, the dozen soldiers suddenly weren’t enough to contain the onlookers.

  Zachary’s final statement rang in her mind like a bell. We will have to take the horn.

  The crowd rushed the soldiers, knocking them aside with sheer pressure. As she felt herself carried forward by the mob, streaming toward the golden relic, Liana gasped as a pain clutched hold of her chest. She recognized the feeling, it was the same sensation she had felt when approaching the jeweler’s workshop, only magnified a thousand times. She was in the presence of so much pure metal that she felt physically ill. She had to get away from it, immediately.

  Liana tried to break free, but her frantic movements were in vain. She was being carried along with the crowd.

  She screamed.

  The cliff loomed overhead, the wall of black rock becoming closer with every passing moment. In front of her eyes were the backs of men and women’s heads; at her left and right people jostled and pushed, hands out to steady themselves. Behind her two strong hands clasped down on her shoulders, nearly pushing her down to her knees with the sudden weight, but when she cried out and glanced over her shoulder the middle-aged man who’d fallen mouthed an apology and let go a moment later.

  The pain in her chest grew sharper and tighter. Liana felt blinded, dazed, unable to see clearly through a haze of yellow light. Blinking through it she could now see the ark, a huge golden chest lying prone on its side. Soon she could make out the cavity in its center where the horn had recently resided.

  As the growing agony made her gasp, she fought and wriggled, twisting her body and flailing with her arms. She tried to push obliquely through the crowd, even as the onlookers tried to get closer to the ark.

  The pressure eased. People threw angry looks her way, but they moved. As she put distance between herself and the source of the pain, relief flooded her as the prickling sensation faded and her vision cleared. Head down, jaw set, she developed a forward and back motion with her shoulders that enabled her to fight her way through.

  She didn’t stop until she was heading toward the open air at the edge of the embankment. Coming to a halt, breath ragged, she stopped at the summit of the high wall that sloped down to the shore. She realized she was near the steps that the soldiers had climbed earlier, when they’d headed up to the temple.

  Liana finally regained enough of her wits to look around her. The crowd clustered at the site of the fallen ark. Soon it would thin as each man or woman took a last look inside a piece of history, now open to the world, and gave way for the next person to have his or her turn.

  She tilted her head back to follow the steps as they climbed the cliff, winding back and forth. Armored men were moving. The soldiers were returning.

  Their attention on the ark, most of the people at the base of the cliff paid the descending soldiers no heed. But Liana swallowed and didn’t take her eyes off them.

  The first two men were young soldiers, empty-handed. But the third white-haired man wore the black robe of a priest and was careful with his footing as he descended, taking each step one at a time.

  In his arms he held the iron chest that she’d seen earlier.

  From the way he was straining it was obviously heavy, but the priest was strong and able to carry it alone without pausing. It was a simple square box, unadorned and much smaller than the ark, perhaps twelve inches on each side.

  The two soldiers in front glanced back to check on the priest’s progress at regular intervals. Behind him more soldiers descended the steps in single file. Some scanned the skies, others searched the agora for possible threats.

  The first soldier reached the base of the cliff and drew his sword. The next followed suit, and then the white-haired man with the box was down. An escort of swordsmen and archers soon surrounded the priest, who nodded, and they began to move as a column.

  Their path took them past Liana. Soldiers scowled at her, but their eyes were dismissive: the frail young woman with the wild hair and copper necklace posed no threat. She knew she was staring at the chest, but her interest wasn’t unusual, for it was clear that the soldiers escorting the priest and his burden were protecting something of great importance.

  They moved past her, heading back into the city, but in the instant when the priest passed close by she squinted intently at the chest. She swallowed.

  It wouldn’t be noticed, but there was a tiny patch of rust on the iron box. The faint discoloration was like red powder flicked at the side of the chest with fingertips. The Phalesians would think nothing of it; iron would always tarnish so close to the sea.

  But as she watched, the patch grew, ever so slightly.

  At that moment Liana knew. The chest contained the horn of Marrix. When it tarnished completely, the proscription about eldren touching pure metal would no longer apply. Liana could open the box, and take what was inside.

  Triton could open it.

  Zachary’s plan had been to take the horn, for it was no longer safe; the humans couldn’t be trusted to protect it. Liana didn’t know what he had intended to do with it then. Zachary had admitted that he didn’t have the blood of Marrix, and could never reclaim Sindara, and kingship of all eldren. But she knew what he would want her to do.

  She followed the column of soldiers as they left the agora behind and headed back the way she’d come, in the direction of the lower city.

  Liana crouched in the middle of the street, glancing frequently at the arched stone entrance nearby. It was guarded by a tough-looking soldier with a scar that started on his cheek and swept diagonally across his lip. She patted the ground, pretending to be searching for something, which gave her an excuse to circle the area and peer through to the other side of the archway from different angles.

  She’d heard one of the soldiers say that this place was called the barracks. It appeared to be the place where the soldiers operated from; perhaps they lived here also. Thinking about what she needed to do, she supposed that it was one of the safest places they could take the iron chest.

  The arched entrance opened up directly onto the training ground, with a sandy floor providing room for a great number of men to spar and learn maneuvers. Rows of buildings at the back framed the arena. The horn would be guarded night and day.

  But it was a place unprotected from the sky. And with every passing day the iron would tarnish.

  Liana had to get inside.

  Taking a deep breath, she ceased scanning the road for her imagined lost item and straightened. Walking with purpose, she approached the guard, whose eyes narrowed as she approached.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Liana spoke softly. She cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me,’ she s
aid more firmly. ‘Do you—?’

  ‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘I haven’t seen whatever it is you’re looking for. Now clear off.’

  ‘I think . . .’ Liana hung her head. ‘I think the silver’s gone. The captain’s going to kill me.’

  ‘Captain?’ He frowned. ‘Which captain?’

  ‘Are you sure you won’t help me find it?’

  The guard looked toward the middle of the street, scratching his chin. As she held her breath, Liana saw him take three steps away from his post, his eyes on the ground as he searched for the imagined silver.

  ‘What exactly happened—?’

  He turned at just the wrong moment and saw that Liana was looking inside the barracks rather than helping him scan the ground. Without realizing, she’d been inching forward to get a better look.

  The guard’s eyes narrowed.

  Liana quailed as he stormed toward her and then pushed her away from the entrance so hard she fell down. She struck hard stone, barely bracing her fall with the palms of her hands. She cried out.

  ‘Trick me, will you?’ he spat.

  Liana heard a new voice, and as she winced and looked up from her position on the ground, she saw an older woman crossing the sandy arena, heading toward the archway. She was the fattest woman Liana had ever seen, but she had kind eyes and dimples on her cheeks and chin. She wore her curly dark hair tied at the back of her head with a girlish tassel that made Liana think she was younger than her first estimate. A dirty apron was stretched tightly around her paunch, and she had her elbow hooked around a basket, evidently on her way to market.

  ‘What’s happening here?’ The woman frowned.

  ‘She tried to trick me to get inside, cook.’ The guard glared. ‘She’s a thief, no doubt.’

  The cook crouched down at Liana’s side. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Liana.’

  ‘Where are you from?’

  Liana shook her head.

  ‘Come on, Liana.’ The cook helped Liana back to her feet. ‘Hungry, are you?’

  ‘She’s trouble,’ the scar-faced guard said.

  ‘She’s also stick thin.’ The cook indicated for him to make way, and with a shake of his head, he finally moved.

  ‘She’ll steal from you the first chance she gets.’

  ‘What’s to steal?’ the cook asked. ‘A sword she can hardly lift? A helmet? She’s after food. And after she sweeps floors and cleans out the mess, I intend to give her some.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Liana murmured.

  Leaving the guard behind, the cook gave Liana a smile. ‘These men take a lot of cleaning up after. I’ll give you a meal and you can tell me your story.’

  Liana bit her lip. ‘No.’

  ‘No? You don’t want to tell me your story? Fair enough. You will or you won’t.’

  Her mind on the horn, Liana allowed herself to be led inside the barracks.

  16

  The black galleon rode the monstrous waves, a creature born to the sea, lifted up on each towering crest before plummeting down the far side. Wave after wave rolled remorselessly from one side of the open ocean to the other, to be met head on in a shower of spray. Hundreds of years old but preserved by cold, dry air, the Solaris was proving to be dependable and true, everything Palemon could have wanted the ship to be.

  The same couldn’t be said for the crew.

  ‘We must go back,’ Vorn said, lifting his chin and meeting Palemon’s gaze.

  The proud warrior, a stocky swordsman with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, held onto a spar as the vessel leaned from one side to the next, sending chill water sluicing across the deck. Behind him stood a group of grumbling men, ranging in age from forty to more than sixty. They staggered with each lurch of the ship, grim-faced and clutching onto the nearest support with white knuckles. Still wearing the furs and skins they’d been clad in when they set off, their garments were now sodden and bedraggled. Hands patted swords, axes, and hammers at their waists; the weapons were solid, reassuring.

  Palemon’s lips thinned. ‘There is no turning back. You know that.’

  They’d made it free of the drifting floes and icebergs, forced to learn how to handle the ship with frantic haste. They’d survived their first storm, more of a blizzard than a gale, but nonetheless it had been an experience Palemon never wanted to repeat. The frozen wasteland that the lost Aleutheans had called home for over three hundred years was now far behind them. They were committed to their quest. Out on the open ocean, still too far north for the sun’s passage across the sky to lead the way, they had to find the Realm of the Three Seas and then return to Necropolis for their women, old men, and children. Rather than a single ship, they would have to come back with a fleet.

  Facing this small knot of resistance among his crew, Palemon stood with legs apart, riding the rolling of the ship, keeping his footing despite the constant motion. His black cloak kept him dry, although the constant drizzle plastered his graying hair to his scalp and dripped from the braids of his beard. The sky above was perfectly white, with just a faint glow somewhere astern telling him where the sun was. The air was frigid and salty.

  ‘I understand that we must help those we left behind at Necropolis, which is why we must turn back,’ Vorn persisted. ‘When there was a chance that we would find the lands we left behind long ago’—he indicated the men with him—‘we were proud to do what we could to help. But the witch no longer knows the way. Now that chance is gone.’

  Palemon nodded, keeping his face like stone. If he was going to stamp this out completely, he had to allow their fears to be voiced. Vorn had faced down orcas from a tiny boat and hunted white bears. Until now, Palemon had considered him to be a true cold blood. If he was afraid, then others were too. Palemon swiftly assessed the scene; only half a dozen warriors faced him now, but scores more watched from the rigging and would report back to the men below decks. A cluster of magi taking shelter beneath a square of canvas could also hear every word.

  ‘And we ask ourselves,’ Vorn said, emboldened. ‘What if not only the island of Aleuthea, but the entire world of the three seas sank beneath the waves? What if the ice realm is the last land left? What if there never was an Aleuthea, and it is all just a myth?’

  The grizzled veteran at Vorn’s side, Longbeard, looked past Palemon’s shoulder. Following Longbeard’s stare, Palemon saw Zara coming down from her cabin in the stern castle, where she’d been practicing her magic night and day, to no avail. Slim and supple as always in her long-sleeved navy dress, her body was bowed down by fatigue and despair, and she leaned heavily on her ever-present sun staff. When he cast her an inquiring gaze, her brilliant blue eyes met his and she shook her head.

  ‘Either way, the witch no longer knows the way.’ Longbeard made as if to spit on the deck, but then blanched and halted mid-motion as he realized that his king was standing in front of him.

  Glancing back at Zara, Palemon realized she’d heard. He saw her brow crease before he turned back to face the group of men.

  ‘I know you realize it, sire,’ Vorn said. ‘We are adrift on the open sea. If we don’t turn back now, our chances of finding our way back to Necropolis will be slim to none.’

  Vorn spoke the truth, which was why Palemon needed to let him speak, to air his grievances in this public space. None of them were experienced sea travelers. They didn’t know how to use the stars. They’d come to rely on Zara so much that they now couldn’t say for certain that they were traveling in a straight line.

  ‘We are your warriors,’ Longbeard said. Zara came forward to stand beside Palemon but the grizzled warrior pressed on, scowling at her. ‘You must no longer listen to the witch.’

  Foolish, Palemon thought.

  ‘You must listen to us, sire. Your men,’ Longbeard said. ‘We tried but failed. It’s time to go back.’

  ‘Tell it to us plain,’ Vorn challenged the sorceress. ‘Will the power of the ark guide the way once more?’

  ‘No,’ Zara said softly, but
in a voice that told Palemon to always be careful about angering the most skilled of his magi. ‘The magic is simply . . . gone. It is as if the ark has been destroyed.’

  ‘Then it is clear—’ Vorn began.

  ‘Wait.’ Palemon held up his hand and spoke the single word, and in a heartbeat all eyes were on him.

  He hadn’t needed to raise his voice; these half-dozen warriors were some of his proudest, but Palemon led by example as well as by right. He’d hunted whales, wolves, and bears alongside them, and fought in bouts against all of them. Of all his people, he was the strongest, despite his age, and they knew it.

  ‘Listen to me,’ he said, lowering his hand. ‘I could tell you that our people need to leave Necropolis, that there is no future for us there.’ He stared into the eyes of each of the warriors in front of him. ‘I could tell you that any land is better than that frozen hell . . . that death by blade is far more desirable than watching our children starve before hunger forces us to eat their remains.’ He swept his gaze over the rigging, his voice clear enough for them all to hear and growing in volume. ‘I could tell you that you are part of a trusted crew, and that every man among you volunteered to see this journey through.’

  He paused to let his words sink in. ‘But I won’t.’

  He stepped forward to meet Vorn’s gaze. Palemon was the taller man, and his shoulders were broader. He pulled the dagger out of the scabbard at his waist, raised it, and kissed it.

  Then in one swift movement he plunged the dagger up to the hilt into Vorn’s eye. Teeth gritted, he held the warrior up by the blade as his legs twitched, before withdrawing the dagger as quickly as he’d stabbed.

  Too shocked to react, the other warriors watched in horror as Vorn’s body collapsed to the listing deck.

  ‘I won’t reason with you.’ Palemon’s gaze encompassed the entire ship. ‘Any of you! I am your king. You do as I command.’

  He crouched and worked again with the blood-drenched dagger. A moment later Palemon rose and held up the warrior’s head, gripping it by the hair and displaying it to all present.