Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  ‘Uncle Glaukos,’ Nikolas said warmly, opening his arms and gripping him in a strong embrace. He was the younger brother of Nikolas’s father, the late King Markos, and had been a part of Nikolas’s life for as long as he could remember. He’d always been fond of Dion, Nikolas remembered. He squashed the thought down. ‘How goes the kingdom?’

  ‘Well enough,’ Glaukos said wearily. ‘When will you be coming home?’

  ‘And Captain Roxana,’ Nikolas said, ignoring the question. ‘How goes the fleet?’

  ‘You know as well as I do,’ she growled. ‘The work moves forward in fits and starts. I can’t perform magic. Where is the silver you promised me?’

  ‘Coming,’ Nikolas said. ‘When you return to Xanthos, you’ll be heading back with as much as you can carry.’ He made way for Nilus. ‘This is Phalesia’s new first consul.’

  Nilus greeted them both, still a little flustered after his conversation with Nikolas.

  ‘What happened to your predecessor?’ Glaukos asked Nilus. ‘I thought he’d be first consul until the day he died.’

  ‘Forgive my uncle,’ Nikolas explained with a smile. ‘He’s always been plainspoken.’ He turned to Glaukos. ‘There was a conspiracy and he fled the city.’

  Glaukos shook his head. ‘I will never understand Phalesian ways. Give me a strong king and a brace of healthy sons any day.’ He raised an eyebrow at Nikolas. ‘Speaking of sons, your message took me by surprise – my congratulations on your marriage. As hasty as it was, I understand the need. Do you have a day in mind for the wedding feast? Xanthos is ready to welcome a queen.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Nikolas glanced at Nilus. ‘You’ll have to wait a little longer for my return to Xanthos. I’m afraid your visit will be a short one. I need both of you back home, doing what you do best.’

  ‘There are two things I do best,’ Roxana said, arms crossed in front of her chest. ‘Building ships and sailing them. I’m going to need you to choose what it is you want me doing, King.’

  Nikolas’s brow furrowed. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We’re sending more merchant ships out to sea, which brings more trade, but also means more contact with pirates. At the moment you’re keeping our warships close to home, so the merchants are out there defenseless. Fair enough, that’s your choice, you’re worried about the Ileans. But lately things have become worse. One pirate in particular, Jax, is all I hear about. Has everyone scared witless. Calls himself the king of the Free Men.’

  ‘Hunt him down,’ Nikolas said flatly.

  ‘No. You have to choose. I can hunt pirates or build warships. I can’t do both.’

  ‘Can’t someone else hunt pirates?’ Nilus ventured.

  Glaukos snorted and rolled his eyes. ‘Here we go,’ he muttered.

  ‘No,’ Roxana said, prodding a finger into Nilus’s chest. She spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child or an idiot. ‘No one else can hunt pirates. The Xanthian captains would be eaten alive.’

  ‘Let the pirates be,’ Nikolas said. ‘Build me more warships.’

  ‘Fine,’ Roxana said. ‘But we’re going to have to protect our trade at some point.’

  Nikolas turned his attention to Glaukos. ‘Uncle, I have a duty for you also. I’m going to need you to manage the kingdom for a time longer. I’m officially naming you my regent.’

  Glaukos groaned. ‘And here I was expecting you to ask me to step down. Hoping, might be another word.’

  ‘I also need you to pass orders to my officers. They’re to turn out and join me here in Phalesia. Send word to the Tharassan mercenaries. Recruit as many as you can with the silver I’m sending home with you.’ Nikolas’s gaze swept over the group. ‘I’m taking the army to Tanus.’

  Nilus frowned. ‘To what end?’

  ‘As Captain Roxana here is so quick to tell me, we can’t defend ourselves by sea from another attack, which means we have to take the fight to Ilea on land.’

  ‘It’s a long way,’ Nilus said.

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ Nikolas said with a frown. ‘And I’m also aware that the Waste lies between Tanus and Koulis. But I’m not afraid of Triton, and perhaps with the armies of Phalesia, Tanus, and Xanthos at my back, we can finally end the eldren threat for good, before pushing on to Lamara itself.’

  ‘But Tanus and Xanthos—’ Nilus began.

  ‘Queen Zanthe’s hatred was for my father, not me. I plan to persuade her to forget our past.’

  ‘But your new wife . . .’ Glaukos protested.

  ‘I was going to wait for the wedding feast, but it appears my wife has taken an unexpected absence.’ Nikolas left unsaid that heading to Tanus might also lead him to Chloe. ‘There’s no use waiting any longer.’

  Nikolas now looked out to sea, but he wasn’t seeing the sun shimmer on the water; he was seeing plains and battles, and the sacking of Lamara, the hub of the Ilean Empire, the greatest city in the world.

  Kargan was no doubt back in the Ilean capital, licking his wounds, plotting another attack on Nikolas’s homeland. A new king, some son of Solon’s, would have filled the void that the sun king left behind.

  The Ileans had killed Nikolas’s family, impaling his beautiful wife and loving father, slitting his young son’s throat. He would have his revenge.

  ‘I’m reforming the Galean League,’ Nikolas said decisively. ‘Zanthe of Tanus will join us or we’ll raze her city to the ground.’

  21

  Kargan of Lamara had fought in more engagements than he could count. He’d crushed armies in the field and destroyed fleets on the open sea, crucified pirates on lonely shores and hunted serpents greater in size than the vessels he commanded.

  He was a brave man, loyal and experienced, the son of a minor khan who had wealth and land but a weak bloodline. He’d risen to the top by being stronger than anyone else, but also by knowing when to fight and when to bide his time. His men loved him, for he rarely lost a battle. Even now, after the terrible defeat at Phalesia, he’d managed to withdraw from the fight with most of the fleet intact, leaving just a handful of vessels on the beach. And if it hadn’t been for Solon’s mad obsession with gold, he would have saved them all.

  Yet despite his lifetime of service, and after proving himself time and again, he was worried.

  He’d done the right thing, sending word ahead of the defeat, and of the death of the king of kings, the ruler of the Ilean Empire. Solon’s great tomb had come to naught; he’d perished on foreign soil, and his body was no doubt burned along with the rest of the Ilean fallen. All the slaves who had died, the wars fought for gold, the chants of the yellow-robed priests, the plans of the engineers, the many years of ceaseless labor . . . It had all come to nothing.

  Knowing his position back in Lamara was made precarious by the defeat and the imminent appointment of a new ruler, Kargan had nonetheless fulfilled his moral duty to his men. The homeward journey had taken far longer than the original voyage because he’d shepherded every single ship home, leaving no man behind. Broken vessels had been repaired and broken limbs set. Limping along with the rear, he knew that the fastest ships would have arrived in Lamara long ago, and the palace would have had ample time to prepare for his return. Maneuverings for power would have taken place. The council of lords left in charge might have already crowned a new king. Only time would tell who was now giving the orders in Lamara.

  But would he be returning to chains or would he advise the new king, as he had advised Solon? Was his head about to be parted from his shoulders?

  He had his men’s loyalty and their trust, but these were things that counted for little in court. Frustration coursed through him, combining with his fear and anxiety. Solon’s death wasn’t Kargan’s fault; he’d had his chance to flee. Instead Solon flew on Triton’s back to the temple on the plateau. Kargan then saw Triton fight a black dragon in the sky.

  At the end, when Triton fled, scratched and bleeding, Solon didn’t flee with him. As Kargan’s warship the Nexotardis drew away he saw soldiers climb up to the temp
le and a limp body carried down as the men around them cheered. The lanky figure clad in a sun-colored robe was unmistakable.

  Kargan clenched and unclenched his fists as he watched the approaching city of Lamara from the bow of the Nexotardis. He wondered if he should have forced the faster ships to travel at the ponderous rate of the others, rather than giving his allies and enemies among the nobility so much time to plot and plan. But to do otherwise wouldn’t have been right. The empire needed leadership. He couldn’t allow it all to crumble.

  As the ship navigated the brown river the familiar tall city wall passed by on the left, terminating in a hexagonal tower, and then he could see the structures on the other side. Rolling rows of mud-brick houses descended from the central ziggurat, spreading to fill the area in between the walls, opening in the area of the bazaar and then closing ranks again as the river prevented the myriad of dwellings from multiplying farther. The sprawling palace crowning the city’s heart speared the sky with tall spires, yellow pennants snapping in the breeze.

  His eyes roved over the temples of basalt and marble statues, sprawling slums and grand villas. It was a hazy city, yellow and dusty, where palm trees clustered around manicured gardens, beggars filled the streets, and produce from every corner of the world could be bought and sold. There was no other city like Lamara. It was home.

  The Nexotardis now slid along the surface of the river at a walking pace, drum pounding slowly below decks, oars rising and falling with a stately rhythm. Lifting his gaze, Kargan squinted into the dusty horizon, looking for what would give him his first indication about what had transpired in the empire since his absence.

  Wind blew fine particles of orange dust into his eyes, making him form them into slits, but still he stared. It was an exceptionally dusky afternoon, and it was longer than usual before he could see it.

  But then it appeared, taking shape in the clouded sky like some magical home of the gods. The triangular mountain, formed out of huge stone blocks, with each level slightly smaller than the one below, filled him with the same awe that it always had, despite the fact that he had borne witness to its construction. Rising from behind the city that obscured its base, the pyramid was testament to the power of one man, the king of kings, and his ability to bend an entire empire to his will.

  Kargan sighed. Solon had come close to achieving his goal of immortality. But when the Oracle’s prophecy had proven true, and he’d died in the thirty-first year of his reign, he hadn’t been interred in his completed tomb, to take his place among the gods. It hadn’t even been the sickness in his chest that killed him.

  Kargan never again wanted to follow a king into such folly.

  And evidently someone agreed with him. For now he could see that where before three-quarters of the pyramid’s stones had been clad in shining gold, now every surface was uniformly bare. Someone had directed that the gold be stripped, someone with enough power to give that command.

  The river opened up ahead. The right-hand bank was home to fishermen and farmers, with passage across made possible only by ferry boat. Fields of hardy crops spread over the flat land, overlooked by olive trees on the higher slopes. The left bank grew larger as the Nexotardis neared, curving in the stretch of pale beach that was Lamara’s harbor, while above the shore the city teemed with scurrying folk in an array of colorful costumes.

  Kargan frowned when he saw merchant vessels beached side by side with dozens of warships; the order that usually existed here was absent. There were no marines drilling and the mess was completely empty.

  Nonetheless, he stood tall as he made his return, arms crossed in front of his chest, legs far apart on the deck of his ship. He might be coming home from defeat, but a true captain stayed with his ship, and as commander of them all, he had remained with his fleet until the end.

  Then, as the Nexotardis slid up on the sandy shore, something happened that caused Kargan to nearly recoil in surprise. A resounding cheer started on the top deck, continuing below decks, until the entire vessel was roaring as one. He heard his name repeated again and again.

  But as a commander should, he made no reaction other than to stand sternly and wait for the oarsmen to pour out the sides of the ship and haul her up higher on the beach. The gangway slid out soon after, and Kargan, a striking man, with his barrel chest and powerful frame, mop of black hair and curled beard, descended the ramp, to finally feel his homeland under his feet again.

  Keeping his dainty slippers clear of the fine-grained sand of the harbor, Lord Haviar waited with half a dozen soldiers to escort Kargan to the palace. A short, dark-skinned patrician with a thin nose and even thinner lips, he wore an orange tunic over brown trousers and had a limp he swore was a war wound, though he’d never held a sword in his life.

  Kargan kept his face blank as he approached, but the relief he felt was overwhelming. If they were going to make him a scapegoat, they wouldn’t have sent a man he could squeeze the life out of with one hand tied behind his back, leading a contingent of common soldiers he knew well, even to the point of remembering some of their names.

  ‘Lord Kargan,’ Haviar said. ‘Lord Mydas requests your presence.’

  ‘Ahh,’ Kargan said as he joined the shorter man. ‘So Solon’s brother is acting regent.’

  ‘He arrived as soon as he heard the news.’ Haviar hesitated. ‘It is good to see you well. Despite the reports, we were concerned when you didn’t arrive with the first of your ships.’

  ‘I had to take care of my men.’

  Kargan glanced at Haviar as they commenced their walk up to the nobles’ quarter and the palace, wondering what the man knew, wondering what would happen next. If they weren’t going to kill him, all he wanted to do was head to his home and have a slave rub the tension out of his back.

  Lamara was just the way he remembered it, the streets and alleys a confusing maze, the soldiers Haviar had brought with him clearing a path through the beggars and citizenry indiscriminately. The spicy scents wafting in the hot air mingled with the ranker smells of the gutters. Step after climbing step made his calves burn; there wasn’t much opportunity for exercise aboard ship.

  ‘What of Solon’s sons?’ Kargan grunted.

  ‘Prince Caran is here, but the other two have yet to arrive.’

  ‘And the coronation?’

  ‘The priests have yet to set a date.’

  ‘Caran is the eldest and Solon’s named heir. What’s taking them so long?’

  ‘Lord Mydas waits for all, Lord Kargan, yourself included. All must swear fealty to the new king of kings.’

  Kargan shook his head. ‘I’m worried about the dominions. A strong hand is needed. If Solon’s death becomes common knowledge throughout the empire, rebellion will be likely.’

  Haviar gave him a sidelong glance. ‘I always forget that you have a sharper mind than appearances credit you with. You are correct, of course. Some are stirring.’

  Kargan scowled. ‘Which is it? Haria? Shadria? Imakale?’

  ‘The Council of Five in Koulis knows. Most likely when Mydas sent word to inform Caran, who was satrap there, of his father’s death.’

  ‘And . . . ?’

  ‘Nothing as yet, only a message from the council expressing sympathy and solidarity. Taxes are overdue, though.’

  ‘Koulis will try to assert its independence,’ Kargan said. ‘The dominions will find out. All of them. There are more spies in the palace than there are rats in the bazaar. It’s going to be difficult to hold on to the empire.’ His voice turned bitter. ‘They’ll find out we were defeated by a rabble of Galean barbarians.’

  ‘Lord Mydas says we must ready our forces for a punitive attack. Nothing must survive this time. We must raze their cities to the ground, and kill every man, woman, and child.’

  Kargan gave Haviar a shadow of a smile. ‘Have you ever killed a child, Lord Haviar?’

  The thin-lipped lord opened his mouth, blustering. ‘Their soldiers are no match for ours—’

  ‘It wasn’
t the question I asked, but it’s always simpler to answer a different one. Never mind.’ Kargan clapped his companion on the shoulder with a meaty palm. ‘I’ll save my words for Mydas.’

  ‘Lord Kargan, Overlord of the Fleet, Adviser to the—’ the steward making the announcement suddenly paused.

  ‘Never mind,’ Kargan said, grinning at the steward as he strode forward. ‘I’m sure you’ll stumble over that one for some time, unless our next ruler decides to call himself sun king also.’

  Mydas waited with his hands behind his back, his lips pursed and forehead creased as he watched Kargan approach. Solon’s brother was a heavyset man, with dark oily hair in ringlets and emotionless eyes. Gold rings glittered on his fingers and he wore a white silk robe with a golden belt. Glancing briefly at the nobleman’s feet, Kargan saw that he even had gold thread woven through his sandals.

  Mydas stood on the terrace, where he’d evidently been gazing at the river. He would have watched the Nexotardis draw near, and he’d had ample time to decide what approach he wanted to take with his late brother’s loyal commander. Kargan wasn’t surprised to see him acting as regent: Abbas, where he’d long governed, was Ilea’s second-largest city and an important center for commerce, particularly the slave trade. Mydas’s wealth flowed from the blood and tears of wretches.

  ‘My brother is dead, and you come at me with a smile,’ Mydas said. The grin faded from Kargan’s face; he knew he tended to say the wrong thing when he was around men who took themselves seriously, a trait Solon had eventually become accustomed to.

  ‘I wasn’t jesting about our ruler’s death,’ Kargan said flatly. ‘I was there when he died. I saw them carry his body down from the cliff, and I knew I would have no chance to retrieve it, not after what he ordered done to the king of Xanthos and his family.’

  ‘You sent word ahead,’ Mydas said, staring at Kargan with his dead eyes. ‘And I questioned some of your men. Not a single Ilean died defending him at the end.’