Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  ‘A multitude of Ileans died,’ Kargan growled. ‘The waters ran red, and piles of corpses spread over the land.’

  ‘But my brother was alone at that temple—’

  ‘He was alone because he left us. The eldran king convinced him to go with him to the temple, and Solon took his chance.’ Kargan spread his hands. ‘I’ve had a life full of accomplishments, and I can do many things, but I have yet to learn to fly.’

  Mydas nodded slowly. He watched Kargan for a while, pondering, and then spoke again. ‘You are aware that I am leading the empire until a new king is crowned?’

  ‘I’m aware, yes,’ Kargan said. ‘I’ll also say this. Your brother led Ilea into a golden age. I don’t want to see the empire fall apart. I’ll do my best to help Solon’s successor.’

  ‘We are in accord then,’ Mydas said. ‘The empire must remain whole and undivided. We need a show of strength.’

  Kargan pounded his fist into his palm. ‘Without a doubt. First, the Council of Five in Koulis. We should send a division—’

  ‘I won’t countenance sending any soldiers to Koulis,’ Mydas interrupted. ‘No, not while there is another, more pressing target. A target I would have thought to be close to your own heart.’ He looked out from the terrace, gazing north, in the direction of the Maltherean Sea. ‘You were humiliated, Lord Kargan.’ He turned to meet Kargan’s eyes. ‘Ilea was humiliated.’

  ‘There was a fire at the harbor,’ Kargan said. ‘We lost two-thirds of the fleet. Yet your brother wouldn’t wait. With repairs and time, we could have embarked with twice the numbers we did.’

  ‘Regardless,’ said Mydas, ‘our dominions will see only that we were defeated by Galean barbarians. You need to show that you, and by association Ilea, are still a force to be reckoned with. Only then can you be forgiven for your defeat. I will accept you in the role you performed for my brother, and recommend you to the future king, if you agree that our priority must be vengeance.’

  ‘Lord Mydas,’ Kargan said carefully. ‘I understand what you’re saying. But the next time we come they’ll be ready. It’s not the right moment to commit ourselves to another hasty attack, to war against a land far away in both distance and culture, when we’re sure to have problems closer to home. What we need to do is crown the new king quickly. Then we should lead the armies on a tour of the capitals.’

  ‘I thought you were a naval commander?’ Mydas murmured.

  ‘I command men.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mydas said. ‘At the moment you do.’

  Kargan frowned. ‘Let’s simply say we disagree. At any rate, Lord Mydas, the next move is for the king to decide. It is to be Caran, isn’t it?’

  ‘He is the eldest and heir,’ Mydas said, looking away.

  ‘Then . . .’

  ‘But I am not certain if he’s ready.’

  Kargan steadied himself with a slow breath, nostrils flaring. ‘This is a dangerous time for uncertainty.’

  ‘The empire’s finances are solid and our pride must be restored. I’m sure you’ve noticed the pyramid. I’ve ordered the gold to be coined.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘The priests now tell me that the pyramid does not require gold . . . They now say that the specifications Helios gave them were for a pyramid of yellow stone. Lord Kargan, my brother was foolhardy, but I am not. Prepare plans for another assault on Phalesia.’

  Kargan shook his head. ‘My men just went through hell, and I won’t order more of them to throw their lives away. I think I’ll wait for the new king.’ He gave a brief bow. ‘By your leave.’

  Mydas scowled, as Kargan turned on his heel.

  22

  The heavens rumbled, threatening rain; the gods were bickering. A full moon shone brightly overhead, but then became covered by sinuous clouds, speeding across in thick smears, darkening the night. Only a handful of stars clung to the horizon in the one place where the sky was clear.

  Shivering, Aristocles leaned forward and held his hands out to the coals, rubbing the palms together and bending forward until he was almost touching the low embers. This campsite was the worst so far. Close to the high road, with mountains on both sides, a cold wind blew constantly. With his back against a log and a blanket covering his raised knees, he glanced up at a second peal of thunder and prayed it wouldn’t rain.

  He glanced around, but this was a barren region of rock and gravel, with only a few sparse trees that were far too wretched to shelter under. If rain came, he and Amos would get wet; there was nothing they could do about it. He was weary of traveling and tired of living in fear, with days spent on horseback from sunup to sundown and nights lying by a fire that was warm when he went to sleep but cold as the grave when he woke with the dawn.

  Groaning as he reached over to the pile, he picked up a stout length of wood and hunched forward to throw it on the dying campfire.

  ‘Don’t,’ Amos said. Leaning back against his knapsack, his eyes opened, showing slits. ‘Keep the fire small.’

  Aristocles scowled, but he did as instructed and tossed the wood back where he’d found it. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

  ‘I am,’ Amos said, closing his eyes again. ‘You might want to try it sometime.’

  Aristocles contented himself with holding out his palms once more. Though his body was weary to the core, he wasn’t used to keeping these hours and still found his mind became active at night. He was accustomed to working late in his villa, hosting and attending symposiums, making plans with powerful men and seeking advice with the magi at the temples. To say he was having difficulty adjusting to the hardships of travel would be an understatement.

  But more than the comforts of home, he missed his daughters and worried about them constantly, praying daily to the gods that they were safe. He missed Sophia’s nagging questions and Chloe’s stern fussing. He promised himself that when he returned to Phalesia he would tell his daughters he loved them every day. Perhaps if the gods were especially kind, Nikolas would die gruesomely in some battle, hacked to pieces by howling Ileans.

  Nikolas had made his move because of the ark. No doubt it was gone now, and the prophecy of the Oracle would be fulfilled: the horn of Marrix would sound, plunging the world into yet another war between human and eldran. But crisis was the sire of opportunity. There would come a time when Aristocles could return to his city. All he needed was for Queen Zanthe of Tanus to offer him protection until that day.

  Amos suddenly sat bolt upright. Aristocles frowned and opened his mouth to query his companion, but then he heard footsteps crunching on the gravel.

  ‘Hello the campfire!’ a voice called out.

  A slim man walked out of the darkness. He had neat dark hair and a trimmed beard around his wide mouth. He wore a loose tunic and a sword hung on a scabbard from his waist, a thinner and longer weapon than the one Amos carried.

  The newcomer stood for a moment on the opposite side of the fire from Aristocles, looking at the two resting men, and then his weathered face broke out in a smile.

  ‘Friends,’ he said, his expression amicable and hands spread. ‘Mind if I join your fire? We aren’t far from Cinder Fen and you know how it is; everyone says that safety lies in numbers.’

  ‘Of course,’ Aristocles said. ‘There’s warmth for all.’

  ‘I thank you,’ the newcomer said. Stepping forward, he crouched at the coals and held out his hands in the same way Aristocles had been doing a moment ago.

  Aristocles glanced at Amos, seeing that he was leaning forward, staring at the newcomer intently. The newcomer didn’t sit down. Amos’s hand inched forward to the bow and arrow placed near his foot.

  ‘You aren’t going to sit?’ Aristocles asked. ‘Where is your pack?’

  ‘I didn’t want to bring my things over until I was sure I was welcome,’ the slim man said nonchalantly. He gazed directly at Aristocles. ‘Who are you, friend?’

  ‘I’m a merchant,’ Aristocles said. ‘Name of Nikandros.’ He nodded at Amos. ‘This is Graphos, my bodyguard.’

 
‘Your accent sounds Phalesian,’ he said.

  Aristocles smiled. ‘That’s because it is.’

  ‘What goods?’

  ‘No goods as yet,’ Aristocles said. ‘I’m buying a cargo and hiring a caravan in Tanus.’

  ‘And yourself?’ Amos challenged.

  The newcomer shrugged. ‘I’m from Sarsica. Also a bodyguard.’ He grinned at Amos. ‘Among other things.’

  The smile made Aristocles lean forward. His knees were still bent, covered by the blanket. His right hand began to pat the ground, searching. The next words Amos spoke caused a chill to race along his spine.

  ‘How about your companion?’ Amos asked, staring out into the darkness. ‘Why is he hiding back there?’

  ‘Look,’ the newcomer said, straightening and stretching. Ignoring Aristocles, he addressed his words to Amos. ‘There’s no need to make this difficult. We’ll share the bounty with you. Divide it in thirds. You can keep your horses and your silver. You don’t have to die. Just your white-haired friend.’ He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘I’m the best swordsman in Sarsica. Fought in the arena for three years. I’ve killed sixty-seven skilled swordsmen in combat. And’—he cocked his head—‘as you’ve realized, my friend has a bow trained on you.’

  ‘Gastraphetes,’ Amos said.

  The swordsman frowned, puzzled. ‘What—?’

  Amos rolled to the side as an arrow skewered the knapsack he’d been leaning against. Picking up his bow and arrow from the ground nearby, he aimed and fired, then discarded the bow and drew his sword, running out into the night.

  As the slim man immediately unsheathed his sword, Aristocles threw aside the blanket covering his knees. Fumbling on the ground, he picked up the loaded crossbow and pressed the stock tight against his shoulder in the way Amos had shown him. The swordsman’s face and chest were reddened by the low embers of the fire, outlined against the darkness, just a few paces away.

  Squeezing the lever, Aristocles fired. The string made a snapping sound and thrummed like a harp as the sharpened arrow shot out along the channel and flew through the air.

  The swordsman looked down at his chest. He coughed. The sword fell out of his fingers.

  The arrow sprouted from the center of his torso, just below his sternum and rib cage, unimpeded by armor or bone. Showing the whites of his eyes, his gaze met that of Aristocles.

  ‘This,’ Aristocles said, his back making a cracking sound as he climbed to his feet, ‘is a gastraphetes.’ He held up the complex weapon. ‘It’s extremely expensive, but I think you’ll agree that it’s worth its weight in gold.’

  ‘You . . .’ The swordsman coughed again, and this time red liquid sputtered from his lips. With every breath his lungs made a hoarse whining sound. ‘You’ve killed me.’

  The swordsman sank to his knees and then toppled forward. Amos appeared a moment later, glancing at the dead man and then at Aristocles, a bloody sword in his hand. ‘We have to go. I’ll ready the horses. Retrieve your arrow.’

  Aristocles grimaced. All this traveling and soldiering really didn’t agree with him.

  Aristocles shielded his eyes with one hand as he stood tall in the saddle, reins held loosely in his other hand.

  ‘There,’ he said, pointing. ‘See it in the distance?’

  The Phalesian Way continued to climb ahead, sinuous as a snake, passing between sharp peaks and under rocky overhangs. In every direction were unsurpassed views of wild valleys encircled by tall mountains. The ranges grew dark and forbidding in the south: in that direction lay Cinder Fen, where wildren roamed, a place Aristocles had no desire to visit in his lifetime. The northern lands were just as dangerous, home to a bewildering array of barbaric tribesmen. Aristocles was pointing west.

  ‘Those tiers . . . Is that farmland?’ Amos asked.

  ‘Look higher up,’ Aristocles instructed. ‘See the plateau? You can make out the city walls. That’s where we’re heading.’

  Amos whistled. ‘Now that’s what I call defensible.’

  ‘It would have to be, out here. Tanus still fends off wildren attacks regularly enough to have an evening curfew. And then there are the northmen to contend with.’ He sat back down in the saddle. ‘Still, they’ve found their place. They mine iron and copper, and grow wheat and barley.’ He smiled at his companion. ‘I hope you like goat.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘It’s closer than it looks.’

  Amos turned in the saddle to glance behind them. ‘Good,’ he said. He raised his voice. ‘We’ve got company!’

  Amos kicked his horse forward and Aristocles followed suit, glancing behind even as his mount picked up pace. He saw them immediately, six warriors on horseback, far down the winding road but already galloping. Then he was forced to face front and lean forward in the saddle as he felt the smooth motion of a canter shift pace when Amos’s gelding moved into a gallop and Aristocles’ mare followed suit. Gripping on for dear life, he tried to steer his horse around the rocks and other obstacles that littered the road. The right-hand side suddenly dropped away in a sheer precipice and the two riders now galloped in single file, with Amos in the lead and Aristocles following close behind.

  A rocky hillside rose along the left, a slope that spilled gravel over the road. Aristocles winced as Amos charged straight into the rubble, his larger horse’s hooves skittering over the loose stones before reaching the other side of the spill. Aristocles’ mare ran into the treacherous patch a moment later and at any moment he expected her to trip, her leg breaking underneath him. The horse whinnied and slipped. Aristocles gripped on for dear life, glancing in terror at the plummet to his right-hand side.

  Then they were through and the road widened once more. Now it was Amos’s mount who was flagging, burdened by his armor and heavier frame, and Aristocles drew alongside. Amos’s face was grim, his jaw set as he spurred his galloping horse forward.

  Aristocles glanced over his shoulder. He drew in a sharp breath.

  The six riders were just a few hundred paces behind. Nikolas had played his hand but left a loose end; the assassins had come to finish what he’d started.

  Cold wind howled and stung Aristocles’ eyes. The pursuers reached the section of loose gravel and charged through. At Aristocles’ right hand the precipice revealed farmland, steps of irrigated fields one on top of the other. Even though he tried to face forward and focus on the uncertain terrain, he found himself looking back over his shoulder at the assassins. The distance had narrowed to a hundred paces.

  ‘Look!’ Amos cried.

  Ahead a wall of black stone stretched across the road to fill the space between two mountains. The road reached two broad gates of dark wood, banded with metal, standing wide open. Continuing their mad dash, Aristocles and Amos galloped directly for the gates.

  At the last, Aristocles heard a shout and turned back to see the six riders draw up while still far from the wide entrance. The assassins watched in silence as he and Amos entered the city of Tanus.

  23

  Dion backed away slowly, reluctant to take his eyes away from the giant even for the briefest instant. The wildran moved inexorably toward him, clenching and unclenching fists, lank silver hair greasy on its scalp, bare chest covered in scars, teeth gnashing.

  The sand near the water was firm underfoot, but he knew that if he turned and began to run the giant would run also, and having seen the creatures’ speed in the past he knew he would never outdistance it. He also had to be careful that he wasn’t pinned against the sea. He wasn’t sure if a giant could swim, but he had no desire to find out.

  His fumbling fingers reached over his shoulder, finally clasping on an arrow, and without taking his eyes off the looming giant he slid the arrow out of the quiver and nocked it to the string of his composite bow. He took a deep breath and prepared to draw, aim, and fire.

  The giant suddenly roared at him. Arms outstretched, ready to grab and tear him limb from limb, the wildran lunged forward. Dion leaped back out of its rea
ch, still trying to face it head on and resist the temptation to flee, but the movement caused his busy hands to drop the arrow. He cursed silently as he continued to back away. The giant’s foot crunched down on the arrow a moment later, snapping it like a twig.

  He felt over his shoulder for the next arrow and his heart went into his mouth when his fingers grasped at emptiness. Staying alive in Cinder Fen had taken its toll on his supply of arrows. There weren’t any left.

  He took a deep breath, wondering if he could sprint to a place farther up where the cliff met the water’s edge and climb to safety. He prepared to make the mad dash that would most likely end with his death.

  When the giant roared again, he put his head down and ran.

  The bow was awkward in his hand, so he tossed it to the side, throwing it as far as he could. Completely unarmed, he opened up his stride and bunched his fists, spurring on every bit of speed he could, muscles honed by hunting with the eldren in the Wilds and running with Zachary. He was the fittest he had ever been, yet he also knew that this was no bear chasing him.

  It was a wildran, hungering for his flesh.

  Heavy footsteps pounded on the beach just behind as the giant picked up speed. Rasping breath came louder than the crash of the surf on the shore. He could feel its panting, hot on his neck. His back itched as he waited for the blow that would knock him from his feet and send him flying through the air to lie in a crumpled heap. The giant would rip off an arm or leg while he was still alive; it was their preferred method of killing and eating. His heart would still be beating when it devoured his limbs. He would die only when his lifeblood drained away.

  Huge fingers scraped against Dion’s back and he nearly cried out, but used the fear to call greater effort from his body. It was too late now to plunge into the nearby sea. When the water slowed his passage the creature would be on him.

  The snap of wings suddenly joined the sound of the giant’s heavy footfalls. Looking up, Dion saw a dragon plummet through the sky, claws outstretched and muscles rippling. Veined wings the size of sails rose and fell as the reptilian jaws parted. With incredible speed the silver-scaled dragon swooped directly at Dion, approaching so swiftly that he had no choice but to throw himself forward, diving onto the sand and covering his head with his hands.