Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He gave me his word. I ended the line of Solon. I have no regrets. I hope Solon’s soul screamed from the lowest level of hell when I killed his sons.’

  Kargan shook his head. ‘Javid, I’m glad you had your revenge. Solon was cruel. He did terrible things. And the sons were the worst parts of their father. But I also have to tell you that Mydas is as bad, if not worse.’

  Javid’s shoulders slumped. Kargan relaxed the pressure of his sword on the assassin’s throat.

  It was a deception.

  The warrior suddenly whirled, moving around the sword. He placed a hand on Kargan’s wrist. Pain flared in the joint and despite every desire to keep a grip on the hilt Kargan’s fingers went numb.

  When it was over, Kargan stepped back, hands held high, and Javid now held the sword, with the point weaving between them like a deadly snake preparing to strike.

  ‘You are all liars,’ Javid said. ‘I will kill you, and then I will kill Mydas also.’

  Kargan swallowed. ‘Wait, Javid. Think before you act. Has Mydas asked you to kill anyone besides me?’

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘Then you’re a dead man. They’ll scour Lamara until they find you. And don’t think you’ll ever get close to Mydas. As soon as you come anywhere near the palace your fate will make that of your brother look merciful. Solon was cruel, but his younger brother is far more creative. His wealth comes from the slave trade, and he’s had plenty of opportunity to experiment.’

  As Javid pondered, Kargan seized his opportunity.

  ‘Javid, listen to me. Lamara is not safe, not for either of us. There is only one thing we can both do. Leave. Right now. Together.’

  Javid’s broad face curled up into a frown. ‘You want me to leave with you?’

  ‘Mydas wants me dead. I could use a bodyguard, and your future is looking about as bright as mine. You obviously know your way around a sword.’

  ‘Where do you plan to go?’

  ‘Koulis,’ Kargan said. ‘The city’s declared independence but there’s a sizeable Ilean population. I can be useful to the council. Have you ever been to Koulis?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s ruled by a council. No king.’ Kargan smiled. ‘You’d like it.’

  Javid spoke with determination, still holding the blade leveled at Kargan. ‘If I serve you, I want you to know that I expect you to be truthful at all times, as the god Helios says all men must be.’

  ‘Serve me, and help me survive the coming days, and I’ll always be fair with you.’

  Javid lowered the sword. ‘We have an agreement.’

  28

  Vendors shrieked at passers-by, each man or woman trying to outdo the others with the volume and pitch of their calls. The hawkers were like flocks of birds, descending en masse to engulf everyone who entered the market. The Sarsicans ignored them, pushing through and making it clear there was nothing they could be tempted into purchasing, while the strangers to the city apologized for their rudeness and made empty promises to return later.

  Dion grimaced. The noise stunned his senses, and the smells were stronger still, forcing him to breathe through his mouth as he walked. For a time he could concentrate on nothing except making his way through the crowd, eyes carefully straight ahead, ignoring the brightly colored spices and lengths of cloth as he focused on reaching the less popular parts of the market where the crowd began to thin. He clutched his satchel; within it was the gemstone-filled pouch Eiric had given him at Cinder Fen. His dark expression told thieves to beware.

  He was navigating the Myana Silver River Market, reputed to be the largest market in all of Galea. Some said it was named because it was a place where silver flowed like water, others pointed out that, less romantically, the market lined both banks of the Silver River, the Sarsican capital’s main watercourse. From what Dion had seen earlier, even the river’s name was poorly given; the water was more brown than silver, and rather than being bright or shining it was filled with a floating array of refuse.

  The market was long rather than wide, snaking along with the river, lining both banks. Decrepit wooden bridges enabled people to cross from one side to the other, rickety structures that threatened to tumble into the dirty water with every footstep. It was busiest close to the harbor city’s port, where the river emptied into the sea, and Dion had left the Calypso there, tied up to the quay, not far from the section of fishmongers and chandlers.

  Finally away from the crowds, he paused to breathe freely and regain his bearings. He’d visited the Silver River Market before, but it was large enough that every visit was a repeat of the first, with a confusion of stalls selling a bewildering array of items. Perhaps a Sarsican could find his way around, but to Dion there was no order to it at all.

  He was now standing between two long files of cloth tents, places where people could trade and discuss business in privacy, away from the scorching sun. He had a purpose for coming to the rambling market’s far end where the lanes were quieter.

  The gemstones in the leather pouch, sold wisely, would provide him with enough money to travel on for months. For the first time in his life he would make his own way in the world, alone. The thought was both liberating and filled him with anxiety. He didn’t know what fate the gods held in store for him but he had a boat and soon he would have a pouch of silver coins, provided, of course, he met the right merchant.

  But Dion didn’t know where to go, and so he planned to visit a soothsayer.

  He had never been to a Sarsican soothsayer before, but Cob, his old sailing master, had told him that, although they often spoke in riddles, every member of their order had sworn an oath to never lie. Unlike the magi, they were a group consisting entirely of women and were consulted for knowledge rather than prophecy, imparting wisdom in addition to paying well for valuable information. Their fees for consultation could be exorbitant, but as a stranger in these parts Dion decided it would be worth the cost to learn the name of a merchant he could trust to sell his gems to.

  Scanning each tent as he passed, he wondered which of them might house a soothsayer. There were markings on the woven mats at each covered doorway and he recognized the patterns that designated the sellers of olive oil, foodstuffs, ceramics, and weapons. But there were too many patterns he didn’t know. When he’d represented Xanthos on trading missions he’d always had Cob with him to help. He still had a lot to learn if he was going to make his way in the world.

  He remembered Anoush, the orphan guide who had helped him survive the streets of Lamara. Passing a street urchin, a curly-haired youth in a ragged tunic roughly the same age, Dion called out.

  ‘Lad,’ he said. ‘Where can I find a soothsayer?’

  The youth tilted his head back to look up at him. His sunken cheeks and thin arms made Dion wonder when he’d last eaten. ‘You’re in the wrong place.’

  Dion frowned. He was sure Cob once said that the soothsayers were on the left bank of the river, toward the back of the market. He made a decision. He didn’t have any money now, but he would. ‘Will you guide me? I’ll buy you dinner when I’m done.’

  The skinny youth’s eyes lit up. ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Lead the way.’

  The street urchin took him between two of the tents, crossing another row, weaving confidently through the crowds, heading straight for the murky river. They arrived at a decrepit bridge where a dozen people waited their turn to cross: laborers in dirty smocks, richly dressed merchants in colorful tunics, and women with baskets held in the crooks of their elbows. Each waited impatiently as the next in line, a burly mason clutching a hammer and chisel, stepped onto the precarious planking. The mason grimaced and made silent prayers for the structure to hold.

  An old crone tried to push her way on next but a washerwoman grabbed her arm. ‘There’s a line!’ she growled.

  Finally it was Dion’s turn. He followed the youth across, feeling every shake of the bridge until he’d crossed to the Silver
River’s far side. The youth beckoned him forward to where the rocky bank climbed to even more clusters of tents, but these were haphazard and the people passing by poorly dressed. Weaving through another file of stalls, Dion followed his guide to a ragged tent of sun-bleached cloth.

  The youth stopped outside the tent. ‘Someone for the soothsayer!’ he called.

  Hearing a rustling sound from within, Dion thought about the questions he would ask. It wasn’t just help with the gemstones he wanted; he would take the opportunity to learn what he could about the ancient Aleutheans and their golden ark. Sarsica bordered the Aleuthean Sea and was once close to their island civilization. Sailing along Sarsica’s southern coast, Dion had once passed a crumbling ruin where there were dozens of obelisks so tall that they towered as high as the sun king’s pyramid in Lamara.

  ‘Enter!’ a woman’s reedy voice called.

  The youth nodded, and Dion parted the cloth to step inside.

  The ceiling was low and he was forced to stoop as the cloth flaps fell back behind him, plunging the interior into darkness. He saw cushions and a low table, revealed by the cracks of light in the walls. A veiled woman covered in a shawl from head to toe sat at the back of the tent facing him. Only a slit at her eyes enabled him to gather any sense of her appearance.

  ‘Sit,’ she said, moving her body to motion, so covered by cloth that he only caught a flash of pale skin at her hand.

  Dion made himself comfortable among the cushions. He met her stare, reminding himself that a soothsayer could never lie. ‘Can I trust you?’ he asked.

  Her voice was distinctive, thin and high-pitched, with an odd lilt. ‘I am a soothsayer. In the names of all the gods, I swear to you I cannot lie. Of course I can be trusted. But first’—she waved her arm at the table—‘we must discuss payment for my services.’

  Dion reached into his satchel and felt for the leather pouch. He withdrew a single gem, a wine-red stone the size of a pea, and placed it on the table. ‘Will this do?’

  He saw another glimpse of white skin as the soothsayer picked up the gem and held it up to her eye with long, slender fingers. A moment later the gem disappeared inside her voluminous clothing.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, moving her head up and down. Her voice broke and she coughed. ‘Tell me, traveler, what knowledge do you seek?’

  ‘I want to ask about the ancient Aleutheans,’ Dion said.

  ‘And what is it you wish to know?’

  ‘The golden ark is older than Phalesia itself. It was built by King Palemon to contain the horn of Marrix. My first question is: how did the ark make its way to its final home?’

  The soothsayer paused for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. ‘The story is known, here in Sarsica as well as in places far from here. When Marrix, vengeful king of the eldren, caused the Aleuthean island to sink beneath the waves, leaving behind nothing more than the field of jagged rocks known as the Lost Souls, not all Aleutheans died in that one moment.’

  Dion frowned. ‘Go on.’

  ‘They fled on their mighty ships, the like of which we have never seen again. But Marrix had planned for this, and began to destroy the survivors, for the sea was his element. So the Aleutheans used their magic to scatter their ships. One ship in particular carried something purported to be a magical relic. You already know what this item was.’

  ‘The golden ark,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ the soothsayer said. ‘The golden ark. The ship that carried the relic became separated from the rest of the fleet. Driven by the storm, it struck shore and broke up, in what we now call Galean lands. The survivors were attacked by local tribesmen. Some died, some fled, and we must assume that the tribesmen captured the ark. These people, the first Phalesians, rose to prominence and conquered the other tribes. Their priests became custodians of the ark and said it must never be opened. Declaring it to be a sacred vessel of the god Aldus, they placed it on the hill.’

  Dion had speculated, but it was comforting hearing the words spoken by someone who had sworn to never lie. ‘What of the other Aleutheans? The people on the ships?’

  ‘They were never seen again,’ the soothsayer said. ‘Legend says that one day they may return.’ Her thin voice became wry. ‘Or they may not.’

  Dion nodded. For people who spoke in riddles, this particular soothsayer was being quite forthright. ‘Finally,’ he said. ‘Who should I trust to sell these to?’

  He took out the pouch of gems and spilled them into his palm. When he looked up again at the hunched woman, he saw a captivated gleam in her eyes.

  The soothsayer cleared her throat. ‘You can trust Gilgud the jeweler,’ she said. ‘He will give you a fair price.’

  ‘How can I find him?’

  ‘In the city, there is a wide avenue that leads to the Temple of Silex.’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘Halfway along the street is a marble statue of the sea god standing in a pool of water. Facing the statue, look to your left, and there is a narrow street. Follow this to the end, and you will come to a house with an iron chain hanging on a post. Here you will find Gilgud.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Dion said. He poured the gemstones back into the pouch and stood. As he exited the tent, the soothsayer was once again holding the wine-colored jewel up to her eye.

  Dion swiftly found the statue of the god Silex, scowling and holding his trident. He turned, immediately seeing the narrow street. He was pleased, feeling confident in the soothsayer’s directions: he was in a wealthy part of the city, a place where the houses were grand and city folk well dressed, and had already passed three jewelers on his way.

  He entered the lane and with tall structures on both sides he felt immediate relief from the bright sunlight – Myana was even hotter than Xanthos and the summer was proving to be one of the driest in memory. A straight length of cobbled stones led him past a row of two-storied houses and he saw children in clean white tunics playing in the street, rolling stones and chasing after them as they called out to each other in high-pitched shrieks. A matronly woman beat a mat with a stick, sending clouds of dust into the air.

  Nodding at the woman, he continued along the street, realizing it was longer than he’d thought it would be. Leaving behind the children and the proud houses, he saw that the character of the area was changing, with more mud-brick dwellings and then no houses at all, just high walls on both sides. He passed an intersecting alley and glanced left and right. The area was empty, devoid of people. He glanced over his shoulder and wondered if he’d missed the house with the iron chain at its gate. Perhaps he should turn back . . .

  As he walked back and stood at the intersection, he glanced down every street. The soothsayer’s directions hadn’t mentioned any turns. Rubbing his chin, he decided to head back to where he’d seen the children playing.

  Suddenly a rush of heavy footsteps clattered, the sound bouncing off the walls, making it difficult to know where the noise was coming from.

  Dion whirled, looking into all four possible directions. His heart hammered in his chest. He couldn’t see the source of the sound anywhere.

  It was definitely time to leave.

  Taking a deep breath, scanning in front and behind as he walked, he hurried now, eager to be away from the area. He slipped his bow off his shoulder and fumbled for the arrows in his quiver even as he increased speed.

  A man-sized shape peeled from the wall behind him.

  Fear gripping his chest, he whirled to face the cloaked and hooded figure. There was movement on his other side.

  Something hard cracked into the back of his skull with the strength of a horse’s kick.

  Pain burst inside his head. He sank into unconsciousness.

  29

  Agonizing starbursts exploded inside Dion’s skull. He groaned and opened his eyes but could see only darkness. Groggy, incapacitated, he was being moved, manhandled like an animal being prepared for slaughter.

  The pain radiating from the back of his head made it difficult to think.
His stomach churned; he thought he was going to be sick.

  He was thrown heavily against a curved floor of hard wood and with the nauseating motion he felt himself sinking into unconsciousness once more. Fighting the sensation, feeling the pain slowly ebb, he tried to focus on his sight and hearing, to gain some appreciation of what was happening to him. Enough awareness returned that he realized he was blindfolded, and it must be nighttime, for he couldn’t see the faintest glimmer of light. Feeling an up-and-down movement and smelling the fresh salty scent of the sea, he heard a scraping sound of wood against wood, and had enough experience on the water to know he was in a rowing boat. His captors had tossed him into the bottom like a sack of grain; his arms were pinned under his body and already numb; his wrists were tied tightly together.

  He groaned again.

  ‘Enough of that,’ a curt voice muttered. ‘No one’s going to hear you.’

  The rolling of the sea under the boat grew stronger and suddenly the boat went up a crest and then slammed into the following wave. Dion’s head smacked hard into wood, the detonation of pain almost causing him to black out again.

  The curt voice spoke again. ‘Rocks coming up. Be careful.’

  ‘You act like I’ve never done this before,’ a softer male voice said.

  ‘Woah!’

  A wave threw the boat forward and timber scraped along stone.

  ‘It’s fine,’ the soft voice said. ‘We’re through.’

  The boat’s motion calmed and Dion heard the splashing of water against a rocky shore. Soon there was hardly any movement at all, the silence broken only by the smooth slipping of the oar blades in and out of the water. Sand crunched under the hull and there were two successive splashes as the boat’s occupants jumped into the water. The pair pulled the vessel up a beach, grunting at each other as the man with the curt voice muttered irritated commands at the owner of the softer voice.

  ‘Right,’ the sharp-voiced man barked. ‘Let’s get him out of the boat.’

  One of the captors re-entered the boat to haul Dion up by his armpits, lifting him with an effort and passing him to his companion outside. They struggled with Dion’s weight and he fell, blind and numb, relieved when sand, rather than rock, braced his fall.