Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  This captain needed to be cowed.

  ‘Ramming speed!’ Dion bellowed.

  Putting everything they could into one final burst of effort, the oarsmen doubled their efforts to match the galloping rhythm of the drum. If the Dauntless was traveling swiftly before, it was now racing over the waves, heading directly for the exposed side of its quarry.

  ‘Are you sure—?’ Jax said, speaking so that only Dion could hear him.

  ‘They’ll see the danger,’ Dion said, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt.

  The distance between the two vessels narrowed to a hundred paces, and then halved again. Just as they came within striking range of the enemy archers a white flag sped to the top of the mast and the merchant ship heeled over, heading into the wind to bleed speed.

  ‘Back with oars! Slow us down!’ Dion cried.

  The gap shrank to thirty paces and then ten. With a gentle nudge the ram touched the sailing ship under the waterline, grazing against it but no more. Jax let out a pent-up breath of relief as his shoulders slumped. His face broke out in his characteristic broad smile as he shook his head from side to side.

  While the oars came in and the two ships made fast, Dion crossed the deck to peer at the rest of the fleet, seeing that they had the other merchant vessels in hand. The top deck of the Dauntless was already filling as men climbed up from the rowing decks. Jax drew the sword he wore at his waist, raising it into the air, forming the crew into a boarding party.

  ‘Free the slaves and seize the plunder!’ Jax roared.

  The pirates cheered and followed their leader as Dion checked over his ship one last time and then joined them, leaping from one ship to the next in a single bound. The merchantman had two decks, an open deck for the passengers and crew and a cargo hold accessed through a sunken hatch near the mainmast. Dozens of barrels were tied together in the bow, and a pair of bare-chested sailors manned the headsail with a further four standing by the mast.

  ‘Remain in your places!’ Gideon leveled a curved sword at the vessel’s occupants as he took charge of the ship, glaring at everyone he encountered until every set of eyes was downcast. ‘Take their weapons,’ he instructed a pair of boarders, who disarmed the archers bunched near the gunwale.

  He then bellowed to the ship in general.

  ‘You are in the presence of the Free Men! Forget what you may have learned about us, we are tough but fair. We work to liberate the oppressed and to end persecution. This takes money! We will seize your goods where they will be used to help our cause. Your ship’—Gideon glanced back at Jax, who shook his head—‘will sail you home when we are done. Any man or woman who wishes to join us may do so, and any slave who provides proof of being beaten will have justice meted out to the scoundrel who did it. Stay calm, stay quiet, and this will all be over soon.’

  Meanwhile Jax ran his eyes over the occupants, taking in the skinny sailors – obviously slaves – and muttering under his breath. He crossed to a well-dressed officer, a short bearded man in a blue tunic. ‘Where is your captain?’

  The bearded officer lifted a shaking hand to indicate the ship’s stern, the direction Gideon was already heading in. As Jax looked up, Dion saw Gideon stop in his tracks and then call back in his deep voice.

  ‘Jax, Andion. You should see this.’

  Exchanging glances, the pair left their captives under the watchful eyes of the boarding party as they headed to the far end of the ship, where a large square of white cloth placed for shade blocked their view.

  Dion and Jax reached the vessel’s stern, joining Gideon, and immediately stopped and stared.

  A statuesque middle-aged woman with henna-dyed hair streaked with gray sat on a carpet, resting against a pile of embroidered cushions. She was olive-skinned and wore a white silk chiton belted with braided leather woven with gold, and there was even gold thread in the sandals she wore on her feet. She wore more jewels than any woman Dion had ever encountered: half a dozen earrings on each ear, a heavy necklace, and gaudy rings on every finger.

  Two slaves, emaciated youths both of them, fanned her with woven palm fronds, moving ceaselessly, despite the situation. Even as they stared with terrified eyes at the three pirates, the boys still didn’t pause; the thin scars on their bare shoulders told of their training.

  But it wasn’t the sight of the woman’s wealth or even the slaves that caused the three pirates to take pause. It was the body of the well-dressed man sprawled on the deck three feet from the carpet’s edge, dead eyes staring, limbs akimbo, throat displaying a wide gash. The woman still held the hilt of the bloody dagger in her hand that she’d used to do the deed. She looked down at the blade and then up to meet Jax’s eyes. She smiled.

  Jax glanced at the boys. ‘Stop. Now,’ he ordered.

  It said something of the dark-eyed woman’s power over her slaves that they glanced at her before she finally nodded.

  ‘The captain?’ Jax raised an eyebrow.

  ‘He was,’ she answered scornfully.

  ‘Do you know who you are speaking with?’ Gideon growled. ‘This is Jax, king of the Free Men.’

  ‘I know who you are.’ The woman glared up at Jax, who was toying with his moustache as he regarded her. ‘It is too late for apologies, he will take your head. But perhaps, just perhaps, if you let me go, I can persuade him that you don’t need to die in agony.’

  Jax simply continued to tweak the hair on his upper lip.

  ‘Who will?’ Dion looked from Jax to the dark-eyed woman.

  ‘My husband.’

  ‘Your husband?’ Gideon asked.

  ‘Mercilles, highest lord of Koulis,’ she said haughtily, glaring up at Gideon. ‘The most powerful man in the world.’

  ‘Not powerful enough it seems,’ Jax said with a smile. ‘Tell me, lady, how long have the two of you been married? You know who I am, but I’m afraid to say that I don’t even know your name . . . ?’

  When she didn’t answer, Gideon walked over to one of the slave boys and bent down. His lips parted to display even, white teeth – the first time Dion had seen him smile – and he spoke in a surprisingly kind voice. ‘My young friend. What is her name?’

  ‘Lady . . . Lady Fatima.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Gideon said. ‘You don’t need to fear us. Rest assured. Your life is about to get much better.’

  ‘Lady Fatima,’ Jax said, now brisk and businesslike. ‘Where were you heading? What is your cargo?’

  ‘Gold,’ she said shortly.

  ‘We have Mercilles’ gold?’ Jax asked her.

  ‘No!’ she spat. ‘My gold.’

  Jax glanced at Dion, who shrugged. ‘Best never to try to understand another man’s marriage.’

  ‘You have the right of it there,’ Jax said, shaking his head as he came to a decision. ‘She’s coming with us.’ He gave her a curt order. ‘Lady, fetch whatever belongings you will need from your vessel.’

  Lifting her nose, she left her cushions and Gideon escorted her back to the middle of the ship. Dion passed the boys over to the Dauntless and saw Gideon with Fatima as she imperiously pointed at the hatch leading to the cargo hold. ‘I need to go in there,’ she said.

  ‘Arman,’ Gideon instructed a young sailor with his first growth of beard. ‘Go with her. Don’t let her out of your sight.’

  Dion began to organize the passage of cargo from ship to ship as the sullen woman and her escort disappeared into the lower hold. Gideon moved from one barrel to the next, opening lids and sniffing.

  ‘Fragrant oil,’ Gideon told Jax. ‘The kind the priests burn in the temples. Expensive.’

  ‘You hear that men?’ Jax called. ‘Gold and oil. Good spoils!’

  Word passed around and soon everyone was grinning, taking over the cargo to store in the hold of the Dauntless. Dion joined in, carrying a barrel and handing it up to the arms reaching over the gap. He saw Fatima exit the hatchway to the hold and approach him with a bundle in her arms and her head held high.

  ‘I a
m ready,’ she stated.

  Dion ordered the crewmen to pull the ships close with the boarding ropes, and soon a dozen red-faced men were holding the two vessels tightly together until Mercilles’ wife had made it across. Finally she was over and they were able to release, leaving the gap to increase again.

  But as she glanced back from the Dauntless, leaving Jax, Gideon, Dion, and the boarding party still on the merchant vessel, Dion saw a calculating look on her face. It was a strange expression she wore, an evil glint of triumph.

  ‘Wait,’ Dion said. He waved at Gideon. ‘Where’s Arman?’

  Gideon’s eyes widened. Jax, standing close to Dion with a barrel in his arms, let it fall to the deck.

  ‘My gold,’ Fatima cried from the deck of the Dauntless.

  Dion suddenly smelled an overpowering odor. It was so sweet it was almost rancid, an oily blend of rose, lavender, and rosemary, all mixed into a sickening melange. Another, sharper smell grew stronger: the unmistakable stench of smoke.

  ‘Abandon ship!’ Dion roared. ‘Into the water! Now!’

  Not waiting a moment longer, he charged into Jax, the closest man to him, and encircled his waist with his arms. Carrying them both off the ship’s gunwale, high above the sea, for a moment they were out in the void before they crashed into the water with a mighty splash. Immediately both Dion and Jax sank under the surface.

  Fire engulfed the merchant ship, detonations shattering the vessel in ever-increasing explosions. Every time the fire reached a quantity of oil it burst to twice the size. When the sails caught they added to the blaze, and the gusting wind that skimmed across the sea fanned the flames higher than the top of the mast.

  Eyes shut tightly, Jax tried to head for the surface but Dion was a strong swimmer, and looking up, he saw that directly above their head the ship was already a raging inferno. He pulled the tall man along under the water, arms paddling and legs kicking to swim them both clear, and now Jax was swimming with him, wide eyes staring above as he realized what was happening.

  Finally they were clear and Dion and Jax both shot to the surface, bursting to the top and sucking in air. Tossed around by the big waves of the open sea, they could nonetheless see what was happening.

  The broken merchantman was half submerged, but the strong wind had already carried the flames from one vessel to the next. Dion watched in horror as the Dauntless burned and men threw themselves off the deck.

  It took a long time for the fleet to pick up the survivors.

  Dion and Jax were among the last men to be rescued. Cob had dived clear, and all the men on the bireme who could swim had plunged into the water and escaped the inferno. In the confusion, their captive, Lady Fatima, the wife of Mercilles of Koulis, almost swam free of pursuit, but they picked her up last of all. She freely admitted to poking Arman’s eyes out with her thumbs and then starting the fire in a hold full of oil. She smiled as she reminded them that her husband would torture them slowly.

  Jax ordered her to be placed in chains.

  Every face was grim as the fleet then set a course for Fort Liberty. Scores of the Free Men had drowned or burned, and among them was Gideon.

  40

  Ten days after fleeing Tanus, Aristocles and Amos were in the trade city of Koulis, waiting at the entrance to the grove of trees that the Council of Five called a lyceum. They were travel worn and dusty, having entered the city gates with the rising sun on their backs. They no longer had gold for gifts, and the prices at the guest houses were eye-watering. Once again Aristocles would be asking for help.

  Waiting anxiously, glancing at Amos, Aristocles told himself that this time the gods would smile on them. After all, they’d made it across the Waste. The dryness of the place and the nearby presence of Cinder Fen made the crossing perilous, but they finally had some luck. The walled fort above the valley was deserted; the eldren gone.

  The two travelers had explored the strange stockade on its hill, isolated deep in the Waste, but neither had wanted to spend the night. After filling their skins at the trickling river they’d swiftly mounted up and moved on. Aristocles was surprised: he’d only been familiar with the eldren who lived in the Village in the Wilds, and hadn’t known them to build permanent structures. He and Amos had exchanged theories as to its purpose – and Triton’s present whereabouts – but they left the fort bemused.

  At any rate, Aristocles had more pressing issues on his mind. His temporary exile was beginning to feel permanent. His only hopes lay with the coming audience, but he knew the Council of Five had accepted his request more out of curiosity than anything else. They knew of Phalesia, of course: there had once been close ties between the two cities.

  But Phalesia was far away. In this region Ilea was dominant.

  As he waited for the guards to call them forward, Aristocles contrasted this lyceum with the huge rectangular structure in Phalesia where he’d led the Assembly of Consuls. He felt homesick more than at any other time of his life.

  ‘You can go through now, lord.’ The nearest soldier finally beckoned. ‘Your man can wait here.’

  Amos scowled but Aristocles placed a hand on his arm. ‘It’s fine. This won’t be like Tanus. They just want to know why I’m here.’

  The guards parted to allow him through, and Aristocles gathered the folds of his consul’s dusty tunic, lifting his chin and straightening his back. The tall trees around him swayed on both sides, shading the path from the sun. The inner pair of guards also nodded for him to pass.

  Aristocles took a deep breath and approached the circular stone structure, slowly climbing the steps. Reaching the summit, he approached five men in white tunics, seated at five high-backed chairs in a row, with the centermost chair slightly taller than the others.

  ‘Aristocles, first consul of Phalesia,’ the shrunken lord sitting on the taller chair said. ‘Do I have that right?’

  Aristocles had never met Lothar, the ruling seat in the Council of Five. He was ancient, at least seventy years old, with gray hair and skin like a wrinkled prune, but the look in his narrowed eyes was far from the rheumy gaze of a befuddled old man. The heavy silver medallion at his throat displaying two fish entwined told Aristocles that this was a man who valued commerce over power for its own sake. He stored the knowledge away for future reference.

  ‘You do,’ Aristocles said. ‘And . . . how do I address you?’

  ‘Lord? By name?’ Lothar shrugged. ‘I really don’t care.’ He rapped his claw-like fingers on the arm of his chair. ‘Now, we know about your Assembly of Consuls, and you tell us you are the first among your fellows, but why not send word of your visit? Or if time did not permit, where is your retinue?’

  Aristocles cleared his throat. ‘You arrive straight at the purpose of my visit, lord. I’ve come because I have been usurped as first consul of Phalesia. I still have the support of the people, and of the Assembly of Consuls, but my homeland has fallen under the dominance of the king of Xanthos.’

  ‘Nikolas, is that right?’ the high-browed lord on Lothar’s left said.

  ‘Yes, that is correct.’

  The same man frowned. ‘But is he not the same Nikolas who saved your city from the sun king’s forces?’

  Aristocles’ lips thinned. ‘His late arrival enabled us to throw back the Ilean forces, it is true, but it was the soldiers of Phalesia who held off the brunt of the assault. As a result we lost more than we would have if our ally had come to our timely aid.’ He turned to Lothar once more. ‘I once thought to strengthen the ties between us . . . Nikolas tarried because he was burying his wife and son, and at the end, he did come. I even pledged my beloved daughter Chloe to become his wife.’

  Aristocles stopped speaking for a moment, wondering if his daughters were safe.

  ‘I now know better,’ he finally continued. ‘When matters came to a head, and Nikolas saw that the Assembly would vote against his own desire, he instituted a change by force of arms. In the night he killed many of my colleagues – murdered them. I’ve been lucky
to escape with my life.’

  ‘And what do you want from us?’ a plump lord at Lothar’s right asked.

  ‘I seek your support in restoring independence to Phalesia. A few ships and a small force would allow me to return to my home, where I can forestall any plans Nikolas has of becoming king of Phalesia. I want to resume my rightful place.’

  Aristocles didn’t mention the events at Tanus. Queen Zanthe had chosen her side, and with the size of Nikolas’s army increased, Nikolas might even now be on his way to Koulis to give Lothar the same choice he’d given her.

  ‘We will discuss it,’ Lothar said. When Aristocles still didn’t move, he raised an eyebrow. ‘Anything else?’

  Aristocles bowed. ‘I need lodgings and food. I am a nobleman, exiled from my country. When I have my position restored, I will repay any kindness with interest.’

  ‘You shall have your needs met while we deliberate,’ Lothar said. ‘But remember, Aristocles, Phalesia is far away, and we have our own problems with Ilea. If you have another course of action, I suggest you pursue it.’

  ‘I thank you all,’ Aristocles said, nodding to each member of the Council of Five. Gathering the folds of his white tunic, he descended the steps and walked along the tree-lined pathway that would take him out of the lyceum.

  Halfway along the path, his eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open as he saw the last person he’d expected to see walking down the path, toward the structure in the middle of the grove.

  Kargan of Ilea swept past. The last time Aristocles had seen the barrel-chested naval commander he’d been leading an assault on his homeland. Long before that, he and Kargan had hosted each other at banquets, but the overlord of the sun king’s navy had used his opportunity to steal away Aristocles’ daughter.