Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  ‘Yes,’ Lothar interrupted, his curled fingers tapping on the arm of his chair. ‘You have my sympathy for the loss of your family. A great tragedy.’

  Nikolas frowned. ‘I hear you have your own troubles,’ he said. ‘We all have our disputes with Ilea, and as brother Galeans it is time for us to band together, as we did long ago when we fought the barbarians of the north.’

  ‘At that time, Koulis was little more than a trading outpost,’ Lothar said with a slight smile.

  ‘A Galean outpost.’

  ‘But we are close to Ilea.’

  ‘Geographically, yes. But culturally you are closer to us. Or’—Nikolas lowered his voice—‘is that not the case?’

  Lothar continued to rap his fingertips against the arm of his chair, silent for a time. ‘War is bad for business,’ he finally said.

  Nikolas barked a laugh. ‘You can’t have it both ways.’ His gaze swept the five lords in their entirety. ‘None of you can. People value losses more than gains, and according to the rulers of Ilea, your city was a part of their empire and will be so again.’

  He paused to let his words sink in.

  ‘You want me to leave you be, while we go and fight Ilea on your behalf? You think you can sit back and ally yourself with the victor when it’s all done? It is not going to happen. You have to make a choice. Either join with me and throw off the Ilean yoke’—he lifted his chin—‘or I will consider you an enemy and raze your city to the ground.’

  He heard someone gasp, but kept his eyes on Lothar.

  ‘Please, King Nikolas, your threats are not required. Let us negotiate.’ Lothar spread his hands.

  ‘No,’ Nikolas said. ‘I am no merchant. I seek no bargain. We go now to fight Mydas of Ilea, brother of Solon, and in the name of the Galean League, I ask that you join your forces with ours. Mydas makes no secret of his desire to punish us for his defeat at Phalesia and the death of his brother.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Just as I make no secret of the pleasure I felt at seeing Solon’s body burn as his soul went to hell. This conflict won’t end until I have Mydas’s head.’

  Lothar continued to tap the arm of his chair. Nikolas scowled; the sound was growing irritating. ‘Let us say for a moment that we are able to capture Lamara – and I’m sure you are aware that Mydas can field an army far larger than yours – what then is your plan?’

  Surprised by the question, Nikolas hesitated. ‘We declare the Ilean Empire no more,’ he said. ‘We sign a peace. We appoint a new ruler in Lamara.’

  One of the other lords spoke. ‘It’s clear to me that we need some time to plan—’

  ‘No!’ Nikolas glared at him. ‘I am weak at sea. The more time that passes, the greater the danger at home.’ He clenched his jaw tightly as he gazed directly into Lothar’s eyes. ‘We march to war. I await your response.’

  Whirling, Nikolas stalked out.

  50

  The mob filled Lamara’s largest square from wall to wall, surging back and forth, swelling in numbers as city folk poured in from every quarter. Impassioned men stood on crates and gave speeches to anyone who would listen. Women held hands and sang songs. Children crawled between legs and snatched purses from belts. Traffic everywhere came to a complete standstill.

  A circular space in the center remained empty.

  Soldiers with spears and triangular shields stood facing the crowd, ignoring the heckles as they pushed back anyone who tried to break through, indiscriminately breaking bones and bruising flesh in the process. Within the circle a raised platform was visible to all, and on the platform two trimmed logs had been crossed at angles and lashed together to form an ‘X’.

  ‘Stay hidden,’ Aristocles murmured. ‘Your face is known.’

  Kargan glared at him. ‘You think I’m stupid?’

  It wasn’t the first of these events to take place since Kargan’s speech by the banks of the river, but it was the first he’d come to see for himself. He and Aristocles were somewhere in the middle of the mob, watching as Mydas’s soldiers carried a lean man in rags up to the cross. His back was cut with red whip lines, bleeding and raw, but he was moving feebly. The soldiers handed him up to their companions on the platform. As he was dragged toward the cross, the lean man’s wide eyes stared back at the faces looking up at him.

  The crowd surged again but Amos and Javid worked together to give Aristocles and Kargan a buffer, and there were few who would challenge the two warriors. The city folk cried out with one voice as they watched the soldiers at their grisly work.

  ‘Look at him,’ Kargan said. ‘I’m surprised he’s still moving.’

  ‘He’s a believer, dying for a cause,’ Aristocles said. ‘Mydas is acting just as I knew he would. Our histories say that the tyrant responded the same way in Phalesia.’

  The soldiers proceeded to turn their captive upside down. With a pair of them at each limb, they held him to the cross as a burly bare-chested companion came forward with a mallet and a clutch of iron nails. The prisoner screamed as a nail pressed into his left ankle and the burly man began to efficiently pound the nail through bone and flesh to fasten it to the wood. The ragged captive’s other ankle followed immediately after, and then his wrists, until he was stretched out on the cross with his head only a couple of feet above the platform. Facing the crowd, the prisoner screamed until his voice was hoarse, and then his face began to turn bright red.

  Kargan glanced at Aristocles, gaining new respect for the Phalesian when he saw that he wasn’t turning away: the consul wasn’t squeamish. The soldiers descended the platform when they were done, and now the mob had nothing to look at but their compatriot being crucified.

  Hanging upside down, the bleeding man’s pain-filled gaze roved over the crowd. Kargan was surprised when the man opened his lungs and bellowed with surprising strength.

  ‘Freedom for all!’ His breath rasped as he drew in a second lungful of air. ‘Leadership by the people!’

  The mob roared out again. Women wailed and tore at their hair. Priests called out for Helios to take the brave man’s soul into his embrace.

  ‘These punishments will scare people away from our cause,’ Kargan said.

  Aristocles shook his head. ‘Quite the opposite. His courage will inspire others.’

  ‘Inspire? Who would want this fate?’

  ‘We’re managing to convince people that our cause is worth more than their own lives. That it is worth dying for. The idea will spread. Every time Mydas reacts in this way, it strengthens us.’

  ‘Death to Mydas!’ a youth nearby cried, his words met with a cheer.

  Kargan faced Aristocles, deliberately turning away from watching the crucifixion. He reminded himself that the man’s death wasn’t his fault; he’d made his choice to give his life for the promise of democracy. ‘What next?’

  ‘Next we wait for a crisis. A crisis we can exploit.’

  ‘More waiting? I want to do something,’ Kargan said vehemently, pounding his fist into his palm. ‘My supporters in the army and navy are ready.’

  ‘In time, Lord Kargan. In time.’

  ‘How do you know a crisis will come?’

  Aristocles’ lips parted in a smile. ‘They always do.’

  51

  Eiric stirred the coals with a stick as the aroma of roasting rabbit filled the cave. He kept his ears open, his vision occasionally flicking to the cave’s gaping mouth and the darkness of night beyond. In Cinder Fen there was always the chance that wildren would come to investigate the light or the smell. He needed to be wary.

  But rather than rumbling ogres or the flutter of fury wings outside the entrance, he heard a groan from the deepest section of the cave. Straightening and stretching, he walked unhurriedly to the low-ceilinged rear, stepping lightly on the dirt floor.

  Eiric crouched as he looked down at Jonas. ‘Did you say something, traitor?’

  Slumped on the ground, Jonas was embracing a stake, wrists and ankles bound with deer gut tied around the thick pole embedded in the dirt. T
he older eldran’s face when he slowly raised his head was harrowed, with dark shadows around his gray eyes and lips dry as bone.

  At first Eiric had needed to watch his prisoner constantly, worried that when Jonas recovered from his head wound he would change his shape. But in the time that had passed Eiric had given him no food or water, and when his enemy finally woke, he continued to watch, scratching at his sharp chin, and finally Eiric knew that Jonas no longer had the strength to alter his form. For the first time in an eternity Eiric was able to leave the cave, and when he returned, Jonas was still tied just where he’d left him.

  Eiric now watched grimly as Jonas panted with short gasps, lean chest rising and falling. His parched lips moved, showing a swollen tongue as he met Eiric’s eyes. He’d swallowed just one sip of water in the last two days. The smell of the rabbit grilling over the coals would torment him beyond belief.

  Yet even so, when Jonas whispered something and Eiric leaned in close to hear what he was saying, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  ‘You call this torture.’

  ‘I don’t have the stomach for more,’ Eiric said. ‘Just tell me where I can find Triton.’

  ‘Water . . .’ Jonas coughed. ‘Water.’

  Eiric glanced at the bulging water skin he’d left on the ground nearby. ‘Answer my question.’

  ‘Water . . .’

  Shaking his head, Eiric straightened and left his captive behind, returning to the embers of the fire. He examined the rabbit, deciding that it was done. With deft movements he took the skewer that had both ends resting on upright rocks and lifted it away, setting it down on a flat stone. Leaning down to blow on the crispy meat, he slid out the skewer and juggled it in his hands as he returned to the back of the cave.

  ‘My mother became wild and is now dead,’ Eiric said, seating himself as he tore his first mouthful. ‘My father, after killing her, vanished. You led Triton to our village. You turned your back on us and destroyed our homes. We trusted you. Why did you betray us?’

  Jonas’s eyelids fluttered. ‘Lost my wife. My son . . .’

  Setting down the half-eaten carcass, Eiric lifted the water skin at his feet, trickling liquid down his throat as he swallowed. ‘And now you’ve visited your pain on me. What did Triton promise you? That the horn of Marrix would be able to bring your family back?’

  ‘That’s what . . . stories.’

  ‘No. The stories say that when we fought the Aleutheans the horn would summon our people directly after battle, before they passed the point of no return.’

  ‘Triton . . .’

  ‘Triton lied to you.’

  ‘Zachary lied . . .’

  ‘And you took Triton’s word for it?’

  Jonas’s eyelids closed.

  ‘Tell me where I can find him and I will give you water and food. I’ll loosen your bonds and do what I can for your wounds.’

  Jonas’s head slowly shook from side to side.

  ‘Listen.’ Eiric glanced at the half-eaten rabbit, telling himself that he couldn’t yet give it to his prisoner. ‘I take no pleasure in your pain. Please . . . Jonas, just tell me where I can find Triton.’

  Jonas’s eyes were closed, but his chest was still moving, and Eiric persisted.

  ‘When I found you, you were returning from the west. What were you doing?’

  ‘Spying . . . Questioned humans.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The horn . . . missing . . .’

  Eiric’s eyes widened. ‘The horn is missing? Who has it?’

  ‘We tortured humans . . . don’t know . . .’

  Feeling disgust at the things Jonas had done, Eiric leaned forward. ‘Jonas. Who has the horn?’

  Jonas shook his head slightly as his eyelids slowly opened. His gaze met Eiric’s. ‘Gone.’

  ‘Where is Triton?’ When there was no reply, Eiric lifted the skin but Jonas barely had the strength to swallow when he leaned over to trickle water over his dry lips. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Plans . . . destroy wellspring.’ Jonas slumped. ‘Eldren with him . . . Afraid . . .’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the heart,’ Jonas whispered.

  ‘What is the heart?’ Eiric’s fists clenched in frustration.

  ‘Center of Cinder Fen . . . pool . . . the wellspring. Source of power. Triton . . .’ Jonas licked his lips. ‘Strong . . . blood of Marrix . . . you won’t . . . defeat him.’

  ‘The war between eldren has to end,’ Eiric said. ‘Jonas?’ He straightened as he lifted the skin once more. ‘I’ll give you more water now. Jonas? Lift your head.’

  Jonas couldn’t hear him. His breath no longer whispered; his chest no longer moved. He was dead.

  52

  Aristocles walked through the encampment, weaving around men sitting by fires and tents of all shapes and sizes. He saw soldiers sharpening swords and bowyers fashioning arrows. Cooks stirred huge iron pots and horses whinnied, tethered in long rows. An aura of readiness permeated the air.

  ‘This is now a military camp,’ Amos said beside him. ‘We won’t be able to keep moving as easily as we once did.’

  ‘We’ll have plenty of warning,’ Aristocles said confidently. ‘Our people in the city will send word long before anyone comes.’

  The pair finally reached Kargan’s tent, larger and grander than any other, crowning a hill apart from the others. Aristocles walked inside without announcing himself as Amos trailed behind him.

  ‘So as soon as I give the word—’ Kargan ceased speaking, looking up when the two men entered. He was seated on a stool, facing an olive-skinned officer in full uniform. ‘We’ll speak more on this later,’ he instructed. ‘Just be ready.’

  ‘Lord Kargan,’ the officer acknowledged as he bowed, glancing at Aristocles and Amos before departing through the tent’s wide opening.

  Armor hung from a stand and carpets and cushions covered the floor. Javid stood motionless against the wall, fingers in his belt, silent and watchful as ever.

  ‘Who was that?’ Aristocles demanded.

  Kargan slowly stood, straightening until he was towering over him. ‘It’s none of your concern. Why are you here, Aristocles?’

  ‘You’ve heard the news?’

  ‘Of course. The Galean nations have united behind Nikolas and he’s on his way to Ilea.’

  Aristocles nodded, ignoring Kargan’s glare as he rubbed his hands together. ‘This is it.’ He started to pace. ‘The crisis we’ve been waiting for. We—’

  ‘I know,’ Kargan said, interrupting him. ‘We’re seizing the palace in two days.’

  ‘Two days?’ Aristocles stopped in his tracks. ‘No.’ He cut the air with his hand decisively. ‘I need more time.’

  ‘We’re ready,’ Kargan said. ‘I’m tired of waiting.’

  ‘You need to listen to me—’

  ‘No.’ Kargan set his jaw. ‘I don’t.’ He sighed. ‘Now is as good a time as any. The fact is, Aristocles, soon I will be the ruler of the Ilean Empire. I don’t have to listen to a thing you say.’

  Aristocles’ eyes narrowed. ‘You promised me ships and men . . .’

  ‘I have bigger things on my mind than worrying about your fate. You don’t appear to realize that Phalesia means nothing to me. I have to rescue the empire before it all falls apart. Also’—he frowned—‘I don’t want my men asking any more questions about the foreigner who dogs my footsteps.’

  Kargan waited a moment for his words to sink in as he waved Javid forward. ‘I could order you killed, and no one would stop me, but you’ve helped me and so I’m sending you home. You may not have the men you wanted but you have your peace treaty, and you have your life. Consider this a show of my gratitude.’

  Aristocles stood transfixed; for a time he was speechless. But then he lifted his chin and his high forehead furrowed in a scowl. ‘This isn’t right.’ He turned to his captain. ‘Amos.’

  Amos put his hand on his sword. At the same moment Javid reached into his vest, saying nothing,
but causing the Phalesian warrior to freeze mid-movement.

  ‘I wouldn’t go up against Javid,’ Kargan said. ‘No matter how good your man is. Face it, Aristocles. You’re going back to your homeland.’

  ‘What about our peace treaty?’ Aristocles was undeterred. ‘Mydas still rules. How will I know you’ve succeeded?’

  ‘You have my guarantee of success,’ Kargan said, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest. ‘There.’

  ‘I have to—’

  ‘Enough!’ Kargan raised his voice. ‘Your ship is waiting. You sail from Lamara first thing tomorrow morning. Javid will escort you both.’

  ‘But—’

  Kargan’s voice cut through Aristocles’ protestations.

  ‘Listen, you fool. You may think you’re informed, but there’s something you’re obviously not aware of. Mydas is leading the army against Nikolas and he’s confident of victory. But more importantly for you, despite my efforts I’m too late, and he’s also sent the fleet to attack Phalesia and Xanthos. Your ship travels alone . . . you can probably outrun them.’ He emphasized his point by prodding Aristocles in the chest. ‘Probably. If you’re fortunate you can still be a savior to your people. I have my crisis. You have yours.’

  Kargan jerked his chin at the tent’s entrance.

  ‘Now get out. I’ve got work to do, and you’d best be quick if you’re going to get home in time. Watch out for pirates, the Maltherean is a dangerous place these days.’

  53

  Nilus was at his villa, discussing the state of Phalesia’s silver mines with the two overseers seated across from him. They had to speak above the tapping of hammers and rough voices of workmen; Nilus was making improvements to his residence.

  ‘First Consul,’ the older of the two overseers said. ‘I can see what you’re getting at, and of course we all want increased production, but to meet your demands we’ll need to employ slaves as well as convicts in the diggings. As you know there is a shortage of slaves . . .’

  Nilus nodded as the overseer continued. He enjoyed hearing his title on other men’s lips. His role was only temporary, unfortunately, for he’d stepped in to fill the void that Aristocles had left behind and there would be a vote in coming weeks. But he’d already started enlisting support among his fellow consuls in the Assembly and soon he would have the votes he needed. He’d played a delicate game between the nationalist faction and the consuls who feared Nikolas, but he thought he’d accomplished quite a feat. As long as Nikolas remained king of Xanthos, Nilus could count on his support. He was also proud of himself for the aid he’d given Aristocles. His friend was better off alive in exile than dead in a Phalesian crypt.