Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  ‘. . . it’s this Andion plaguing the slave markets across the sea,’ the younger overseer was saying. ‘Slaves and the lower classes are flocking to join the Free Men.’

  Nilus frowned. ‘Can’t we do something about him?’

  The older overseer snorted. ‘His fleet is bigger than ours, nearly as large as the fleet of Xanthos. It is we who have to look to our defenses. He’s taken to raiding settlements, so I hear.’

  ‘The Xanthian fleet makes regular patrols,’ Nilus said. ‘I’m sure we’re safe.’

  ‘I can’t believe Nikolas has a woman in charge. And she’s a foreigner, a Salesian no less!’

  ‘I think she might even be Ilean.’

  ‘No,’ Nilus said. ‘She’s from Efu.’ When the two men gave him a bemused look he sighed. ‘In Haria. On the Ilean Sea.’

  ‘Well, wherever she’s from . . .’

  Nilus’s eyes drifted to the doorway when he caught movement; a small figure in a white chiton peered hesitantly inside.

  His mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  ‘My friends,’ he said softly. ‘My apologies, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We’ll resume this conversation another time.’

  Caught mid-sentence, the older of the two overseers harrumphed but he nodded to his companion and they both rose from their seats. ‘First Consul,’ each man said with a stiff bow.

  The girl in the doorway backed away as they departed, and Nilus prayed she wouldn’t flee, but she stood fast until they were gone. Nilus approached until he stood in front of her, but remained several paces away.

  ‘Sophia?’ he whispered.

  She was twelve, he remembered. Dark-haired and pretty, with a wide mouth, pert nose, and dimples on her cheeks, she was old enough that he didn’t know whether to crouch. He settled on placing his hands on his knees as he gave her a warm smile.

  ‘Sophia . . . We’ve been so worried about you. Where have you been?’

  ‘I’ve . . . I’ve been living with a family.’ She nodded in the vague direction of the lower city. ‘My father. Has he returned?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Nilus said, shaking his head sadly. ‘Who has been taking care of you?’

  ‘They’re poor,’ Sophia said. ‘I want to go back to being a princess.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Nilus said. ‘This family. Who’—he started to say hid but changed his mind—‘settled you with them?’

  ‘My sister . . . Chloe . . . Is she here?’

  ‘Listen, Sophia. Of course you can go back to being a princess. You’re special to all of us.’

  Sophia frowned. She showed surprising strength as she came forward and glared up at Nilus. ‘Where is my sister?’ she demanded. ‘I want to go back to the way things were. When is my father coming home?’

  ‘Your father has been missing for a very long time. And . . .’ Nilus licked his lips; he didn’t know how she would react to what he was about to say, but she had to know. ‘I have some news. I’m very sorry to tell you this, but Sophia, your sister is gone. Some bad men robbed her and . . . did bad things to her. They killed her.’

  Sophia’s chin jerked up. She became completely and utterly still. Her blue eyes went wide, moisture shimmering on their surface, brimming until tears dripped from first one and then the other, trickling down her cheeks.

  It was a long time before she spoke, but when she did, she whispered so softly that Nilus almost couldn’t hear her.

  ‘When?’

  Nilus wrung his hands. He wished he wasn’t the one delivering this news. ‘They found her body, along with that of another girl, on the road to Tanus a week ago.’

  ‘How could I not know?’ Sophia began to cry, great sobs racking her body. ‘Why didn’t somebody tell me?’

  ‘The ceremony was small. We decided to keep it quiet. She was well liked. I’m truly sorry, child. We’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

  Sophia suddenly collapsed, falling to her knees, her body rocking back and forward as she grieved, staring down at the hard stone floor. Nilus tried to console her, enclosing her in his arms.

  She’d lost everything, and there was nothing he could say.

  By the next morning, Sophia was dressed once more as a Phalesian princess, wearing a pale blue chiton of flowing silk, bunched at the waist with a cord of plaited wool dyed with indigo. She had sandals on her feet and a copper chain graced her neck with a heavy medallion displaying the symbol of the goddess Aeris. Her long dark hair was fashioned in a complicated twist.

  Standing with her on the white pebbled shore of Phalesia’s harbor, Nilus thought she now looked far older than her tender years. Despite her age, she was beautiful, he realized with a flash of envy. Nilus’s own wife was even plumper than he was.

  ‘Is that it?’ Sophia asked, looking up at the merchant ship drawn up on the beach. Sailors scurried on the decks, readying the vessel for departure, and more crewmen carried over barrels and sacks, handing them up to their fellows.

  As she glanced at Nilus, Sophia’s brow was creased with determination. She had a satchel on her shoulder that she clutched as if it were a lifeline to carry her through dangerous waters.

  ‘It is,’ Nilus said. ‘I’ve spoken with the captain. He’s experienced, and assures me you’ll get there safely.’ He hesitated. ‘But . . . Sophia . . . Are you sure you want to do this?’

  ‘I am.’ She nodded firmly. ‘My sister fled her fate and died for it. I won’t let that happen to me.’ She looked up at Nilus. ‘Will he be pleased to see me?’

  Nikolas would be more than pleased, Nilus knew. Kings needed wives, and even more crucially, heirs. As a warrior king Nikolas’s advisers would be pressing him constantly to take a noble wife, but his task of dealing with the Ilean threat had always taken priority. Aristocles had been first consul for as long as anyone could remember, and marrying a daughter of his would bond the two nations together, as well as giving their future child a claim on both nations. With no children of his own, and no plans to sire any, Nilus was content to help the king of Xanthos. It would be a long time before Nikolas and Sophia had a child old enough to wield real power, and Nikolas would be indebted to him for the rest of his life.

  ‘He will be very happy to see you,’ Nilus said. He wouldn’t be surprised if, after hearing of Chloe’s death, Nikolas married Sophia on the spot. A wedding would bolster the morale of the men and the sooner Nikolas produced an heir, the better.

  ‘Good,’ Sophia said. ‘I don’t want him to turn me away.’

  Nilus’s eyebrows went up. Sophia was nothing if not precocious. ‘You’ve made yourself clear,’ he said. ‘And you do look lovely.’ He glanced at the satchel she was holding so tightly. ‘What do you have in there? Everything you need is on the ship.’

  ‘Supplies from the apothecary. I am a priestess,’ Sophia said. ‘Where I am going, there might be wounded who need my help.’

  ‘Of course,’ Nilus said. ‘Please be careful.’

  ‘Once we’re married the trouble will stop,’ Sophia said firmly. ‘Father will come home. And I will be queen.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Nilus said. ‘You will be queen.’ Hearing voices, he looked up and saw a crewman waving. ‘I think it’s time for you to go. Don’t forget to tell him what I said.’

  ‘You brought us together.’ Sophia nodded. ‘I will make sure he knows.’

  Nilus reflected that Nikolas was fortunate to have a chance at marrying the younger of the two girls. Chloe had a kind nature, but she was also obstinate and strong-willed; she would have made a difficult wife. Sophia was only twelve but she would grow up to be an attractive woman. She had a sweet nature and was eager to become queen of Xanthos.

  ‘May the gods go with you, Princess Sophia,’ Nilus said.

  54

  Under their new leader, the Free Men finally felt the benevolent smile of the god of fortune. Their daring raid had paid off: the slaves they liberated from the slave market at Koulis swelled their numbers, hope returned after t
he death of Mercilles, and powerful warships now sailed with every sortie.

  Though he still needed to find his men proper homes, Dion focused instead on building up their strength. Using the knowledge he’d gained from Roxana at Lamara’s shipyards he repaired the crippled bireme on the shore of Fort Liberty, and together with the four biremes stolen from Mercilles they suddenly had more ships than crew to man them.

  Dion ordered the slower merchant vessels to Myana to get supplies and equipped a new, swifter fleet, with only warships in its number. After the raid on the slave market at Koulis he led a daylight assault on the Ilean city of Abbas, where there was a thriving slave trade, pirates pouring into the main square while the wretches were still being paraded on the block. Leading a trio of biremes at full complement, he visited the isles of Ibris and Tarlana, places he’d traveled to with Roxana. With small Ilean garrisons that were powerless to stop him, he was able to stay for a full day in each while he put out the call for anyone who wanted to join the Free Men.

  He kept the two sleek war galleys, the Gull and the Sea Witch, smaller than the biremes but powerful nonetheless, in constant patrol in the waters around the isle of Fort Liberty; they wouldn’t be taken by surprise again. He quizzed every man and woman as he watched them make their mark in the temple near the scorch mark that had once been a picture of Silex, asking them about their skills. When he found an Ilean carpenter from Abbas who once worked for Mydas, and asked him if he thought he could turn his talents toward building catapults to protect the island, the man pondered and then gave a short, sharp nod.

  The population of Fort Liberty swelled, and with the settlement still in ruins, there was nowhere to house so many people. Fortunately it was late summer, and at night they slept side by side on the beach, staring up at the stars and the constellations depicting frozen battles between heroes and gods. But summer would end, and at the back of his mind, Dion knew he would need to find a more permanent solution.

  To rebuild Fort Liberty would require a great deal of timber, cloth, iron nails, tools, candles, and ceramics. He needed to restore the forge, masonry, and lumberyard. He needed more silver than seemed possible.

  Wondering if he’d taken on too much, he scoured the seas for prey. His searching took him closer and closer to the Salesian continent; with Xanthos and Phalesia at war with Ilea, he knew that by focusing on Ilean ships, he was helping his people from afar.

  Riding the motion of the high seas, Dion now stood close to the bow of his new flagship, the largest of his five biremes and tried to think of a solution for feeding, clothing, and housing so many people.

  Aristocles clutched the merchant galley’s rail with both hands, looking down at his white knuckles and then up at the surging sea. The pounding of his heart sounded louder in his ears than the booming drum as it spurred the slaves on to greater efforts. Sweat trickled down his high forehead. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Rather than gaining on the Ilean fleet that was already ahead of him in the race for Phalesia, he was about to be murdered by pirates.

  The two immense warships dwarfed the rowing galley, bearing down on the smaller vessel from both port and starboard. The blades of their countless oars plunged into the water, hauling on the sea and then lifting up again, moving in perfect synchronization. They’d chosen their approach with care, for the galley needed both oars and sail to achieve any speed and if the captain wanted to turn about they would lose the wind.

  Aristocles glanced at Amos but his steadfast companion had never had a strong head for sea travel, and was curled up on the floor of the boat, his face tinged a sickly green. Amos knew what was happening, but he couldn’t even lift a limb to do anything about it.

  Frozen with fear, Aristocles looked again at the pair of looming biremes. The warships flew across the water, despite traveling against the wind, and were now close enough that he could make out individual figures on the decks. Long silver flags with black tridents fluttered in the wind, crowning each vessel’s mast.

  ‘It’s the Free Men! The pirates are on us!’ the master of oars cried.

  Aristocles’ eyes darted to the white-faced Ilean, seeing him lower the whip in his hand as he looked back to the mainland and then again at the pirates. Despite the fact that they were at least five miles from land, he appeared to reach a decision, throwing down the coiled leather and ripping the tunic off his back.

  Without another word, the Ilean raced to the back of the galley and dived into the water. Immediately he started swimming for shore with a strong, overarm stroke.

  His fear was contagious, and suddenly most of the officers were leaping off the sides while the one crewman who couldn’t swim, a young sailor barely into his teens, pleaded with his fellows not to leave him alone with the pirates and their own chained-up slaves.

  ‘Flee if you want. You’re on your own,’ the captain called to Aristocles as he made his own departure, taking his chances as he dived off the side.

  With the master of oars gone, the drum was now silent as the oarsmen slowed and then stopped. There was no one forcing them to row, but they were chained to their benches and unable to leave their posts.

  ‘Hey. You up there. Man in white. Yes, you!’

  Aristocles tore his grip from the ship’s gunwale and turned to see a sunburned slave calling out to him.

  ‘Get down the sail if you want to live. Else they’ll think we’re running and spear us with their ram.’

  Aristocles looked up at the sail. He knew next to nothing about boats and couldn’t decide what to do. Then he heard a cry and saw another slave pointing and staring toward shore. A triangular fin pierced the water and then lowered again, traveling in a direct path for the swimming crew.

  His decision made for him, Aristocles crossed the deck, running over to the young Ilean sailor who’d been left behind, taking his shoulders and shaking him.

  ‘The sail,’ Aristocles barked. ‘How do we get it down?’

  He glanced up and saw the two warships hadn’t slowed; they were now close enough that he could see that the decks swarmed with weapons-wielding pirates and hear the tempo of the drum that matched his racing heart.

  The terrified youth nodded, running over to a cleat and unraveling the line, fingers fumbling in his haste. With the galley slowed after the oarsmen stopped rowing, it now coasted as the sail became loose and fluttered in the warm breeze.

  ‘Go to the helm,’ the youth said, jerking his chin toward the stern as he gripped the sailcloth and tried to tug it down. ‘Bring us round so we’re facing the wind.’

  Aristocles nodded and sped across the boat under the watchful eyes of the slaves. He levered the tiller hard across and the galley immediately listed so sharply that he wondered if they were going to tip over. But then it settled again, and the vessel sat bobbing in the water, sliding around on the waves, as the lead bireme drew close enough for Aristocles to read its name: the Black Dragon.

  Waiting in the helmsman’s seat, he pressed fingertips into the palms of his hands, wide-eyed and fearful as the pirates threw out a line for a slave to hold as they pulled the galley close. He muttered a prayer when ruffians in a variety of costumes dropped to the deck and inspected the galley’s interior. He watched as one after another the slaves were freed and led clambering from one ship to the other, stumbling and staggering as they disentangled themselves from their chains; during the chase they’d been worked so hard that their legs had now cramped, and the scars of the whip were plain to see.

  Aristocles’ eyes followed Amos as he was carried up, and then more pirates leaped down to the galley and began to search the vessel. He glanced at the bireme’s top deck, overhearing the captain call out to each slave in turn, his voice carried on the wind. When he asked them if they wanted to join the Free Men, and be free to live as they chose, with a share in plunder and their liberty granted immediately, not one of them said no.

  Aristocles remained seated near the helm as he wondered what his fate would be. He supposed that Nilus mig
ht be able to help him if the Free Men demanded a ransom. But he knew his situation was hopeless: if the Ilean fleet was successful in its aim of razing Phalesia and Xanthos to the ground, there would be no one left alive to help him.

  He thought about his daughters, praying they were safe. Xanthos had a new but untested fleet under the woman Roxana; it was possible she could hold off the attack.

  He heard a rough voice as someone called down to the young Ilean sailor nearby, asking him if he wanted to join. The youth stammered a negative and they told him to stay with his ship; he would have to manage it on his own if he wanted to sail home.

  Aristocles then saw men approaching and felt strong hands pick him up under the armpits and march him across the small galley. As instructed he lifted his arms and sailors on the warship hoisted him up, eventually planting him down on the deck of the mighty bireme.

  ‘Andion!’ someone called.

  Aristocles gazed away from the pirates, staring out to sea, in the direction of Phalesia. But accepting the inevitable, he sensed a man approach him, and turned to see bare feet and simple but well-stitched sailor’s trousers, an athletic frame filling a tunic fastened with a leather belt at the waist, and a neck devoid of any chain or medallion. Continuing to look up, he met the brown eyes of a young man in his early twenties, his square jaw clean-shaven, with tanned skin and flaxen hair.

  ‘By Aldus and all the gods!’ Aristocles gasped.