Iron Will

by James Maxwell

  Waves the size of mountains would challenge the skills of the sailors and oarsmen. Blizzards and bitter cold would shock the Ilean slaves to their cores. The sailors and officers were sourced from Malakai’s population; icebergs would be utterly new to them.

  Then, when the fleet approached the frozen lands of the north, there was always the chance that it would become lost. Despite Zara’s promise that the sorcerer they were sending would be able to find those of his brethren left behind in Necropolis, Palemon knew that Zara’s magic had failed her once before, when they first followed the pull of the ark.

  There was so much that could go wrong. Palemon didn’t like thinking about it.

  He didn’t even know if his people in the north were still alive. With their hunting grounds depleted, they and the tribes who had called the north home for far longer than the exiled Aleutheans – the kona and nusu – would have been fighting for fewer and fewer resources. Stores were low when Palemon departed nearly a year ago.

  ‘Why the dark expression, sire?’ Zara said. Standing beside him, clad as always in her figure-hugging navy dress, her brilliant blue eyes were sparkling as the wind blew her raven-black hair around her face. ‘This is a happy day. Our people will soon be returned to us.’

  ‘I should be going with them,’ Palemon muttered.

  He knew, however, that with so many enemies he was needed here. Both Dion, king of Xanthos, and Kargan, king of Ilea, were preparing for confrontation. Once his fleet had departed, his enemies could no longer threaten the rescue of his people in the north. When the ships were away, Palemon could finally go to war.

  Finally the activity on the ships began to settle. Palemon saw Kyphos walking down the gangway of the largest of the twelve vessels, a bireme called the Targus. Kyphos, Palemon’s right-hand man, a stocky warrior with a pelt of curly black hair and thick eyebrows, fixed his gaze on his king as he approached. A sorcerer in a gray robe fell in beside him.

  Kyphos wore the same rough sailor’s clothing as most of the other crewmen: trousers cut off at the ankles and a tight-fitting brown tunic. He had dedicated himself to his new role as commander of the rescue fleet, and had been learning all he could about ships, navigation, and how to feed and discipline the men who served him. But, despite his common clothing, no one could mistake who he was. His shoulders sat oddly high and his head was hunched forward. His arms were the size of other men’s legs; he was the strongest man Palemon knew. He was a hunchback, and he had Palemon’s complete trust.

  ‘We are ready, sire,’ Kyphos said, coming to a halt. He glanced at Zara. ‘Keep him safe, sorceress.’

  Zara’s eyes shifted to Palemon and then to Kyphos. ‘You have my word.’

  Palemon cleared his throat. When he spoke, there was a catch in his voice. ‘They say it is improper to wish you good fortune, and so I will simply say: may the gods go with you.’ Palemon surprised himself by pulling Kyphos into an embrace. He kissed both his cheeks. ‘My faith is in you as you embark on this most important endeavor.’ Kyphos was speechless as his king released him. Palemon then turned to the sorcerer who was Kyphos’s companion. ‘Magus Elmar.’

  ‘Sire?’

  Elmar was in his winter years, with white hair and dry, pale skin, but there was nothing frail about him. He stood taller than Kyphos and clutched a wooden pole crowned with a hoop of solid gold: a sun staff.

  ‘We are all counting on you to guide the fleet to Necropolis,’ Palemon said.

  ‘When the sun and stars no longer guide the way’ – the sorcerer raised his staff – ‘I will find my brethren.’

  ‘Fare you well,’ Palemon finally said. ‘My thoughts will be with you.’

  Kyphos met Palemon’s eyes one last time, and then he and Elmar returned to their vessel. They climbed the gangway and Kyphos bellowed an order.

  Soon the slaves were sliding the ships off the beach and into the water. The slaves then climbed into their places. Oars slid out. Whips cracked. The pounding rhythm of drums filled the air. Each bireme backed away, one at a time, and then turned. Palemon watched them go, his heart pounding in his chest as if there were another drum inside him. The Targus moved into the lead. He watched and prayed silently for their quest to meet success.

  Finally the fleet was out of sight.

  ‘Are you certain Kyphos was the right choice?’ Zara asked.

  Puzzled, Palemon turned to face her. ‘He is bold, clever, and loyal. There is no other I would entrust, with the possible exception of you, Zara. The men respect him. He can keep his head in a crisis.’ He smiled. ‘I will never understand your rivalry, sorceress. You are unique. I am fully aware that there is no other like you.’

  Zara looked away, silent for a moment, before meeting Palemon’s gaze. ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘Now? Now, Zara, we have a war to prepare for.’

  Over the desert plain outside Malakai’s walls, a battle took place. Two forces of equal size fought each other in the sky. Sunlight glistened from blood-red scales as dragon fought dragon and rider fought rider.

  Palemon and Zara watched the fight from the battlements. The cold bloods, warriors originally from Necropolis, had been evenly distributed among the two sides. Their skills, even on dragon back, were far superior to the clansmen from the desert, and their chain mail protected them from all but the luckiest blows. But the clansmen were improving, Palemon noted with satisfaction.

  Every rider held reins of copper chain in one hand while wielding spear, sword, or axe with the other. Dragons banked steeply and executed tight turns, but the reins controlled them utterly, and they would never place their riders at risk of falling off. The men of Palemon’s indomitable army stabbed at each other with blunted wooden spears and hacked with training blades. Many would be battered and bruised when the exercise was over, but this training would keep them alive when they faced an enemy determined to kill them. One day they might find themselves pitted against a powerful eldran or swooping down on an army, picking off targets at speed.

  ‘Look.’ Zara pointed. ‘They are watching, as always.’

  A glossy silver dragon soared high in the sky where it could see everything taking place in Malakai. Palemon scowled. There was nothing he could do. This eldran was larger and swifter than his own dragons, and would only disappear when challenged, something he knew from experience.

  Palemon tracked it for a time, before he shrugged. ‘Let the eldran watch,’ he said. ‘The sight will instill fear.’

  Zara returned her attention to the training. ‘Do you think we are ready?’

  ‘We have fifty more dragons to create, and just as many riders to train. Then, sorceress. Then we will be ready.’

  Palemon thought about the rescue fleet on its way north, wondering how Kyphos was faring. ‘Xanthos, Ilea . . . all the nations of the three seas . . . They will need to be cowed,’ he said. ‘I want the fighting to be over when our people return from across the sea.’

  He tried to forget about Kyphos’s mission and focus his attention on the mock battle. He occasionally muttered and tugged on the braids of his beard when he saw a soldier whose moves were sloppy or a group who worked well together as a team. Seeing so many winged creatures, a new thought suddenly occurred to him.

  ‘What happens when our dragons die?’ he asked. ‘Do they become human once more?’

  Zara frowned. It took her a moment to answer. ‘In truth, I am not certain,’ she replied. ‘None were killed when we captured the Ilean fleet.’

  ‘I suppose we will find out soon enough,’ Palemon said. ‘There.’ He pointed. ‘Watch those two, on the right. The man with the sword is quite skilled.’

  Two warriors fought from the backs of their red dragons, one leveling a blunted spear and the other swinging a wooden sword. They both darted in and pulled away, each looking for an opening. The soldier with the spear sent his dragon crashing into the swordsman’s, but the swordsman held firm and didn’t lose his seat. The swordsman struck hard, a good, solid blow that landed dir
ectly on the neck of his opponent’s mount.

  Palemon nodded approvingly. ‘There, did you see—’

  He suddenly broke off when the stricken dragon shuddered – the blow would have hurt it – before opening its jaws wide as it roared. Its neck craned and it snapped at the swordsman who had landed a blow on its neck. Fortunately the swordsman dodged and hauled on the reins in his hand, veering and then flying away.

  Palemon was surprised. ‘Have you seen that before?’ he asked.

  ‘It happens.’ She shrugged. ‘Usually when one of them gets hurt.’

  ‘But the copper chains are supposed to control them.’

  ‘It is nothing,’ Zara said. The two combatants abandoned the fight when a horn blast signaled the end of combat. ‘There is a matter of importance, however, that is on my mind. The world will soon be ours. But while you train the last of our soldiers, there is something I believe I must do.’

  Palemon turned away from the plain to raise an eyebrow. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I want your permission to take my sorcerers on a mission. We have had our magic disrupted before, with near-disastrous consequences for all of us. We cannot let that happen again.’

  ‘Ah.’ Palemon nodded. ‘The woman.’

  ‘Yes,’ Zara said. ‘The woman. I once believed that the peoples of the Realm had forgotten about magic, but we have seen that is not the case. I finally know the truth. The one who broke my spell calls herself the Oracle and lives on an island called Athos.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s her?’

  ‘I am certain of it. She claims to foretell the future. In return for offerings, she gives prophecies. Ask any traveler about a woman who uses magic, and they will tell you to go to Athos.’

  ‘So what are you proposing?’

  ‘I want to take a small group out at night. We can be swift and silent so the eldran scouts do not see us. If the woman is there, I will kill her, and any others like her. Then nothing will surprise us.’

  ‘Do it,’ Palemon said. ‘She could be an obstacle. Find her, Zara. Find her if you can. But be quick about it.’ He smiled mirthlessly as he watched the activity above the plain. ‘These dragons eat their weight in livestock every day. Come back soon, or they might start eating us.’

  4

  Chloe felt wind whistle past her face as the dragon underneath her lost height. Liana coasted slowly toward the gates on Phalesia’s landward side, making sure the archers on the walls had a good look at her silver color before she settled to the ground outside the city.

  Chloe was conscious of the soldiers’ eyes on her as she dismounted. They lined Phalesia’s walls for as far as she could see. Spears and javelins were in every soldier’s hand, while most men also shouldered a bow. Her first thought was relief that the gates were open: the city was on high alert, but still at peace. She combed her dark hair with her fingers, straightened her chiton, and waited as Liana changed back to her normal form, becoming a slender eldran in deerskin.

  The soldiers called and waved as Chloe and Liana entered the city. She was known everywhere she went. Her father, Aristocles, had been Phalesia’s longest-serving first consul, and it had been Chloe who denounced his murderer, the traitor Nilus. The common folk of Phalesia had once feared and despised the eldren, but again it was Chloe who spoke up for them at the lyceum, and now, after the tumultuous events of the past year, Liana could walk through the gates without fear.

  As Chloe entered, she saw that in the time she’d been away a wide swathe of dusty ground had been cleared between the walls and the nearest houses of the lower city; Phalesia was preparing for war. She and Liana passed only a handful of farmers bringing goods into the city; it wouldn’t be harvest time until later in the season, and with rumors of war spreading like wildfire, few people were traveling the roads.

  When her gaze followed the broad avenue that connected the upper city with the lower, Chloe couldn’t believe how many soldiers there were. Formations of uniformed men marched toward the city walls. Archers clustered on the rooftops of houses, scanning the sky. Amos had obviously been hard at work since her departure.

  ‘Chloe!’

  Chloe stopped in the middle of the avenue when she saw Amos heading toward her, walking with urgent strides. A gray-bearded consul in a white tunic and a young officer struggled to keep up with him.

  The first thing she noticed was that Amos had forgone his white consul’s tunic and instead wore full armor: a leather jerkin, a skirt made of strips of hide, and a steel breastplate embossed with the eagle of Phalesia. The armor hugged his athletic frame, and with his height and broad shoulders it made him look like what he was, an experienced leader of fighting men. It was far from what a first consul would normally wear, but a least the white cloak on his shoulders was a nod to his position. He was clean-shaven, with close-cropped curly hair and craggy, weathered skin.

  ‘You’re back. What happened with Zanthe?’ Amos asked.

  ‘First Consul,’ Chloe admonished. As a former soldier, Amos had a habit of skipping pleasantries. ‘You remember Liana? She’s here to help.’

  ‘Apologies, lady,’ Amos said to Liana; he looked flustered. ‘You are, of course, welcome in Phalesia.’

  ‘You have every reason to be busy,’ Liana said. ‘As for your question, there is now peace between Sindara and Tanus. We have Chloe to thank.’

  ‘Good, good,’ Amos said. ‘One less thing to worry about. Perhaps we can all work together for a change.’ He glanced back at the gray-bearded consul, who was speaking with the young officer. ‘You can tell me all about it later.’

  Chloe knew Amos well enough to see he was anxious. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Actually’ – he let out a breath – ‘you’ve returned at the perfect time. I need your help.’

  ‘Of course,’ Chloe said. ‘Whatever you need.’

  ‘We’re conscripting every grown male into the army, but there aren’t enough officers to train them. I need you, Chloe. The business of the city is more than I can handle. Can I ask some of the consuls to meet with you?’

  Chloe’s eyes narrowed. ‘But I’m a woman. You know what they’re like.’

  ‘Queen Zanthe is also a woman,’ Liana said beside her. ‘And you can’t say people don’t listen to her.’

  ‘News of your success at Sindara will travel swiftly,’ Amos said. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’ He gave a weary smile. ‘The price of responsibility. Proving yourself only means you’re given more. Above all, I trust you.’ Amos reached out and clasped Chloe’s shoulder. ‘It is good to see you home again.’

  Chloe led Liana on an inspection of the city. She wanted to get a feel for the problems the people might be facing and also to familiarize herself with Amos’s new defenses. Everywhere she went she saw soldiers on the walls and on the rooftops of the taller houses, searching the sky with bows at the ready. But with so many men drafted to fight, she also saw that it was mainly women in the streets. They clustered in groups as they chatted near doorways with worried expressions on their faces. Rather than shop at the markets or sweep the steps of their homes, they brought food to their husbands, brothers, fathers, and sons. When Chloe spoke to them, they told her that they wanted to do more to help.

  Her tour of the lower city complete, she then climbed the steps that led to the upper city to reach the agora. Passing the statue of the god Aldus and heading down to Phalesia’s famous main square, she was lost in thought, and Liana, sensing her mood, didn’t interrupt her. A long, thin row of archers lined the sloped embankment above the shore. The market was strangely deserted. Even the people outside the temples – mainly women again – were talking and watching the sky. Reaching the embankment and looking out to sea, Chloe inhaled the fresh, salty air and watched the blue expanse for a time as fishing boats sailed in to shore after making a day’s catch.

  ‘I have always found it a beautiful city,’ Liana said.

  ‘It is.’ Chloe swept her gaze over the place she called home. ‘And I’m worried it’s going to
fall.’ She shook her head, trying to dispel dark thoughts. ‘Come on. The villa isn’t far.’

  She finally led Liana to the house where she had lived for her entire life. Elegant and understated, the villa crowned a hill and boasted unrivaled views of the sea, the agora, and even the cliff-top Temple of Aldus. Two-storied, with a main level for the residents and a lower floor for the servants, it was accessed via a winding path that climbed past gardens of flowering bushes.

  Chloe called out as she entered the reception. ‘Hello? Sophia?’

  She heard the splash of water in the kitchen, and then Sophia rushed out. Now thirteen, Sophia was pretty, with the same dark hair and angular features as Chloe, but her face had more of an impish cast. Sophia’s hands and lower arms were wet, but she ignored it as she threw her arms around her older sister.

  ‘You’re back!’

  ‘I am. And Liana’s here.’

  ‘Please tell me you’re staying too?’ Sophia beamed.

  ‘Just for a short while.’

  Sophia clapped her hands together.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ Chloe took Sophia’s hands and turned them over, seeing that her palms were covered in red and yellow splotches.

  ‘I’ve been making poison.’ Sophia said it so casually that for a moment Chloe thought she’d misheard. ‘Powerful enough to kill a dragon – or so I hope.’ Sophia saw Chloe’s dark expression. ‘It’s not the first batch,’ she added. ‘I’m very safe.’ Still Chloe glared at her, until Sophia scowled. ‘Uncle Amos is busy from dawn to dusk. If there’s something I can do to help him, I’m going to do it, and you can’t stop me. I’m very safe. Don’t forget, I learned a lot from Balion.’

  Chloe bit down on a retort; Sophia had far too much freedom. ‘Fine, but do you have to use our kitchen?’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll speak with Balion and you can move to his workshop . . . Perhaps he’ll even give you a little supervision.’