Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3)

by James Maxwell

  ‘Kyphos!’ Palemon barked. ‘Gather the men. We need to secure the harbor.’

  There were ships in Malakai, at least seven of them: merchant vessels, but still seaworthy enough that they might be used to return to Necropolis for the women, children, and old men left behind. Palemon had embarked on a dangerous voyage to find these lands, but the remainder of his people wouldn’t survive long: the musk ox, reindeer, white bears, and orca had all been hunted to near-extinction. Winter supplies were meager. Back in the land of ice and snow, he knew that starvation would have already begun to claim lives.

  ‘There’s a problem,’ Kyphos said, meeting Palemon’s eyes. ‘At the end, the officer with the white crest on his helm fled with the last of the defenders.’ Kyphos’s face was grim. ‘They were heading for the harbor.’

  Palemon whirled to face the city. During the fighting he’d had little chance to take it in, but now that he was gazing at it, he wasn’t thinking about the fact that Malakai was beautiful and grand, with a sizeable population and a wealth of riches – instead, every tall building and winding avenue was now an obstacle, a barrier between the walls and the distant harbor.

  He roared at the men around him. ‘Everyone who can hear my voice! Follow me!’

  Palemon and Kyphos watched together, wheezing as they regained their breath. The harbor was little more than a sandy shore, with fishing boats pulled up onto the beach and a solitary pier stretching out into the deep water so ships could dock. Aside from some baskets and coiled-up ropes, the pier was empty.

  Filled with despair, Palemon fixed his gaze on the sails vanishing into the horizon.

  ‘There was no way we could have stopped them,’ Kyphos said.

  ‘We should have seized the harbor first.’

  ‘How? The clansmen aren’t sailors. We have no boats. We had to take the walls.’

  Palemon clenched his fists at his sides as he watched the sails becoming smaller and smaller. He finally turned to Kyphos.

  ‘This isn’t going to be easy,’ he said.

  2

  Chloe was trapped.

  Her prison was a large one: a long, low island with forests at one end and stretches of barren rock at the other. It was a place where she could roam and wander, with screeching sea birds for company and the crashing waves almost like distant conversation. There were parts she wasn’t supposed to visit, such as the Oracle’s cave set into the misshapen hill on the isle’s western side, but everywhere else was hers to explore. Nonetheless, the dark-blue sea surrounding Athos on all sides was a barrier that separated her from everything she cared about. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever be able to leave.

  She had no memory of her journey to Athos. But she did remember using her power to help Eiric fight Triton and reclaim the eldran homeland, and then finding herself alone in Sindara afterward. Soon after, an agonizing pain had struck her with force, deep inside her skull. The four magi appeared as if from nowhere. They said they’d been looking for her, and that she had to go with them.

  Tears welled in her eyes when she thought about her father, Aristocles. When Chloe had told the magi she had to find him, the mysterious men who served the Oracle said that he was dead. She’d heard their words distantly, even as unconsciousness took her.

  It was much later that she woke up on this island. And it was then that the magi told her how her father had died: murdered by four rival consuls, chief among them Nilus, her father’s oldest friend.

  It had taken her time to grieve, and to adjust to her new circumstances. Athos was a special place; the magi had told her. She needed to be on the island to recover. She had to learn the things they could teach her.

  Chloe now sat cross-legged at the top of a cliff, with waves crashing far below. Blinking away the tears, closing her eyes as she took a slow breath, she kept her mind clear of all thought as she contemplated the power inside her.

  She could feel it always, like the embers of a fire that only needed fuel to be added in order to become a raging inferno. Her objective was to keep it stilled. Meditation helped, and she hadn’t had any headaches for at least a month. If she remained calm and at peace – something that came easily on Athos, a place where she had few people to talk to and little changed from one day to the next – she would remain in control.

  It was early in the day and the sun’s rays were warm on her skin. A gentle breeze carried the smell of salt from the sea, blowing her long, dark hair around her face. Now that winter was past, she spent as much time as possible outdoors, keeping herself fit by running up and down the hills, and she was strong and lean, glowing with health and vitality. Her back was straight as she breathed in and out, feeling time stand still, but knowing that when she opened her eyes she would look at the sun and be surprised at how much of the day had passed.

  As always, thoughts tried to bubble to the surface. Dion’s face came to her vision; he was smiling, regarding her with warm, brown, intelligent eyes. He wasn’t as she’d last seen him, in the Wilds north of Xanthos, caught between his eldran heritage and human upbringing, torn between his feelings for her and the fact that she was destined to marry his older brother. Instead he was smiling and at ease, handsome and well fed, his strong jaw cleanly shaven and his flaxen hair neatly combed, wearing a regal, expensive tunic. This was how she always pictured him, for Dion was now the king of Xanthos. Nikolas was dead, said to have taken a bad wound during the battles with Ilea. Chloe was now free to love Dion, but in all likelihood, he thought she was dead. Bitter remorse welled up inside her. He might have already found a wife, a new queen of Xanthos, a woman to bear him an heir. Meanwhile she was far away, trapped on this remote island.

  Her training came to the fore, and as the fire inside her spiked she acknowledged the painful thoughts but pushed them away. Instead she concentrated on the regular pulsing rhythm of the waves as they were drawn in and out by the breath of Silex the sea god. She focused on the smell of the air, and the sensation of the cool breeze against her skin. Regaining her inner peace, her power slowly stilled.

  When she was finished, she opened her eyes and stretched before climbing to her feet. She swept her gaze over the sea, taking one last look at the ocean.

  Chloe’s eyes widened.

  There was a distant ship, a bireme from its shape and size, approaching from the south as it gave the rocky isle and its cliffs a wide berth. It was too far away for her to make out its colors, but she could see the pale little lines that were its oars and the square sail opened up to catch the wind. For a moment she thought it was going to skirt the island completely, but then the sail shifted and the vessel began to turn, until its bow was facing Seer’s Cove.

  The ship was heading to Athos!

  Trade on the Maltherean Sea always came to a halt during the winter storms, and with the Xanthian outpost of Fort Liberty in the sea’s center now a thriving port of call, it had been months since a ship had come to Athos. In all the time that Chloe had been here, not a single ship from Xanthos or Phalesia had visited.

  She gazed at the ship for a moment longer, and then she left the cliff behind and started to run.

  Chloe was panting, standing on a hillside that divided the island into two halves, screened by a grove of trees. She leaned against a trunk as she caught her breath, watching as the huge warship, eighty feet long, with two decks of oars and a towering mast, coasted slowly into the placid cove, running aground before the rowers leaped out the sides and hauled the vessel up onto the soft sand of the beach.

  Disappointment sank into her chest.

  She could already see from the ship’s orange-and-yellow flag that it was Ilean, and the swarthy skin of the sailors and the whip marks on the shoulders of the grunting oarsmen confirmed it. There was little chance that she could pass a message to her sister in Phalesia or to Dion in Xanthos, letting them know she was alive.

  The sailors lowered a gangway, until the stepped wooden plank stretched from the topmost deck to the shore. A gray-bearded man in a bright-ye
llow robe disembarked with a chest in his arms. His face solemn, he climbed up the shore until he reached the low stone wall that separated the beach from the bank above it. Two of the magi met him at the wall and they exchanged words, but no one stepped onto the path. As the Ilean emissary set down the chest, Chloe could see that it was heavy.

  She jumped when a soft voice spoke beside her.

  ‘A gift from Kargan, king of Ilea.’ Turning, she saw one of the four magi standing beside her; he’d approached without a sound. ‘We receive many offerings, but few are brave enough to step onto the path.’

  He paused, regarding her for a moment. His eyes were dark, sunken into his cheeks, for like his three identical brothers his frame was emaciated, almost skeletal, making his white robe appear overly large on his body. He was as bald as they were, but had three brown spots on his wrinkled scalp, which allowed Chloe to know that she was talking to Zedo, the man she thought of, more than the other three, as her teacher.

  Zedo cocked his head, assessing her. ‘You realize that you are not yet ready to leave?’

  ‘Will they be sailing north?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Ilea always sends an offering at the beginning of spring. When they are finished here, they will return to Lamara.’

  Chloe frowned. ‘I’m going to talk to the captain anyway.’ She started to move forward, but the magus called out.

  ‘Chloe. Stop.’

  She turned. ‘I’m not trying to leave. I just want to give them a message. My sister—’

  ‘Your sister is well. I have already told you. She lives and studies as a novice priestess in Phalesia.’

  ‘She has no one. And our father’s murderer is Phalesia’s first consul!’

  ‘Your sister is unaware—’

  ‘And you think that means she’s any safer? Sophia’s clever. If she finds out the truth, she won’t let it go.’ Chloe’s anger suddenly turned to frustration and sorrow. ‘And she thinks I’m dead, too. Even if I can’t go to her, I can at least tell her . . .’

  ‘I promise you,’ Zedo said, ‘if a ship comes that can carry word to Phalesia, we will speak with the captain. But that is not the ship you want to entrust with your message. King Kargan is someone who only thinks of how he can strengthen the Ilean Empire.’

  Zedo came forward and reached out to clasp her shoulder, a gesture that surprised her, for he rarely showed warmth.

  ‘Your training is progressing . . .’

  ‘I haven’t learned anything.’

  ‘You have learned inner control. The rest is closer to you than you may think.’ He met her eyes as he spoke, his voice soft but filled with import. ‘Remember. Your path to magic is an unusual one. You have a strong natural talent, but it was awakened late in your life. It is a dangerous combination, one that has brought you to your current position, for when the dam broke, what should have been a trickle of power soon became a flood.’

  ‘But you still haven’t told me why we have to stay here,’ Chloe said. ‘You said this place is special. How? Why can’t we go to Phalesia, perhaps together? Even for a short while?’

  He was silent for a moment, before he slowly nodded. ‘Perhaps it is now time I told you some things. You have been to the heart of Sindara and seen the pool, where there is a green jewel resting at the bottom, deep below the surface. The eldren call it the Wellspring, and it is the origin of their power.’

  ‘I remember,’ she said. The pool had glowed fiercely as life returned to Sindara, emerald light shining throughout the glade.

  ‘Here at Athos, we humans have our own wellspring, which we call the Source. It is said that the gods gave the jewels as gifts to the two races, that they gifted the eldren the magic of living things, and humans the magic of the elements.’ Zedo gave a slight shrug. ‘If the Oracle knows the truth, she has never told us.’

  He touched the tips of his fingers to Chloe’s temple.

  ‘Being close to the Source restores your balance. But if you were to leave this island before you are ready, you would suffer again. The power of the Source is stronger in Athos than anywhere else.’

  Chloe’s brow furrowed. ‘This jewel . . . the Source. It’s in the Oracle’s cave, isn’t it?’

  Zedo started. ‘How did you—?’

  ‘The fires. They cluster around the cave. And the flame the Oracle stares into is the biggest of all.’

  ‘You have a quick mind. I have always thought so. Yes, the jewel is deep in the cave.’ The magus hesitated. ‘Like you, my brothers and I came to our powers late. After a raid saw our village enslaved, our captors decided that because we all look the same we were cursed and gave us as offerings to the Oracle. Those who were the Oracle’s guardians before us taught us what they knew, but because we were no longer children we had to solve the same problems you must solve now. Even we cannot leave Athos for long periods . . . We are destined to live out our lives here. The Oracle cannot leave her cave; her ability to see the future is bound to the jewel.’

  Zedo turned to look down from the top of the hill, gazing toward the opposite side of the island from Seer’s Cove, where there was a sprawling cluster of crumbled ruins. Once it had been a series of grand temples, but now only a few of the stone structures were standing. Chloe and the brothers ate, slept, and studied in the shell of what had once been a long dormitory, with enough beds for hundreds.

  ‘This is where fate has brought you. Once, long ago, we taught many, and the head priests and priestesses of our temples around the world were all able to call on the materia in times of need. Now we must teach again.’

  ‘But what purpose is there to it?’

  ‘We receive many gifts of precious goods and rare metals. Raiders are always a threat. But we are also well placed to know about the affairs of the world, and how to shape the future to the betterment of all. Sometimes the Oracle has visions, and gives us direct guidance, as with you.’

  Chloe tilted her head, surprised. Zedo often spoke of things that she knew he hadn’t seen with his own eyes – like her father’s death. But he’d never revealed why they’d gone to such lengths to help her. ‘What did the Oracle say about me?’

  ‘The world is about to face a new threat, greater than any before,’ he said. ‘The Oracle believes that you may have an opportunity to end it.’

  ‘She is the Oracle. Doesn’t she know?’

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘It involves the eldren – and one in particular. His presence in your future interferes with the Oracle’s ability to see.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I think you know the answer.’ He spread his hands. ‘If you learn, you can leave. But if you leave before you are ready, you will not live long.’

  ‘Then teach me more,’ Chloe said. She lifted her chin. ‘I’m ready.’

  Zedo smiled. ‘I believe you may be.’ He gazed into her eyes. ‘You truly believe you are?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then come. Today, you will learn how to listen to the wind.’

  3

  Kargan, King of Kings, ruler of the Ilean Empire, leaned forward on the high-backed ebony throne. The occasion was formal, and he was dressed for the part, wearing a flowing orange robe with a belt of woven gold. His mop of dark hair was combed and oiled, and his beard curled outward from his chin. He hated the ceremonies and customs of the court, but he knew he needed to play his part nonetheless.

  He gripped the arms of the throne as he regarded his guest, trying to keep his expression pleasant, for Lord Samar, prince of Haria, was a powerful nobleman in his own right. Twice Kargan’s age, Samar’s face was as wrinkled as a raisin, but his eyes were intelligent and his bearing was proud. The nation of Haria, with its great port city of Efu dominating the Ilean Sea, had a special relationship with the empire, and trade between Haria and Ilea dwarfed that of the other dominions. In return for giving Kargan his allegiance, Samar expected Kargan’s help when he asked for it.

  ‘Well, Lord Samar, is it enough?’

  Standing i
n front of the throne, flanked by priests, lords, and courtiers on both sides, the prince of Haria glanced down at the three wooden chests on the floor in front of him. The lids were open, tilted back on their hinges, revealing the shining gold coins within. Kargan disliked depleting his treasury, but if the gold was necessary to preserve his empire, it was a price he would pay gladly.

  Lord Samar looked up again, meeting Kargan’s eyes. ‘I will speak plainly, Great King. It may be enough to put down the rebellion. The gold will buy weapons and armor, and the promise of greater pay will call many of the deserters back to my service. I can bribe some of the rebel leaders to betray their fellows, and perhaps it will even give me the head of the snake. But’—he let the word hang for a moment—‘I would prefer to return to my homeland with twice this amount. It is to both of our interests that this . . . situation . . . is resolved quickly.’

  Kargan tried not to scowl. He wasn’t angry at the prince of Haria, who was doing his best to crush a rebellion and restore order to his realm, and had the grace to be candid. It was the fact that tribal loyalties and local independence movements were always trying to unravel the order he’d created. Since becoming king he’d brought about peace between the Galean nations and Ilea, and trade was thriving. He’d installed programs to reduce poverty, and at the insistence of the king of Xanthos he’d even regulated the treatment of slaves. His soldiers patrolled the streets of his cities night and day; crime was at its lowest level for decades, even in the smaller towns.

  Rebellion led to chaos, and chaos led to death. As a military leader, he’d always looked after the safety and well-being of his men. Now that he was king, his responsibility was to every inhabitant of the Ilean Empire.