Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3)

by James Maxwell

  ‘Probably true,’ Dion said, ‘but not very romantic.’

  ‘Lad, as soon as you see me being romantic, you have my permission to throw me into the sea.’

  ‘Well, now you mention it . . .’ Seeing Cob’s expression, Dion decided to let up on his jesting. ‘The cape. Does it have a name?’

  ‘Cape Cush.’

  They both watched the distant promontory for a time, soon leaving it behind as the vessel’s pace picked up and they made speed for Malakai. Cob began to look worried as a thin strip of land appeared on the horizon.

  ‘They say Malakai was built by the Aleutheans, like Aleron, in Sarsica,’ Dion said. ‘But where Aleron is in ruins, Malakai was never abandoned.’

  ‘Well, lad, against my better judgment, you won’t have long to wait to see it for yourself.’

  A yellow and barren coastline, flat and featureless, now stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. Scanning ahead, waiting for something to break up the monotony, finally Dion saw the unmistakable signs of a settlement.

  At first it was just a few dots of red and white, but then it grew in size, becoming a city of grand buildings and towers, with a long wall facing the pale sand. They began to see distant fishing boats, and old men and boys with poles in their hands staring with naked curiosity at the huge trireme.

  Dion heard Cob murmur behind him. ‘I still don’t see why you had to come yourself.’

  He turned to face his old friend. As their destination neared, both men were now gravely serious. ‘They say he’s calling himself Palemon, and claims to have returned from across the sea.’ Dion met Cob’s eyes. ‘I need to find out the truth.’

  ‘Why?’ Cob scowled. ‘What purpose does it serve?’

  ‘Even if he’s just using Aleuthea’s legend to gain power, he’s shown he has teeth. They say he took Malakai in the first assault. You can’t tell me that doesn’t disturb you. The Aleutheans defeated the eldren – at a time when the eldren were far stronger than they are now. They had magical abilities.’

  ‘Stories.’

  ‘Then why are you so worried?’

  ‘Because my king and friend is putting himself in harm’s way, for no other purpose than to satisfy his curiosity.’

  ‘We’re flying merchant colors. We’re a trading ship. We’re bringing supplies to a city that needs them, and our motive is simple: profit. However’—Dion gave a grim smile—‘in addition to our goods, we have a hold full of soldiers. They’ll see a trading vessel, but in truth we’re equipped for war.’

  Cob steered the Liberty toward a distant pier jutting from the shore, long enough for deep-keeled merchant vessels to dock in safety, though at present there was only a tiny rowboat tied alongside the wooden platform, bobbing in the waves.

  The old man muttered and shook his head. ‘This is a bad idea.’

  Dion navigated the crowded hold, weaving around archers, armored infantry, and constantly moving oarsmen. He finally found Finn among the stores, making scratches on the sides of barrels.

  Long-haired and slender, Finn was now Dion’s master of trade and treasury. With his sharp mind and network of shady contacts, the former purser of the Free Men had helped bring wealth to Xanthos. Together Finn and Cob had transformed Fort Liberty, once a haven for pirates, into a successful trading outpost, a place where the Free Men enjoyed as much liberty as they had before, without the risk of reprisal that pirating had once carried.

  ‘You didn’t see the sunken city,’ Dion said.

  ‘Too busy here,’ Finn replied absently, making another scratch on the side of a crate. Crammed among the stores, he looked up from his work to grin. ‘This is a good idea. There’s risk, but there’ll be more than enough reward. Few ships cross through the Chasm to the Aleuthean Sea. We’ll be able to name our price.’

  Dion chuckled and shook his head. ‘You’re taking your role seriously.’

  Finn shrugged. ‘It’s only a small change.’ He smiled. ‘And I get to wear expensive jewelry.’

  In order to maintain the deception that they were a merchant vessel, Finn was presenting himself as the representative of a powerful trading consortium from Koulis. He wore a thick navy tunic and a belted sash the color of gold, along with a heavy silver necklace and calfskin boots. With his soft-spoken manner, long lashes, and delicate hands, he looked every inch the wealthy trader.

  Dion fingered his own necklace, also made of silver but plainer than the one he’d left at home in Xanthos. He would be presenting himself as first mate, with Cob the Liberty’s ostensible captain. As such, his clothing was plain and functional. He looked anything but a king.

  ‘Cob’s worried,’ Dion said.

  ‘Cob’s always worried.’ Finn went back to his work, peering inside a barrel and making several more scratches on the side.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘It’s a private code: the price we paid for each barrel. I plan to double my money on each.’

  ‘Your money?’

  ‘Ah . . . The treasury’s money.’

  Dion watched him for a time. Finn was almost too eager to play his part. If they had to leave in a hurry, he wondered if he’d be able to tear him away from his negotiations with the city’s traders. ‘Come up when you’re done. We’re nearly there.’

  6

  As the trireme slowed to approach the pier, Dion and Cob stood up near the bow, appraising the city of Malakai and wondering what kind of greeting their arrival would provoke.

  Dion was relieved to see that no soldiers were coming down to meet them, only dozens of brightly dressed merchants jockeying for position as they waited for the vessel to dock.

  ‘What makes you think you’ll get to meet this Palemon anyway?’ Cob muttered.

  ‘With a ship like this?’ Dion indicated the vessel. ‘He’ll want to meet us.’

  ‘And if he likes the ship so much that he wants it for himself?’

  ‘That’s what the soldiers are for.’

  ‘I still don’t like this.’

  Hearing a shrill sound, Dion turned to see Finn walking the deck, theatrically craning his neck and whistling as he took in the nearing city. Finn then glanced down at himself, tugging at his tunic, before coming to join them.

  ‘The famed city of Malakai!’ Finn said, gazing at the walls and the soaring circular tower behind them, so high it appeared to brush the sky. ‘Once Aleuthea’s gateway to the heartland of the south. Picture it . . . Ships coming and going between Aleuthea and Malakai . . . picking up precious metals, ivory, and lion skins. There would have been a proper harbor then, with docks, shipyards, and dozens of piers, rather than just the one.’

  For a moment Dion scanned the shoreline and imagined the scene, but then shook himself when he remembered his purpose.

  ‘Cob,’ he said. ‘Remind the men below to come out fighting if they hear the bell—’

  ‘Wait,’ Finn interrupted. ‘Who’s giving the orders here? You’re the captain’s mate.’

  Dion scowled at Finn, while Cob shook his head.

  ‘We need to get into our roles,’ Finn explained. ‘The best actors at the theatre practice constantly. Then, when they’re on stage, they know exactly what they’re doing.’

  Cob chuckled. ‘He has a point.’

  With a sigh, Dion turned to face the crew and called out, ‘Men! From now on we are merchants. Cob is your captain, and I am his mate. Finn here represents the ship’s owners.’

  There was no discernible change in the crew, but they were all prepared and could answer any questions posed without giving themselves away. As the drum tempo slowed and the Liberty’s oarsmen backed to slow their momentum, Cob issued orders and slowly brought the ship alongside the pier.

  Finn’s eyes studied the clamoring merchants on the platform, evidently taking note of the pecking order among them, identifying those with the richest clothing and gaudiest jewelry. Meanwhile Dion felt tension in his shoulders. When the first bireme had arrived at Phalesia, neither the Phalesian
consuls nor Dion’s father had known much at all about the Ileans.

  Now there was a new potential danger, and he didn’t intend to repeat the same mistake.

  The Maltherean Sea was at peace. If there was going to be any threat, any change in the balance of power, he wanted to know what it was.

  With the ship fastened to the pier and Finn already on the platform, thriving under the attention of so many buyers, Dion also played his role, helping the sailors carry up barrels from below decks. He continued unloading, making no change in his behavior as he watched two soldiers approach the Liberty, pushing through the merchants to stand at the edge of the platform and call up to the deck.

  ‘Your captain. Where is he?’

  Cob stumped forward, crossing the deck where he’d been coordinating the activity. Meanwhile Dion set down his barrel near the mast and pretended to fuss over one of the ropes, hanging back, partially hidden, where he could appraise the soldiers more carefully.

  They were both pale-skinned, far more so than the local traders bargaining with Finn, whose complexions ranged from olive to ebony. The soldier calling up had a close-cropped gray beard, long hair, and drooping eyes, and gave away a strange accent, undoubtedly foreign, with a harsh barking inflection. His companion was bald, tall, and lean, with a curl to his upper lip.

  But it was their armor that drew Dion’s attention.

  They were wearing shirts of steel links, like a multitude of necklaces woven together into a garment. The chain shirts were close-fitting and long-sleeved, so that only their heads and hands were exposed. Belted at the waist, the protective armor continued nearly to their knees before revealing leather leggings underneath. Shifting to get a better vantage, Dion saw that they wore black ankle-high boots.

  Dion was a better archer than swordsman – by a long margin – but regardless of the weapon, he could see in an instant how difficult it would be to kill men so well protected. Their swords were also unusual, so large that they were worn on sheaths on their backs, with the hilts poking over their left shoulders. They both had daggers in scabbards at their hips; the long-haired soldier casually rested his hand on a steel hilt.

  Dion frowned. Who were these people?

  ‘I am the Liberty’s captain,’ Cob called down.

  ‘The king sends his regards for bringing much-needed supplies to the city,’ the long-haired soldier called up. ‘He wishes to thank you in person.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cob said. ‘It would be my honor.’

  Cob glanced at Dion, and, remembering his role, Dion caught up with him as he descended the gangway. When they reached the pier, the bald soldier, the taller of the two, looked at the axe hanging from Cob’s hip.

  ‘Leave any weapons with your ship,’ he said.

  With a brief glare at Dion, unnoticed by the soldiers, Cob handed his axe to one of the crewmen.

  ‘My first mate comes with me,’ Cob said, indicating Dion.

  The bald soldier inspected Dion, saw that he was unarmed, and nodded. The leader of the pair then started to clear a path through the clamoring merchants, all desperate to talk to Finn, who appeared to be enjoying himself playing one off against the other.

  Dion saw Finn return his glance. His finely dressed friend made no sign of acknowledgment, the slight narrowing of his eyes saying enough before he looked away, leveling a hand at a nearby merchant and barking out a price. Returning his attention to Cob, whose mouth had tightened, Dion fell in behind the old sailor. The two pale-skinned soldiers now led the way into the city.

  As they left the pier behind, approaching the tall walls of yellow stone and the broad wooden gates set into them, Dion saw that there was a monument of some kind, erected directly in front of the gates. Following the soldiers across an expanse of square flagstones with grass poking up between, he found himself walking toward a statue.

  Dion was perplexed as he neared, looking up as the statue loomed over him. Resting on a square base of granite, a stern-faced man made of polished marble gazed into the distance, wearing a shining crown of golden spikes on his head, like rays of light. In addition to the crown, the statue’s fingers were clenched around another metal item: a golden discus. There could be no doubt it was a representation of Helios, except for one thing.

  The god was sitting on the back of a dragon. Reins connected his hands to the dragon’s neck, and the creature had been perfectly crafted: the sculptor knew what a dragon looked like in surprising detail, from the size of the flared nostrils to the sweeping protrusions behind its eye ridges. The powerful hind legs were so strong it could leap into the sky or land at speed. The outstretched wings had thin bones like a framework, all connected to a muscular back.

  Dion remarked to the soldiers, ‘Where I come from, Helios pulls the sun behind his chariot, with the great stallion Nagros in the lead.’

  The long-haired soldier with the drooping eyes shrugged. ‘Take that up with the locals.’

  Cob glanced at Dion, looking more and more anxious as they passed through the gates. Feeling his stomach tighten into a knot, Dion reminded himself that they’d come here for information. They were merchants, about to be thanked for bringing supplies to the city. They would discover the truth about Malakai’s new rulers, and then they would leave.

  Their escort now led them down a wide, paved avenue, with well-maintained gutters on both sides and plants draping tendrils from upper balconies. Looking around him, Dion saw more solid stone than he’d encountered in any other city. Turning from the main boulevard, they passed through street markets and open plazas. Fountains in the squares bubbled with clear water. Dion had always heard that Imakale was a dry land of desert, but the shade cast by the terraced houses made the streets cool, while the hanging gardens and flowing water helped to dispel the heat.

  Entering another broad avenue, Dion almost stopped and stared when he saw the soaring tower that had been visible from the Liberty. Broad and cylindrical, it was extremely far away, but so tall that it towered over the street, an optical illusion tilting it forward, as if it were about to fall. Up close, the Sky Tower was even taller than he’d thought it would be. He recalled Cob saying that whatever was inside, the priests kept its secrets close.

  Urbane city folk walked past, dressed in loose trousers and tight vests, along with bare-footed clansmen from the desert, wrapped in cloth leaving only their dark eyes bare. Seeing young women shopping in the markets and children skipping in the streets, Dion decided the city’s new rulers appeared to be leaving the citizens to their own devices. Ilea was a foreign power, after all, and seeing how many clansmen were armed, it was clear that denizens of Imakale had played a part in the fight for their capital, making it more of a liberation than a conquest.

  His suspicion was confirmed when he glanced through a break between the buildings and briefly saw the city walls. Warriors in steel armor manned the battlements, but they were outnumbered by their dark-skinned companions from the dry lands in the south. At every turn he looked for signs of fighting – blood-stained streets or burned-out husks of buildings – but couldn’t see any. The city had been taken swiftly.

  The long-haired soldier broke the silence. ‘The palace is just ahead.’

  ‘Your king,’ Dion asked. ‘What is his name?’

  ‘He is Palemon, direct descendant of Palemon the First, who ruled Aleuthea.’

  Dion’s stomach tightened further.

  7

  Remembering his place, Dion hung behind Cob as they were led through the gates of the palace and up a series of steps to an audience chamber, with evenly spaced columns holding up the ceiling and windows facing the sea. The view was captivating, but his eyes were instead drawn to the man standing in front of the ebony throne.

  He was powerfully built, broad-shouldered with a narrow waist, and wore a bleached leather vest, dark trousers, and high boots. He wasn’t a young man, and his pale skin was lined, but his back was straight and he was tall enough to tower over most men. He had long black hair streaked with
gray and a braided beard, and his eyes were dark and brooding, with bags under them as if he’d been having difficulty sleeping.

  Dion noted that he wasn’t sitting on the throne; nor were there courtiers and advisers filling the room. This wasn’t a king who was accustomed to ceremony. He had just the one companion, a black-haired hunchback with shoulders sitting oddly high and muscular, ropey arms.

  The long-haired soldier nodded at Cob. ‘King Palemon, this man is the captain.’

  Cob bowed – the first time Dion had seen him do so – and gave his full name, which sounded odd on the old man’s lips. ‘King. My name is Cobrim, and I am captain of the Liberty.’

  Palemon glanced at Dion. As their eyes met, Dion suddenly felt the worry gnawing at his guts grow even stronger. The stare was dismissive, arrogant. The dark eyes were cold. Nothing would stand in this man’s way.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Andion. Captain’s mate.’ Rather than bow, Dion merely nodded. He saw Palemon scowl.

  ‘I am Palemon, king of Malakai and the lands as far south as the red desert. This is Kyphos, one of my advisers.’ Palemon inclined his head at the hunchback. ‘Your ship. What manner of vessel is it?’

  ‘A trireme, King,’ Cob said. ‘A hundred feet long, fourteen feet wide at the beam.’

  ‘It is a sound vessel?’

  ‘Aye,’ Cob said.

  ‘How does it handle rough seas, out on the open ocean?’

  ‘Well enough.’

  Palemon nodded. ‘Kyphos has a proposition for you.’

  As Kyphos talked, the king started to pace. He tugged on the braids of his beard and stared out to sea, as if fascinated by the ocean. Dion studied him, but then Kyphos’s words struck him like a slap on the face.