Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3)

by James Maxwell

  You need help?

  I’m fine. I can do this without hurting them.

  Dalton snatched at one man and then the other, his meaty fingers closing over empty air as his opponents dodged out of the way. One of the swordsmen, younger than his two companions but possessing his share of bravery, jumped on top of the stone wall and then tried to leap onto Dalton’s back.

  But Dalton snatched him out of the air. He held his wriggling captive by both arms, four feet above the ground, his legs scrabbling uselessly, face white as a sheet. The ogre displayed him and snarled. The soldiers exchanged glances and backed away, desperate to save their friend.

  Dalton then set the young man gently down and let him go.

  Stunned, he rushed over to his comrades. They took him by the arms and without a word, they ran from the battle.

  Dalton looked at Eiric. See?

  Well done.

  Turning his attention back to the battle, Eiric was tall enough to easily scan over the heads of so many men, and knew immediately that the attack was faltering. The combined strength of the eldren was simply too much for the humans.

  Eiric, look out!

  Eiric whirled. He saw Dalton moving, intercepting a group of twenty soldiers pouring over the embankment to attack from behind. With surprising skill, the newcomers leaped over the wall with just one hand on the top, short stabbing spears held in the other. Their eyes were on Eiric as they charged. They didn’t see Dalton coming.

  He barreled into them, heedless of their bristling weapons. But these were a different breed of soldiers than the ones they’d been fighting. Whirling, moving with incredible agility, first one and then another stuck his spear into Dalton’s torso. Dalton roared with pain, still trying to swat them away without hurting them. Another spear stabbed into his back.

  Dalton! Eiric cried. Caleb, I need your help!

  Bellowing with rage, Eiric suddenly found that he could no longer think. Throwing himself into the fray, he was filled only with the desire to save his friend.

  He bunched his fists and swatted the face of the first man who reached him, killing him in an instant. The next warrior – perhaps the leader, for he was the only one wearing insignia – scored Eiric’s thigh with the point of his spear, but Eiric clasped his hand around the man’s throat and squeezed until his spine snapped.

  Then Caleb joined the fight, his huge club pounding at soldier after soldier. An inner voice screamed at Eiric as he tore the humans in half and stamped down on their torsos. But all he could think about was his friend, the first of Triton’s group to support him, now on his back and staring up at the sky.

  The clearing was tranquil, high in the misty tablelands, with evergreens on all sides and a carpet of lush grass. Liana, a slight eldran with flowing silver hair, green eyes, and a heart-shaped face, moved through the resting eldren, filling gourds from an earthenware jug and taking water to those of the wounded who were unable to walk.

  Lifting the jug, she saw that it was empty, but then an older eldran entered the glade with a heavy ewer held in each hand.

  ‘Zachary,’ Liana said. Setting the jug down, she hurried over and took one of the ewers from him, grunting as she struggled with its weight. ‘You shouldn’t strain yourself.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m too old to help?’ he asked, his eyes twinkling.

  Zachary was growing old. There were threads of white in his silver, shoulder-length hair, and in the thin eyebrows arched over his brown eyes flecked with gold. His face was narrow and his features were sharp, almost gaunt, with a crescent-shaped scar on his left cheek. But his back was straight, and he was tall enough to tower over her. His eyes were still the warmest and wisest she had ever known.

  ‘Of course not,’ Liana said.

  ‘We are the same, you and I. We both chose not to fight. But even if we disagree with Eiric’s actions, our values dictate that we must do our part to help.’

  Liana smiled at Zachary, and together they refilled the smaller jugs. When their work was finished, she stretched as she walked to the edge of the clearing to gaze at the low mountains close to the edge of Sindara. It was safer for the wounded here, far from the relentless fighting. The energy of their homeland aided their recuperation and they weren’t exposed to the elements. From her position she could see a hint of the gaping holes that were the mines’ entrances. She couldn’t hide the worry from her face.

  ‘I’m sure he is safe,’ Zachary said, coming to stand beside her.

  ‘He is the king, and we both know that they’ll do everything they can to kill or capture him.’

  ‘Eiric is strong. He always was, even as a boy.’ Zachary placed a hand on her shoulder and then squeezed. ‘I’d best go and see to the wounded.’

  He left Liana to her thoughts.

  Liana and Eiric were now lovers, but with all the trouble at the mines, they hadn’t yet spoken of marriage. Theirs was a tumultuous relationship, filled with passion and declarations of love, but also the occasional bitter argument that meant they sometimes wouldn’t speak for days afterwards. She was angry at him for thinking that action was always needed when sometimes words could accomplish more. He accused her of always doubting him. But she couldn’t back down, not when his actions placed him in harm’s way.

  As she turned away from the mountains, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A tall, broad-shouldered figure was stumbling through the trees, approaching from the far side of the clearing. She felt a familiar tightness in her chest as she recognized Eiric’s face. But then she frowned. His silhouette was strange.

  He was carrying something, and whatever it was, it was heavy. His burden required both his arms.

  Liana began to run.

  She left the wounded behind, crossing the clearing and plunging once more into the trees. When she reached Eiric, she gasped.

  He was carrying Dalton, a man who was one of the oldest of their number, and had been instrumental in uniting the group from the Waste with those from the Wilds. Liana saw at least three gaping wounds in Dalton’s chest, along with a tear stretching from just below his shoulder to his hip. Both Eiric and Dalton were covered in blood. Dalton was groaning.

  ‘What happened? Eiric? Let me help.’

  But when she tried to help him with his burden, he shook his head, despite his obvious exhaustion. He continued to walk slowly, every footstep labored as he headed toward the clearing.

  Liana looked for Zachary. ‘Zachary? Zachary!’

  Zachary came quickly, helping them lower Dalton to the ground. Liana continued to ask Eiric questions, but he was in shock; she’d seen this look before: eldren who were close to each other could speak without sound and sense each other’s presence; when they lost a loved one, the pain could be enough to turn them wild. As Zachary tended Dalton’s wounds, Eiric sank to his knees.

  ‘They surprised us,’ Eiric said softly. ‘I should have thought of it.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’ Liana asked, swiftly checking him over.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘We pushed them back. Dalton . . .’ His voice broke. ‘Will he live?’

  After seeing that Eiric had little more than scrapes and bruises, Liana helped Zachary to wash Dalton’s wounds with the life-giving water of Sindara. As soon as the clear liquid trickled into the savage holes in his body, Dalton moaned with relief. His color slowly returned, and he closed his eyes as his ragged breathing became more even. Treating each wound in turn, Liana clasped the edges of skin together while Zachary stitched them closed with deer gut.

  Finally Zachary took his focus away from his task to speak to Eiric. ‘He will live, but it was a close thing. If the wounds had been any deeper . . .’

  Eiric let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘What happened?’ Liana asked.

  Eiric’s golden eyes met hers. ‘What happened? He was hurt because he was trying to save my life and at the same time stop the humans without killing them. Then . . .’ He suddenly looked ashamed. ‘Then I turned on them. Caleb an
d I . . . We tore them apart.’

  ‘You’ve set yourself an impossible task. Perhaps . . .’ Liana tensed; she could never be sure how he would react. ‘Perhaps we should give the people of Tanus back their mine . . .’

  His golden eyes flashed. ‘It is inside our territory.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ She frowned at him, taking a deep breath and lifting her chin. ‘But we abandoned Sindara for hundreds of years. You can’t blame the humans for expanding during a period in which we didn’t live here. Surely we could come to some arrangement?’

  ‘Arrangement? They are humans. They will never give up their gold and silver. This is our land. It was always ours. They have to understand that.’

  ‘But you and Dion—’

  ‘Don’t mention his name.’

  Liana’s mouth tightened. ‘But how can there be peace if we don’t talk? Surely we could at least talk to Dion? Those soldiers aren’t his.’

  ‘Dion sent soldiers to the mine. They were prepared to fight us.’ He scowled. ‘And to think I once called him a friend.’

  ‘His soldiers retreated when you made it clear you would attack. You don’t know his side of things.’

  ‘Enough about Dion. He is no friend to us.’

  Eiric tried to rise, but Liana grabbed hold of his hand, forcing him to face her. ‘Just because you are the king, does not mean I can’t disagree with you.’ He tried to jerk his wrist away, but she held him fast. ‘You’ve been listening too much to those who once followed Triton. I know you’re trying to be strong, but being forceful and having strength of character are two different things.’

  He finally tore his arm free and stormed out of the clearing. Liana was worried; the fighting had brought out Eiric’s darker side.

  ‘He does love you,’ Zachary said. ‘He’s just confused right now. Don’t give up on him.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Liana said sadly.

  17

  Shielding her eyes from the blazing sun, her other hand on the tiller as she peered ahead, Chloe felt sudden relief: she knew the city she was approaching. It wasn’t Phalesia, but at least it was somewhere she recognized.

  Despite using the wind to cut her journey down to days, she didn’t know how to navigate by the stars, and had been forced to hop from isle to isle, following barren coasts. Then a storm blew her off course, confusing her further, and now, rather than the swift journey to Phalesia she’d planned, she had found herself at the Sarsican city of Myana.

  Her father had taken her to Myana only once, when she was a girl, but she recognized the hilltop temple overlooking the city below, and the wide mouth of the Silver River that split Myana down the middle and emptied out in the harbor, which was full of boats of all shapes and sizes, from huge biremes to tiny fishing boats, all bobbing alongside a network of wooden docks.

  When she reached the piers, wary of the other boats approaching and departing, she allowed the sail to go slack, remembering the things Dion had shown her as she guided the raiders’ small vessel. Dropping the sail completely, she picked an empty berth and steered her boat toward it, but then realized too late that she still had far too much speed. With a smack, the boat ran hard against the wooden dock, jolting her forward out of her seat, but fortunately no harm was done. Hearing the noise, a boy ran toward her, grinning at her embarrassment as he tossed her a rope to fasten the boat’s bow to the quay.

  ‘How long?’ he asked, bold despite being just seven or eight years old. ‘One day is two coppers.’

  The raiders’ boat contained a pouch filled with small currency and Chloe handed him four coins, although she didn’t plan on staying long in Myana. He checked each coin over in turn and then nodded.

  ‘Welcome to Myana.’

  Chloe gathered her few possessions and her staff, then left the boat behind, moving from one walkway to another until she reached solid ground. Finally away from the docks, she paused as she tried to get her bearings. Her plan was to find someone who might sail her to Xanthos or Phalesia in return for the boat itself as payment.

  She took a deep breath. Her vision of crumpled bodies in the Temple of Aeris in Phalesia, and of her sister Sophia, still and unmoving, had stayed with her all voyage. The Oracle had said it would come to pass, no matter what she did. But Liana had once told Chloe that she should act as if there were no prophecy, to never feel like her destiny was already written. She had to make it back home.

  She scanned the area, wondering how to begin.

  The quayside stank of fish and seaweed, which formed piles that steamed in the sun. Fishermen sat on stools, chatting while they mended nets. Dozens of gulls cried out to each other as they fought for the occasional morsel. Newly arrived traders, puffed up with self-importance, headed directly for the Silver River Market, scribes and porters in tow.

  Hearing stern voices, she turned to see a heavyset man accosting each group of merchants in turn, weaving on his feet, his face covered by a thick black beard. The merchants wrinkled their noses as one after another turned him away. He wore a ragged tunic and his feet were bare, but despite being unable to afford sandals, the sword on his hip was sheathed in a well-crafted scabbard. Lurching from one trader to the next, he hiccupped and pleaded for work.

  ‘Guard? Need a guard?’ He tried to grip the arm of an old, dark-skinned merchant, but the merchant’s lip curled in distaste as he shook himself free and ploughed on without responding.

  ‘Anyone? Guard?’

  The drunk saw that he’d run out of targets to approach and glanced in Chloe’s direction. Immediately she turned her back and began to walk away from the harbor. There would be inns and taverns on the broad main avenue. She could feel the drunk’s dark eyes on her as she left him behind.

  She tried not to look back over her shoulder, and finally she rounded a corner and breathed more freely. It shouldn’t take her long to find some sailors who could help her. A stout boat in return for helping her get home should be an attractive proposition . . .

  Amos couldn’t believe his eyes.

  He could have sworn, in front of all the gods, that he had just seen Chloe. But Chloe was dead. Transfixed, he watched her walking away: a slim, dark-haired woman in a plain white chiton, heading determinedly for the inns frequented by the city’s sailors, traders, and laborers. He shook himself. There were many in Myana who might match Chloe’s description. His mind was playing tricks on him.

  He turned back to the docks, but sighed when he couldn’t see any more new arrivals. Scratching under his arms, he pondered. He could return to the harbor later in the afternoon, or he could see if there was any work in the drinking houses. At least if there wasn’t work in the taverns he could pass the time more pleasantly, out of the sun, and then come back tomorrow. Yes, there was no point returning to the harbor in the afternoon. Tomorrow would be better. He’d find work eventually.

  He looked down at himself, trying not to think about how low he’d fallen. Once, he had been captain of Phalesia’s city guard, the commander of hundreds of strong soldiers. He’d led his homeland’s defense against Ilea’s attack and been hailed as a hero. When Aristocles needed help, it was Amos he always turned to. Now he was nothing, a nobody.

  Amos scanned the area again. No one wanted to hire him. But he needed money. He licked his lips. Already he could taste it, smooth, sweet wine, flowing down his throat, lighting a fire in his belly.

  He glanced up at the sun. It was after midday, definitely time for a cup. One of the drinking houses might have visiting merchants. He’d be using his time effectively.

  Well, perhaps it wasn’t quite midday, but any time was a good time for a drink.

  Chloe left another tavern, shaking her head in disgust. The raucous shouts, guffaws, and singing of the sailors followed her until she left the place behind. As with the previous drinking house, the sailors she’d spoken to all had work and were using their time on leave to drink their wages dry.

  She wondered where she should try next. She had to get to Phalesia, and if she hadn�
��t had any success by the time the night was over she might have to try sailing herself. But she’d been lucky to find Myana. If she tried to go on alone, with little sailing skill or knowledge of navigation, she might never make it to the journey’s end.

  As she walked, staff in hand, the shadows in the streets were becoming long and tapered as heat left the day. Finally she spied one more tavern, smaller than the others. Around the corner from the avenue, on a narrow side street, she was in a disreputable part of town, not far from the Silver River Market. It was now completely dark and the light of oil lamps beckoned wayfarers inside, where warbling music and men’s raised voices merged into a cacophony.

  She hesitated and then entered.

  The smell assaulted her. The ramshackle interior was dirty, with sticky floors and the stench of sweat and stale wine overpowering. Groups of men sat on stools around low tables, talking loudly and calling for wine from the bustling proprietor. A musician played a lyre in the corner, brow furrowed as he concentrated on his instrument to the exclusion of all else.

  Taking a deep breath, Chloe approached one of the tables, where a wiry, sun-tanned sailor sat with a brawny companion. It was only when she raised her voice to be heard above the din that they looked up.

  ‘I’m looking for someone who knows how to sail to Phalesia.’

  The brawny man grinned at his wiry companion. ‘What do you think, Taimos? Told you we’d find you work if we came here.’

  ‘I can sail,’ the wiry man said, looking up at her with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘What’s the job, beautiful?’

  Chloe immediately knew that she didn’t want to travel alone with him. He was thin and balding, with a grimy tunic and several days’ stubble on his chin. And he was leering at her, eyes traveling slowly down her body.

  ‘No matter,’ she said, looking to the next table.

  ‘Hey!’ The brawny man scowled. ‘You said you had a job for my friend. Let’s hear it, woman.’

  He was twice her size, with muscled arms and a red face. His necklace was made of iron links, the medallion bearing the impression of a blacksmith’s anvil. He glared at her from under a patched felt cap.