Drawing up the water around it, pushed forward by a powerful gust, Chloe’s wave grew to the height of the last.
The sorceress’s blue-tinged lips curved in a smile.
The gathering wind released from the woman’s staff was so thick it was visible as streams of pale air. In an instant an opposing wave grew, a wall of water that became taller and taller, rising to a height bigger than Chloe had ever thought possible, nearly twice the height of the galley’s mast. Chloe’s own wave approached, but it was only half the size, and she held her breath as the two waves met head on.
The approaching wave rolled over Chloe’s without pausing.
‘Hold on!’ the captain screamed.
The mountainous wave began to break, towering overhead before smashing down onto the galley. Suddenly air was replaced with water. Wood shattered as splinters went in all directions. Chloe’s vision became filled with white foam as she felt herself plunging deep under the sea, limbs scrabbling and trying to pull her back to the surface while she was tossed back and forth in the currents. From underwater her vision cleared for an instant and she could see planks and swimming men everywhere. But downward force continued to push everything down, deeper and deeper.
Her chest heaved, lungs clawing at her throat and begging her to open her mouth. Pulling at the water with both arms, kicking furiously with her legs, finally she managed to make headway toward the surface. A plank swirled past her head, missing her skull by inches, and she dodged another as she fought the pain in her screaming chest.
Finally she burst free to the surface before another wave hit her, crashing down onto her head, knocking her under again. Gulping salt water, she coughed and tried to push her way to the top once more. For a long time she could only concentrate on keeping her head up and trying to eject liquid from her lungs, even as the surging sea swept her away.
Still clutching her staff, finally she was able to get her bearings as the peaks and troughs continued to toss her around. She could see crewmen in the distance and tried to swim toward them, but then yet another wave swept her away. She paddled over to one of the planks that were now the last remnants of the proud galley and pulled herself onto it. Holding on to the plank, resting her staff across it, she rode out the next, smaller wave.
When the sea finally calmed, she realized she was alone. The ship carrying Isobel to some unknown destination was a speck in the distance. There wasn’t a crewman from her own galley to be seen. She called out, but no voice returned her calls.
The ocean was wide and featureless in all directions. She didn’t even know where she was, or where the currents would take her.
She knew then that she would be lucky if she survived. When thirst and starvation sapped her strength, and she could no longer hold on to the floating plank, she would die.
29
Back in his normal form, Dion woke to a swift boot kicking him in the side. He rolled over and glared up at the man standing over him.
‘Get up,’ Kyphos grunted. ‘We need to keep moving.’
With a scowl, Dion roused himself, and as the fog of sleep gave way to remembrance, despair sank into his gut. He was at a rough campsite on the top of a mile-high cliff. A sheer precipice nearby plummeted down to the Chasm. Across the void, the opposite cliff appeared hazy in the morning light. Birds wheeled in the sky, while far below, water rushed through the narrow gap, mingling the waters of the Maltherean and Aleuthean seas.
‘Here,’ Kyphos said in his gruff voice, tossing him a pouch. Dion glanced warily at his strangely muscular, stooped captor, before opening the pouch to see that it was filled with trail mix. ‘Eat.’
Dion ate slowly as he watched the hunchback, who paced and stretched before turning and walking to the cliff edge to gaze down into the Chasm. With his enemy’s back turned, Dion could easily rush forward to push him over the edge and kill him.
But he couldn’t. Isobel needed him. His future child needed him. He had to find her.
‘Finished?’ Kyphos turned away from the precipice. ‘We need to get moving if we want to reach Malakai today.’
Dion climbed to his feet. ‘Where is Isobel? What is it you want me for so badly?’
‘All will become clear, half-breed.’ Kyphos looked up at the sun. ‘Come, it’s time to go.’
The walled city with its tall tower approached at speed as Dion swept his black wings up and down. He’d been changed for hours and used his rage and sheer determination to fight the encroaching wildness. He was desperate to know that Isobel was safe and unharmed. If he forgot who he was, he wouldn’t be able to help her.
Leaning forward, clutching the knobs behind Dion’s neck and gripping his flanks with his knees, Kyphos bellowed a command. ‘Down!’
Dion banked on the tip of a wing, turning sharply, making the hunchback cry out in alarm. He wheeled, swiftly losing height as he continued to turn in a wide circle. Down below he saw the yellow shore, the wooden pier, and fishing boats pulled up on the beach.
‘In front of the city!’ Kyphos barked. ‘Near the harbor gates!’
Dion felt the sudden desire to roll over until he shook this irritating man-thing off his back, before flying away to hunt. He blinked his huge eyes, trying to focus his attention on the shore. Putting on more speed, he now plummeted toward the city, knowing he couldn’t stay in this form much longer. He heard the rider on his back shout out with fear when he came to a sudden halt, beating his wings just a dozen feet above the ground.
Finally he landed in front of the city walls. His wings swept one last time as his four limbs touched down on the rocky ground. He shuddered at the weight of Kyphos on his back, anxious to return to his normal form. The fearful hunchback slid off and moved away.
Dion growled as he focused his attention. He had to concentrate to remind himself that he was a man, who walked on two legs and talked. With a sense of overwhelming relief, he felt the familiar sensation of changing as a mist rose and clouded him from head to tail.
The vapor shimmered and dispersed. Dion was revealed as he’d been when Kyphos came to him in his palace: a sandy-haired, athletic Galean man with pale brown eyes, wearing a thick white tunic. Hunched on the ground, he slowly climbed to his feet and looked around to get his bearings.
The tall walls of Malakai loomed over him. In front of the harbor gates, near the statue, a dozen soldiers stood in formation. Waiting at the front of the group, tugging on the braids of his beard, Palemon had his legs apart and his fingers hooked into the belt of his dark trousers.
‘Follow me, king of Xanthos,’ Kyphos growled.
Knowing he had little choice, Dion fell in beside the hunchback. As they approached, Palemon tossed something, a heavy metal hoop, to Kyphos, who caught it out of the air.
‘Stop,’ Kyphos instructed. ‘Stand still.’
Kyphos held up an iron collar. Dion paled, unable to tear his eyes off it, seeing that it could be fastened by spearing an arrow-shaped rod through a hoop. He also saw that the connection worked in only one direction. The collar had a series of notches, enabling it to be fastened tighter, but never looser.
‘I’m not putting that on.’
‘But you must,’ Kyphos said.
Dion shook his head, dread creeping up through his chest. ‘There’s no way to get it off.’
‘A magus can do it,’ Kyphos said. ‘But at any rate, this isn’t a discussion. We have your woman.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘Now crouch. Good. Don’t move.’
Dion swallowed as Kyphos fixed the iron collar around his neck, fitting the arrow through the hoop and tightening it along the notches. Feeling his throat become more and more constricted, he tried to keep his breathing slow and steady. The collar gave a final click and the hunchback nodded to himself. Dion reached up a hand to touch the metal now circling his throat. It was tight and made his skin crawl.
‘There,’ Kyphos said. ‘Now come.’
Kyphos jerked his chin in the direction of the waiting soldiers and their king, and
Dion had no choice but to follow him. The hunchback led him directly toward the dark-eyed ruler of Malakai.
‘Kyphos,’ Palemon said, reaching out to clasp the shorter man’s shoulder. ‘You have done well, my friend.’ He then turned. ‘And King Dion of Xanthos. This time we meet without pretense.’
‘I want to see Isobel,’ Dion said.
‘His young bride,’ Kyphos explained. ‘She is also carrying his child. Zara is bringing her by ship.’
‘Leverage indeed.’ Palemon nodded. Taller than Dion, he towered over him. ‘You will see your woman soon enough. For now, there is something I want you to do for me.’ The imposing king’s glare was unrelenting as he pointed at the ground. ‘When we last met, I noticed that you didn’t bow. Now, I want you to kneel.’
Dion lifted his chin, meeting Palemon’s eyes, stare for stare. ‘If that is why you brought me here, I will kneel when I see her safe and well. I will then return to my kingdom and gather my armies and those of my allies, before we grind you into the dust.’
Palemon glanced at one of his captains. Two soldiers left the group, circling around behind Dion, who continued to scowl at the taller man. Suddenly Dion felt crushing pain in the back of first one knee and then the other as they smashed his legs until he fell to the ground.
‘That is better,’ Palemon said. ‘My blood is nobler than yours, half-breed. Never forget that.’
Sprawled on the ground, Dion gave no sign of pain as he tried to lift himself up, but then he felt a soldier’s boot heel on his back, keeping him pressed on his stomach. Lifting his head, he saw a man in a gray robe come forward, carrying a staff with an iron claw on the top. Half of his face was melted, like wax held to a fire.
‘Magus Tarik,’ Palemon said. ‘It appears we must await Zara’s arrival before we can be sure of his cooperation. Put our captive in one of the cells below the Sky Tower. Post a guard on him at all times.’
The magus bowed. ‘I will see it done, sire,’ he said in a rasping, flinty voice.
‘Welcome, King of Xanthos,’ Palemon said. ‘Welcome to Malakai.’
30
Dion paced his strange cell as all manner of thoughts rushed through his head. He thought about Isobel and wondered where she was, and if she was safe and unharmed. And back in Xanthos . . . his disappearance must have been noticed. What was his uncle doing? What could he do? Would he and Isobel ever leave Malakai alive?
Above all, what did Palemon want with him? He had gone to great lengths to capture Isobel. He clearly wanted Dion’s cooperation with something. But what were they going to force him to do?
He had been alone now for a long time, and had been given hard bread and water, enough to last several days. The cage was big, large enough to house a crowd of prisoners, and aside from the iron collar around his neck he was free to roam. The iron bars on three sides – the gate and the shared walls between cells – were as thick as his wrists. The rear wall was solid stone.
When the sorcerer, Tarik, brought him here he’d seen that there were perhaps a dozen cells, arrayed in a long line, all empty. He was underground, beneath the immense tower, and could shout as loud as he wanted without any hope of being heard. There were two guards outside the main entrance at street level, armored soldiers with swords and large, powerful crossbows.
Until he had more information, he couldn’t even begin to prepare an escape plan. He needed to know that Isobel was alive and well, and where she was being held prisoner. If he could remove his collar, nothing would then stop him from freeing her and escaping. But for now, he had to bide his time.
Gripping the bars on the gate and peering out into the darkness, lit only by the wan glow of an oil lamp, he frowned as he examined the far wall. There was writing on it, carved in haste, for the lettering was far from even. The symbols reminded him of the writing he’d seen decorating the exterior of the Ark of Revelation, but it was an utterly unfamiliar language and meant nothing to him at all.
His gaze continued to rove along the wall, until it stopped on something else inexplicable. There were several pegs in the wall, from which hung what appeared to be lengths of shining copper chain, each coiled up like a whip or a harness. In this place, where there was little to look at but bare walls and iron bars, the chains sent a shiver down his spine.
Unable to sit or stand still, he resumed pacing his cell as his worried thoughts turned to one topic after another. This place felt old and alien. He wondered if it was built by the ancient Aleutheans.
Hearing voices, he looked up.
Palemon entered with a woman at his side. Dion remembered Zara, the sorceress who had allowed him to go free. She carried a staff with a glowing circle of gold on the top, filling the shadowed chamber with light. The disfigured magus, Tarik, followed behind them. And then, supported between them, two soldiers dragged a slumped, bound woman.
Dion rushed forward, gripping the bars. ‘Isobel!’
She lifted her head, looking harrowed. Her crimson chiton was torn and travel-stained, her blonde hair in disarray. The sight of her made him want to scream, or roar with rage. Kyphos hadn’t been lying. If Dion didn’t do what they asked, they would kill her.
‘Dion, what’s happening?’ Isobel said hoarsely. ‘Why are they doing this?’
‘Isobel, listen to me. I’m going to get you out of here. I’ll find a way. How is . . .’ He recalled that Kyphos knew. ‘How is the child?’
Isobel started to cry. Dion grabbed at the collar around his neck, pulling it hard, making the iron cut into the skin of his throat, wanting nothing more than to rip it off and change his shape.
‘They killed Father.’ She spoke in between sobs. ‘Please, Dion . . . I don’t want to die.’
Dion drew in a sharp breath. He glared at Palemon. ‘Be strong, Isobel. I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to get you home—’
‘Enough.’ Palemon cut the air with his hand. Approaching the bars, he scowled at Dion. ‘As you can see, your young bride is alive. Do as we say and she won’t be harmed. Zara, perhaps a demonstration.’
Standing beside Palemon, Zara turned and nodded at the scar-faced magus. Lifting his staff, Tarik touched the iron claw to the bare skin of Isobel’s arm, before glancing at Dion to make sure he was watching.
‘No—!’ Dion gripped the bars.
Tarik’s eyes narrowed and the iron claw flared up brightly. The metal glowed like a red-hot poker, and Isobel screamed, writhing in the grip of the soldiers as she tried to pull away. Her skin sizzled and the smell of burning flesh wrenched at Dion’s guts, making him feel sick. Wisps of smoke rose where the iron made contact with her arm.
‘Stop!’ Dion shouted. ‘Stop it!’
‘That will do,’ Palemon said.
Tarik lifted the iron claw away from Isobel’s arm, revealing a hand-sized, blistered patch of skin. Isobel continued sobbing; if she hadn’t been supported by her guards, she would have collapsed.
Palemon nodded at the soldiers. ‘Take her away.’
Dion called out to her, but she didn’t respond to any of his cries. Then she was gone.
‘Where are you taking her?’ he demanded.
‘We will keep her safe and we won’t harm her further,’ Palemon said. ‘Provided you do as we ask.’
Looking through the bars at the tall king from across the sea, Dion knew that it was coming now. They were going to tell him why they’d gone to such lengths to capture Isobel and bend him to their will. What would it be? Would they ask him to betray his people, his friends?
‘What do you want?’ Dion asked through gritted teeth.
Palemon tugged on the braids of his beard. ‘Most of all, as you know, we want ships.’
Dion met Palemon’s dark eyes. ‘You must know that no matter what you do to us, Xanthos would never give up its fleet. Whatever your plans are, they won’t succeed.’
‘I thought as much,’ Palemon said, nodding. ‘But as for our plans, you don’t even know the half of it. Sorceress?’
‘W
e first need to test the most basic element of our theory,’ Zara mused. ‘We need to know that he won’t turn wild.’ She considered for a time and then looked directly at Dion. ‘We need you to change into dragon form.’
Dion blinked, confused. A moment later Tarik threw the bolt and hauled the gate open before entering the cage. Dion looked warily at the magus, knowing he had to be as strong as he’d asked Isobel to be.
Tarik put his fingers on the clasp holding the collar shut and Dion felt a flash of heat on his neck before the collar slid open. The magus then took the collar with him and left the cell, closing the gate once again.
‘Well?’ Palemon’s eyes narrowed. ‘You heard the sorceress. Change.’
Dion realized he had no choice. ‘For how long?’
‘Until we say.’ The sorceress stepped forward, the light from her staff shining on her pale face. ‘If you cannot change, you are of no use to us.’
It was difficult, but Dion drew on his wild emotions of frustration, fear, and rage, to bring on the animal side within. He imagined himself as a winged creature and then came the familiar sensation of shifting.
Mist filled the cell, thickening until it coated him like a blanket of cloud, elongating and changing shape. The mist flickered like the shimmer of heat rising from the earth on a hot day, and suddenly dispersed.
Then he knew it was done.
Now a black-scaled dragon, Dion raised his angular, wedge-shaped head. He folded his wings, shook his long body, and snarled.
For a moment, all three onlookers drew back, putting distance between themselves and the bars. Then they exchanged glances and approached once more.
‘Why black?’ Palemon asked. ‘I thought they were silver.’
‘He is a half-breed,’ Zara said.
Tarik smiled as he appraised Dion, the expression making his melted face look sinister. ‘His mixed blood certainly hasn’t affected his size.’
Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3) Page 19