A short, stocky older man with a completely bald head looked up at her and put his finger to his lips. ‘Chloe,’ he said. ‘You need to come with me. We’ll find a way to help your friend, and perhaps you can help us save the king.’
The bald man led Chloe a short distance to a large tavern and drinking house. It had three stories and dozens of balconies on the upper floors. The lower level, open to the street, had enough seating for a hundred, but only a few people huddled on the stools, leaning on the tables, conversing and drinking tea.
‘It’s called The Trader’s Rest,’ he said. ‘Our rooms are above. You have lodgings?’
‘I did, but I’m not going back.’
His wary gaze checked in both directions before he nodded. ‘We’ll get you settled here.’
He continued to scan the room as he led Chloe past empty tables to a quiet corner, but even she could see that no one was paying them any attention. When they’d reached the back of the room, he offered her a seat at a table a little away from the rest and asked for tea when a boy came round to take their order.
‘My name is Cob. I’m a friend of—’
‘Cob?’ Chloe gasped with relief. ‘Dion told me about you. I know who you are.’
‘I don’t need to ask, do I? You’re here for the same reason I am.’
Chloe opened her mouth, but then snapped it closed as the boy approached with their tea. Finally she answered, speaking in a low tone. ‘Where are they taking Liana?’
‘Your friend?’ His round face screwed up. ‘Is she an eldran?’ Chloe nodded and Cob scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Dion’s mentioned her. What happened?’
‘They wanted her . . . We’d only just got here . . . The innkeeper gave us away.’ Chloe’s expression darkened when she remembered what the sorcerer, Tarik, had said. ‘It’s like they’re rounding up anyone who might have eldran blood.’
Cob spread his hands. ‘We haven’t been here long, and I can’t hazard a guess what they want with her. But we’ll find out.’
‘How did you know what I looked like?’
‘I saw you once before. At the harbor in Phalesia, around the time that Ilean warship first arrived. You were yelling at us to stay clear of it.’ He grinned. ‘I feel like I know you, lass. Sailing is a lonely business. I’ve heard him talk about you many, many times.’
Chloe glanced down at the table and felt her face redden. She changed the subject. ‘What have you learned so far? Is Dion here?’
‘He’s here. At least, he was recently.’
She looked up sharply. ‘How do you know?’
His face turned grim. ‘I have some news, and I’m afraid it isn’t good. Isobel is dead.’
Chloe put a hand to her mouth.
‘They killed her in the street . . . We spoke to people who saw it. An arrow took her right between the shoulder blades. Seems Dion was trying to rescue her at the time.’ Cob rubbed at his eyes and glanced away. ‘So the bride of our king is dead, along with his unborn child.’ He cocked his head. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’
Chloe nodded, not trusting herself to speak as tears welled in her eyes.
‘If he’s still alive – and I have to tell myself he is – he’ll be a broken man.’
‘You mentioned others. Who’s with you?’
‘We couldn’t risk more than a couple of us. Dion’s uncle thinks there’ll be a ransom attempt, but he hasn’t met Palemon. We’re the Free Men, and our king is not free. There’s me, and there’s Finn.’
‘Finn? Where is he?’
Cob scowled. ‘Getting himself into trouble.’
Finn entered the throne room grandly, swirling his crimson cloak as he turned to face the king. He gave a majestic bow, culminating in a flourish. Palemon appeared unimpressed, but Finn allowed not the slightest sign of his rising trepidation to show. He could do this.
‘So you are a historian?’ Palemon asked.
‘A chronicler, King Palemon. Famed throughout the Maltherean Sea. My name is Fustalonious and—’
‘What kind of a name is that?’ Tall and imposing, standing in front of the ebony throne, Palemon’s expression was puzzled.
‘Er . . .’ Finn thought furiously, his pulse racing. He swirled his cloak once again to gain a few moments. ‘Great King, it is the name that will bring your glory to the world. I, Fustalonious of Lyre, have come halfway across the world to chronicle your return . . . The return of the King of Kings, descendant of Aleuthea, ruler of the world.’
Finn gave another bow. He struggled not to look away from the king, at the slumped man chained to the wall a few paces from the throne. Part of him wanted to cry out Dion’s name, but he had to act his part if he wanted to help his friend.
When Palemon didn’t reply, Finn pressed on. The king’s face was emotionless, giving away nothing. Finn knew he had to hide his fear.
‘I will give anything to be able to document your past, present, and future, Great King. Telling your tale will be its own reward. Aleuthea sank beneath the waves and your people were never seen again, but behold, here you are!’
‘We aren’t all here,’ Palemon growled. ‘I brought but one tenth of my people with me. I left many behind. Too many.’
‘And I want to see you aid their return also. I will help you, Great King, in any way I can.’
‘You are familiar with the noble families of the Maltherean?’
‘Of course!’ Finn’s face lit up. ‘I can name every member of the council of five in Koulis. There’s Lord Tavin, Lord Bradlock, Lord Zarmos . . .’
‘Enough,’ Palemon said, cutting the air with his hand. Finn breathed an inward sigh of relief. He’d been naming sailors from the Free Men, and was worried he’d slip up and name Tanny the Sour or Redknuckle.
‘So, chronicler, you will know, then, who this is behind me?’
Palemon watched Finn’s face intently while he peered at Dion, as if trying to match features in his memory. ‘By the gods, is that Dion, king of Xanthos? Son of Markos and brother of Nikolas?’
Palemon tugged on the braids of his beard. ‘It is.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘So it appears you are who you say you are. Chronicler, I intend to claim the entire Realm of the Three Seas for my own. This record you want to transcribe . . . Will it help me achieve this?’
Finn put certainty into his voice, adding a touch of indignation: Fustalonious was a man who took himself very seriously. ‘Undoubtedly. I can hold my head high and tell you with certainty. Of course! I will write my chronicle – with you, Great King, tall and magnificent, with a braided beard and the biggest sword the world has ever seen, as the central figure. All will know of your power and presence. Mothers will tell their children, and men will regale each other with tales of your exploits. Your name will be known across the land.’
Palemon tilted his head, considering as he slowly looked Finn up and down. He saw before him a slight, reedy man, with fine features, long hair, and thick eyelashes. He carried no weapon, and nor did he look like the kind of man who knew how to use one. But his hair was fashionably cut, and his fine crimson cloak was made of thick silk dyed with the most expensive of pigments.
‘You may return tomorrow,’ the king said finally. ‘But let it be known, chronicler, that I will have scribes read your account back to me, and if I’m displeased . . .’
Finn bowed. ‘You will not be, Great King.’
‘And I have just one rule.’
‘Of course, anything—’
‘Keep your fluttering mouth shut. For a man who claims to listen and record, you talk far too much.’
40
Liana was terrified. She was standing on a stone ledge, and a soldier was forcing her to the edge. Staring down into the tower’s shaft, through the wide gaps between the iron chain that formed a net, she saw the hard stone floor far below. Barely able to breathe, she swallowed when she saw the crimson blood stains at the bottom.
She tried to reach out to someone, anyone, but the collar around her neck interfered
with her abilities. She pictured Eiric’s face, but when she attempted to touch his mind, her senses hit a wall.
She screamed as the soldier pushed her from behind.
At the same instant, she felt the collar around her neck open. For a few seconds she tottered, arms waving wildly.
Eiric! Help me! she cried out with her mind.
But then the soldier gave her a second hard shove and she fell down into the deep central shaft of the tower.
She plummeted through the net of iron chain in an instant. The encircling stone wall passed by in a blur. As her limbs clawed at the air, her body tumbling, the ground rushed up at her.
Just a moment before, she’d seen a slave girl’s head shatter on the stone. Utterly terrified, wailing in fear, staring up at the sky and watching the circle of blue sky grow smaller and smaller, she was unable to prevent her instinctive response.
She imagined halting her flight, growing wings that would prevent her fall. With every fiber of her being focused on fleeing this terrible place, the shift was dramatic and instantaneous.
Suddenly she felt the familiar sensation of changing, her body elongating and wild thoughts overwhelming all others. A gray cloud whitened her vision. Relief flooded through her, as just before striking the ground, she became a dragon.
Her powerful wings beat away the last shreds of mist. A few sweeps arrested her motion as she rolled. She stared up at the circle of blue sky overhead, thoughts confused, filled only with a desire to escape. She put on as much speed as she could, climbing the shaft again.
With a shudder she crashed painfully into the net.
Shrieking and wheeling, she hit the wall and then craned her neck downward to see slaves in ragged tunics calling out to each other, watching her intently.
In their hands were lengths of iron chain, some slender as whips, others thick and heavy. Desperate to get away from them, she flew up to strike the net again. With nowhere to go, she slammed hard against the stone wall, scratching at it with her forelimbs, biting and snapping in vain.
Something grabbed hold of her leg. The grip of iron was painful, making her shudder at the touch of cold metal.
Screeching, she peered down and saw a chain wrapped around her hind leg. The chain went taut as three slaves pulled in unison, hauling her toward them. Now spiraling out of control, she crashed into the opposite wall while still more slaves worked together to bring her to the ground.
A moment later she struck the blood-streaked floor, sending the slaves scattering. Braver souls ran forward, throwing iron netting over her, pinning her down. She snapped at anyone who came near, reaching out with her claws, even as she became tangled. Glaring at her enemies, she promised to disembowel the first who dared to come close.
The circling slaves hung back, wide eyes filled with terror, torn between the threat of not following their orders and the danger posed by the silver-scaled dragon in the center of the tower’s floor.
Two men in gray robes pushed through.
As Liana glared at them darkly, a rumbling growl began deep in her chest and exited through the gaps in her sharp teeth. She immediately recognized the short man with the burned face who had captured her. His companion, a bearded older man, raised a staff with a golden disc on its summit and suddenly she was blinded.
She snapped and writhed, lunging in all directions, but before her vision could clear, a heavy iron collar went around her neck, and she heard a click as it was swiftly fastened tight enough to constrict her breathing. For a brief moment she was stunned. The encroaching wildness that came from being in another form had vanished, as had the ability to change back to her normal shape.
Panicked, as the stars darting across her vision subsided and her sight returned, she lunged at a scrawny slave nearby. A swipe from her claw sent the man flying through the air until he crashed against the wall. Her tail lashed out, whipping another slave across the neck.
Moving with surprising dexterity, the robed man with the melted face came around her other side and fixed strange reins of shining copper to the collar.
Liana went still. She was suddenly transfixed, unable to move. There was a connection between her and the scar-faced sorcerer. She could sense his satisfaction at dominating her will. In turn, she felt violated, knowing he was aware of her every thought.
‘A fierce one,’ said the bearded sorcerer who had called the blinding light. ‘The biggest we’ve had yet. And look at her color. Bright silver. You don’t think . . . Magus Tarik, is her blood pure?’
‘How would I know?’ Tarik’s voice rasped. He turned and barked at the slaves. ‘Clear this place up. It’s a mess.’
He then took the copper chains and led Liana away.
‘I was right there looking at him,’ Finn said.
‘How is he?’ Chloe asked, leaning forward on the table. They were alone in a corner of The Trader’s Rest, and she was anxious to hear every word.
‘Bad.’ Finn winced. ‘I’m sorry, but he’s not in a good way.’
‘How bad?’
‘I couldn’t look at him too closely, but he’s been hurt. He’s chained to the wall, and just . . . sits there, staring at the ground like he’s lost all hope. He must have known who I was, but when I tried to catch his eye, he didn’t even glance at me.’
Cob coughed and looked away. Chloe put her head in her hands. She told herself she had to be strong.
‘At least we know where he is,’ she said hoarsely, forcing the words out. ‘We can do something now to free him. What about Liana? Did you find anything out about where they might have taken her?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Finn said with a sigh, shrugging. ‘I didn’t even know about her until now.’
‘A man at the market said something about dragons flying in the night,’ Chloe continued. ‘He said they come out of the tower. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘The Sky Tower . . . That’s where Isobel was killed,’ Cob said. ‘There’s always a guard outside the door.’
‘Do you think Liana’s there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Finn said. He put vague hope into his voice. ‘I might find out more tomorrow.’
‘By the gods, what’s happening in this world?’ Cob rubbed his hand over his face. ‘Princess . . .’
‘I’m not a princess anymore.’
‘Chloe . . . I’m going to be frank with you: Finn and I . . . We’re out of our depth. We’re going to need you to find out whatever it is that’s going on here.’
‘I’ll try.’ She was silent for a time, before she looked up sharply. ‘I want to see him.’
Finn shook his head. ‘I don’t think that’s poss—’
‘I said I want to see him. You managed to.’
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Finn protested.
Chloe lifted her chin. ‘Tell me exactly what you saw, and what was said. I’ll find a way to make it work.’
Cob gave a wry chuckle. ‘You’re exactly the way Dion always said you were.’
Finn frowned, but Chloe continued to stare directly into his eyes.
Finally he started to talk.
41
Chloe watched, amazed, as a transformation came over Finn before he’d even reached the palace. Suddenly he was walking with long strides, despite the fact that he wasn’t a tall man. He lifted his chin and put a disdainful, self-important expression on his face. Remembering her part, Chloe scurried after him, head down and shoulders slightly hunched. She furrowed her brow, trying to make herself appear obsequious, and slightly worried, which wasn’t difficult at all given the circumstances.
Her heart was racing. Even if all went well, she would soon be face to face with the people who’d killed Isobel. She would see Dion, and if she was lucky, speak to him. It already weighed down on her to think of the pain he must have endured. She was frightened at the thought of seeing it written across his face.
Finn slowed to allow her to catch up. ‘Do you have any acting experience?’ he asked under his breath. He threw up his hands.
‘Of course you don’t. Why did I ever agree to this?’
‘I can read and write.’ Chloe frowned. ‘We won’t be caught.’
She held a roll of papyrus in one hand and clutched a satchel over her shoulder. The satchel and papyrus had both cost a fortune, but Finn insisted on procuring only the best.
‘That remains to be seen,’ Finn muttered. He glanced ahead, before meeting her eyes. ‘We’re almost there. Remember, you are my scribe and I am your master. I will act accordingly, and I expect you to do the same. Follow behind me at all times, and keep your head down. Write what I tell you to write. Never question. Speak as little as possible. Understood?’
‘Yes.’ Chloe scowled. ‘I understand.’
‘Good. This is no game, Chloe.’
Finn increased his stride once more, forcing Chloe to walk with quick steps to keep up with him as she followed from a distance. They were now skirting a long fence of iron spikes, and soon came to an open set of gates, where half a dozen pale-skinned warriors stood guard.
Making a dramatic entrance, Finn didn’t slow in the slightest as he swirled his cloak and imperiously swept through with nothing more than a slight nod. ‘Fustalonious, king’s chronicler,’ he called without slowing, as if far too busy to give them more than an instant of his time.
‘Let him through.’ The guards stood aside to let them past, but as they crossed a central courtyard Chloe saw another pair of guards standing at the base of a set of steps. These two were watching them intently as they approached.
Finn gave a broad smile, coming to a halt. ‘I am Fustalonious, king’s chronicler’—he bowed—‘and this is my scribe.’ When Finn nodded at her, Chloe kept her eyes on the ground.
As the guards examined them both, Chloe struggled to keep her composure. If she appeared frightened, or attracted their curiosity, their plan would fail, and she and Finn would most likely be killed.
‘The king is expecting you,’ the older of the two guards said in a deep baritone.
‘Come, scribe,’ Finn ordered.
Chloe followed close behind as he climbed the steps and then walked along a stone passage with soft mats of dyed wool underfoot. Light beckoned ahead and then she saw that they were approaching an expansive throne room.
Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3) Page 25