It took some time for his eyes to adjust, but soon he saw that the layout was similar to the tower in Malakai. Cocking his head, he heard Zara’s footsteps further down the wide corridor. He headed after her, following a passage filled with creepers and weeds, shells and flopping fish. Fully aware that he didn’t belong here, a place so recently underwater, he continued past the opening that led to the tower’s central shaft and followed the sloping floor down.
He found Zara standing outside a sealed metal door of solid gold.
The sorceress muttered to herself as she brushed aside debris to reveal symbols where a handle would normally be. Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingertips to the gold and concentrated.
The symbols glowed with a sudden, fierce fire. They lit up in an instant and then the light slowly began to fade.
With a heavy creaking sound, the door swung open.
The floor beyond was dry.
Zara lifted her staff and pointed the silver device into the darkness beyond. A strong breath of air blew past Kyphos’s back, gusting into the deep vault underneath the tower, refreshing the interior.
Kyphos heard the sound of boots on the stone floor and glanced behind him to see the first of the soldiers arriving. The man was wary, but looked relieved when he saw Kyphos standing with the sorceress. More men appeared behind him, brave warriors from Necropolis, who’d faced orcas and white bears, and assaulted the city of Malakai and won.
Looking ahead once more, Kyphos cursed. Zara had already gone through the door. With only the fading light of the symbols to see by, he could just make out the faintest outline of her silhouette.
‘There may be danger,’ Kyphos called back to the soldiers. ‘Wait a moment before following.’ He then hurried after the sorceress, the soldiers behind him exchanging glances.
Up ahead, Kyphos saw Zara raise her hand. A golden ring on her finger lit up with a radiant glow, providing enough light to see. As he hurried to catch up with her, Kyphos expected to come to a chamber like the one in Malakai, but was surprised to find himself standing with the sorceress in a long corridor. A series of wide passages, perpendicular to the central corridor, headed out on both sides.
‘What is this place?’ Kyphos asked.
Zara cast him an impenetrable look, continuing her exploration. He followed her into the first of the side passages and immediately saw cages flanking the corridor, stretching all the way to the end, until the passage terminated in a blank stone wall. Within each cage was a skeleton. Every one of them had a gaping hole in its skull.
‘What did you say, sorceress?’ Kyphos asked when he heard her mutter under her breath and noticed that she was scowling.
‘No chains,’ she said.
‘The dragons . . . Why were they killed?’
Zara shrugged and they left the passage, moving into the next. Soon they’d confirmed that all the others were the same.
‘So many,’ Kyphos said. ‘They must have had scores of dragons.’
Zara nodded absently. ‘A hundred or more. Come. We can’t dally.’
She walked briskly to the end of the long corridor and then stopped, lifting her hand to cast light ahead.
Peering over her shoulder, Kyphos saw that they were now at the top of a set of stairs leading downward.
Without another word Zara descended, moving so quickly that Kyphos, with his shorter stride, struggled to keep up. At the base of the stairs they found another golden door, and the sorceress hurried to put her fingers to the symbols, closing her eyes and then making a short grunt.
The golden door swung soundlessly open.
As if triggered by its opening, sudden light poured from behind the door. It was as bright as daylight, and for a moment Kyphos was blinded. He blinked and gradually his sight adjusted.
Zara entered, and Kyphos heard her gasp. He followed, and they both took in the immense hall they now found themselves in.
Orbs of solid gold glowed brightly, fixed to the wall at regular intervals. They revealed a magnificent vault, a gigantic store room, filled with magical items.
Kyphos and Zara walked along a central aisle, passing copper chains in multitudes, hanging from row after row of racks. Sun staffs with devices of gold, assembled on stands, filled an entire section. Wind staffs occupied another stretch, with resonance staffs and fire staffs precisely arranged in order. Along with the staffs were other weapons: swords, spears, and lances.
But then Zara’s footsteps increased as they passed through a gap between the racks and stands. She had her eye on something at the far end of the cavernous store room. Hurrying after her, Kyphos saw that she had fixed her gaze on an arch.
Given its own space apart from the other artifacts, it was big enough to dominate the far wall. Twelve feet high and eight feet wide, it was fashioned from metal, braided from four strands, each a different hue. Kyphos and Zara exchanged glances, then approached the arch in awe, no longer hurrying, their eyes on the mysterious relic. They stopped in front of it, and the hunchback realized that the thick strands that made up the braids were the yellow of gold, white of silver, red of copper, and black of iron. The arch stood on its two feet, supported by circular pedestals.
Kyphos heard mutters and gasps and glanced back to see that the soldiers had entered the chamber and were looking around, taking in the artifacts with wide eyes. He suddenly remembered that they didn’t have long.
‘The chains,’ he called. There were dozens and dozens of them. ‘Each of you, take command of a group of slaves. Get them all. Quickly now!’
‘No!’ Zara countermanded, glaring at Kyphos, daring him to disagree. ‘The arch.’ She reached out a hand and touched it gingerly, obviously fascinated as she examined it up close. ‘Take this first.’
47
From her shelter on Widow’s Peak, Chloe saw that the slaves and the soldiers who commanded them were exiting the tower. This time the slaves were burdened.
A dozen bare-chested men struggled with an immense arch, obviously heavy. Even the soldiers lent a hand, navigating the best path through the shattered streets of the ruined city, helping them with its bulk as they climbed over the rubble. Following behind were more porters carrying lengths of chain over their shoulders, chains that glinted red in the bright sunlight.
Chloe remembered the painting Dion had shown her in his palace. The sky had been filled with dragons, their scales the color of blood. The copper chains and the arch were linked somehow. She didn’t know what the arch did, but it couldn’t be anything good.
‘Chloe?’ Liana’s wide eyes betrayed her anxiety.
More artifacts came from the tower, carried in the arms of the slaves: weapons, staffs, metal chests, even pieces of armor. The last of them left the structure even as the burly men with the arch exited the city and began to cross the pathway between the towering walls of water, heading for the higher ground at the cape.
Chloe nodded. It was time. If she could break the spell, here and now, the wind would become a storm. The waves would break. Chaos would ensue. The slaves were lightly clothed, but the armored warriors would sink to the bottom in their chain shirts. Zara and the hunchback were from a land of ice. They wouldn’t be able to swim.
With so many soldiers and slaves below, there would only be a few people left at the cape. No one would understand what was happening. Taking advantage of the confusion, she and Liana would seize Dion from his captors before anyone could react.
Feeling the howling wind around her, brushing cold fingers against her skin, Chloe left the sheltered area to stand on the steep hillside. She raised her staff. The six magi still held the sea at bay, silver spirals glowing fiercely as the towering waves surged above them.
She had to act quickly if she wanted to obliterate Palemon’s soldiers and sorcerers, and sweep away the artifacts from the ancient city. She fed the flame, feeling the fire rise up until it surged inside her body, threatening to engulf her if she didn’t set it free.
‘Chloe!’ Liana’s scream was pierc
ing, cutting through her concentration.
Chloe whirled to see a dragon with a gray-robed magus on its back descending from above. As the dragon’s flight followed the slope of the mountain, heading directly for them, the creature parted its jaws and the sorcerer narrowed his dark eyes. He was short, with close-cropped hair, two thirds of his face disfigured by a savage burn mark. His right hand held a staff crowned with an iron claw; his left hand clutched the chains of red metal connected to the dragon’s collar.
Chloe recognized him in an instant. He was Tarik, the sorcerer who’d taken Liana at the guesthouse.
Liana paled. ‘The dragon. It can sense me.’ She thought for a moment and came to a decision. ‘I’ll lead them away.’
‘But—’
Liana was already moving, her gaze fixed on her approaching enemy as mist enveloped her. The gray smoke shimmered and then as a silver-scaled dragon she burst out of the cloud, flying directly at her opponent. She ducked underneath the coal-colored dragon and bit hard under its belly. She then flew directly away from the peak as the sorcerer turned his mount and chased after her.
Chloe looked back at the slaves carrying the arch.
She lifted her staff again, her brow furrowed with concentration, and prepared to summon her power.
It was time to break the spell.
Dion was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. He glanced sidelong at Palemon, who was watching the procession of ancient artifacts from the lost city below.
Dion’s arms and legs had been freed, but he was still collared. He remained slumped on the ground beside Palemon’s makeshift throne, presenting himself as weak and pitiful, never a source of threat. There were no soldiers in the area, but Palemon carried a dagger at his side, and Dion knew that the tall king from across the sea was the far superior warrior. He needed to find the right moment to seize a weapon and then take his revenge. The opportunity would come.
Palemon was pacing in front of the tall chair, watching as the first of his men climbed down from the ancient city. Dion frowned as he saw that a dozen labored to carry something broad and heavy, glistening in the bright sunlight. Palemon stopped, waiting with fists clenched as they struggled with its weight, laboring along the path through the parted sea.
‘The Arch of Nisos,’ Palemon murmured. ‘She found it.’
Unable to tear his eyes away, Dion saw that behind the arch a long line of warriors and slaves bearing loads of all shapes and sizes trailed down from the tower. He shook himself. He couldn’t worry about magic. His quest was for revenge, and would no doubt see him killed, but he had to have faith that others like Chloe would do what was needed and save their homelands from the growing threat of these people from the frozen north.
Rage boiled up inside him as he thought about all that Palemon had done, and planned to do in the future. Scores of innocents had been killed in the tower in Malakai, murdered when their bodies broke at the bottom of the shaft. Others had been trapped in a strange, alien shape. Isobel, a vibrant young woman with child, had been slaughtered as she tried to flee. Dion had been collared, beaten, starved, and forced to kneel to a man he despised.
Palemon glanced down at him. ‘This city will live again. My glorious ancestors—’
‘Their time is done,’ Dion said, unable to stop himself. ‘Your ancestors are all dead. As you and your people will soon be.’
Palemon gave a wry chuckle. ‘It appears that you have some bark left in you. You think this is your era? A time when a half-breed is king, slaves are freed, and weak soldiers battle each other?’
‘And you – you believe you are strong?’ Dion replied. ‘You don’t even have the courage to enter your city.’
Palemon gazed out at the remains of Aleuthea, the city that the warriors of Necropolis, Zara and her sorcerers, and Kyphos the hunchback had all seen up close. A city he might never see again.
His mouth tightened. He grabbed Dion around the iron collar, hauling him to his feet. ‘Come, King of Xanthos. Let me prove to you, once and for all, what makes my blood nobler than yours.’
With Cob and Finn gone and Liana battling the sorcerer Tarik, Chloe’s plan was falling apart, but there was still a chance of destroying Palemon’s forces and the artifacts he’d come for. Everything now came down to her.
Her gaze took in the long line of slaves and soldiers. She knew what Dion would want her to do.
The wind was so fierce that it made her eyes sting as she lifted her chin, fixing her gaze on the two towering walls of water, so impossibly high above the cleared pathway on the ocean bed.
She took a deep breath and began to summon her magic. She could feel it inside her, begging her to free it. Silver flame darted up to fill her vision with white.
She drew on the fire until she was holding onto as much as she could, feeling it writhe and twist. With a shout she released it, throwing a strong gust down the path between the twin walls of water. Again she summoned her power, feeling the wind that was holding the sea at bay drawn to her staff. Once more she pointed her staff and released a torrent of air.
She could sense the spell unraveling, like threads plucked from a tapestry. The howling wind became even more intense; now its direction was chaotic.
Pain built up in her head, but she ignored it, drawing almost more of her power than she could handle, preparing to rip the magic to shreds.
She stopped. Her heart beat out of time.
Two figures were walking in the opposite direction to the slaves, following the pathway in the parted sea as they headed toward the sunken city. Already they were in the area of danger. One was Palemon, tall and imposing, with dark clothing and gray-streaked hair.
The man following behind was Dion.
Chloe suddenly remembered the Oracle’s words.
You will have an opportunity to destroy our ancient enemy and end a great threat.
Chloe knew without a doubt that this was the opportunity the Oracle had foreseen. If she could break the spell, she would destroy almost every one of the descendants of Aleuthea. She would kill their king. Zara and Kyphos, whom she hadn’t seen leave the tower, would surely die. The artifacts would be washed away, never to be seen again. The soldiers would drown in their heavy armor. The sorcerers would fall to magic of their own making.
She was faced with a choice. Finish breaking the spell and abandon Dion to his fate, or try to save him and let the artifacts make it to shore.
Her staff was still leveled down the pathway between the waves, and without warning her power burst free, torn from her body, sending another blast of air down the corridor. She had drawn so much that she was unable to hold onto it, and she sensed still more threads of Zara’s magic being torn.
As the wind tore at her hair and clothing, panic filled her. Dion, the man she loved, was directly in harm’s way. She realized she might not have a choice at all. She had already started to unravel the spell, and soon it would break completely.
48
Leaving behind the procession of people carrying heavy metallic artifacts, Palemon walked with long strides, impatiently glancing over his shoulder, lip curling in scorn as Dion lagged behind.
Dion’s struggles were only partly pretense; he was weary from the journey to Cape Cush and weary of life.
He decided that he was going to make his move now.
He tried to keep up with the king as they climbed the buckled streets. Sea life was everywhere, coating the buildings and the ground, making the scene look strange and unreal, reminding him that the spell of the sorcerers was the only thing preventing them from drowning. He glanced at a sorcerer as they passed. The man’s face was white, his teeth gritted as he maintained the spell. Legs apart as he held his staff high, he looked like he was fighting a battle and losing. The wind was savage, becoming fiercer with every passing moment.
‘See all we built?’ Palemon spread his arms.
‘All I see is death,’ Dion panted. ‘Look at your feet.’
Palemon glanced dow
n and saw a grinning skull, just a few inches from the broken road. He scowled at Dion and then nodded back in the direction of the cape. Following his gaze, Dion saw that the arch had made it to safety. ‘I look forward to showing you what we are capable of.’
Soon they were passing the remains of bigger buildings. The king reached the wide marble steps leading to the tower and began to climb. When Palemon paused to gaze around him, Dion was able to sidle closer, his eyes on the dagger on Palemon’s hip.
But then he tripped on the crooked steps and felt a burst of pain in his thigh as his injured leg gave way. He stumbled and fell down, bracing himself with his hands. The tall king strode over and again yanked him to his feet by the collar.
Dion’s hand reached for the hilt of Palemon’s dagger.
But even as he focused his thoughts on the struggle to come, knowing he would need every ounce of his strength to kill his enemy, he saw a change come over the king from the frozen north.
Palemon’s head jerked as he caught movement higher up. Following his gaze, Dion’s eyes opened wide. He released his grip on the dagger’s hilt.
Chloe was running down the steps, heading toward them with a staff in her hand. Wind tossed her dark hair around her face, revealing her expression of fierce determination, brown eyes blazing, jaw set, cheeks as tight as a drum. She wasn’t hiding or hesitating; she was approaching with speed.
Palemon frowned as she neared. ‘I know all of my people. Who are—?’
Chloe lowered her staff and pointed it at the king. The silver glowed a split second before a blast of concussive air struck Palemon in the center of his chest. His face showed shock as he flew backward, his body sailing down the marble steps until his back struck a stone the size of a table and the breath shot out of his chest.
Chloe rushed to Dion’s side, closing her eyes and clasping a hand around his iron collar. Sudden heat flared against his skin before the metal fell to the stone.
‘Come on!’ she cried, taking him by the hand and pulling him in the direction of Widow’s Peak.
Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3) Page 29