But Nikolas and Dion were as unlike each other as two men could be. There was nothing wrong with Dion’s strength or agility, but the handling of swords and shields had never come to him, no matter how hard he’d tried. Despite staying up late into the night in the practice ground, hacking at dummies and getting instruction from anyone who would teach him, the sword simply fell out of numb fingers when he tried to make a strike, and the shield dropped every time he took a blow. Still he persisted, and then his older brother suggested archery.
To Dion’s surprise, the handling of a bow came as naturally to him as breathing. He practiced in secret, developing his skill until he could hit the center of a target at seventy paces nine times out of ten. His brother was proud, and together they arranged a demonstration for their father.
But in Xanthos, archery was not considered a suitable skill for a king’s son. The army’s strength came from the coordinated phalanxes of hoplites, working together with shield, sword, and spear. King Markos didn’t even stay long enough to see Dion’s proficiency before he forbade further practice.
The young Dion could no longer entertain a position in the army.
But Nikolas intervened again. He took his younger brother to Cob and asked the old man to teach Dion the handling of boats. Despite the fact that Xanthos had only a small fleet made up mostly of fishing vessels, trade by sea between Xanthos, Phalesia, and Sarsica was increasing year by year. A nation needed wealth to pay the men who worked in the army and fit them with armor and weapons.
Sailing came to Dion even more swiftly than archery. He knew he had finally found his path in life. In a nation preoccupied with the land, where mining and farming were the main occupations after soldiering, and where athletes competed at the Xanthian Games in swordsmanship, wrestling, javelin throwing, and running, Dion instead loved the sea.
And in his time trading and traveling, as crewman and rower, purser and occasionally captain, he had come to a startling conclusion. The future of the Galean continent would not be decided by hoplites alone. It would be determined by control of the ocean’s shifting tides.
‘Look,’ Cob said, pointing.
Dion saw that the cliff ahead, on the port side, leaning over the narrows, was newly broken. The earthquake that had taken place over a week ago had opened up a seam in the peak, and the protrusion had evidently splintered from the cliff and tumbled into the water.
‘We need to get closer,’ Dion said. ‘See if there is anything we can do to clear it.’
‘Clear it?’ Cob snorted.
Dion smiled and then the smile fell, his forehead creasing as he devoted his attention to examining the water ahead. The narrows had always been more of a blessing than a curse, for on the other side of the passage was a clear run to the harbor of Phalesia, which meant that any enemy arriving by sea first had to pass Xanthos’s neighboring nation’s fleet. He considered the sense of security Phalesia provided a mixed blessing, however, for it gave his father, King Markos, little incentive to develop his own fleet. Boats were for fishing and trading, according to Dion’s father, and little else.
He finally let some rope drift through his fingers, barely registering the friction on his calloused hands. The sail slackened and the small boat slowed as he approached the place where only sixty feet separated the island of Coros from the mainland.
‘Be ready to turn,’ Dion instructed.
As often happened, the order was met by a muttered curse, directed at his back.
Dion peered into the water ahead, but still the narrows appeared clear. The tip of the cliff must have fallen somewhere, but now that steep rock walls rose on both sides the boat was in shadow. The wind picked up sudden strength, gusting the vessel forward and dangerously close to the place where the gap was smallest.
Then he saw it.
It was directly ahead, a huge boulder with a jagged spear for a point, completely submerged under the water, but with the knife’s edge just under the surface.
The razor-sharp rock, newly broken, was just a stone’s throw in front of the boat.
‘Turn!’ Dion cried. ‘Quickly!’
He released the rope and pushed the boom out as far as he could, a trick that used the wind to initiate the turn. Staring back with wide eyes, he saw Cob had the tiller hard around. The boat began to turn.
But still its motion continued. Six feet became five, then four. The point of the boulder disappeared under the boat as it completed the turn.
‘Pull on the sail, you fool!’ Cob cried.
Dion grabbed hold of the trailing rope on the boat’s bottom and hauled, at the same time holding the boom so that the wind would catch the sail as soon as possible.
The vessel started to move and then she was sailing away from the blocked narrows. Dion let out a breath, then grinned.
‘Well the narrows are blocked, that’s for certain,’ he said, looking back at Cob, whose square face was red. ‘No trading vessels will make it over that.’
‘Good,’ Cob grunted. ‘We can go home now.’
‘Cob . . . We had to get that close.’
‘Why is that?’
‘I needed to see the boulder for myself to see what we can do to clear it.’
‘Lad, what in the name of Silex are you talking about?’
‘We have to remove the blockage,’ Dion said seriously. He hauled the sail in to lend speed to their journey, taking them away from the narrows and back toward Xanthos. ‘It effectively blocks our trade with Phalesia.’
Although there was a direct land route between the two cities, via the pass called the Gates of Annika, the Xanthian side was rocky and mountainous and had to be crossed on foot, with horses led by the reins. Runners with messages traveled on land, for it was generally swifter. But transiting a boatload of goods that was easily moved on sea would be impossible on land.
‘You understand, don’t you? If there is something we can do, we must do it,’ Dion said.
‘What we have to do is return to your father and tell him the reports are true. Then we can talk about clearing the passage.’
‘Father is a soldier, not a sailor.’
‘Aye, lad. But he will care when the silver stops flowing.’
Dion saw the first sights of Xanthos come into view as they rounded a headland. Crumbling fishermen’s huts could be seen on the rocks back from shore, and then in the distance the city itself came into view on the vessel’s starboard side.
The sight of the approaching city lent urgency to Dion’s voice. ‘Cob, I have an idea how we can clear the narrows.’
‘How? There’s a huge boulder in the way, under the water. It will take weeks to move it. Perhaps months.’
‘There’s a quicker way. But we’ll need to enlist the help of Lord Aristocles.’
‘The first consul? Dion . . . You know your father wouldn’t approve of you making an unsanctioned visit. And what can Aristocles do?’
‘Phalesia needs the trade as much as we do. He might enlist the help of an eldran. They’re on good terms. A serpent could move that boulder.’
Cob pondered for a moment as the city on their right came to dominate Dion’s vision.
Unlike Phalesia there was no raised bastion over the wide bay, instead the top of the sandy beach climbed to grass and the occasional stretch of rock. The city of Xanthos spread wings around the grass, back from the beach. A narrow inlet like a scar in the middle of the harbor divided the city into two halves, the larger left side filled with workshops, tanneries, markets, and a multitude of single-storied houses with roofs of baked clay tiles. The bulk of the citizenry lived in this residential quarter, while the smaller half was home to the Royal Palace and the lofty Temple of Balal, the war god, in addition to half a dozen smaller temples.
A wooden bridge spanned the sandy-bottomed ravine dividing the city, which was filled with water only at the highest tides. Xanthos was a narrow city, built around the curve of the shore like a thin crescent moon. The agora in the residential quarter was far smalle
r than the square in Phalesia.
But the difference was more than made up for in the size of the Royal Palace.
Three levels high, the palace was tall and grand, with walls of white stone and crimson pennants flying high above. The three tiers were built one on top of the other in order of decreasing size, giving the middle and upper levels broad open terraces filled with gardens.
The architecture of Xanthos was sturdy rather than fanciful, with stout walls around the palace and an even stronger wall guarding the city’s landward side. Rather than the columned temples and multitudinous statues of Phalesia, the people of Xanthos lived in a city that spoke of their nature as miners, farmers, and, above all, warriors.
The largest structure in Phalesia was the lyceum. In Xanthos it was the Temple of Balal, where the soldiers of an army three times the size of Phalesia’s worshipped daily. Made of fitted white marble stones with broad steps leading to a wide entrance as high as three men, there was no way to mistake the god it was devoted to, for just outside the temple of the war god was a colossal bronze statue of an armored hoplite warrior wearing a crested helmet, standing at the ready with shield and spear.
‘All right, I will entertain the idea that a powerful enough eldran could move that boulder,’ said Cob. ‘But even so, how do you plan to sail to Phalesia with the passage blocked?’
Dion met the older man’s eyes and smiled.
7
‘Oh, no.’ Cob shook his head. ‘Not that.’
‘Come, Cob. You taught me everything there is to know about sailing. You’re up to the challenge, aren’t you?’
‘I have never done it, lad. And nor have you.’
‘Some of the fishermen do it all the time.’
‘And some of them don’t come back to their wives at the end of the day and are never seen again.’
‘I know you, old man. You are eager to try. I can tell.’
‘What makes you so certain of that?’
Dion indicated the harbor of Xanthos with his chin. Soon they would pass by the city altogether. ‘You’ve already agreed, else you would have turned us into the harbor rather than taking us past.’
Cob growled. ‘If I turned this boat, with the two of us working against each other, we’d capsize. The route through the Shards is a secret, to be reserved for emergencies.’
Dion’s smile became a frown. ‘Cob. This is an emergency. You know my father. If we go back to Xanthos we’ll never get another chance to try. And you know Peithon. He’ll advise against anything involving the eldren.’
Cob slowly nodded. ‘You have the right of it there.’ He looked up at the blue sky, still washed with a hint of gold after the recent dawn. ‘But what of provisions? We don’t have enough food and water for a full day’s sailing, and Phalesia would be at least that.’
Dion was at the midpoint of the boat and able to move more freely than Cob, who couldn’t take his hand from the tiller. Glancing down until the stumpy old sailor followed his eyes, he moved aside the bunched-up sailing cloth with his foot.
He revealed a large skin filled with water, flatbread wrapped in cloth, and two sealed jars. One jar he knew was filled with olives and the other with dried goat meat. The thought of the food made Dion’s stomach rumble as he once more covered the supplies with the sailcloth to ward off the worst of the sun.
‘You planned this?’ Cob spluttered.
‘Well, I didn’t just wish the supplies here.’
Cob proceeded to sink into one of his moods, so Dion left him to it. He knew the old man well enough to know he was eager to test their combined skills against the Shards; he was like Dion in that once he started sailing he never wanted to return to land. But Dion also knew Cob well enough to know that if Dion had mentioned the plan prior to leaving, he would have sought permission from King Markos or Nikolas. The old man would stop sulking when the danger began.
Dion recalled the route as he left Xanthos behind, following the isle of Coros at his left while the rocky mainland grew distant.
‘Go right at the Spire of Kor to the Great Shard,’ he muttered. ‘Follow the Coros cliffs, then left of the Twins.’
The directions sounded uncomplicated. He had spoken to more than one fisherman who had said that navigating the Shards was simple, provided one knew the way. The only caution he’d been given was to use oars rather than sail, for the wind was unpredictable and some of the turns were tight.
This boat wasn’t made for rowing; the oars were to be used only if something went wrong with the sail. Dion decided not to mention what the fishermen had said to his older companion.
Both the wind and the sea increased intensity as the boat approached the Shards. The series of jagged rocks was the reason that Xanthos had little to fear from an enemy navy, for they stretched across the entire channel until both Coros and the mainland fell away and the open sea began. Even sighting the Shards from a distance would strike fear into any captain. It was the route through the narrows in the opposite direction that was the official path to Phalesia and the open sea beyond.
Yet with the narrows blocked, one of the risks that made Dion so determined was that more vessels would start to take the hidden path, and that the secret route through the Shards would become known. There would be no Phalesia to protect Xanthos from raiders then.
Dion thought again about how the sea was the future. He decided to try breaking the silence with Cob.
‘Xanthos needs a real navy.’
Cob turned his gaze away from contemplation of the sea. ‘I will let you be the one to argue that out with your father.’
‘We shouldn’t just rely on Phalesia to protect us and give us the leavings of their trade. We need ships coming to Xanthos too, from Sarsica and Lenus, and from Orius, Tirius, and Parnos.’
‘And how will we make them visit Xanthos?’
‘We’ll build our own ships and go to their cities. Much of what they consider Phalesian produce actually comes from us. When they see what we have to offer they will come. Surely Father knows that an army costs silver, and the more silver we have, the better an army we can maintain?’
‘If I were Phalesian and you were a consul, you would have my vote,’ Cob said. He moved the tiller to adjust the boat’s course, shading his eyes with his hand. ‘Right at the Spire of Kor,’ he muttered.
‘There it is!’ Dion pointed.
It was a hundred feet ahead, a tall plume of solid rock, twisted like a potter’s mistake.
‘Bleed a bit of speed, would you?’ Cob asked.
‘If we slow too much we will lose steerage.’
‘Lad.’ Cob spoke in a tone that Dion had rarely heard him use. Looking to the rear of the boat, he saw the old sailor regarding him with gravity. ‘I let you have control before because this is your father’s boat and you know what you’re doing. But if we’re sailing the Shards, despite the fact that every fool knows it should be done with oars, I will be the one in charge.’
Dion met the man’s eyes and held them, then nodded. ‘Understood.’ He opened up the sail to allow the wind to brush past rather than pocket it.
‘Too much, a bit more on.’
Following the order, he pulled in the sail a touch.
‘Good. Well done, lad.’ Cob scratched at the stubble on his chin. ‘Have a look down.’
They were now approaching the Spire of Kor, and Dion had been fixated on the sight of the strange formation looming larger with every passing moment, but when he stared down into the water he gasped.
Rather than looking at a sandy ocean floor, such as existed in the harbor of Xanthos, or one filled with a carpet of smooth white stones, as in Phalesia’s bay, under the water here there was nothing but a field of jagged black rocks.
Dion was a capable swimmer and diver and knew that the water magnified what was below, but even so he had to suppress a shudder. Experience told him the rocks were at least a dozen feet under the small boat’s keel, but they still appeared far too close for comfort. Some were the size of hi
s hand, others as big as the boulder that had sheared off the cliff back at the narrows. There were different types, with rocks that were smooth and worn by the passage of time, akin to the approaching spire, but most were sharp and jagged.
Cob took them to the right of the Spire of Kor and Dion knew that the next part of the course was to travel straight on to the Great Shard. He saw it in the distance, hazy on the horizon, and realized there must be a fair margin of error in the route.
‘On the sail,’ Cob said. ‘We’ll make speed now.’
They were well into the Shards and Dion saw more rocks that would challenge the Great Shard for its name. They poked like the tips of spears above the water, more of them on the side of the mainland than could be seen in the direction of the isle of Coros. The path they followed was clear, though, and there was a wide swathe of unbroken water to their left and right.
Dion’s heart had been racing, but now he felt calm. Xanthians had been using this passage for generations. They would make it safely through and then with a wind like this it would be plain sailing the rest of the way.
‘Wildren!’ Cob suddenly called.
Dion glanced back at his companion but the old man didn’t seem alarmed, merely pointing at some distant rocks, flat-topped and slightly angular to the sun.
Squinting, Dion finally saw them, half a dozen large man-sized shapes with their upper bodies out of the water, sunning themselves and evidently presenting no danger.
‘Oh,’ Dion said. ‘Only some merfolk.’
He looked for their scaled tails but the water was breaking on the rocks and he couldn’t make out much more than the silver hair and bare torsos of both males and females.
‘We should still keep an eye on them.’
Dion continued to watch the distant merfolk as the boat sailed past, heading for the Great Shard. ‘Hard to think that once they were eldren, little different from you and me.’
Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) Page 5