‘Eldren are nothing like you and me.’
The merfolk continued to ignore them. Dion thought about the times he’d felt primal rage or animal hunger overwhelm every other emotion. Was that what it felt like for an eldran when it turned wild? He vowed to ask his mother when he returned to Xanthos. Unlike some others, she could always be relied upon to discuss the eldren and their strange abilities with calm and reason.
An axe blade of black rock jutted out of the water ahead, as tall as the tip of the sailboat’s mast. He had seen the Spire of Kor from a distance before, but he’d never seen the Great Shard. He couldn’t believe how huge it was.
‘Left or right of the Great Shard?’ Dion asked.
‘The direction is simply: “Right at the Spire of Kor to the Great Shard. Follow the Coros cliffs, then left of the Twins.”’
‘I suppose that if we turn in the direction of the cliffs of Coros we will be left of the Great Shard?’ Dion asked hopefully.
‘Makes sense to me,’ Cob said. ‘This is going to take us across the wind. Are you ready?’
Cob pushed at the tiller, sending the vessel heeling as he turned it across the stiff breeze. The dark silhouette of the isle of Coros was a mile away, but with the wind now gusting and a new sail set the boat grew swifter with every passing moment. It rocked up and down on the waves, but despite the wind it was a fair day with no chance of a storm. Dion never experienced seasickness and he smiled, patting the boat’s gunwale as it met each wave head on.
Spray splashed his face, welcome and cooling in the growing heat of the day. The two men covered the next stretch in silence, crossing the channel to Coros in a surprisingly short amount of time before they changed tack again, following the cliffs. Dion kept an eye out for the Twins; he had no idea what they were supposed to look like.
‘There!’ He pointed.
The two waist-thick fingers of stone had initially appeared to be one, the distance between them barely six inches. They were tall and nestled together at the waist and the top, like two confidants sharing a secret.
‘Left of the Twins.’ Cob grinned. ‘Look how much room we’ve got. At least two hundred feet between the rocks and Coros.’
Dion whooped with him as they shot through and then they were free. They tacked one last time, and then it was clear sailing all the way to Phalesia.
8
It was late afternoon by the time Phalesia became more in Dion’s vision than just a landmass in the distance. He had never sailed from the southern tip of Coros, but both he and Cob were experienced at traveling by the sun and the currents, and when he entered the harbor and saw the Temple of Aldus on its tall summit, the highest point in the city, Dion felt a surge of pride at the successful transit.
He swept his gaze from left to right, comparing this city with his home. Phalesia was both wealthier and more populated than Xanthos, that was evident at a glance, but there was also a certain sophistication about Phalesia that Dion found it hard to put into words. The ceramics the city produced were artistic marvels, with pleasing shapes and stunning artwork no Xanthian potter could replicate. There were no less than four temples around the vibrant agora, and the other two huge civic buildings, the library and the lyceum, didn’t even exist in Xanthos.
His homeland could rise to this level and higher, Dion thought, if only Xanthos had Phalesia’s navy.
He dropped his gaze from the famed temple at the city’s edge, crowning steep cliffs that plunged down into the water. As his eyes traveled to the right, away from the temple and marble columns, he took in the villas of the wealthiest consuls that occupied the hills near the agora, high above the unpleasant smells of the crowded city.
Dion’s vision then came to the agora and the cluster of colonnaded temples on the surrounding high ground, each with peaked roofs and interminable marble steps. The market was as busy as ever, crowded with tiny scurrying locals, a riot of color from the swirling tunics of the men to the even brighter chitons of the women. On the seaward side of the agora was an embankment leading to a sloped wall that plunged to the stony shore.
Within the long curve of the embankment were villas, shops, and houses. Scores of fishing and trading boats were pulled up high on the shore below. The bay finally terminated in yet another set of cliffs, with a lookout tower located a dozen paces above the water’s edge.
But it was the vessels that interested Dion. After taking in the approaching city, glowing rose-colored in the afternoon light, he turned to point them out to Cob.
‘See the new Phalesian galleys? They’re building them bigger to hold more cargo and handle stronger seas.’ He pointed out a group of stout ships, fifty feet long, with a single large mast in the center and a smaller mast up front. ‘I wouldn’t want to face a score of archers firing from the deck.’
When Cob didn’t answer him, Dion glanced back at his friend manning the tiller. He had his eyes fixed on something far from the Phalesian galleys.
‘What are you . . . ?’ Dion trailed off as he followed the older man’s gaze.
He wondered that he hadn’t seen it at first, but it was at the extreme right side of the bay and he had been focused on the left.
‘That ship is not Phalesian,’ Dion murmured.
The Phalesian galleys were stout and strong, but they were small compared with the vessel that occupied its own private stretch of shore. Dion estimated that the length of the warship was at least seventy feet. It was beached far from the other vessels and rolled to expose one side, where swarthy bare-chested men were crowded so close together that Dion couldn’t see what they were doing.
‘Take us closer,’ he instructed.
Both men were silent for a time as their boat approached the foreign ship. Dion revised his estimation of the warship’s length, reckoning it was closer to eighty feet long, with a beam of about ten feet. It was nearly flat-bottomed, designed to be sailed during the day and beached at night, and although the central main mast was tall, he guessed that the power of the wind was intended to augment the oarsmen. The timber it was constructed from appeared to be pine.
‘Have you ever seen such a thing?’ Dion murmured.
‘My guess is she is not from our part of the world. One of the Salesian lands, I’d say. Look at the one directing them.’
They were now sailing close enough to make out individual faces and Dion saw a man with a barrel chest and curled black beard calling out orders to the workers. The commander’s yellow robe was unmistakably foreign, not the dress of Galea at all.
‘She must have been damaged in the tremor,’ Dion said. ‘They are repairing her. By Silex, look at her ram!’
The ship’s prow jutted out from above a painted eye, and Dion guessed there would be another eye on the other side. The prow curved inwards and followed the bow, where she would carve the waves, before curving again below what would be the waterline and spearing forward in a ten-foot-long bronze ram.
He thought about the damage such a weapon would inflict on another vessel. Suddenly he understood the full import of what he was seeing.
A foreign warship had come to Phalesia. And despite Phalesia’s sizable navy, this ship outclassed the Phalesian vessels in every way. The thought filled him with dread.
‘Take us closer still.’
The black-bearded commander was now staring at their small boat and glaring at its two occupants, his arms folded in front of his chest. Undeterred, Dion continued his assessment of the warship, feeling dwarfed by the monstrous rudder, which was as tall as the sailing boat’s mast.
It had three decks, two for the rowers, open at the sides with scores of holes for the oars, and an upper deck giving a roof to those below.
Dion realized the simplicity of the design and wondered that it was only now that someone had thought of such a thing. He murmured to himself more than to Cob, ‘A bigger ship is slower in the water, harder to move . . . makes it more difficult to increase to ramming speed. But more oarsmen create more power. So to keep the ship�
�s length and beam the same we add another row of oarsmen, so that one is on top of the other.’
‘It’s a clever design.’ When Dion glanced back at Cob he saw his friend was nodding as he spoke, but the wrinkles on his forehead showed concern.
‘I count thirty ports for oars,’ Dion said.
‘Your eyes are better than mine. So two rows of fifteen oars each.’
‘No,’ Dion said. Cob’s eyebrows went up. ‘Thirty ports to a row. Sixty rowers to a side. That makes a hundred and twenty rowers in total.’
Cob whistled. ‘Silex help us.’
‘I think we’ve learned all we can here. But we need to find out more when we get to the city.’
Working together, Cob and Dion turned the sailing boat back away from the warship, following the shore as they headed for a place closer to the embankment steps. As he searched for a clear patch of shore where they wouldn’t be in the way of the fishermen mending nets on the beach or the sailors scrubbing the decks of their galleys, Dion heard a voice calling out and glanced up.
A young woman was running out onto the rocky promontory on the harbor’s left side, below the Temple of Aldus high above. She waved her arms as she ran, gesticulating wildly, but her words were lost on the wind.
‘I think she wants us,’ Cob said. ‘She seems quite upset.’
Frowning, Dion nodded. ‘We had best see what it is.’
The woman clambered down the rocks until she was close to the water, heedless of the splashes wetting the hem of her fine indigo chiton. She lowered her arms when she saw that the sailboat was coming over.
She had near-black hair flowing to her waist, her thick locks blowing in the wind. The dark hair contrasted with her pale skin and framed a triangular face, with an upturned nose and a wide mouth. Around her neck was a copper medallion, and as the distance narrowed to several feet Dion recognized the symbol of Aeris, goddess of music and healing.
The woman was pretty, but in a haughty manner that was heightened by her present expression of blazing eyes and set jaw.
Recognizing her, Dion thought she’d grown since he’d last seen her, some years ago. She would be nineteen now, he thought.
They were close enough to hear each other. Cob turned the sailboat so that Dion came alongside the rocks.
Chloe, daughter of the first consul of Phalesia, was furious.
‘Get away from the Ilean ship!’
‘Of course, lady,’ Dion said. ‘Should I draw away now?’
Chloe clenched her fists, uncertain whether he was mocking her. Dion could see that she didn’t recognize him.
‘Before I do, could you tell me something about it?’ Dion asked. ‘You said the ship is from Ilea?’
‘We have an agreement. We are to stay away from it.’
‘You have my apologies, Chloe, daughter of Aristocles. I am not Phalesian and was not aware.’
‘Just stay away.’
Dion nodded gravely. ‘You have my word.’
Chloe turned her back on him and climbed back up the rocks. As she moved from rock to rock, Dion smiled at the damage she was wreaking on her chiton. Evidently she valued her father’s agreement with the Ilean shipmaster more than she valued her clothing.
‘Come on,’ Dion said to Cob. ‘We need to land.’
‘I’m surprised she didn’t recognize you.’
‘A king’s son.’ Dion grinned. ‘Arriving on a derelict sailboat with a stunted old man?’
‘Derelict?’ Cob patted the boat fondly. ‘She’s a good girl. I’ll award you the stunted part, though. But tell me, why didn’t you explain who you are?’
‘I wanted to see what she would say about the warship. And I would prefer to announce myself to Aristocles on my own terms. Preferably without her around.’
Cob chuckled, shaking his head.
‘Do you mind waiting while I find the first consul?’ said Dion. ‘I might be a while.’
‘I can find lodgings in the city if need be.’
Dion began to take down the sail as they approached a patch of pebbled beach. ‘I have to see if Aristocles will help us clear the narrows. I also have to find out what I can about that ship.’
Dion climbed the narrow steps leading up the sloped bastion from the harbor. The way was unguarded and soon he was making his way through the agora.
He turned to look back at the sea one last time, then found his gaze drawn to the summit of the cliff and the golden ark with the eternal flame burning brightly at the Temple of Aldus. There was only one approach to the temple, a series of precarious steps carved into the stone, leading from the top of the embankment and curving left and right as they wound their way up.
The sun was sinking in the west, melting into the horizon. Even so the agora buzzed with activity as he navigated the market stalls, passing cloth sellers displaying lengths of wool dyed a multitude of bright hues: orange, scarlet, emerald, and turquoise. The smell of rosemary and baking bread wafted from a vendor serving three consuls in white tunics. Phalesian ceramics stood on the alternating pink and brown paving stones, each jar, plate, or vase decorated with a unique scene, from daily life in the city to depictions of the gods. He paused to examine a stunning design of children at play, each boy or girl running around the circumference of a wide bowl, but moved on when the seller noted his interest.
As he headed deeper into the marketplace the Temple of Aeris loomed ahead, each spaced column as wide as the stoutest tree. He watched citizens come and go with regularity, making offerings for the health of loved ones. He then returned his attention to the agora as a priestess of Edra slinked past, her gauzy chiton revealing tantalizing female flesh and her eyes lined with kohl. She gave Dion an appraising look, but he simply smiled and nodded and she turned away, looking for customers elsewhere.
Although the Temple of Helios was the farthest from the agora, it was as busy as always. Dion fingered the silver medallion with a trident in a circle that he wore on a chain around his neck. The shrine dedicated to his personal deity, Silex, the god of fortune and the sea, was down in the lower city; he doubted he would have time to visit.
As he wondered how he would find the first consul, his gaze traveled over the several hills dotting the city’s upper level, crowned by palatial residences, the homes of the wealthy. He knew one of the villas was the home of Aristocles, but he didn’t know which.
The market ended halfway into the agora, and now on his right there were steps leading upwards to the library and the lyceum. He had once visited the library and was awed by the thousands upon thousands of clay tablets, astonished that with nothing more than the simple act of reading he could find out the price of wheat on the day he was born.
He paused and rubbed his chin as he looked at the lyceum and the bronze statue of the god of justice just outside. Shaking his head, he continued walking. His father the king would be angry enough that he had visited Phalesia, let alone announced himself to the consuls.
Looking around, scanning the hilltop villas and the merchants’ homes below, he could see occasional signs of the recent tremor. It had evidently struck Phalesia much harder than Xanthos, but already men were repairing the buildings. The sight reminded him of his task. He knew that clearing the narrows would be worth risking his father’s ire.
Then Dion saw someone he knew. A stocky man in leather armor with a weathered face of crags and wrinkles was walking toward the market. He had an athletic build, square jaw, and dark, somber eyes.
‘Captain,’ Dion said warmly.
Amos frowned for a moment, then smiled as recognition lit up his visage. ‘Dion of Xanthos.’
‘It’s good to see you, Captain.’
‘I’m not with my men. You can call me Amos. What brings you here?’
‘The tremor. A piece of cliff broke off and now blocks the narrows. Our two nations are cut off from trade.’
Amos’s eyebrows registered surprise. ‘I was not aware. A dark night, that was. How fares Xanthos?’
‘It appears t
he quake struck Phalesia harder.’
Amos nodded. ‘We lost over a hundred souls.’ His brow furrowed. ‘And what do your magi say? Was it a punishment for deeds done, or an omen of darker days to come?’
‘You know Xanthos. The priests of Balal are consulted above all. The signs point to war.’ Dion gave a ghost of a smile. ‘My mother says that Mount Oden erupted and caused the tremor, with the gods having nothing to do with it at all.’
‘I won’t criticize the queen, but no Phalesian doubts the gods are telling us something.’ Amos frowned. ‘Some here say it was a punishment for the growing acceptance of eldren, others that it heralds a great threat to our nation.’
‘Whatever it was, my father and brother both train the men constantly.’ Dion hesitated. ‘The warship. Who are they?’
‘Ileans from across the sea. Their ship was damaged in the tremor. I met their commander, a man named Kargan. He’s paid the city for the use of the harbor and declares his intention to leave as soon as his repairs are finished.’
Dion sensed there was more. ‘But . . . ?’
‘It’s nothing.’ Amos was pensive for a moment. ‘Only that Kargan barely hides his contempt for our ways.’
‘I suppose he’s no emissary. To command a warship he must necessarily be a hard man.’
‘The oarsmen are all slaves.’ Amos shook his head. ‘Not a back without the scar of the whip.’
Dion didn’t mention the fact of the warship’s obvious superiority to the ships of Phalesia’s navy. He was a visitor here, and Amos was a military man.
‘How is Nikolas?’ Amos asked. ‘I hear your brother has a son?’
‘He’s well, a proud father. The boy is now seven. He has yet to be given a man’s name but he’s a strong lad.’
‘And your father?’
‘The king is well.’ Dion saw that before long it would be dark. ‘Amos . . . Do you know where I can find the first consul? This isn’t an official visit, but I need to speak with him.’
‘He’s praying at the Temple of Aldus; the first consul’s been spending a lot of time with the magi lately. Come, Dion of Xanthos. I’ll take you there.’
Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) Page 6