‘What is this for, master?’
‘Anoush, I cannot tell you. The best thing you can do is to forget you ever met me. We might not see each other again.’
Dion took the satchel and put it over his shoulder. Peering inside, he saw a bulging skin and a bundle of dry tinder.
He left his bow and quiver in the room; if he could, afterwards, he would return to get them. He still hurt, but he could do this. Pushing aside the last remnants of pain, he summoned his determination as he crouched down and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, Anoush.’
Without another word, Dion left the House of Algar. He walked with purpose, heading straight for the harbor.
The guards at the gate let him through unchallenged, and Dion soon found himself walking along the sandy shore. Passing the lined-up warships, he saw bireme after bireme, with barely enough space between them for a man to walk. They were all drawn up on the shore with just a section of stern in the water. Some showed activity, sailors scrubbing the decks and mending sails. But most of the vessels were still and silent; their crews were done for the day.
Dion headed in the direction of the rectangular hut that was the mess. A hood on the structure’s side funneled black smoke from the cooking hearth within. He saw a marine he knew and waved casually; Dion was just a man carrying supplies.
But inside, Dion’s nerves ran ragged. He couldn’t believe he was going to attempt this, but he could see no other option. He tried to keep calm, but his face was tight and drawn. He knew he still had a black eye and a swollen cheek. It didn’t matter; he wouldn’t be the only man in the sun king’s fleet to have a wound or two.
He entered the mess and scanned the room. The hearth fire was kept constantly lit, banked up twice a day. He saw a few dozen sailors sitting around tables as they ate and he nodded to them. There were hundreds of lidded stone jugs – any fleet needed vast quantities of drinking water – lined up one after another against the wall. Dion picked up an empty jug and strode directly to the open hearth. Taking the tongs, he covered his movements with his body as he placed coal after coal into the jug. He replaced the lid to prevent the giveaway of smoke rising from the container.
Dion then carried the jug and satchel out of the mess. Glancing to the left, he saw the familiar stocky figure of Roxana in the distance, but she hadn’t seen him and he ignored her.
Instead he walked along the row of sixty warships.
Selecting a pair of vessels roughly in the center, he passed along the narrow alleyway formed by the two hulls. He put the satchel and jug on the ground.
Dion returned to the mess, once again nodding to the men who glanced up at his entry. He stopped for a moment as he scanned the room, but then he saw what he was looking for: four buckets stacked one on top of the other. Dion grabbed the buckets and tried to stay calm as he returned to the hidden place between the ships.
He had to work quickly now.
Dion opened the satchel and took out the bulging skin. He divided half the lamp oil among the four buckets, so that each was nearly full. He then stoppered the skin and set it down on the hard sand near the jug.
One by one, he carried the buckets out into the open. He placed them at regular points along the line of ships, where they wouldn’t be missed.
Dion scanned the harbor, but his careful, purposeful movements still hadn’t attracted unwanted attention. He once more slipped between the two ships and took a deep breath to steady himself as he looked at the skin and jug.
Now he had to move as swiftly as he could, for the results of what he was doing would definitely be noticed.
He took the lid off the stone jug and looked inside, relieved to see the coals still hot and smoking. Facing the rippling brown water of the river, Dion reached into the side of the ship at his right, open to circulate air among the oarsmen. He had no tongs, so he tipped the jug to allow two coals to drop onto the wooden planking of the vessel’s interior. He followed with tinder, placed around the coals. When he saw flames, he lifted the skin and poured lamp oil all over the area.
He then went to the ship on his other side, starting fire and pouring lamp oil there also.
Dion hefted the satchel onto his shoulder and left, nearly running, but fighting to keep his movements calm. He had the jug in his hand as he walked along the row, traveling until he’d passed half a dozen ships, and then ducking into the thin space between two more.
He started another fire and poured more lamp oil.
He left the area and continued to walk away from the crowded section, where there were few people who would see him.
Dion entered between two more ships and kept going.
42
Chloe woke after yet another sleep of exhaustion. She saw some flatbread and water just inside the doorway and realized the guards had visited her while she was asleep. She swiftly ate and drank in thirsty gulps, before climbing to her feet and gripping the iron bars of the grill as she peered at the distant cell.
‘Triton?’ she called. ‘Are you there?’
She had spent hours speaking with him, deep in discussion. He had asked her about her home and she had questioned him further about his plans for revenge on the sun king.
But as she continued to call out, silence greeted her words. She tilted her head, perplexed. Somehow, the eldran king was gone.
Hearing footsteps, she saw a pair of palace soldiers enter the prison. One of the soldiers sniffed and made a sound of disgust.
‘What time is it?’ Chloe asked. ‘How long have I been in here? What do you intend to do with me?’
‘Quiet,’ the guard in front grunted. ‘Stand with your back against the wall.’
Chloe felt frustration course through her as she complied. The guard slid the bolt and then hauled the door open.
‘Turn around and put your arms behind your back. Walk backwards until you reach me.’
Chloe followed the instructions and then felt a rough hand go around her wrist as her arm was twisted painfully behind her back. The soldier used his leverage to turn her around. Remembering what Tomarys had taught her, she let them handle her as they wanted; she knew she had to present the image of a weak, defenseless girl.
They marched her out of the prison, along rough corridors and through a hall filled with dozens of eating soldiers. Seeing that it was daylight – late afternoon, she guessed – she recognized something of where she was, and inadvertently glanced outside to the paved section with spiky plants. She shivered when she saw that the stake was gone.
She soon found herself climbing steps and then approaching the palace’s main entrance. Crossing the courtyard, she took note of the external gates, located close to the entrance leading to the throne room.
The guard then twisted Chloe’s arm further, making her gasp with pain. She pretended to collapse, making the two guards work together to prop her up.
The guard holding her wrist cursed. ‘Walk, girl. Don’t make us drag you.’
Chloe nodded as she grimaced. She drew in a deep breath and put one step in front of the other, carefully, walking like her father when he was trying not to appear drunk. The other guard grunted.
They led her around a corner and then down a corridor, finally approaching the throne room.
Chloe saw that all the courtiers were present. The short lord in orange robes who had been her ally when she’d first given tea to the sun king now scowled at her. The dark-eyed magus in yellow nodded smugly.
Then she saw something that nearly made her stop. Triton turned as he watched her approach, and he was unguarded. Revealed in the light, the missing eye made him appear ugly and sinister.
At Solon’s right hand stood Kargan, arms folded over his barrel chest. His mop of oiled black hair and curled beard still didn’t come close to covering his broad, swarthy face. He wore yet another sumptuous silk robe, this one yellow and white.
Chloe’s gaze went to Solon.
He showed none of his previous pain, and although his eyes were still shado
wed, they now burned with the strength of fanaticism. Despite his illness he dominated the room, his presence filling the space as he looked down from his throne.
Then Chloe realized something new. His golden throne was gone. He sat on a new throne, bigger than the last, but this time made of ornate ebony.
His throne had gone to feed the pyramid’s hunger. He knew he was dying. Chloe was glad for it; she only hoped he died sooner. She couldn’t believe she’d once felt sympathy for him.
‘Chloe of Phalesia,’ Solon said. ‘The eldran king tells me you were trying to convince him to side with your people against me.’
‘As I said,’ Triton spoke in a soft voice, only glancing at her briefly, ‘I am prepared to make a bargain. Inside the ark at Phalesia is something of great importance to me. I am prepared to fight by your side, king of kings. We will change for you, and dominate the air, land, and sea. As serpents we will neutralize the enemy navy and as dragons and giants we will wage war. In return, you can have your conquest, and you can have the gold. All I want is what is inside.’
Chloe’s mouth dropped open.
Solon turned his gaze on her. ‘Girl, you are here to demonstrate your continued usefulness to me. Consider this a test that may be your last. Guard, if I give the command . . .’ He paused. ‘Kill her.’
The guard who held Chloe’s arm twisted behind her back put his free hand on the hilt of his sword.
‘Now,’ Solon said to her. ‘Tell me about the approach to Phalesia.’
Chloe swallowed. ‘There’s a clear approach from the sea. The navy patrols regularly.’
Kargan spoke in his deep baritone. ‘What about the approach to Xanthos?’
‘Xanthos?’ Chloe’s brow furrowed. ‘The isle of Coros provides a barrier around the harbor, with only one channel usable. You must pass Phalesia first. Our fleet protects Xanthos.’
‘Is Xanthos not approachable from both directions?’ Kargan persisted.
Chloe shook her head. ‘The Shards protect the city – a stretch of jagged rocks in the other channel. They would tear any boat to pieces.’
‘And there is no route through the Shards?’ Kargan raised an eyebrow.
‘No,’ Chloe said. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’
Solon nodded. ‘Now, tell me of the land route between Phalesia and Xanthos.’
‘There’s a mountainous road. It climbs the hills outside Xanthos and travels through the pass, the Gates of Annika. After the pass the road is easier to travel. It drops gradually, passing through farmland, until it reaches Phalesia.’
‘Chloe,’ Solon said softly. ‘There is one within the court of Xanthos who tells me of a passage through the Shards. He gives detailed directions. This man also tells me he has sent the army of Xanthos to Phalesia. The city is defenseless.’
Chloe drew in a sharp intake of breath.
Kargan spoke into the silence, directing his words to the assembled gathering. ‘We could swiftly seize the city and move immediately to take the pass before they are aware. This would enable us to hold Xanthos while the fleet moves on to Phalesia. Two nations would fall to the sword of Ilea, without any opportunity for a drawn out, protracted siege. If,’ he finished, looking up at Solon, ‘this man’s words are true.’
‘He wishes to be king, a satrap under my rule,’ Solon said. ‘I see no reason to doubt him. If his information leads to the easy conquest of two lands, he can have what he—’
A soldier burst into the throne room. ‘Fire!’ he cried. ‘The harbor is burning! Our ships are on fire!’
Kargan instantly ran to the terrace and returned a moment later. His face was filled with horror. ‘It’s true. By the gods . . .’
A din filled the room as some men ran to the terrace while others shot to the windows. A single voice rose above the cries of confusion.
‘King of kings!’ Triton called out. ‘Remove this collar. Let me prove myself. I will change for you. Let me put out your fires.’
Thoughts visibly crossed Solon’s face as he made a quick decision. ‘Do it,’ he said.
A soldier drew his sharp dagger and slid it between the collar and Triton’s skin as the eldran king grimaced. The blade cut through the thin band of gold as it fell to the floor.
Chloe was overwhelmed by the chaos as Triton ran to the terrace, calling for everyone to clear the area. Smoke suddenly filled the air outside, a thickening cloud that shimmered, completely enveloping the eldran within.
Kargan growled, assembling soldiers behind him as he ran in the direction of the palace gates. Solon screamed for silence. The sound of huge wings pushing at the air came from outside, clearing the smoke so that for a moment Chloe saw the reptilian form of a silver-scaled dragon flying into the sky outside.
Despite the confusion, Chloe realized that she had to do something to warn the king and his family in Xanthos.
For they had a traitor in their midst.
43
Fires blazed on dozens of warships made entirely of timber. Sparks flew through the air, tossed around by the constant sea breeze. Masts came crashing down as the supports holding them crumbled into kindling. Every time he heard a crash, Dion felt a surge of triumph, for the longest pieces would certainly spread the flames from one ship to the next.
With flickers of firelight banishing the encroaching night, he ran along the line of burning ships, pointing men in the direction of oil-filled buckets and taking one himself, his face covered in soot as he tossed lamp oil onto flame, pretending to fight the blaze. Smoke filled his nostrils and burned at the back of his throat. The heat was growing so intense in the area that some of the sailors were giving up, heading to fend off the flames where the ships were still undamaged.
He’d thrown his satchel and the jug onto the last of the fires, leaving no evidence. He even threw some buckets of actual water onto a burning vessel, choosing an inferno he knew was past the point of saving. A sailor ran up and grabbed his arm, pointing at a ship that had so far escaped the fury. Dion nodded and pointed at the empty bucket in his hand while the sailor ran away.
All around him men were crying out to one another, with little cohesion to their movements. He saw Roxana pulling a few of the sailors together, organizing a crew to ferry water up from the river, with each man passing a bucket along the line. She saw him and waved, but Dion turned his head as if he hadn’t seen her.
He had done what he could here, and he now had to flee the city and give warning to his family. Checking that Roxana’s attention was occupied, he twisted his leg to the side and feigned a severe limp. Grimacing as he hobbled along, he headed for the exit.
He was just approaching the gate – now unguarded, for everyone was fighting the harbor fire – when he heard something new in the nature of the cries.
Despite his desire to get away, Dion looked over his shoulder. He stopped in his tracks, stunned by what he saw.
A winged dragon, a scaly monster with a missing eye and a wedge-shaped head, plunged down from the sky, landing on a patch of clear shore and shifting form even as it landed. The air around it wavered and mist filled the air. The gray clouds elongated and then dispersed.
Suddenly the dragon was a serpent, long and thick, a true leviathan. Wriggling like an immense snake the creature slithered into the water until it was fully immersed.
It followed the shore until it was abreast of a line of burning warships.
The leviathan lunged forward until most of its scaled form shot into the air. It brought its body down and a torrent of water erupted as waves rolled into the shore. The water enveloped the ships and the serpent convulsed again. This time the volume of water was even greater: a mighty inundation that doused raging flames in a heartbeat.
Dion watched as the huge serpent traveled along the shore, sending surging water at the burning ships with every leap of its body. It worked tirelessly to control the fires, and after their initial shock, the men at the harbor realized what was happening and redoubled their efforts as they cheered it on.
Dion shook himself. He realized he was still standing in the gate where he could easily be seen. He had to go back to the House of Algar to fetch his bow. Then he would find the Calypso and sail as quickly as he could to Xanthos. He had destroyed a great portion of the Ilean fleet. But the attack would still come.
He had to warn his people.
44
The stench of wood smoke now drifted into the palace. Triton had just altered his shape, flying from the terrace in the form of a dragon. Kargan had left the palace by the front, several hastily gathered soldiers in tow.
Chloe still hadn’t moved a muscle. She stood in front of Solon’s throne. The men who guarded the audience chamber were in disarray: some out on the terrace watching the harbor fire, others running with courtiers in the same direction as Kargan, and the remaining few uncertain, milling around without orders. Solon was in the midst of a coughing fit. A single guard held Chloe’s arm twisted behind her back. The second man in her escort stood nearby, his mouth open and brow furrowed as he wondered what to do.
Tomarys suddenly spoke in Chloe’s mind, as clearly as if he were standing right next to her.
‘Winning means choosing the right moment. You want your enemies to be distracted. Then, when you take action, be bold. Be strong. Be confident. Nothing is more powerful than the warrior who will achieve his objective or die trying.’
Chloe let her body continue to be limp as she drew in a slow, steadying breath. She closed her eyes and opened them. She resisted the urge to try to move in order to test the strength of the guard’s arm lock.
‘The key is to use surprise. You are a woman, and surprise is your main strength, for they will not be expecting you to have any skill or power.’
Chloe felt her chest rise and fall and fought to keep her breath even. Blood roared in her ears. Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest.
Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) Page 28