Nikolas wiped a hand over his face, and then looked at the palm, seeing that it was entirely red, the blood dry and sticky.
He glanced up at the palace. ‘Send some men to take care of the bodies of the king, and the . . . those with him.’
The officer nodded. ‘Already done.’
At that moment a regular soldier ran forward, white-faced as he gasped for breath. ‘Commander—’ He corrected himself. ‘Sire.’
‘What is it?’
‘Your son,’ the breathless soldier said. ‘He’s . . . He’s in the palace.’
Nikolas felt a terrible dread sink into his chest.
‘Nikolas—’ Dion said.
‘Clear the palace!’ Nikolas called out to his men. His voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Let me go in alone.’
55
Dion stood in the middle of the deserted agora of Xanthos, a shambles of broken market stalls and blood-stained marble steps. Toward the sea, the huge bronze statue of a hoplite was toppled over. The temples had been looted and the priests murdered. Many of the city folk had survived the destruction, but not all were so lucky.
He tried to tell himself that soon Xanthos would be as it had once been, but the thought seemed impossible. His parents were gone, and now he was on his own. He tried to blot out the horror of the battle to free his homeland. Xanthos was once more in the hands of its people. But Triton’s eldren and the sun king’s fleet had left mere hours ago, heading for Phalesia. The fight was far from over.
Though the few surviving priests had more work than they could handle, King Markos and his queen had been given their final resting places, with the army arrayed in front of the Temple of Balal and the black-robed magus chanting sorrowfully as they were interred. Dion’s parents would now sleep together in the deep royal crypt beneath the temple. He vowed to himself that his mother’s secret would die with her.
Nikolas had requested that he be alone for the burial of his wife. Dion had tried to provide the right words as his brother exited the Temple of Edra, but Nikolas would not be comforted. The new king of Xanthos still wouldn’t let anyone into the Royal Palace.
Despite the scene of carnage at the battlefield, already the bodies of the fallen Xanthians were growing few and far between as their families gave them their last rites and buried them with honor. Dion had spoken with Zachary and the eldren with him, who were waiting outside the city walls. Fearful for the fate of the ark, the eldran had asked Dion when Nikolas would lead the army to Phalesia. Dion had told him soon.
But he was worried.
Dion’s own emotions were ragged, but he needed his brother to keep going, just for a little longer. Chloe would by now be in Phalesia. The Ilean warships were on their way.
Finally, Dion could wait no more.
He left the agora and traveled to the palace’s main gates. As he approached he could see the courtyard, the gardens, and the servant’s quarters and stables. The gates were open, but guarded by six soldiers.
As Dion walked toward them their spears came up and their leader, a veteran soldier with thick black eyebrows, raised a warding hand to hesitantly bar the way.
‘Let me see my brother,’ Dion said softly.
‘He is now the king,’ the soldier said, uncertain. ‘That is how you should refer to him.’
‘He is also my brother, and a soldier. If what I think is true, though I hope to the gods it isn’t, I am now his heir.’
The guard scratched his chin and then nodded to his fellows. The spears came up and the men drew aside.
Dion crossed the courtyard and entered the palace.
He went immediately for the broad stone steps leading up to the first floor. Trepidation in every footstep, he climbed them one after the other. He emerged into the banqueting hall, where little Lukas had been proudly given his name, scanning the wide room but seeing that the hearths were cold and the hall was empty.
He glanced at the Flower Terrace. His mother’s favorite place would now haunt him forever.
Dion walked through the corridor and entered the audience chamber. He slowly approached the high-backed wooden chair that had been his father’s throne, and was now his older brother’s.
Nikolas sat on the throne with his head in his hands. He heard Dion’s footsteps and looked up.
Dion approached the throne and turned to face his brother. He sank to one knee and placed his hand on his heart.
‘Brother,’ Dion said softly. ‘You are now king.’
Nikolas’s face bore the marks of grief in every line. The dark, twisted expression on his usually jovial face was one that Dion had never seen before. His reddened eyes were weary and uncaring.
‘Father said this chair was never comfortable,’ Nikolas said. He paused for a moment, as if he was finding speech difficult. ‘By the gods, I never thought I would inherit in this way.’
‘Brother . . . Sire . . .’ Dion said. ‘We need to talk—’
‘There is something I must show you,’ Nikolas said. He tugged on his thick black beard, before sighing and climbing off the throne to join Dion on the floor. ‘Come.’
Feeling growing concern, Dion followed Nikolas out to the Orange Terrace. Dion’s brother led him to the half-circle of stone benches, where so many times the family had sat in council with the crashing waves on the shore below the palace forming a backdrop to their conversation.
Nikolas waited expectantly at the circle for his brother to arrive. Dion followed his gaze and put his hands over his face before taking them away, forcing himself to see what his brother wanted him to see.
Seven-year-old Lukas sat composed on the central bench with his back leaning against the stone, staring sightlessly out at the endless blue horizon of the Maltherean Sea. He wore a clean white tunic, low at the neck, making the neat slice across his throat clearly visible.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Dion said. He didn’t know what else he could say. His mouth was dry; he struggled to form words. Lukas was an innocent. Who could kill a child?
Finally, he recovered himself enough to say what had to be said. ‘But, brother, this is no time for grief. You are king now and the struggle is not over. We have to help our allies. We must go to Phalesia to drive away the enemy forces. Then we can grieve.’
Nikolas turned his stricken eyes on his younger brother. ‘What do I care if the sun king seizes the Ark of Revelation? Or Phalesia itself? Phalesia didn’t defend us or fight with us. I owe them nothing.’
‘We were victorious only with the help of Zachary and the eldren who follow him,’ Dion said softly, but clearly. ‘He helped us because of what is in the ark. There are things I need to tell you. You saw that a larger group of eldren fights with Solon. They are under the command of one called Triton, who calls himself their king. Inside the ark is an ancient relic, a horn that he can use to summon the wildren. Think about it. All of them at his command. Out to destroy all humans. That includes the people of Xanthos, those you are duty-bound to protect.’
Nikolas was silent. He ran his fingers through Lukas’s short black hair. The child stared directly ahead, facing the sea.
‘Brother,’ Dion tried again. ‘I did not betray us.’
‘I know,’ Nikolas said.
He walked to the stone rail and Dion frowned as he followed. Nikolas looked down, and Dion drew in a sharp intake of breath.
Peithon was dead, impaled on a wooden stake erected on the grassy bank below. The point of the spear rose from his shoulder blades; he hung limply, with his head lolling to the side. He wore his fine silk tunic, though it was bloody and red, and the large fingers of his hands still had heavy silver rings encrusted with jewels.
‘He fled soon after you named him traitor,’ Nikolas murmured. ‘When we retook the city the men found him hiding in his villa, clutching onto a pouch of silver coins and throwing them at the soldiers who seized him, begging them to let him go.’
Dion realized with a start that Lukas wasn’t looking out to sea. Nikolas had arranged the boy’s body so
that when Peithon had been impaled, his blank eyes would be able to watch.
‘Brother . . .’ Dion began.
‘Fight for Phalesia if you want. Take your eldren. Let me bury my son.’
56
Chloe held her breath as she gazed out at the sea from the edge of the Phalesian agora. Just a dozen paces in front of her the stone dropped away in the sloped defensive embankment. The horseshoe wings of the harbor curved left and right, so that she was at the apex of the curve. She had rarely left this position since her arrival.
Her long dark hair was combed until it shone, and she had washed away the grime of her journey, although the lines of care in her forehead had deepened. She now wore a white chiton fastened with copper pins and leather sandals on her feet. A new amulet bearing the symbol of Aeris hung from a copper chain around her neck. Aeries was the goddess of healing, yet what Chloe truly wanted was a sword or a dagger in her hand. She wanted to fight.
Chloe remembered standing at this very place when Kargan had climbed the narrow steps and been welcomed by her father. The sun king’s naval overlord had cast his eyes disdainfully over the city. He had then insulted her father in his own home. He had made no attempt to hide his desire for the golden ark at the Temple of Aldus. Then he had kidnapped Chloe and taken her to Lamara.
Kargan had gone and now he would return. This time he would be thirsty for conquest. This time the sun king himself would be with him.
Chloe looked to her right, at the cliff that was home to the ark, the object of the sun king’s desire. She frowned as she looked at the first steps cut into the cliff, leading up from the embankment, at the edge of the harbor’s arc. She followed them with her eyes, tilting her head back as her gaze finally rested on the temple at the flat summit.
The eternal flame flickered and danced. The white marble columns of the roofless temple glistened. The golden chest sparkled, reflecting the afternoon sun’s slanted rays.
Solon wanted the gold and Triton desperately wanted what was in the ark. The people of Phalesia had to do everything they could to protect it.
Hearing shouted orders and barked commands, Chloe now looked down at the shore. Every soldier in Phalesia was waiting on the white-pebbled beach. She saw Captain Amos bawling orders as he ran up and down the ranks. There seemed too few men to defend an entire harbor. She had already counted them, praying for the gods to give strength to each man in turn. The long stretch of soldiers was over eight hundred soldiers long and two deep. They stood three feet apart, stretched thinly to encompass most of the shoreline, which made their line over a mile long.
There simply weren’t enough defenders; Chloe could see that without knowing anything about military strategy. Phalesia’s strength was in her navy, which had placed her as one of the strongest Galean nations, until the arrival of the Ileans had made them realize their vessels were outclassed.
Out in the blue water, the Phalesian fleet waited expectantly, a wall of ships guarding the entire harbor between the rocky promontories at either end. There were fourteen war galleys with sails down and oars at the ready. Like the biremes they would be facing they had bronze rams jutting from the bow, just below the waterline. Thirty rowers to either side of the open-decked vessels framed a central complement of a dozen archers and marines, standing tall and proud with blue cloaks fluttering in the wind as they prepared to defend their homeland.
Chloe wasn’t alone on the embankment and stood in the middle of a long line of consuls. Flanking them on both sides were a few dozen archers and a score of soldiers.
She heard her father beside her let out a breath. ‘Daughter,’ he said quietly. ‘You should go and hide in the villa with your sister and the servants.’ His eyes were moist as he looked at her. ‘I don’t want to regain you only to lose you again.’
Chloe once more scanned the long arc of blue-cloaked Phalesian soldiers on the shore. ‘I came too late.’
Aristocles shook his head. ‘Your warning gives us a chance. The men are equipped and deployed. The fleet guards the harbor. If we survive the day, Phalesia has you to thank.’
She sighed as she looked up at her father. ‘Any news from Xanthos?’
‘All we know is that the city fell. Nikolas departed through the Gates of Annika with the Xanthian army and did not return.’
Aristocles looked every day of his age. His high forehead and balding pate revealed the worry lines on his face.
‘Are you going to find a safer place?’ Chloe asked.
The first consul shook his head. ‘My place is here.’ He indicated the line of consuls, standing along the embankment as if they were the city’s last line of defense, although to a man they were unarmed and too old to fight, even if they had the skill. ‘This is where we will all make our stand. Amos will hold them on the shore, and then if he must he will fall back to this embankment. If the enemy makes it to the agora, then we know the city has fallen.’
‘Then I will stand with you,’ Chloe said, her jaw set.
Suddenly, Aristocles gripped Chloe’s arm and she saw him scanning the sky above and behind them. The sound of heavy wings filled the air. Dozens of dragons and furies in a range of sizes plunged down from overhead, approaching from the city’s landward side. Winged shapes filled the air, arranged in a V-shaped formation behind their leader.
‘Archers!’ roared an officer with a blue crest on his helmet nearby.
The cluster of archers ranged around the consuls on the embankment nocked arrows to bowstrings and drew.
‘Wait!’ Chloe cried. She ran to the officer, waving her arms. ‘Hold your fire!’
Aside from a few abandoned market stalls framing the edges, the agora was completely deserted. The foremost dragon flapped its silver-scaled wings to slow its momentum and Chloe’s eyes widened as she saw a rider on its back. The lean young man with sandy brown hair was hunched forward as he gripped onto the dragon’s neck with an expression as grim as death. Chloe recognized the crescent scar on the side of the angular reptilian head. The archers lowered their bows as she ran forward.
Dion slipped off the dragon’s back, white-faced and staggering as he found his feet. Behind him, clouds of gray smoke enveloped Zachary and the other eldren, shimmering as each changed back to his normal form.
In a heartbeat Dion stood in front of several dozen silver-haired men and women. They were all tall and lithe, with sharp features and pale skin, and wore clothing of deerskin and animal hide. Their hair was in a variety of styles: Zachary’s lustrous shoulder-length hair was short compared to some of the slim women, and several of the men’s hair was close-cropped and spiky. They were an attractive people, but grim and sober-faced.
‘What are they doing here?’ muttered a consul.
‘They’re here to fight alongside us,’ Dion said, sweeping his gaze over the gathered consuls.
‘The gods have no wish for them to be near our temples—’ began Consul Harod, his red face scowling as he stood near Chloe with his arms folded over his chest.
Chloe’s eyes blazed as she rounded on him. ‘Perhaps they were sent by the gods.’
‘Enough!’ cried Aristocles. He came to stand beside Chloe and Dion and turned to challenge the others. ‘My daughter is correct. Any man who suggests turning away the eldren who are our friends is no true patriot of Phalesia.’
Under his gaze, Harod tugged on his thick beard and was pensive for a time, before he finally nodded. ‘If they want to fight for our city, let them.’
‘They do—’ Dion said.
‘Zachary?’ Chloe interrupted. She saw that the eldran was trembling as he stood with his fists clenched at his sides. Remembering the time he had nearly lost himself in giant form, she once more saw that there was wildness in his eyes.
Zachary wasn’t the only eldran who appeared to be having trouble. He drew in a slow, shaky breath and then nodded. ‘I have been shifting form too much. I feel my identity slipping away. My people will not be able to change for long.’
‘Anythin
g you can do to help will not be forgotten,’ Aristocles said. He bowed deeply. ‘I thank you, on behalf of all my people, for coming to our aid at this dark hour.’
Zachary merely nodded a weary acknowledgment as Chloe’s father turned to Dion.
‘Dion of Xanthos,’ Aristocles said warmly. ‘It appears my daughter is not the only one to have changed.’ Chloe could see her father take note of the bow Dion carried in one hand and the sharpened wooden spear in the other. ‘I see you no longer wear silver.’ Chloe realized it was true; Dion no longer had the silver symbol of Silex around his neck, nor the chain it hung from. ‘You are ready to take up iron, the materia of the warrior?’
Dion glanced at Chloe, then back to Aristocles. Chloe saw a strange expression on his face.
‘I suppose this is a time of change for all of us,’ Dion said.
Aristocles’ expression was quizzical, but he reached out to clasp the young man’s shoulders. ‘I must take this opportunity to thank you for the return of my daughter.’
Dion smiled slightly as he turned to Chloe, and now it was as if he were speaking to her. ‘She made it out on her own. Your daughter is a strong woman.’
‘That she is,’ Aristocles said. His expression then turned grave. ‘What news from Xanthos?’
Dion hesitated. ‘My brother took back the city. I last saw him yesterday. He remains there as king.’
Aristocles was stunned. ‘He is not coming to our aid?’
‘No, First Consul,’ Dion said sadly. ‘I’m afraid he is not. He lost his whole family. Father, wife, son . . . And all because of a close friend’s betrayal. The shock is too much; he’s withdrawn into himself.’
‘But’—Aristocles struggled to comprehend the news—‘our alliance. Surely he knows the Ilean attack was none of our doing?’
‘First Consul!’ the officer with the indigo crest on his helmet cried. ‘The enemy approaches!’
Chloe heard a chorus of gasps; her father went rigid. Everyone’s eyes turned to the sea.
It was time.
Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) Page 35