Within the inner wall, misshapen houses leaned against each other haphazardly: eldren were not skilled builders. The houses dissolved when it rained, but fortunately it rained rarely and the occupants cared little for appearances. The fort wasn’t built for comfort, or beauty, or even to provide refuge from the baking heat of the constant sun.
The stockade was built for defense. And it had proven itself, time and time again.
Just half a dozen years earlier, when Solon, the ruler of Ilea, who styled himself the sun king, conquered the thriving port city of Koulis, he had pressed on farther north. Trying to find a route to the Galean continent, his path took him into the Waste.
There, Solon and his army found the eldren. And like the Galeans across the sea, the Ileans possessed memories of the great war fought between the two races.
All wildren were once eldren, and so all eldren should be butchered without remorse.
The Ileans laid siege to the stockade, as humans tended to do, and sent wave after wave of soldiers swarming up the sole approach to the solid fence of spikes. But Solon had never fought eldren before, and it was simple for Triton to lead his warriors out as furies and dragons to descend on the yellow-cloaked soldiers. The eldren could fly away to fetch meat and to drink. Their structure was under siege, but they could come and go as they pleased.
‘So why build it at all?’ Jonas asked.
Triton looked away from the stockade and fixed his one good eye on the man next to him. Jonas wasn’t a small eldran, and he was both experienced and magically strong – Zachary had nominated him to be a guardian of his village for a reason – but compared to Triton all eldren were slight.
They were both standing by the edge of the thin stream, and Jonas’s gaze was drawn to the stockade, beyond which a dusty, blood-red plain spread in all directions. Scrubby trees scratched an existence among the lizards and scrawny birds. In the distance, the edge of the dark mountain range surrounding Cinder Fen was hazy against the red horizon. It was an inhospitable place, but Triton knew that it kept his eldren strong. Zachary and those with him were weak, and Jonas, supposedly one of his finest warriors, was proof of that weakness.
Jonas had spiky silver hair, gray eyes flecked with gold, and an incongruously low voice. His eyes were shadowed, the look of a man bearing terrible grief, and he was uncertain of himself, agitated.
He was also hot, wearing deerskin completely unsuited to the climate. Triton was instead bare-chested and wore trousers made of hide. His muscled chest was as tanned as his bald head, where his angular features made the ridges of skull prominent, giving him an intimidating cast he relished.
As time dragged on and Triton’s remorseless attention had an effect on his new companion, Jonas broke his gaze and stared down at the ground.
‘Why build it?’ Triton looked up at the stockade. ‘Its purpose is to break our enemies. Humans like to conquer and destroy things. Cities, fortresses, palaces, temples . . . By building it, and holding it, we give them something to attack. They must know that if the fort is about to fall, we can simply leave, flying high in the sky and never returning. Yet they attack nonetheless. They think that losing half their army is the price they must pay . . . that it is worth it to drive us off and to occupy something we took the time to build in the first place. We let them think that. And in the end, when Solon led his army here, it was we who were victorious. So many men died trying to conquer this structure that he was forced to retreat. In truth, seizing a place like this means nothing, nothing at all. Humans don’t have wings. They never will.’
‘Then how did Solon take you hostage?’
Triton’s one good eye flashed. ‘That, my friend, is a story for another day.’
Jonas took a breath, perhaps realizing he’d gone too far. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I should go.’
Triton pointed his finger at Jonas’s chest. ‘Tell me something, Jonas of the Wilds. What is it you want most?’
‘I told you. I want my family back.’
‘And you have my promise. They will return to you.’
Triton could see that he almost had him, but Jonas was still dubious. ‘And when you sound the horn, what happens then?’
‘The wildren will approach, summoned by the horn of Marrix. Your son will be with them, and your wife.’
‘But they won’t know who I am.’
‘No, they won’t,’ Triton said. ‘But I will remind them.’
Jonas wiped at his eyes. ‘I want to believe. But Zachary always said that once we are gone, we can never come back to who we were.’
Triton spoke firmly. ‘The horn changes that. Zachary is weak. He wants to lead a village of cowering eldren, subservient to the humans in Xanthos and Phalesia, fearful of attack at all times. That is not how I rule. My people are strong. Humans do not dare confront us. It is we who hunt them. Zachary doesn’t want the horn because he is afraid. He does not have the blood of Marrix, and so if the horn is recovered, he loses his position.’ Triton’s voice became low and full of import. ‘He is happy to let you suffer.’
Jonas nodded. Triton felt a thrill of victory course through him.
‘I will get the horn, and I will sound it,’ Triton pronounced. ‘Your family will return, and I will bring them back.’
‘How can I trust you?’
‘Believe my actions. Soon we will depart this place, permanently. Now that the horn has been rediscovered, I am leading my people to Cinder Fen in order to prepare for the reclaiming of our homeland.’
‘But how can you be so sure you will get the horn?’
‘The gold,’ said Triton. ‘They won’t be able to resist it. They will move the horn. All we need to do is wait until they do, and then, when it is no longer shielded, it will be a simple matter to seize it.’
‘What if they don’t move the horn?’
‘My friend, the difficult part was discovering where it is. Yes, we cannot open a metal container, but there are many possibilities.’ He shrugged. ‘I find some human couple. I torture the wife while the husband watches. I force the husband and others like him to bring me the horn in return for their women. Don’t you see? The horn was lost to us. Now that it has been found, it is just a matter of time.’
‘And all you want is the location of the Village?’
‘Yes,’ Triton said. ‘The one who reclaims Sindara must unite all eldren behind him, not just those here in the Waste, but also those in Zachary’s thrall. Tell me where I can find the Village, and I promise you, you will see your wife and son once more.’
Jonas slowly nodded.
8
Aristocles walked down a long, winding tunnel. The sloping floor told him he was heading deep into the earth, and the walls of smooth rock glistening with trickling moisture told him he was in a cave.
He frowned. He had no memory of how he’d ended up in this place.
Following the tunnel, footsteps making no sound on the smooth floor, he rounded bend after bend, somehow drawn ever onward. The ceiling was so low his bald crown nearly brushed against it, making him feel the oppressive weight of solid rock, and then, as he pressed on, it was high enough that he moved more freely. He had no sense of the air at all, whether it was dry or moist, redolent of mold or crisp as fresh snow. He felt neither hot nor cold.
Lifting his hand in front of his face, his eyes widened. He could see through his palm; checking the rest of his limbs confirmed it: his body was ethereal, transparent. His sandaled feet appeared ghostly on the floor.
But strangely, the realization wasn’t concerning. Instead, the sensation of pulling became stronger. He felt like water being drained from a bath, sliding inexorably down.
He continued to walk along the tunnel, peering around each corner, surprised that he could even see. But rather than becoming darker, a strong light welled from somewhere far ahead. Pushing on, ever on, he turned a final corner and stopped, dazzled by whiteness.
The sudden light was startling, brightest in the center of the broad cavern the tun
nel opened onto. It came from a white fire blazing on the stone, burning without embers or fuel. The flames were as high as the hunched figure who sat facing the fire with her back to him.
Aristocles suddenly felt terrified.
The woman had pure white hair cascading down her back, stretching all the way to the ground. She wore a black robe with long sleeves that covered every part of her skin. Staring into the fire, she spoke without turning around.
‘Aristocles.’ Her sibilant voice hissed, filling the cavern. ‘You have prayed for guidance for many hours. Your prayers have brought you here.’
‘Where . . . Where am I?’ Aristocles stammered. He stood motionless behind the woman, his feet frozen into place.
‘That is not the question that is in your heart. We do not have much time. You will not remain here for long, and so I will answer what it is you truly wish to know.’
She paused, drawing in a long, slow breath of air, before speaking as if with great effort.
‘My prophecy is thus. If the ark that was built by the ancient Aleutheans is destroyed, the horn will sound.’
She whirled to stare at him, and her face was a grinning skull without flesh.
Aristocles’ eyes burst open. Scanning wildly, he saw that he was in his villa, lying on his bed, staring up at the wide beams of his bedchamber’s ceiling. He had been dreaming, but it was like no other dream he’d ever experienced, for he could remember every detail.
He fought to control his racing heart and gasping breath.
9
A soldier of Nikolas’s king’s guard, complete with face-hiding helmet and crimson cloak, was waiting for Chloe as soon as she rode through the city gate. Accepting the inevitable, she reined in and dismounted. As he stormed toward her, dark eyes glaring, she couldn’t even tell if he was the same man she’d eluded when she left.
Ignoring his approach, Chloe held her horse by the reins, scanning the crowd of hawkers and street urchins thronging the area near the gate, always a hive of activity from the constant comings and goings of traders, farmers, and city folk. She felt relief when she finally saw a youth she knew and called out his name.
The youth saw her and came over. ‘Princess?’
‘Would you take this horse to Balion? Tell him I’m grateful for all his help.’
He nodded and she handed him the reins. The Xanthian soldier ignored the youth’s departure; closing the distance, he gripped Chloe painfully by the arm.
‘I am to take you to the king.’ He spoke in a low growl.
Chloe opened her mouth but realized there was no purpose in argument. Not long ago, if any man, king or not, had seized her in this way, there would have been a furor. But she was betrothed to Nikolas and he had a claim on her, body and soul. All Chloe could look forward to was the day that Nikolas’s duties called him back to Xanthos and the return of her liberty before the wedding itself. Perhaps when Nikolas heard the news that it was safe to move the horn of Marrix, and saw Aristocles making preparations for the golden ark, he would be satisfied and leave.
‘Fine,’ Chloe said. ‘Take me to him.’
The guardsman didn’t relinquish his tight grip, forcing Chloe to skip to keep up with him. Seeing a shocked expression on one of the wine merchants manning a stall, a man she knew well, she tried to hide the fact that she was being half dragged across the city. Leading her to the upper quarter, the soldier evidently knew where he would find Nikolas, for he took her directly to the agora.
Soon they were crossing the expansive rectangle and weaving through the crowds as the summer sun shone brightly overhead; the agora was always busy at midday. The temples thronged with worshippers and children played games, hopping from one rose-colored paving stone to another, avoiding the gray stones between. Chloe’s stomach rumbled as the sea breeze carried cooking scents from the food stalls.
Nikolas was deep in discussion with Nilus, one of Phalesia’s senior consuls and a colleague of Chloe’s father. A plump, round-faced man, he had a short crop of neatly trimmed gray hair on his crown and wore a white tunic and belt that matched his gold necklace. Of all the consuls, Nilus had been spending the most time with Nikolas during his visit, becoming a bridge between the king of Xanthos and Phalesia’s first consul.
As Chloe and her escort approached the two men standing on the wide marble steps at the side of the agora, away from the bustling crowds in the market, she saw black-bearded Nikolas scowl at something Nilus said. Suddenly imagining herself sharing a bed with him, she forced down a shudder.
She tried to think about him positively, to bring to mind his admirable traits. He was passionate about defending his kingdom, and by association the neighboring nation his future wife belonged to. He was a strong warrior; the soldiers said that not a man among them could best him in combat. The savage deaths of his wife and son had affected him deeply; he wasn’t without a heart. He lived in a palace that was far grander than the villa where Chloe lived with her father and sister.
Yet every thought also carried a darker side. He was passionate about his kingdom, but he disdained the proud tradition of Phalesia’s democracy. Bringing to mind his skill in battle only made Chloe remember the way he had been at the Battle of Phalesia, covered in blood and gore, howling for the sun king’s head. Reminding herself of the love he’d borne his wife and child only made her more aware that he felt nothing for her; theirs was a marriage of duty. Picturing herself in the Royal Palace at Xanthos, she could only think about how far she would be from her family and her home.
Nikolas was saying something to Nilus when he saw Chloe. His scowl deepened. ‘I thought I forbade you to go to the Wilds.’
‘And I thought my father made it clear that I am under his protection until the wedding.’ Chloe glanced pointedly at her escort. ‘Not yours.’
Consul Nilus’s mouth dropped open. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
Nikolas shook his head. ‘Woman, you know we are to be married. We will share a bed and more. Why risk my wrath?’
Chloe folded her arms over her chest. ‘Sire,’ she said with emphasis, ‘would you like to hear what I learned?’
Nikolas hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Did you . . .’ He scratched at his thick beard, suddenly unsure of himself. ‘Did you see my brother?’
‘I saw him.’
‘Is he well?’
‘Well enough. But despite what you know about him, he’s no eldran.’
Nikolas shook his head. ‘If he were a commoner, I could allow him to live in Xanthos, provided he wore a necklace and hid who he was, but he is a noble. It isn’t right that his loyalties are divided.’
‘Loyalties?’ Chloe felt her blood rise. ‘How are his loyalties divided? Speak the truth. You don’t want him because he’s different. You’re worried about how he might reflect on you.’
‘And if I am? If I’m worried that the brother of the king of Xanthos can change his shape, and that one day I might return from some distant conflict to discover my brother became a monster while I was gone? That he killed my citizens before they were able to put him down? It’s no light concern, lady. I think it best that he remain with the eldren.’
‘He doesn’t know how to do the things they do.’
‘He obviously does. All you’re telling me is that he cannot control himself, which makes him more of a danger than any of them. I would allow any eldran to live in my city before I would consider my brother, and that is my final word on the subject.’
Nikolas calmed himself with an effort. Nilus was wringing his hands, obviously wanting to extricate himself from the group. The guardsman was impassive as always.
‘Now, please tell me you learned something of value. The ark. Can the horn be moved?’
‘Yes,’ Chloe said stiffly. ‘Zachary said it is safe to move it to an iron container.’
‘Have you told your father?’ Nilus asked, the first time he’d said a word.
‘I’ve only just returned. But I’m sure he’ll do what needs to be done.�
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‘I hope you speak the truth,’ Nikolas said. He nodded to himself. ‘I have matters to attend to. Consul Nilus, we’ll speak again soon. And Chloe?’ He met her eyes. ‘Think about the kind of marriage you want to have.’
Nikolas left with the helmeted soldier walking briskly at his side.
Nilus spoke softly to Chloe. ‘He is under a lot of strain.’
‘As is my father,’ she said.
‘I know, I know.’ Nilus opened his mouth and then rubbed his jowly chin. ‘Chloe . . . Speak with your father. Convince him to side with Nikolas, rather than against him. Nikolas doesn’t always have a soft touch, but he’s determined to face down the might of Ilea. He needs our united support. Your father has to understand that Nikolas feels he’s the only leader with military experience, the only man able to defend us all.’
Nighttime in Phalesia made the city more beautiful than it could ever be by daylight, with the refuse in the gutters hidden from sight and costly lamps and torches situated only near sights people wanted to see: the statues and gardens, temples and grand houses. Waves crashed onto the pebbles of the harbor shore. Every ship rested next to a fellow, its work done for the day. A silver moon hung over the horizon and stars peeked through night’s curtain in countless multitudes.
At Aristocles’ villa, flickering candles and scented oil lamps filled the interior with light, the warm glow reflecting from the shining white marble of the walls, highlighting the statues and decorated ceramics. The heat had finally gone out of the day, and a cool breeze now wafted through the curtained windows of the reception.
Chloe and her younger sister, Sophia, sat at the high table with their father. Just turned twelve, Sophia was a younger version of Chloe, down to the long dark hair, wide mouth, and oval face, although Sophia’s eyes were blue and Chloe’s brown, and Sophia had an impish cast to her expression and dimples on her cheeks.
Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2) Page 7