Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  The cluster of furies and dragons was now close enough for one shape to be distinguished from another. An immense monster was in the lead, a one-eyed dragon bigger than any of the creatures following. Jonas flew high, his flight erratic; he was waiting for Triton to join him.

  As a united group, they then flew in the direction of the Village, leaving the insignificant half-breed far behind.

  Dion started to run.

  11

  Dion sprinted through the forest, leaping over a fallen tree and picking a path down a steep slope, leaving the trail to take the shortest route to the settlement. Slipping and sliding down the hillside, his legs threatened to give way underneath him as he struggled to maintain his footing while gravel skittered around him. The slope ended at the bank of the river and without pausing he jumped over the divide, nearly falling as he hit the opposite bank, but stumbling and continuing on.

  The Village wasn’t much farther: one more hill and he would be in view of the clearing in the ancient trees. His calves burned as he climbed and his pounding heart caused blood to roar in his ears. Louder still, he began to hear grunts, roars, and bellows. Fear clutched hold of his stomach when he smelled the sharp stench of char.

  Finally, he reached the hill’s summit and saw the Village.

  Clouds of gray smoke filled the air in all directions, rising up to disperse in the treetops. Already breathless, he found himself choking and coughing. He drew up near one of the ancient trees, assessing the scene in the clearing, trying to understand the struggle that was well under way.

  There were giants and ogres everywhere, circling each other, wrestling and grappling, wielding sticks, stones, and even burning brands as eldran fought eldran. Dion watched a red-faced giant throw a flaming log onto a wooden house. A conflagration soon enveloped the structure that had taken years to grow and was the treasured center of a family’s life.

  At least half the houses in the Village were already blazing. The smoke made the scene fragmented and unreal, arms and legs and monstrous heads flashing as if disembodied. Some of the creatures were male, some female, but all had silver hair of varying lengths, with faces stretched and misshapen, like too much skin had been pulled over their skulls. Jaws were enlarged, ears flattened, teeth protruding, growls bestial. They snarled and roared. They cried out in pain and made the ground shake when they fell.

  Dion didn’t know which in their changed form were friends or foes, and although he tried to open his senses, his thoughts were filled with confusion. As he stood on the hillside, looking down into the Village, he nocked an arrow, but didn’t know who to aim for.

  Then he again saw the red-faced giant that had tossed the fiery log at the house, facing off to an older and slightly larger opponent. They snarled at each other in the center of the Village, surrounded by burning houses and billowing smoke. When Dion saw the crescent scar on the older giant’s face and recognized Zachary, he began to run.

  Now close enough to chance a shot, he was forced to wait his opportunity as the red-faced giant swiped a clenched fist at Zachary’s head. Baring his teeth and stepping to the side, Zachary evaded the blow but was prevented from countering by a second attack as an ogre lunged at him with a pointed stick used like a spear. When Zachary leaped out of the way, finally Dion drew the string to his cheek. He released his arrow and heard it whistle through the air before plunging into the red-faced giant’s side.

  The giant roared in pain and whirled but it was far from incapacitated. The spear-wielding ogre turned and caught sight of Dion already fitting a second arrow. Dropping its spear, the ogre ran forward to grab its larger, wounded companion. The two fled, disappearing into the billowing smoke.

  Zachary saw another ogre throwing burning logs onto a house and lumbered over, crashing into it from the side and becoming embroiled in a match of strength. Seeing Zachary gain the upper hand, Dion left him behind, peering through the smoke as he reached the Village’s center, trying to discern friend from foe.

  He heard a high-pitched scream.

  Whirling, his eyes widened when he saw a young eldran woman fleeing an ogre, and immediately recognized Liana. The monster was snarling and chasing her with a length of flaming wood; they were heading away from the direction of the fiercest fighting, toward the Village’s outskirts. Without changing her form, compared to her pursuer, she was as weak as a newborn babe.

  Dion dashed after them, coughing in the smoke as he ran. He lifted his bow and drew, firing an arrow at the ogre, but missed. The two shapes became distant and clouded by haze as he put down his head and ran.

  Liana was heading for a cluster of a dozen houses at the Village’s far end, the only place still untouched by the enemy. A puff of wind cleared the air for a brief instant and Dion saw the young eldran woman take refuge in the closest house. The ogre stopped, uncertain, head turning as it searched for her. It lumbered over to another structure and touched its fiery brand to the dry tinder wall.

  Something smashed into Dion’s back.

  The force picked him up and threw him forward. He felt the breath knocked out of him and found himself face down on the hard ground. Lifting his head, gazing at the place where he’d last seen Liana, he saw a dragon plunging from overhead, outstretched claws aimed directly at the ogre setting houses aflame.

  Dion rolled over. A one-eyed giant loomed over him.

  A hairless head, ridged and bony, sat squarely on the broad shoulders. It was the biggest giant he’d ever seen, dwarfing all others. Filled with menace, it carried no weapon, instead flexing fingers and curling them into fists.

  I know you, the voice spoke inside Dion’s head. Why do you not change your form, black dragon?

  Desperately Dion tried to remember everything Zachary had taught him. He imagined himself in another shape, a gigantic creature of strong limbs and indomitable strength.

  Nothing happened.

  Reaching forward, the one-eyed giant crouched and Dion felt fingers clasping around his neck. He choked as the hand tightened on his throat and then he was being lifted. The monster picked him and held him in the air as his feet scrabbled uselessly at nothing.

  With a grunt, the one-eyed giant threw Dion like a man throwing a spear. He saw the approach of a wide tree trunk.

  Then his head struck with force, and darkness filled his vision.

  Dion’s eyelids fluttered. Pain burst inside his head, diminishing only slowly. He felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him, and opened his eyes.

  He was lying on his back and a young silver-haired eldran was hunched over him, his brow furrowed. ‘He is alive,’ the eldran called to someone behind him. ‘Can you stand?’ he asked.

  When Dion nodded, the eldran gripped his hand and helped him to climb to his feet before leaving to aid others. Weaving slightly, Dion touched a hand to the top of his head. It was tender, but he couldn’t feel any blood.

  He breathed slowly in and out, wondering how he was still alive. His senses dulled by pain and fatigue, he only slowly managed to take stock of his situation, turning away from the broad oak that had broken his fall.

  Smoke still filled the area, which told him that he hadn’t been out for long. Silver-haired eldren ran in all directions while others stood staring disconsolately at the burned husks that had been their homes. Triton and those with him were gone. The Village was razed in its entirety.

  He heard a sudden cry and looked up.

  The eldran who had assisted him to his feet suddenly sprinted past, gold-flecked eyes opened wide as he ran. More cries and shouts filled the air in a growing chorus. An older eldran ran in the same direction, and then more villagers, until it seemed that everyone able to do so was all rushing to the same place. Dion wondered dimly where they were going.

  Then he remembered. As the cobwebs cleared from his mind the visions came flooding back.

  Liana. She had taken shelter in a wooden house, hiding from the conflict. An ogre had been burning every house in the area. A dragon had plunged down from overhead .
. .

  Dion turned and commenced a staggering run, joining the throng of eldren, all heading toward the Village’s outskirts. As he passed the last of the blackened circles that had once been a proud house, he saw a growing crowd of villagers surrounding a commotion in the middle.

  He pushed his way forward. Looking between the shoulders of two tall eldren, he gasped.

  Eiric was facing his father sternly, gripping both his shoulders as Zachary struggled to push past the obstruction that was his son. Zachary’s expression was wretched, curled up in anguish. Eiric was strong but even he was struggling to impede his father’s progress.

  Dion continued to shoulder his way through the crowd. Finally he could make out what was in the center of the circle.

  A snarling dragon, tail lashing the ground, whirled to face any eldran who came near. With mottled scales, pale scratches on its belly, and yellowed teeth the size of Dion’s fingers, this was clearly an older, more powerful eldran. The shuddering wings folded and unfolded as the almond-shaped eyes darted from face to face, man to woman to child, daring anyone to approach. While Eiric held his father away, another eldran stepped slowly forward, arms outstretched to show he meant no harm, but the jaws parted and the dragon lunged. The eldran jumped back as the sharp teeth gnashed together.

  Dion suddenly realized that Zachary was screaming, over and over.

  ‘Aella!’

  The dragon was Zachary’s wife. But she was also a wildran, a monster that could kill any of them in an instant. If she hadn’t been so staunchly defending her ground, blood might have already been spilled. He wondered what she was trying so hard to protect.

  Then he saw a pale limb as the dragon spun again, teeth snapping at another brave villager who tried to approach and he realized. The dragon wasn’t defending an empty patch of dirt. Aella’s final thought before turning wild had been to continue her last task.

  She was defending Liana.

  Terrified beyond belief, the orphan girl had her arms wrapped around her knees. Tears leaked down her cheeks and her eyes were pleading as people from the community tried to get close enough to seize her and get her free.

  For now the dragon was consumed with protecting Liana from any threat. But perhaps soon, as madness overcame any other thought, the creature would think only of clawing and tearing, of threat and food. Liana was in terrible danger, and there was nothing they could do.

  The crowd cried out as Zachary finally tore free of his son and rushed forward. As the dragon that was Aella whirled to face him, he slowed and took a deep breath. Spreading his arms, lowering them at the ground, he began to speak in a tone that was both soothing and ragged, the plaintive voice of a man who was desperate not to lose the love of his life.

  Zachary was murmuring so that Dion could only just hear him. ‘. . . my love, remember who you are. You are Aella. You are my heart. You are everything. Without you I am lost. This form is not your true one. Please, come back to me.’

  A crash of falling wood came from the distant wreckage of a house. The dragon roared and the wings fluttered. Liana wailed in fear, and the creature faced her, neck craning, snout touching Liana’s face. The jaws parted and the roar lowered in volume, becoming a throaty rumble.

  ‘No!’ Zachary cried, stepping forward. But the dragon’s interest in Liana continued. ‘Aella, this is not who you are.’

  Eiric ran forward and pulled on his father’s arm. ‘Father. She is too far gone!’

  Zachary again shook him free. Eldren came to take hold of Eiric, calling out to Zachary, telling him that Aella was lost.

  ‘She’ll kill the girl!’ someone cried.

  Yet even when the dragon rounded on Zachary and roared in his face he wouldn’t relent. He reached out and stroked the dragon’s head, heedless of the danger he was in. For an instant, the barest moment, the wildness in the glaring eyes cleared.

  Then the wings stretched out. With an ear-splitting cry that sounded like a screech of pain, or perhaps farewell, the creature rose into the air. With each fluttering of the huge wings the silver body became more distant as the wildran left its home behind.

  Pushing through the crowd, Dion ran forward to crouch beside Liana. He checked her over and lifted her head, seeing soot on her face, streaked by the passage of tears, but she was unharmed.

  ‘Father!’

  Eiric cried out but Zachary was already in the process of changing his form. Before his son could reach him a second dragon was roaring, bursting out of a cloud of mist, a huge and ancient creature with a crescent scar on its cheek. Wings beat down at the ground and in moments Zachary was gone.

  ‘Eiric,’ an older eldran called. ‘You must let him go.’

  Eiric stood frozen with indecision, fists clenched at his sides. Slowly, he turned to face Liana, still seated on the ground with Dion crouched beside her.

  Dion had never seen him look so angry.

  Liana looked up at Eiric as he strode over and bent down. He took hold of a leather thong around her slender neck, gripping it by the glossy circle of amber that hung from the simple necklace.

  He yanked, pulling at the necklace hard enough to break it. While Liana looked on, Eiric strode to the nearest house and tossed it into the smoking remains.

  Liana climbed to her feet, pushing Dion away, staring at Eiric as he deliberately turned his back on her. She then ran into the forest.

  ‘Let her go,’ Eiric said.

  12

  Nikolas stood at the summit of the sloped defensive bastion that guarded Phalesia’s small harbor, gazing out to sea and wondering at the different forms of power a man could possess.

  He had a reason for his pondering, for he wanted to be a strong king, but he also planned to have the scales of life tilt in his favor when he was judged at the gates of paradise. He desired to keep his people safe and to maintain order, but not to be needlessly ruthless or cruel.

  There was a time, as a younger man, when he had thought he would never raise his sword against a man who didn’t threaten him physically. Many of his soldiers still lived by this code, the warrior’s code, and even in the heat of battle would never slay a surrendered opponent or kill innocent townsfolk.

  But Nikolas was a king, and he had to live by a different code. There were various forms of power, and the magi and philosophers posed many questions that the warrior’s code found difficult to provide a solution for. A true warrior would never kill an unarmed man. But if a villain robbed a family of food, causing starvation and death, the fact that he didn’t carry a sword shouldn’t grant him immunity from the executioner. If a nobleman gave orders to slay women and children, killing the unarmed nobleman rather than his followers would result in fewer deaths and greater justice.

  To wield power – the power of life and death – meant to play a dangerous game, and any man who played dangerous games should suffer the consequences when the game turned against his favor.

  ‘A man who orders soldiers is a soldier himself,’ Nikolas muttered. This was what his code of kings told him.

  It was evening and the sun had just set, finally taking the heat out of the day. The waves below came in and out with every breath of Silex, god of the sea, making a hissing noise as the water struck the pale stones of the shore. Nikolas wore a white tunic with a black corded belt that matched the iron bull he wore around his neck.

  ‘Balal, god of war,’ he said, clasping the medallion. ‘Be with me tonight.’

  Flanking him on both sides, two soldiers of his king’s guard stood a short distance away to give him privacy. They were veteran warriors clad in strong and well-made armor, with bronze breastplates on their chests and skirts of overlapping leather strips around their waists. Fastened to their necks were short crimson cloaks. A wide-bladed sword the length of a man’s forearm hung at their sides. Black-crested helmets with long nose and cheek guards hid their faces.

  Hearing a voice, Nikolas’s gaze left the darkening sea, sweeping back to the Phalesian agora and the surrounding temples.
He saw round-faced Nilus approaching, his hasty walk hampered by his small steps.

  ‘Consul Nilus,’ Nikolas said. ‘At last.’

  ‘You wanted to see me, King?’ Nilus asked.

  ‘This vote that the first consul is planning. I hear that the consuls’ positions are often decided before the actual vote.’

  ‘That is true,’ Nilus puffed.

  ‘Aristocles still pushes for the horn to stay in the ark?’

  Nilus hesitated. ‘I’ve spoken with him at length. He understands, truly, that the gold is needed. He wants to rebuild our navy and army as much as you do.’

  Nikolas scratched his thick black beard. ‘Then why does he say that the consuls should vote against moving the horn?’

  ‘He says that he has prayed to the gods and been given a warning. The Aleutheans made an ark of gold for a reason. He is afraid that if we move the horn we will be at increased danger.’

  ‘Bah.’ Nikolas scowled. ‘His own daughter said there is no risk.’

  ‘Nonetheless, he truly is concerned.’

  ‘And his allies?’

  ‘They will follow where he leads. He reminds them that the ark is still a mysterious relic, and brings up the fact that no Phalesian consul should be pressured by a foreign ruler.’

  ‘And you, Consul Nilus, where do you stand on this?’

  ‘Aristocles and I have been allies on many things,’ Nilus said delicately. ‘But, on this, I confess that I do not agree with him. There are times to show independence and strength, and times to work with our friends and allies.’ He looked up to meet Nikolas’s eyes. ‘I believe that Aristocles and his supporters are perhaps suffering from an indignant loss of pride, and are looking to make up for it.’

  ‘So the future of both our nations rests on a group of old men who long for the days when Phalesia’s navy was second to none?’ Nikolas shook his head.