Her attention was drawn to one tribesman in particular, a lean mounted warrior leading a group of his fellows. With a spidery tattoo stretching from his face to his neck and a topknot leaving the rest of his head shaved, his appearance was both striking and sinister. He and his companions would be fighting for plunder as well as Nikolas’s gold.
After the horses came the men on foot. Hoplites carrying shield and spear marched resolutely, weighed down by their equipment but strong and fit enough to march for an entire day without pausing. A smaller number of archers followed the hoplites, and then came javelin and sling throwers, followed by a motley collection of farmers with swords and slaves carrying baggage.
It was a long column, and the cavalry had exited the valley long before the baggage train appeared. Chloe’s heart sank. She hadn’t accounted for Nikolas’s decisiveness; he must have left immediately after her. He was heading for Tanus, and he’d evidently taken every able-bodied man with him. By stripping Xanthos and Phalesia of soldiers, he was taking a huge gamble, but Chloe’s father had fled to Tanus, and pressing onward would take Nikolas’s army to where Triton led the eldren in the Waste. After the Waste was the city of Koulis, which was founded by Galeans long before the Ileans expanded north.
The pieces lay before Nikolas like stepping stones. Either Tanus would join his cause or he would lay siege to the city. Triton would flee before him or fall. Koulis would be faced with the same choice as Tanus, and then there was a clear path to his true objective: Lamara.
Chloe couldn’t stop thinking about her father. She’d come to warn him, but he wouldn’t know there was an army approaching until it was too late.
‘Chloe.’ Liana’s voice came from below, filled with urgency.
Looking down the slope to where the nearby forest thinned, Chloe felt her breath quicken as a long line of soldiers exited the trees, approaching with speed. The soldiers started to climb the hillside, fanning out to prevent either of the two women from making a break for the forest.
‘Quick!’ Chloe scrabbled back down, taking hold of Liana’s hand and then pulling her up to her perch. Together they climbed higher still, slipping in their haste, heading for a break between two peaks that might lead to safety. The ground leveled off and Chloe broke into a run, still gripping Liana’s hand tightly.
The soldiers were now out of sight but their shouts drifted on the breeze. Sprinting together Chloe and Liana reached lower ground, passing between the two hills. Chloe breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a path out of the valley, opening up in the wild lands of the north.
Chloe exchanged glances with Liana as, helping each other down, they began to descend the hills, following a route that would take them away from pursuit. Together, they ventured into the unknown.
25
‘Amos,’ Aristocles called. ‘Are you ready? We shouldn’t make Queen Zanthe wait.’
He checked his reflection one last time in the bronze mirror, intensely missing the expensive silver mirror back in his villa, before he finally nodded and left the house’s only bedchamber. Their rented lodgings were simple: a single-storied stone dwelling in Tanus’s artisan quarter, but he reminded himself that it was only temporary.
Aristocles found Amos in the communal living room, sharpening his sword as he sat on a stool, making circles with a stone on the bright steel. His loyal captain looked up and ceased his work.
‘I’m worried about Queen Zanthe. How do you know she’ll stand with us?’
Aristocles’ lips thinned. ‘This is happening, Amos. Are you with me?’
Amos met his eyes and nodded. ‘Of course, First Consul.’
Like Aristocles, Amos had washed and changed, oiling and combing his hair. But where Aristocles wore an embroidered silk toga tied at the waist with a blue rope, Amos wore his leather cuirass and skirt of leather strips. Aristocles had tried to convince him to wear a tunic, and even picked one out, but his most convincing arguments fell on deaf ears, with Amos flatly saying that Aristocles should consider himself lucky that he’d taken the time to clean and polish his armor.
‘The gifts . . .’ Aristocles looked around the room. ‘Where are they?’
Standing and sheathing his weapon, Amos indicated the exit. ‘Ready and waiting.’ He shook his head as he followed Aristocles out the house, and Aristocles heard him muttering. ‘Tanusians and their gifts . . .’
Out in the street Aristocles saw six burly bearers wearing sleeveless vests, waiting with arms folded, each standing beside an ornate wooden chest.
‘Good, good,’ Aristocles said.
‘These gifts cost nearly all your gold,’ Amos said. ‘I hope it’s worth it.’
‘Queen Zanthe responds well to flattery. Is it all there?’
Amos strode to the first chest and opened the lid, demonstrating the contents. ‘Furs,’ he said, closing the lid and moving to the next chest. ‘Spices.’
Aristocles nodded, pleased. The furs were red fox pelts from the north, soft and luxurious. The spices were in small painted clay pots with tight-fitting lids.
‘Wine,’ Amos said, tilting back the lid of the third chest. Inside was a thick leather skin bearing the embossed mark of Falio, the best wine merchant in Tanus. ‘Six fine swords.’ Amos glanced at Aristocles as he showed him half a dozen shining swords with tapering blades.
‘Swords?’ Aristocles frowned. ‘This is no king of Xanthos. We’re dealing with a woman here.’
Amos shrugged and closed the chest before moving to the next. ‘Incense.’ He waited for Aristocles to crouch down and inhale.
‘Sandalwood.’ Aristocles nodded. ‘And finally?’
‘Silk.’ Amos lifted up a length of pale Salesian silk. ‘Undyed. The very best quality.’
‘Excellent,’ Aristocles said. ‘You’ve done well, my friend.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘The hour is almost upon us. Let’s go.’
The plateau that the city occupied was immense, far larger than the area bounded by the high stone walls. Tanus was laid out in a regular, planned fashion, with three broad avenues and a multitude of streets connecting them at intervals. Temples mingled with markets, granaries, masonries, and potteries; the single-storied houses were crowded close together, filling the spaces in between.
Rather than having an upper city and a lower city, such as in Phalesia, or being split into a palace quarter and residential quarter, as in Xanthos, in Tanus everything was of a single level. Instead, the poorer houses were those on the outskirts or close to the gates, unmistakable by their mud-brick walls and roofs of dried foliage matted with clay. Closer to the center the temples became grander and the houses employed cut and fitted stones in their construction, with those nearest the palace loftiest of all, multi-storied dwellings with commanding views of the mountainous landscape.
As Aristocles, Amos, and the six bearers followed the centermost of the three avenues, the palace loomed ahead. At the end of the city, nestled against the rock, it was high and defensible, affording an additional level of protection for the queen and her court. Four thick columns of basalt held up the peaked roof, which crowned the entire structure, making it difficult to assess how large it truly was. Armored soldiers stood guard at the base of the wide steps leading to the interior, spears held vertically, faces like stone as they watched the group approach.
But rather than feel intimidated, Aristocles kept walking, and the guards made way for the group as they climbed the stairs. He was familiar with kings and queens. Dealing with despots was like dealing with children; they needed to be cajoled and flattered, and they couldn’t be allowed to wallow in their ability to make the world dance to their tune. Aristocles was an experienced politician. Any man who had to navigate the waters of the Assembly of Consuls had to exercise a far greater degree of subtlety than a monarch who ruled by decree.
Yet, despite himself, Aristocles remembered what it had been like to raise two daughters. Who had truly determined the way his household functioned? The powerful first consul or the shrieking girls
who had decided when he could sleep, when he could leave the villa, and even when he could use the chamber pot?
Reaching the summit of the stairs, Aristocles led the group in between the black columns and entered a cavernous space where the ceiling was so high that he wondered it didn’t fall. It was daytime, but the sky outside was clouded and the air chill, and he was grateful for the braziers filled with red coals that framed the hard stone pathway at regular intervals. Walking briskly with Amos at his right hand, he continued onto a section of carpets, with each successive mat more colorful and lustrous than the one before. The six bearers, chests held high, followed close behind.
Flaming torches on poles lit the area at the end of the vaulted corridor; this was an audience chamber far grander than the hall in the Royal Palace at Xanthos. But it was dark and cold; Zanthe was welcome to it. Give him his villa, his work, and his two beautiful daughters and he was content.
A steward with a pole in his hand nodded at them and, knowing the protocol, Aristocles came to a halt.
‘Lord Aristocles, first consul of Phalesia,’ the steward called out.
A reedy voice spoke. ‘Come, Aristocles.’
Aristocles indicated for Amos and the bearers to follow as he stepped forward onto a long crimson carpet. Armored soldiers lined both sides of the passage, four on each side. With Amos near him, and the bearers following, Aristocles approached the throne of black wood and the queen of Tanus, who sat with her elbow on the arm of the chair and her chin in her palm.
Zanthe had aged since Aristocles had last seen her. Her face had always had a drooping quality, but it now sagged in earnest, with bloodshot eyes that appeared permanently sad and cheeks that looked like melting wax. She seemed weary, with the posture of someone who would rather be in bed. But there was still the occasional thread of blond in her long graying hair, and the purple robe and golden chain she wore were finer than anything Aristocles owned himself.
‘You arrive at short notice, Aristocles,’ Zanthe said. ‘Tell me, what brings you here?’
‘I am pleased to see you well, Queen Zanthe,’ Aristocles said.
She barked a laugh. ‘Well? I am alive, as you can see. You look to be holding up well enough. Last I saw you I was a younger woman, and if I remember correctly I drank you under the table. Phalesians never can hold their drink.’
Used to her ways, Aristocles smiled. But rather than speak immediately, he stayed silent. He allowed his smile to fade, and then when he looked up to meet her eyes, he conveyed grave sincerity. ‘I am here because dark times are upon us,’ he said. ‘We, the Galean nations, have always respected each other’s borders. We remain united in our independence. But we now face a new threat.’
Zanthe frowned. ‘Speak plainly, Aristocles. Are you referring to the Ileans?’
Aristocles blinked. ‘No, Queen. I’m referring to Nikolas of Xanthos. He wishes to challenge you, as his father did before him. Xanthos and Tanus fought for control of the Blackwell Mines. Markos of Xanthos seized them from you and killed your men. His son, Nikolas, now seeks to take still more—’
‘The Blackwell Mines,’ Zanthe mused. ‘If we are bringing up past grievances, First Consul’—she emphasized the title—‘where did Phalesia stand in that conflict?’
‘We were neutral.’ Aristocles frowned.
‘You stayed your hand and let the people of Xanthos and Tanus kill each other.’
‘It wasn’t our conflict,’ he protested.
Zanthe leaned forward. ‘I despised Markos of Xanthos, as I’m sure you know. But he met his end, and it was a more evil end than even I would have given him. The Ileans shoved him and his wife onto a stake while they were still alive. Nikolas was the one who found them, along with his dead wife and son. I don’t think I can blame him for wanting to end the Ilean threat.’
Aristocles’ eyes narrowed. ‘He seeks to become king of kings, above me and above you. I am the elected leader of my people, and he murdered my allies in the Assembly and tried to have me killed.’ He took a deep breath. Tensions were rising. He needed an ally, not an enemy. ‘I bring gifts.’
He nodded to Amos, who nodded in turn to the bearers. Each man still held his chest in his arms, stone-faced and motionless, looking like they could hold their positions for an eternity. One after another, they set down the chests with a series of thumps. Amos then went to each lid, tilting it back and calling out the contents to the queen of Tanus.
‘Spices.’ He moved to the next. ‘Furs.’ Aristocles glanced at Zanthe, who leaned forward with eyes gleaming, like a girl getting a name-day present from a wealthy uncle. ‘Swords,’ he called. ‘Incense.’ Another chest opened. ‘Silk.’ Amos moved on to the last. ‘Wine.’
Aristocles held his breath as he tried to gauge Zanthe’s reaction. Far from the Maltherean Sea, Tanus had less trade passing through it than Phalesia, and significantly less than thriving ports like Myana. It had become something of a cultural norm for travelers to bring gifts to Tanus on any visit.
Disappointment crossed Zanthe’s face and she sat back in her seat, looking away from the gifts and instead staring disdainfully at Aristocles. The impact of her next words felt like a cold hand gripping hold of his heart.
‘He promises gold,’ Zanthe said. ‘Where you give me cloth and swords. Your timing is poor, Aristocles. His runner arrived last night.’
Aristocles’ shoulders slumped. He knew where Nikolas’s sudden windfall had come from.
‘But also,’ she continued, ‘he does not seek, as you say, to become the king of kings. He wants my help. The Ilean threat is real, as I’m sure you can attest.’ Aristocles felt every word like a blow. ‘An army of four thousand approaches this city. Nikolas leads personally, and brings with him an alliance of Phalesia and Xanthos, with soldiers of both nations united in common cause against a greater enemy. And you, spurned by your own Assembly, you ask me to turn him down?’
‘I ask that you do what is right.’
‘You once told me something. You said that the strongest feature of your system of governance is that when the first consul no longer enjoys the support of his people, he steps down, and a new man takes his place.’
‘That isn’t what happened here—’
‘The fact is,’ Zanthe said, ‘here in Tanus, as well as in Xanthos, we do not adhere to your rules, and so how can you expect us to care if they are broken? Your Assembly is simply under the control of a man who isn’t you.’
Aristocles exchanged glances with Amos. One day earlier and he might have been able to convince her to side with his cause. Nikolas had moved far more swiftly and decisively in leading the army to Tanus than he’d thought possible.
‘Nikolas has made only three requests in return for his gift of gold,’ Zanthe said. ‘The first is my assistance in clearing the Waste of eldren, something I will give gladly, for it benefits us greatly. He also asks my help in liberating Koulis and attacking Ilea before we are attacked in turn.’
As she spoke, Aristocles realized he had soldiers on both sides of him, four on his left and four on his right, in a file that stretched to the throne. There was no way to escape. If Amos fought eight soldiers, he would die.
‘Finally,’ she said, in a voice that chilled his blood, ‘Nikolas requests that I deliver you, Aristocles, alive or dead.’ She lifted an arm. ‘Seize him!’
Aristocles’ mouth dropped open. The file of soldiers flanking both sides of the long carpet turned as one. Eight soldiers drew their swords.
But then Amos cried out a moment later. ‘Protective circle!’
The six bearers dashed to the chest in the center of the array and took a sword each. While Aristocles struggled to make sense of events Amos drew the sword he carried at his side and together they formed a group around Aristocles.
After the clatter of steel and cries of the soldiers, the audience chamber was suddenly silent. Zanthe’s guards faced Amos and the six burly men with him. Her bloodshot eyes were wide with shock. The queen’s guards looked to h
er for orders, but her mouth only gaped.
‘Back,’ Amos hissed. ‘Back!’
The circle inched backwards while Zanthe’s soldiers stayed with their queen, watching the retreat, unwilling to leave their monarch unprotected to pursue after them.
Finally Amos barked another order. ‘Run!’
Turning and moving into an immediate sprint, they sped for the huge entrance, dashing down the steps, and ran full tilt into the pair of spear-carrying soldiers standing at the base of the stairway. Before the nearest could bring his weapon to bear, Amos smashed his forehead into a Tanusian’s nose and the soldier went down, blood streaming from his face as he collapsed. Amos then weaved around a thrust from the second soldier before striking with the hilt of his sword into his opponent’s sternum, making him cry out and crumple like a rag doll.
Aristocles felt himself whisked between the fallen guards. Soon they were running back down the avenue. City folk leaped away in shock when they saw the group, but Amos seemed to know where he was going, and turned them into a side street and then again into an alley. Houses became crude huts as they turned time and again, keeping to the smaller paths as they came closer to the city wall.
His heart pounding at his chest, silk toga twisting around his ankles and impeding his progress, Aristocles puffed and panted as he ran. Finally Amos called a halt, and he saw that they were at the base of the tall wall of dark stone. Aristocles placed his hands on his hips, bending down to regain his breath.
‘You did well,’ Amos said to the bearers, handing over a heavy pouch. ‘Keep the swords. First Consul? Aristocles!’
Aristocles shook himself; he’d been staring into nothing. He straightened, still wheezing.
Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2) Page 18