Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  ‘Where is he? I will ask you only once.’

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Eiric panted, staring down at his abdomen. ‘He may be wild or he may be dead. I came to Cinder Fen to find him.’

  Triton paused.

  ‘With Zachary dead, and you here, there is no one left to lead the eldren from the Wilds,’ Triton said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘But I need to be sure.’

  Eiric’s flesh sizzled as he screamed.

  57

  Halfway between Lamara and Koulis, on a wide featureless expanse of yellow dirt and rock, two armies faced each other across the plain.

  Though it was just after dawn the air was already dry and hot, baking the soldiers in their armor, sending sweat trickling down the backs of necks and making palms slippery as anxious men clutched spears tightly. Flies buzzed constantly, sucking at the corners of eyes and alighting on parched lips. Horses whinnied, sensing the growing tension.

  Astride a tall ebony-hued stallion, the man the Ileans were calling Nikolas the Black rode in front of the columns of lined-up soldiers, dark eyes shifting between his troops and the distant pennants of the opposing army. He passed the Xanthian cavalry on the flank and straightened in his stirrups but couldn’t see his archers and javelin throwers behind. Coming abreast of the tattooed mercenaries from the north, he continued his inspection as he cantered, taking in the next column of lightly armored infantry from Koulis, formed up alongside the leather-clad contingent from Tanus. He wheeled in close to the Xanthian hoplites, armed with shield and spear, wide-bladed swords in scabbards at their waists, with his elite king’s guard in front. Crimson cloaks billowed in the hot breeze, the horsehair crests marking out the officers. The stallion reared as Nikolas drew up.

  He glanced down at the Xanthian captain, standing in front of the army with the trumpeter at his side. ‘Report,’ Nikolas ordered.

  ‘You were right, sire. They don’t know the range of our bows. As soon as their left flank advances they’ll meet a hail of death.’

  ‘The plan remains unchanged,’ Nikolas said, gazing out at the six thousand men under his command, noting the blue cloaks of the Phalesians on the far side of the Xanthian hoplites and beyond them the sling throwers he’d merged into a single force. ‘I will personally lead our center. We’ll draw Mydas by rushing in and then retreating. As our center withdraws, he will give chase.’

  He shifted in his armor; the heat was taking a toll even on him.

  ‘Men will always pursue a fleeing opponent,’ Nikolas continued, ‘like a wolf chasing a sheep. But this wolf will soon realize he is facing a bear, and that he is alone, and far too close to the claws. As they rush forward the Ilean line will thin. We will envelop the enemy as our cavalry outflanks them and charges from the rear. That is when we reach the river and hold our ground.’

  ‘Sire . . .’ The captain hesitated. ‘You know my thoughts on this. It’s a dangerous plan. When we reach the river, with water at our backs, there’s no escape. We have close to twenty thousand Ileans standing against us. And we should have listened to Lord Lothar – we’re too heavily armored and this heat is worse than anything on our side of the Maltherean. It will sap our men’s strength, and your plan calls for much running as well as fighting . . .’

  ‘For our strategy to work, there can be no escape,’ Nikolas said grimly. ‘A false rout can too easily become a real one. We’ve left a thousand men at the river to bolster our numbers when we turn and fight. And don’t forget’—the restive stallion reared again before Nikolas got his mount under control—‘I will be there to lead.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ The captain nodded.

  ‘We’d best not wait any longer,’ Nikolas said. He grimaced; the sun’s rays were reflecting from his steel breastplate; the metal was hot enough to cook meat. ‘Order the advance.’ He drew his sword and raised his arm into the air. ‘We attack!’

  58

  Liana stood on the tall cliff and felt a cold fist squeezing her heart. She tensed, every thought screaming at her to flee, but continued watching to make certain.

  A mob of tribesmen had left the village of Pao, already heading directly for the steep path that would take them through the forest and up to the villa. Hundreds of men and women held spears and fiery torches. The journey wasn’t long, and even as she watched they swarmed into the trees.

  It was morning. They didn’t need torches to see.

  Liana turned and fled, sprinting for the villa, calling out Chloe’s name. She found her friend standing at the stone basin near the gardens, splashing cool water on her face; despite the early hour, the day was already scorching hot.

  Hearing her urgent tone, Chloe glanced up and saw her running.

  ‘The villagers,’ Liana panted. ‘They’re coming this way.’ She pointed in the direction of the forest that spread over the hills surrounding the villa. ‘They’ll be here in moments!’

  ‘Villagers? How many?’

  ‘Too many! We have to go! Right now!’

  Chloe’s jaw clenched tightly. Thoughts visibly crossed her face and then she gave a sharp nod. ‘I have to get some things.’

  ‘They’ll cut off our escape. There’s no time!’

  Liana’s words were in vain; Chloe had already turned, running past the gardens and climbing the short set of stone steps that led into the villa. Liana moved away from the villa and shielded her eyes as she scanned the direction of the forest, silently urging her friend to hurry.

  She saw the villagers in moments. The men appeared first: tattooed tribesmen wearing skins, holding spears and heavy clubs. At least a dozen warriors led from the front, marching toward the villa, every element of their posture angry as a bearded bald man waved an iron-tipped spear, hectoring them forward. Liana saw still more villagers behind them, running to catch up to the warriors, holding anything they could find to use as weapons: sticks, slings, and dozens of fiery torches.

  They’d already seen her and began to fan out, surrounding the villa and its environs to prevent any escape. Liana wrung her hands as she glanced from the tribesmen back to the villa’s entrance and then at the villagers again.

  ‘Chloe . . .’ she muttered. ‘Where are you?’

  Voices reached her; the closest warriors were shouting, and then she could make out individual faces. Most of them looked fearful but aggressive, men who’d been summoning their courage over a long period and were terrified at the outcome of violence, but found themselves faced with no other choice. They urged each other on with brutal cries as they approached, stalking with long strides, spears jabbing the air.

  Liana caught motion out of the corner of her eye and saw Chloe racing away from the villa, but she was too late, and now they were surrounded.

  The bearded leader came to a halt twenty paces from Liana. He had a thorn pierced through one ear and soot rubbed under each eye. He warily cast his eyes over the area before raising his spear and opening his mouth to call out.

  ‘The holy man,’ he cried. ‘He has not been seen in many days. Tell him we want to see him.’ The dozen warriors around him gave guttural cries, bellowing until their leader waved them to silence.

  Chloe joined Liana’s side. They exchanged glances as more villagers arrayed themselves behind the bearded leader, their voices raised in an unintelligible cacophony as everyone tried to cry out at the same time. The men rattled their spears and some held up slings, showing them to Liana and Chloe. The shrieks of the women were loudest of all. The air smelled like smoke, carried on the breeze from their burning torches.

  The leader again waved his arms for his people to quiet as he scowled and waited for an answer.

  ‘The holy man . . .’ Chloe swallowed. ‘He is not here.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He is . . . on an important quest,’ Liana said. ‘He won’t return for many days.’

  The voices rose again. The leader lifted his spear high and gave a barking yelp, bringing silence once more.

  ‘Two of our girls have disappeare
d. They have not returned. The holy man has also disappeared. Where has he taken them?’

  ‘Search the house!’ a woman’s voice cried from the crowd.

  More voices joined the din. ‘Search the house!’

  Liana knew with a terrible sinking feeling which girls the village leader was referring to. Chloe had told her what Vikram had done. A sudden realization occurred to her. She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘Chloe,’ she hissed. ‘My satchel.’

  ‘I have it,’ Chloe murmured.

  Glancing across at her, Liana saw that Chloe also held the tall staff with its strange copper fork at the end. As she watched, Chloe’s lips thinned and she put on a fierce expression.

  She took three steps toward the villagers and raised the staff, her fingers gripping tightly, clutching it high with her skin in contact with the metal. Eyes on the weapon, the villagers all fled back several paces, huddling in fear.

  But nothing happened.

  The moments trickled past. Chloe continued to hold the staff high but her face was now panicked. She cast a horrified look in Liana’s direction.

  The bearded leader was crouched with his hand over his head as if to shield himself from a blow, but he slowly straightened and recovered his courage as he took heart from the people around him.

  ‘We will take the two of you,’ he cried. ‘We will keep you until he returns.’

  Liana’s chest heaved as she watched the villagers advance. The bearded leader leveled his spear at the height of Chloe’s chest and strode warily forward.

  Chloe stood stock still, frozen in place.

  At that moment something strange happened.

  Liana felt a contact, a fleeting recognition that came with a voice and a face. It passed as quickly as it came, but then she felt it again. She sensed the presence of someone she knew. Trying to take hold of the sensation before it fled, she knew she was brushing her mind against another eldran. She focused on the brief contact, feeling it begin to slip away, but using long-forgotten memories to bring it near.

  Once more she was in the Wilds, standing under the trees not far from the village that would soon be destroyed forever, staring up at him.

  ‘We all worry for the ones we care about,’ Eiric said with a smile. He opened his palm. ‘Here, I made this for you. I thought you might like to wear it at the next feast.’

  He gave her a leather thong with a circle of polished amber. The gift made her smile.

  Eiric?

  Eiric’s eyelids fluttered. His body had been burned time and again, his face and chest bruised by pounding fists, but with nothing more to tell Triton than the truth about his father, the self-proclaimed king of the eldren had eventually given up and gone to the pool’s edge to contemplate the depths.

  The old eldran with the whitened hair, seeing Triton occupied, came over and looked sadly at Eiric. ‘We only intended to destroy your dwellings. Triton . . . He said you were living as humans, even using metal, but that wasn’t what I saw. I saw beautiful houses made from trees. By then it was too late.’

  The old eldran turned as he heard a loud voice.

  ‘I can feel it!’ Triton clenched his fists as he stared into the depths. ‘The wellspring is weak. This day’—he looked up at the open sky—‘this very day, I will swim down and reach the bottom. I will clutch the jewel in my fist and squeeze. Sindara will be no more, but a new age of glory will be ours.’

  ‘You can challenge him,’ the old eldran said softly.

  ‘How?’ Eiric whispered.

  ‘Your mother was Aella?’

  Eiric nodded weakly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘My name is Dalton. I knew your mother’—he gave a faint smile—‘long, long ago. I also know this. The blood of Marrix did not flow in your father’s veins.’ His next words made Eiric look up. ‘But it did in your mother’s.’ He saw Eiric’s reaction and nodded. ‘Your father knew, but he did not want you to be forced into confrontation with Triton, as you are now. Zachary could never be king.’ Dalton’s voice firmed. ‘But you can.’

  ‘No,’ Eiric murmured when he felt dry fingers fumbling at the bonds at his wrists. He hissed. ‘No!’ He drew in a breath. ‘There’s no purpose in it. You will only get yourself killed. Go from me. Go!’

  Dalton hesitated, taking three steps back. Looking toward the pool, Eiric saw Triton suddenly turn and see them standing together, close but not touching.

  ‘Get away from him,’ Triton ordered. He strode over, his one eye glaring, cruel brow furrowed, standing near Eiric and waiting as the old eldran rejoined the group. ‘Something you told me, Dalton. Every eldran alive lends energy to the wellspring, just as every wildran drains it. I want the source to be weak.’

  Triton made sure every set of eyes was on him, as he finally turned and pointed at Eiric. ‘This one has to die.’

  Lunging forward, Triton’s long fingers again clutched hold of Eiric’s throat, but this time he was squeezing hard enough to crush his neck. Stars sparkled in Eiric’s vision. He choked and felt his face turning red.

  As he realized that his life would soon be over, Eiric thought about the people closest to his heart. He relived his pain at the death of his mother. He wondered weakly whether Dion had ever found his place in the world. More than anything, he wished he had found his father, alive and well, smiling at him and saying wise words.

  Then another mind brushed across his own. He sensed a familiar presence, a soft, gentle, feminine mind. He felt her surprise and shock as he tried to strengthen the contact, even as it waxed and waned, along with his last stirrings of consciousness.

  Liana . . . Please . . .

  ‘Chloe!’ Liana screamed. ‘We have to go. Eiric is at Cinder Fen. He needs our help!’

  Fearful of turning around, Chloe backed away from the approaching tribesmen, still holding the staff high, retreating toward Liana. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the spear-wielding warriors. Once more she lifted the staff and tried to focus on a single, pure note.

  As soon as she lifted the staff, despite the fact that nothing had happened, the warriors stopped.

  Suddenly it was the tribesmen who were backing away, their faces filled with more terror than Chloe had thought the staff could inspire even if she’d managed to make it function. To a man, they brandished their spears and torches, and then she realized they weren’t looking at her, they were looking past her shoulder.

  She whirled.

  The beautiful soft-eyed dragon quivered with impatience as she dipped a wing, and it was obvious what Liana wanted her to do. The dragon’s breath rumbled. Powerful forelegs scratched at the ground. The broad, veined wings stretched out and then drew in again.

  Taking a deep breath, Chloe clambered up a bent foreleg, grabbing hold of the ridges behind the angular head. She was barely on before the wings stretched out, fluttering and then pounding at the air. Her stomach lurched as the ground dropped away in an instant.

  The dragon lowered a wing and turned on the tip, leaning to the side and then straightening back to the horizontal as they headed south. The sensation of flying high in the sky was both exhilarating and terrifying. Fearful of falling, Chloe was forced to face straight ahead, blinking tears out of her eyes as the wind howled past her ears.

  It was some time before she felt able to swing her body around to look at Vikram’s villa one last time. Smoke was already rising from it in a billowing cloud as the villagers took their fear and rage out on the structure, setting it aflame.

  Chloe had Vikram’s resonance staff.

  But her heart sank; every last book of magic would soon be ash.

  59

  The brave sailor took a running start, grabbing hold of a rope trailing from the top of the bireme’s mast. One moment he was sprinting on the deck and the next his body was over the water as he swung across to the adjacent flagship. The waiting arms of the Black Dragon’s crew caught him, breathless and panting.

  ‘What news?’ Dion strode over.

  ‘The battle has already start
ed.’ The sailor spoke the words in a rush. ‘Some ships are on fire.’

  Dion squinted and now that he knew to look for it, he could make out thin gray streams of smoke snaking into the sky on the distant horizon.

  The smoke was in the north. Orius was behind them and the triangular peak of Mount Oden, on the island of Deos, was ahead. The naval battle was taking place out in the open ocean. With the secret route through the Shards now common knowledge, Roxana and the Xanthian fleet had challenged the Ilean fleet before it could divert to either Xanthos or Phalesia. But if Roxana was defeated, both cities would soon be in flames.

  ‘Signal the advance!’ Dion bellowed. ‘Double speed!’

  The drum gained tempo and the oarsmen hauled at the water, blades dipping in and out with swift repetition. Dion watched the four other biremes form into a row, with the two war galleys on the flanks. Now arrayed side by side, Dion’s fleet of seven warships gained momentum as he prayed to Silex that he wouldn’t be too late.

  Cob stumped up to join him. ‘Out here in the open sea, the sound of the battle will draw them. Cinder Fen is not far.’

  Dion had only half his attention on the old sailor. ‘Draw what?’

  ‘Creatures hungry for blood,’ he said in his gravelly voice. His eyes opened wide and he pointed. ‘Wildren.’

  At first Dion thought they were whales, but they were long and sinuous, with frills behind their heads and long crests behind their backs. Each was as wide as a bireme and longer: these were true leviathans, with glossy silver scales and jaws that could snap a sailing boat in two with a single bite. They were carving the waters directly ahead of the fleet, ignoring the approach of the comparatively soundless warships, instead consumed with the havoc of the battle as they plunged in and out of the surging sea.

  Dion’s heart sank. ‘How many?’ he raised his voice to call.

  ‘I count three, cap’n!’ a sailor cried.