Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  White-faced sailors raced to the rails and cried out at the ships on both sides, bellowing so that the other captains would hear. The rest of the fleet of the Free Men drew apart from the Black Dragon, creating distance at both sides.

  The central leviathan, flanked by two nearly as large, headed in a direct line for the bireme where Dion, Cob, and Aristocles, along with the crew, watched in horror. A wave of water crested in front of the monster as it charged. Even if the ram struck the lead wildran, the other two would pummel the vessel from the sides. The three serpents were each as wide as the Black Dragon itself, their length greater still.

  ‘I suppose this is it,’ Cob said.

  ‘The rest of the fleet will reach the battle.’

  ‘While I get eaten alive. For the second time.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Dion said with a smile. ‘There’s still a chance—’

  Cob never heard Dion’s next words as the heavens rumbled, the air becoming filled with the sound of a sonorous horn. The low boom grew louder until it was pealing like a roar of thunder. Dion and Cob exchanged glances as both men looked toward the hazy triangle of Mount Oden, but there was no smoke trickling from the peak of the volcano.

  But there was another land on the other side of the island: Cinder Fen.

  Dion gasped.

  A wave of shimmering light, colored like a rainbow, sped out from the direction of Cinder Fen, rolling like an explosive detonation. When the light reached the Black Dragon the lead leviathan was just forty paces from the ship’s bow.

  The serpent shivered as if it had been struck by lightning.

  Dion realized he was holding his breath and let it out in a whoosh as all three leviathans shuddered. The wildren thrashed their tails at the water and turned, their eyes fixed hypnotically in the direction of Cinder Fen. The three serpents now sped in the direction of their homeland, leaving frothing wakes behind them.

  In the time it took Dion to draw in another breath, they were gone.

  He tried not to think about what must have happened. An eldran had sounded the horn of Marrix. The wildren were being drawn home.

  ‘Ramming speed!’ Dion cried out.

  He could distinctly make out each ship of the Ilean fleet now, embroiled with the warships of Xanthos. Eyes darting, he separated the biremes into friend and foe by the flags flying from each vessel’s mast: crimson or yellow. Fire arrows left bright trails as they sizzled from ship to ship. Timbers shattered as a Xanthian ship raked an enemy.

  He pointed at the Ilean flagship, a vessel with a red pennant flying above the yellow. ‘Helmsman, angle us into their side! We’re going to strike!’

  64

  Wildren traveled toward the heart of Cinder Fen.

  They ran from caves and plummeted from the sky. Ogres and giants lumbered, furies and dragons flew, and merfolk and serpents sped through the sea. Many, though, were deep beneath the sea or a great distance away. It would take more than one blast of the horn of Marrix to summon them all, and the serpents would cling to shore like half-drowned humans, but in time the holder of the horn would summon them all.

  ‘He has the blood of Marrix!’ Dalton cried.

  The old eldran sank to one knee, and the eldren arrayed behind him followed suit. All eyes were on Eiric as he took the horn from his lips. A moment later he looked at the magical conch in his hand, his expression as stunned as the rest of them.

  Chloe looked up as fluttering shadows suddenly clouded the sky. She gasped.

  She couldn’t see the slightest patch of blue. Dragons and man-like furies hovered above the wide basin, wings sweeping back and forth, staring down as if awaiting instruction. Pushing through the gnarled trees, multitudes of giants and ogres encircled the perimeter, all gazing down at Eiric. Chloe had never imagined so many wildren could exist. Seeing so many congregated in one place was terrifying.

  She looked to Liana lying on the ground near the pool’s edge, head raised, her wide eyes on Eiric. The only people standing were Chloe, Eiric, and Triton, for the other eldren were all on their knees, heads bowed.

  For the first time, Chloe saw Triton’s shoulders slump. The once dauntless king of the eldren stared at the ground and then looked up at the wildren clouding the sky.

  ‘Command the wildren,’ Triton said wearily. ‘Order them to kill me.’

  Eiric shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. He glanced at the conch in his hand. ‘It . . . It speaks to me. You, Triton, even you never knew the truth.’ He swept his gaze over all the eldren. ‘The horn doesn’t allow us to control them, only to summon them. My father always told me that when we change we draw on the power of our homeland, and that as more and more became trapped in their form, the magic of this place drained away until it is as you see it now. It became this way not because of the humans, but because the magic of Sindara has been spent.’

  Triton’s fist clenched and his body tensed. Seeing Eiric’s attention on the kneeling eldren, Chloe started to issue a warning when Eiric lifted the horn into the air.

  ‘I now know what the horn was made to do. Its main purpose is to bring our changed brethren home so they can be reminded who they are. But if they are too far gone . . .’ He called out in a voice that filled the heavens: ‘You who were once eldren, but are not any more’—and his next words were the last Chloe expected him to say—‘I put you all to rest!’

  Another concussive blast of energy left the horn, the circle growing larger as it rippled out from the magical conch. This time the light was green, the color of fresh growth. It struck the nearest of the wildren and continued onto the next. Flying or standing, each creature shivered as the light passed over it, and for an instant it was as if the wild eyes cleared, and they were once more as they had been, intelligent eldren in changed form.

  Even Triton looked awestruck.

  Dragons and furies dropped out of the sky as if they’d been turned into stone. Giants and ogres fell forward or crumpled where they stood, tumbling to the ground one after the other like toppling statues. Bodies of all shapes and sizes crashed into the pool and sank immediately, one after the other. An ogre tumbled to the bottom of the limestone wall near Chloe. She saw an expression that was surprisingly peaceful on the creature’s broad face.

  As she continued to stare at the ogre’s body, it began to change. Gray mist elongated and thickened, and then the ogre shimmered like a haze of hot air rising from the ground on a summer’s day. But when the mist cleared, rather than a new form in its place, the ogre was gone, faded away to nothing.

  Turning back to the pool, Chloe realized that all the wildren she’d seen just a moment ago had also vanished, returned to their homeland, becoming part of Sindara once more.

  Chloe saw Eiric put the horn to his lips again. He blew a thunderous blast and then lifted the horn into the sky. The rainbow circle rippled out again. More wildren came to Cinder Fen’s heart. Once again dragons clouded the sky and ogres and giants peered down from the basin’s perimeter. Like the others, Eiric put them all to rest.

  Cinder Fen began to change.

  Chloe gasped when a blade of grass sprouted from the charred earth beside the pool. It was followed by a second, and then a dozen more. Tiny patches of plant life appeared, here and there on the blackened ground, and each patch grew until they were brushing up against each other. Tangling vines climbed the limestone walls, reaching up to the gnarled trees that encircled the wide basin.

  The trees above straightened as fresh growth sprouted from their branches. Waxy leaves appeared a moment later. Suddenly emerald colors were everywhere, with plants sprouting underfoot and the green grass growing thicker than any carpet, becoming inches high and finally taller than Chloe’s ankle. She stepped to the side as a sprout appeared directly underneath her, jumping further away as it grew to become a willow with a trunk as thick as her wrist. The eldren gazed around them in awe.

  ‘Kneel!’ the old eldran called to Triton.

  ‘No.’ Triton shook his head. ‘I won’t do it.’
<
br />   A glowing light the color of jade now shone from the depths of the black pool. The radiance below the surface became stronger until the light poured from the pool to shine on the faces of everyone present. The wellspring returned to life, restoring the energy to Sindara that had been contained in the wildren for so long.

  Still more dragons and furies traveled to Cinder Fen’s heart, responding to each call of the horn. Ever more ogres and giants approached the basin’s rim. One after the other, they faded away.

  The air fairly hummed with life and new growth. The fresh scent of plants and sweet floral odors became overwhelming. Flowers sprouted from the vines.

  Stunned by what she was seeing, Chloe looked at Eiric. Her eyes were on him when tears suddenly welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks. He was staring up at the sky.

  Wondering how he could feel such sadness in a moment of triumph, she followed his gaze.

  Chloe put a hand to her mouth.

  An ancient dragon with mottled silver scales and a crescent scar on the side of its face hovered above the very center of the basin, wings fluttering. Some of the scales were torn away, displaying dried blood around angry gashes. Sad brown eyes flecked with golden sparks looked at Eiric.

  The dragon then looked at Chloe.

  ‘Zachary . . .’ Chloe realized she was crying. She’d known him since she was a child. He’d saved her sister’s life. Eiric had blown the horn, and like all the other wildren, he had come.

  ‘Eiric!’ Liana suddenly cried.

  Whirling, Chloe saw Triton picking something up off the ground. When he straightened, she saw that it was an obsidian knife. Triton snarled and the muscles in his arms bunched. His one eye was fixed on Eiric.

  But Eiric was consumed with what was happening above.

  The dragon roared, plummeting from the sky, descending with claws outstretched. Each forelimb gripped hold of Triton’s shoulders as jaws closed around his head. Powerful wings beat at the ground, lifting the one-eyed eldran into the air. With a sickening crunch the yellowed teeth tore at Triton’s neck, blood erupting in a fountain. The dragon then released, and Triton’s body fell through the air, crashing into the glowing pool and immediately sinking.

  The dragon’s movements became weak and for the first time Chloe realized the creature was wounded, struggling to finally alight on the ground in front of Eiric. The wings folded in; hoarse breath wheezed and rumbled.

  Chloe remembered the first time she’d visited the Village in the Wilds as a child, when Zachary had crouched and opened his hand to reveal a shiny green frog, taking away her initial fear and making her smile. She felt a terrible sadness grip her heart as Eiric came forward to stroke the angular ridges on the dragon’s head.

  ‘Father,’ Eiric said. His eyes shimmered.

  The dragon’s head sank to the ground. Mist started to well around the ancient creature.

  But when the mist cleared, Chloe felt a surge of joy.

  Zachary could barely stand. Leaner than his son, looking like every one of his years was weighing on his shoulders, he was gaunt, the crescent scar on his cheek pale and angry, his shoulder-length hair now streaked with white. He stumbled, and his son caught him as he fell forward to clasp Eiric’s shoulder.

  ‘I never wanted this for you, but I was wrong,’ Zachary said. Taking strength from Eiric’s support he lifted his gaze. ‘I have now lived to see it, the return of our homeland, and our new king.’

  ‘Father . . .’

  ‘No.’ Zachary shook off his son. ‘I want to be the first.’ Zachary’s gold-flecked eyes met Chloe’s and he smiled. ‘Will you help me, Chloe? I want to see Sindara.’

  65

  Nikolas scowled as the surgeon examined the wound in his upper thigh, his mind on something else altogether. He stared at the canvas wall of his tent and reflected on the battle.

  It had gone badly.

  His plan had been partly successful, and he’d lured Mydas into chase, attacking and then retreating. As his center withdrew, he’d left his cavalry to close in around the main host of the Ilean army. With their greater range his bowmen had decimated the enemy as they charged, and his cavalry had wiped out the Ileans archers to a man.

  Then it started to go wrong.

  They’d reached the river, too wide to cross, and Nikolas had reformed his infantry. He’d evened the numbers: the Ileans still had far more men, but the slower units were miles away while only the chariots and elite Lamaran infantry faced a greater number of Galeans.

  As he bellowed orders and called on his men to prepare the counterattack he’d been surprised to see the chariots at the front of the horde. A line of four or five hundred wheeled vehicles drawn by racing thoroughbreds led a host of yellow-cloaked Ileans, sprinting to keep up with the horses.

  He’d ordered his men to charge. He’d led them from the front, on foot now, for his stallion had taken an arrow to the flank.

  Men who’d run all day forced unwilling limbs into action, marching forward in the blazing heat. On Nikolas’s command they charged. The two forces collided.

  And then Nikolas learned about the chariots.

  Each wheel had a pole jutting out from the center of the spokes. It was a steel blade, sharpened like a razor, whirling over and over with every turn of the wheels. Lothar had mentioned them but Nikolas had never seen them in action.

  He’d trained his men to attack cavalry from the flanks, spearing the mounts and stabbing up to strike the riders. But as his king’s guard crashed into the chariots they were too encumbered to dance around the scything blades. They were too hot, and too wearied from the previous chase. A lesser force would have fallen under the Xanthian hoplites’ spears and sharp swords, but the Ilean chariot drivers were skilled and knew their business.

  He lost his entire king’s guard, most of them when their legs were cut out from under them. Their short skirts of leather strips did little to prevent their knees slicing cleanly away. It was a sight Nikolas never wanted to see again.

  Nonetheless, with a strong position and the skill of his remaining hoplites and archers, he’d managed to destroy the chariots before slamming against the Lamaran infantry. The forces of Koulis and Tanus fought valiantly, and finally the Galeans prevailed. With Nikolas’s cavalry pressing against their flanks and his archers harassing them, the Ileans fled.

  But his army had suffered devastating losses, and Mydas was far from defeated.

  Still wearing his armor, Nikolas now sat with his legs wide apart and his left foot on a stool. The old surgeon was seated on the ground, needle and thread in his lap as he took a bloody cloth from the wound in Nikolas’s inner thigh and glanced up.

  ‘Another inch . . .’ The surgeon shook his head, frowning. ‘Half an inch . . . The blow would have opened your artery. You wouldn’t be sitting here now. You’d be dead.’

  ‘Finish your work,’ Nikolas said.

  ‘You shouldn’t be walking . . . You need to be in bed. And as for fighting again in battle . . .’ The surgeon continued to shake his head, undeterred by Nikolas’s glare. ‘The slightest tear could still cause you to bleed out. Even walking increases the chance of mortification.’

  The surgeon began to stitch, causing Nikolas to wince inwardly, but he didn’t allow any sign of pain to cross his face. The sound of raised voices came from outside the tent, and he frowned as he saw Lothar of Koulis push past the guard stationed outside, ignoring the soldier’s protestations.

  ‘Nikolas,’ Lothar said as he stormed in. The old lord glanced at the surgeon and shuddered at what he was doing but pressed on. ‘We’ve received word from the enemy. They request parley.’

  ‘Parley,’ Nikolas snorted. ‘This is no time for talk. We have them on the run.’

  ‘On the run?’ Lothar’s eyes narrowed. ‘We lost a third of our men!’

  ‘A quarter,’ Nikolas growled. ‘We’ll have them tomorrow.’

  Lothar was old but he was strong-willed. A silver circlet held back his long gray hair and he wore a
leather skirt and breastplate, despite playing no role in the fighting.

  ‘I’ve spoken with Zanthe of Tanus and we both agree that it can’t hurt to hear what Mydas has to say.’ Lothar lifted his chin. ‘I will return and report.’

  Nikolas frowned. He felt the needle stabbing the soft skin of his thigh and remembered the Ilean spear that had almost killed him. He’d barely felt it at the time.

  ‘Are you done?’ He demanded as he looked down at the surgeon.

  ‘Hold on,’ the surgeon said. ‘And be still.’

  Nikolas waited impatiently as the surgeon finished stitching and wrapped his thigh in a tight bandage. He finally stood, testing his body. He felt satisfied that he could walk.

  ‘Fine,’ he said to Lothar. ‘We’ll go and see Mydas up close. I can tell him what I did to his brother’s corpse, and what I plan to do to his.’

  Nikolas told himself that he was walking slowly for the benefit of the older rulers, but in truth he was struggling to hide the pain he felt at every step. He grimaced as Lothar of Koulis and Zanthe of Tanus, flanking him on both sides, reduced their speed to the pace he could manage. Nikolas saw their anxious looks, but he was more concerned about appearing weak in front of the dozen crimson-cloaked soldiers behind them.

  They had traveled on horseback to the center of the plain, between the two distant army encampments, but as agreed they’d then left the horses behind. The expanse was flat and featureless, broken only by the cloth tent they were walking toward. It was the only thing to look at, and it was clear at a glance that there was no chance of betrayal, for no more than twelve Ilean soldiers stood waiting a stone’s throw from the central pavilion.

  When he reached a similar distance, Nikolas turned and instructed his soldiers to stay behind. He and the other two rulers then approached the peaked tent, open at the sides. He could make out the figures of two men within, one seated and the other standing.

  Suddenly he was forced to slow as the wound in his thigh sent a stabbing pain throughout his body, becoming far more than a dull ache. The surgeon was right, he realized, he was in no fit state for combat. He caught Lothar and Zanthe exchanging glances.