Silver Road (The Shifting Tides Book 2)

by James Maxwell

  Javid opened his mouth and then closed it. He frowned. ‘The god Helios says—’

  Kargan cut him off sharply. ‘Throw him in a cell,’ he ordered.

  He turned away as he heard the grunts of his guards; Javid was strong, but there were enough of them to see the job done. He didn’t look back as he went once more to the rail and tried to turn his mind again to the changes he would make.

  Javid called out his name.

  Kargan told himself to ignore him. He had an empire to worry about now.

  But before he knew it he was turning around and calling. ‘Well? What is it?’

  ‘I value truth,’ Javid said. ‘And I will always tell you what is in my heart.’ He glanced at the guards who held him. ‘Can you say the same for the other people around you?’

  Kargan strode up to his friend and looked into his eyes. ‘No.’

  ‘Then let me advise you. Give me a position as more than just your guard.’

  Kargan pondered for a time. ‘Friends should be loyal to one another. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘And kings need friends.’

  Javid gave a grim smile. ‘King Kargan, ruler of the Ilean Empire . . . This time, you certainly speak the truth.’

  70

  Nightfall found Chloe and Zachary exploring an unbroken forest of ash, elm, cedar, and willow, crossing bubbling streams and listening to chirping birdsong and humming insects, brushing fingers against drooping flowers, smelling the fresh scent of plant life.

  ‘I wish Aella could have seen this,’ Zachary murmured.

  ‘So do I,’ Chloe said.

  She’d initially been concerned about his health, but there seemed to be some property of the land that gave him strength, and the farther they’d wandered, the more his back had straightened and stride had lengthened.

  They stopped at a clearing, the green grass thicker and softer than any Chloe had seen before, as tall as her calves. Coming to a halt, Zachary turned to face Chloe. He reached out to take her hand.

  ‘Thank you for keeping me company, dear one,’ he said. ‘It is always a pleasure to have you near, but I think I need to be alone for a time. I have decided that this is the night to put my wife’s memory to rest.’

  Chloe suddenly grimaced.

  Zachary looked at her in concern. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. The headache had returned, and along with it she could again hear a painful buzzing in her ears, like she was trying to swim too deep in the water. ‘Please, Zachary. You should go.’

  He gave her a soft smile. ‘I will see you again at the heart.’

  It was only when Zachary vanished into the trees, soundless as ever, that Chloe realized how alone she was, and how foreign this place was to her. She put her hands to her temples and felt intense relief when the headache began to fade. Finally able to take stock of where she was, she realized she was lost.

  The thought didn’t fill her with panic; she was in the homeland of the eldren and she knew she could trust one of her friends to find her. She headed for higher ground, deciding to make her way to a mighty oak tree crowning a hill.

  She now gazed up at the spreading branches as she climbed. Pausing halfway up the slope, she turned to look back behind her at the surrounding landscape.

  The moon had risen and cast a warm glow on a scene of complete renewal. Where before Cinder Fen had been a region of swamp and ash it was now an immense, green valley: Sindara. Forests filled the expanse, along with blue lakes and broad rivers. Pine trees covered the mountain heights; winged creatures soared in the sky but these weren’t dragons or furies, they were birds. Rather than the stench of char and decay, the summer breeze carried the scent of moss and flowers. Eiric would put the serpents and merfolk to rest and the growth would continue.

  It was a beautiful land, but all Chloe could think about was home.

  She turned away and continued to climb the hill, knowing that when she reached the top she would be able to get her bearings. She thought about her future. Nikolas had led his army to Tanus and beyond; it was safe for her to return to Phalesia. She might see Dion. Perhaps her father would have returned; she was desperate to see his face.

  As Chloe thought about her father, reaching the oak tree at the top of the hill, she stopped and put her hands to her temples.

  She suddenly gasped. The pain struck her with renewed force.

  The fire inside her head raged with so much intensity that she fell to her knees and cried out. Thunder roared in her ears, stunning her senses so that she could barely think. Her skin crawled and she realized she was shivering uncontrollably.

  She was dimly aware of men walking toward her.

  There were four of them, so skinny that they were emaciated, with white robes clinging to their thin frames. They approached Chloe from the direction of the oak tree and surrounded her.

  She realized that all four men were identical in every way, with shaved heads and features of extreme sharpness, all bones and tightly drawn skin. One crouched at her side while the other three watched impassively. Groaning in agony, Chloe looked at the man beside her and saw the sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes.

  She knew this face. She’d seen it before.

  ‘The Oracle warned you,’ the magus said. ‘You are fortunate we found you in time.’

  One of the men standing spoke. ‘You are coming with us.’

  Chloe shook her head, though it was a struggle. ‘My father . . .’ she mumbled.

  ‘Your father is dead.’ The magus beside her spoke again. ‘His heart stopped beating as you climbed this hill.’

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘There is nothing you can do,’ said another. ‘He is already gone from this world.’

  Even as she fought the pain in her head, tears shimmered in Chloe’s vision and then spilled down her cheeks. Every memory of her father flashed through her eyes; every fond look and overprotective warning, every word of praise and smile . . . It all crashed around her. The villa she’d grown up in would never be home again. She no longer had a home to return to.

  ‘I have to see him. My sister . . .’

  ‘As you are, I doubt you could even stand. We have come a long way . . .’

  As the magus from Athos spoke, Chloe heard his words more and more distantly. Her vision shrank into a pinprick before fading away altogether.

  She toppled forward, falling into darkness.

  71

  Far out in the open ocean, far from the Ilean, the Maltherean, and even the Aleuthean Seas, a black galleon wandered aimlessly.

  The stomachs of the men in the rigging were shrunken; the once-proud warriors of Necropolis had been humbled by hunger and despair. Even the sorcerers barely left their quarters below decks, resting to conserve their energy, and the king didn’t need to maintain discipline, for no one had the energy to fight.

  The Solaris was lost.

  Over a tenth of their number had succumbed to starvation, seventeen men, yet even with fewer mouths to feed rations had been cut in half, and then in half again, until each person received a hand-sized piece of dried fish and a cup of water a day. Storms had torn the sails and ripped spars from the masts; not only were the present-day Aleutheans lacking in navigational skill, they were also inexperienced with their ancestors’ vessel. Blazing heat forced them to hide away from the sun, for thirst was ever present, and its dehydrating effect was worse than torture for men who had been born on the ice. Worms had eaten the hull, forcing them to man the pumps night and day.

  Kyphos the hunchback found his king at the stern, gazing out at the vessel’s wake, lost in thought. Palemon’s broad-shouldered frame had become skinny along with the rest of them, his height now making him more rangy than broad. Like the others, he’d doffed his heavy furs, but he still wore his bleached leather vest, black woolen trousers, and high boots. The braids in his gray beard were loose, beginning to untwist, which made Kyphos truly alarmed. His king always maintained iron control of himself.
Just the small sign told the hunchbacked warrior that even his ruler was losing his fortitude.

  ‘We’re going to have to halve rations again,’ Kyphos said. ‘Buys us another week, but then that’s it.’ He shook his head. ‘A man fell from the side of the ship yesterday . . . He just . . . fell. Didn’t even bother to swim. Sire, this can’t go on any longer.’

  King Palemon tore his eyes away from the sea and straightened, bringing himself to his full height as he met Kyphos’s eyes. ‘So it is time then, for desperate measures.’

  ‘Sire, if you have any plan, now is the time to hear it.’

  The king nodded. ‘Find Zara. Bring her to my cabin.’

  Kyphos knocked on the door to the cabin that had once housed his liege’s ancestor, the ancient King Palemon who fought the eldren long ago. He glanced at the sorceress beside him. In her figure-hugging midnight blue dress, Zara was as haughtily beautiful as ever, but even her high cheekbones were now so sharp they jutted above her sunken cheeks. Her lips, always blue, were thin and dry. She was beginning to look skeletal.

  ‘Enter,’ Palemon called.

  Kyphos opened the door and allowed Zara to enter first before following the sorceress in. Palemon didn’t look up as the door swung closed. He was seated at the desk, and in front of him was a bizarre object.

  It was a cone, the size of a big man’s hand, fashioned of twisting metal that curled in a spiral. At its base was a small circle where a staff could be fitted. The metal was paler than steel, the color of the moon reflecting from the sea.

  Kyphos knew at a glance that the metal was silver, but other than that, he was completely perplexed.

  He glanced at Zara, surprised when he saw her draw in a sharp intake of breath. ‘How is it that you have this?’ The sorceress went immediately to the desk, ignoring her king, and placed a dainty finger against the metal. She closed her eyes as if communing with the materia.

  ‘It was in the ship. It’s been here since the beginning. I personally polished it with oil every time I visited. Is it . . . functional?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Zara said, almost purring as she opened her eyes and removed her finger. But then she narrowed her eyes at the king. ‘Why have you kept it secret? I am the foremost of the magi. It belongs with—’

  ‘When we reach the Realm of the Three Seas, we will need to subdue the people we find there as we did long ago. We are a race of strong warriors, but it is our magic that built us an empire, and our magic that will enable us to get the fleet we need and return for the rest of our people. I chose to keep this, the last of our silver, secret because I wanted to save it for the coming struggle, I didn’t want us to turn to it every time the wind didn’t do what we wanted. The temptation would have been too great. But now . . .’

  ‘You think I can summon the wind to take us out of this plight?’ Zara frowned.

  ‘I am counting on it,’ Palemon said. He glanced at Kyphos. ‘We all are. Sorceress, our fate is in your hands.’

  ‘Sire . . .’ Zara shook her head. ‘The magnitude of wind you are talking about is far more dangerous than you realize. Focused, in battle, yes, I can control it, and believe me when I tell you that there is none other with my skill. But to propel a ship of this size . . . You know what happened at the fall of Aleuthea. The fleet was scattered by a storm so powerful it became lost.’

  ‘We have no other choice,’ Kyphos said. He glanced at his king. ‘I’ll call everyone to the deck.’

  ‘No,’ Zara countermanded. ‘Tell everyone to fasten down everything that can move, and if that isn’t possible, to throw it over the side. Order them into their cabins, for what I am about to do is going to be like nothing anyone has ever seen before.’

  Despite Zara’s words of warning, both Kyphos and Palemon stood with the sorceress on the stern castle as she prepared to summon her magic.

  ‘Which way?’ Kyphos called to his king from the helm.

  The king pondered. ‘East,’ he finally replied, his eyes grave. ‘Take us east.’

  Kyphos set the course, waiting until the ship’s bowsprit came around to point directly away from the setting sun. He lashed the helm into place and then looked up. Every sail was set, but the decks and the rigging were devoid of activity. The sky was filled with elongated clouds that traveled slowly in the breeze. They were casting their fates to fortune.

  Nearby, the slender sorceress also glanced up as she held a tall staff in her right hand, with her clenched fingers touching the spiral silver cone at the end. She drew in an interminable breath.

  Kyphos looked at his king but Palemon was grim-faced, facing forward with legs astride. The hunchback hurriedly scanned the area and then lurched across the listing deck to grip hold of a nearby rail.

  ‘Sire,’ Kyphos said. ‘You should hold o—’

  The sorceress lifted the staff and slammed it back down onto the deck. Kyphos glanced up again and saw the clouds suddenly change direction, speeding toward the east, with more and more of them gathering pace as they suddenly filled the sky. A gusting wind caused the masts of the Solaris to creak. Glancing at Zara, Kyphos saw that she had her eyes closed, an expression of supreme concentration on her face, but then her eyes shot open.

  The irises were entirely black.

  The sorceress lifted the staff high into the air and cried out. The gust became a gale, yet she didn’t hold on to anything at all as her dress flattened against her body. Even the king, his jaw set, stumbled to a rail, clutching hold of the wood with a white-knuckled grip.

  The heavens turned as dark as night, filled with racing shadows from one horizon to the other. Faster than any bird the clouds sped across the sky, all heading east. Zara’s cry became a scream, eerie and high-pitched, audible even over the groans of the wooden vessel and the shrieking wind.

  Then Kyphos realized that this had only been the beginning.

  The wind struck the ship.

  ‘Kyphos. Kyphos!’ The warrior ran down to the beach, ignoring the ruinous hulk that had once been the Solaris and coming to a halt in front of him, panting.

  Seated by the campfire, Kyphos swallowed another chunk of fried fish and glanced up. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There are strangers approaching.’

  Kyphos wiped his hands on his flanks as he climbed to his feet. With local water, fresh fish, and barrels of salvaged supplies, they’d all been gorging ever since reaching land, and strength had returned to the warriors of Necropolis.

  ‘Inform the king. Then get Zara. We might be able to find out where we are.’

  ‘The sorceress . . . Are you sure?’

  ‘Just do it!’

  Kyphos climbed the windswept dune and waited alone as he saw a pair of tall men wrapped in white cloth walking toward him. Even their faces were swaddled in material, evidently to protect their skin from the burning sun. They both carried wooden spears that were nearly as tall as they were.

  ‘Kyphos . . .’

  He turned and saw the king nearing, leading the sorceress by the left hand. Zara’s right hand was clutched around a wooden staff crowned with a hoop of gold; she was using it to aid her stumbling walk over the uneven ground. Kyphos looked at Zara’s face, sculpted like marble, feeling hope stir, but then his heart sank when he saw that her eyes were still entirely black, and she was muttering under her breath.

  ‘The wind . . .’

  The two strangers were now close enough that Kyphos could see that one was older than the other, with creases around his dark eyes. They came to a halt and faced him, slowly appraising the hunchback with outsized arms and a shining steel axe at his belt, the tall king with the gray braided beard, and the slim blue-lipped woman with the strange eyes.

  The older of the two strangers spoke. ‘Have you come from across the sea?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kyphos said.

  ‘Where are we?’ the king demanded.

  The younger man looked at the older, who hesitated and then answered. ‘Imakale.’

  ‘Imakale,’ Kyphos said.


  He glanced at his king. Palemon closed his eyes and inhaled, releasing a long, pent up sigh. He then opened his eyes and smiled at Kyphos. ‘We made it.’

  Zara shuddered. She closed her eyes and opened them, and Kyphos felt a surge of joy when he saw that her eyes were a clear blue, as they had been before. She spoke, making sense for the first time since they’d arrived. ‘We made it?’

  ‘We did, sorceress.’ Kyphos grinned at her.

  ‘It has taken us three hundred years,’ the king said. ‘But we are finally home.’

  The two strangers exchanged glances. ‘Our headman has a message for you,’ the older man said. ‘You must come with us.’

  ‘No.’ Palemon shook his head. His eyes narrowed. ‘You give him a message from me.’

  The king reached over his shoulder and slowly drew his broadsword. The whisper of steel sliding in the scabbard filled the air as he freed it and gripped it in two hands, the only symbol of his kingship that he’d ever needed.

  Leveling the point at the older of the cloth-swaddled men, Palemon spoke in a low intonation. ‘Go to your leader, your king, whoever he is. Tell him this.’ As he spoke the long blade held between his body and the stranger’s began to glow red, the strange light welling from within the metal becoming fiercer with every word. ‘Tell him we were raised in the city of the dead. We are cold bloods. We have no warmth in our hearts. We are as strong as iron, as hard as ice.’

  The blade flared up, suddenly so bright and hot that Kyphos could feel the heat washing off it even from where he was standing. The older stranger’s material caught fire and he screamed, tearing off his cloth to reveal a skinny chest, a wrinkled, bearded face, and eyes filled with terror.

  The two strangers looked at each other.

  In unison they turned and fled, with the king’s words following after them.

  ‘Tell him that King Palemon has come to reclaim his dominion.’

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My sincere gratitude to the team at 47North for inspiring dedication at all stages of the publishing process, with particular thanks to my editor, Emilie, for giving more support than any author could hope for or expect.