Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) (18 page)

Dion smiled. ‘But how much should I pay him?’

‘Less than that.’ Anoush grinned.

He finally made a decision. ‘Anoush’—he put out his hand—
‘the first of these coins is yours. I want you to be my guide. I need my money changed and I need fresh clothing and a razor.’ After giving the boy the coin, he indicated the composite bow poking out of his satchel. ‘I also need to visit a bowyer. Can you help me with all that?’

‘Of course!’ Anoush beamed. ‘I am the best guide in all of Lamara.’ He looked down at the weapon and then up at Dion. ‘Are you a warrior, master?’

Dion hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he finally said. ‘I am a warrior.’

‘Are you here to find work in the sun king’s army?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Where are you from?’

Dion scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘From one of the islands in the Maltherean Sea.’

‘Which one? Ibris? Amphi? Tarlana?’

‘No,’ Dion said. ‘Further than that.’

Anoush shrugged. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I will now take you to the bazaar. We will return to the House of Algar after.’

As Dion followed his new guide, he pondered the palace and the first consul’s daughter, and wondered what his next move should be.

27

It was morning, rising heat filling the narrow alley as Dion waited in front of the House of Algar. He now wore clean clothing: strange brown trousers and a white tunic to his knees, the garb of Ilea. He had a quiver over his shoulder with a dozen sharp arrows inside, and the bow in his hand had been serviced the previous day. Anoush had proven his usefulness.

Hearing footsteps, he turned and saw a slight man with streaks of gray in his black beard exiting the guesthouse. Wearing expensive flowing garments of thick wool, Algar registered surprise when he saw Dion waiting.

‘My friend, can I be of service?’

‘No.’ Dion shook his head, giving Algar a polite smile. The guesthouse’s owner charged a premium for everything, even washing water. ‘I’m just waiting for my guide.’

Algar lowered his voice. ‘Save your coin. Please know I can arrange anything you require. For a mere two silvers—’

‘I have everything I need, but thank you,’ Dion interjected.

‘I would not trust that boy too much.’ Algar frowned. ‘He is not a bad lad, but my prices—’

Then a small figure rounded a corner and came into view. Anoush grinned as he carried a steaming wooden cup and nodded to Algar before holding it out to Dion.

‘Tea, master. For you.’

Smiling stiffly, Algar gave Dion a small bow before heading off down the street.

‘What about you?’ Dion asked Anoush.

‘I do not like tea,’ he said. ‘But try it. You will like it.’

Dion sipped at the drink and wondered who could want such a hot drink on a baking hot day. Not wanting to offend the boy, he sipped until he drank to the bottom, then when he finished he was surprised to find himself feeling refreshed.

‘See?’ Anoush looked up at him hopefully. ‘You like it?’

‘It’s good.’ Dion smiled.

‘I asked about the man Kargan for you,’ Anoush said. ‘He returned some days ago on the bireme
Nexotardis
. No one knew anything about a captive princess.’

Dion nodded. He hadn’t expected Chloe’s arrival to be common knowledge. ‘You have done well. Here.’ He gave Anoush three of the copper coins he’d received as change after paying for the room.

‘You have already given me silver. It is too much.’

‘Take them,’ Dion insisted.

‘Thank you, master.’ Anoush hid the coins somewhere in his trousers. ‘How can I help you today?’

Dion thought about his plan. Anoush had given him the idea. He needed time to learn about Lamara and for that he would need money. He had to find a way to learn about the sun king’s fleet, for any attack would come from the sea.

‘I want to enlist in the sun king’s service.’

‘In the army?’

‘The navy.’

Anoush pondered for a moment. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We must go to the harbor. It is past the bazaar. Stay close to me, there will be many people in the streets. I will watch for thieves and beggars for you. Keep your money close.’

The harbor was a mile-long stretch of shore filled with beached vessels of all descriptions. It formed a natural curve in the river, within the city walls, and most of it was fenced off from the city by a long wall of vertical wooden poles.

Dion stopped for a moment, Anoush at his side, as he gained his bearings. Two soldiers guarded a gap in the fence leading to the naval section, where bireme after bireme rested side by side, so close together they were almost touching. An empty stretch of shore at the end would be where the marines practiced their skills. Past the cleared area two huge wooden vessels were under construction, covered by a confusing framework of wood. Sailors scrubbed decks and marines trained with sword and shield. Smoke rose from the corner of a long thatched structure and Dion guessed this was the mess.

Outside the fenced-off section were beached merchant ships and bare-chested men carrying sacks from various vessels to the paved area above the shore, assembling piles of goods of all description.

‘You must go in there.’ Anoush pointed to the guards standing at the gap in the fence. ‘I will not be allowed so I will wait.’

‘We can meet later,’ Dion said.

‘No, master. I will wait.’

Taking a deep breath, Dion walked down a series of steps to where the paving stones became sand and approached the two guards. Unlike the soldiers he’d seen the previous day, these men had wooden spears without iron points and carried lighter, smaller shields. They were both swarthy, with sleeveless leather cuirasses leaving muscled arms bare.

‘What’s your business?’ the guard on the left said. He had a neatly trimmed beard and curly dark hair.

‘I want to enlist,’ Dion said.

The guard nodded his head. ‘Go and see one of the captains.’

They made way and Dion entered, running his eyes over the multitude of warships and dozens of marines at training. He counted ten biremes and then made a guess at how many there were in total. Fifty . . . perhaps even sixty, he realized with wonder.

A bald man in a blue robe stood with his legs apart and arms folded over his chest as he watched two marines making stabs at each other with spears. Twenty paces away a pair of archers shot arrows at distant straw targets. Dion was relieved to see that the sun king’s captains employed bows. If he was tested for his swordsmanship, he would never be accepted.

Dion walked over to the bald man, guessing he was a captain. ‘I want to enlist.’

‘Don’t need anyone,’ he said without looking. ‘Find someone else.’

Turning away, Dion wondered who else he should approach. He shielded his eyes as he saw the shipbuilding sheds, where a stocky man stood directing some slaves.

Seeing an opportunity to learn about the warships’ construction, Dion walked over, discretely watching from behind the stout, muscular man as he gruffly ordered the slaves to hammer wooden dowels through an expanse of planked flooring.

He decided that if Xanthos were to build a navy they would first need to make some of these sheds, sunken into the ground and stepped at the sides so that workers could access the vessel from all quarters. He saw that they would need a great deal of timber; but there were countless pine trees in the mountainous wilds near the Gates of Annika. People would need to learn specific tasks: from cutting the planks into regular sizes to warping them so they would bend. Currently Sarsican or Phalesian shipbuilders built vessels for Xanthos. That would have to change.

He watched in fascination, then realized that the stocky man was looking at him. He also realized that the man was a woman.

‘What do you want?’ she barked.

Her hair was cut close to her scalp, a look that Dion had never seen on a woman and was so unfamiliar that for a moment he was stunned into silence. Exposure to the sun had bleached her hair near white and at the same time tanned her skin to a reddish brown.

‘I . . . I’m here to enlist,’ Dion said, finally finding his voice.

She proceeded to growl a series of rapid questions. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Dion.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘A small village on an island in the Maltherean. You won’t have heard of it.’

She grunted. ‘What are your skills, Dion of No-land?’

‘I’m a good sailor. I’m skilled with a bow. I can ride a horse.’

She scratched a white scar just under her right eye. ‘Ever shot from a chariot, Dion?’

He frowned. ‘No.’

‘Can you drive a chariot?’

Dion’s frown became even more furrowed. ‘No.’

‘Not sure if you’ve noticed, but horse riding is about as useful to me as the ability to drive and repair a chariot.’ She strode over and looked at the bow he clutched. ‘Give it to me,’ she held out a hand.

Dion handed it to her.

‘Strange weapon,’ she said. ‘Nothing like what I’m used to.’ She held it up at the sky. ‘Short. Different materials shoved together. Doesn’t look like much.’

She tested the draw and gave a slight sound of surprise, then handed it back. Her brows came together. ‘Who did you steal it from?’

‘I didn’t steal it,’ Dion said firmly.

‘Your family rich?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Yet you somehow end up here in Lamara, looking for work in the sun king’s navy.’

‘Family feud,’ Dion invented.

The stocky woman grinned. ‘And it’s clear you’re not the one who inherited your father’s wealth.’ She changed tack. ‘Have you ever hunted wildren, Dion?’

He thought about the fury he’d killed on the shore at Cinder Fen, and the arrow he’d placed in the head of the coiled serpent before its larger cousin arrived. ‘Yes.’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I build boats as well as sail them, so I’m busy now, but come back an hour before sunset. Ask for Roxana. Everyone knows me.’

Roxana suddenly turned and swore as she saw something the slaves were doing on the boat. Considering himself dismissed, Dion began to walk away.

‘Oh, and Dion?’ she added.

‘Yes?’

‘Let’s hope you’re brave. The reason I need men is because I lose so many. But the sun king pays good bonuses for dead wildren.’

She grinned, and Dion left her to her work.

Dion’s room was on the third story of the House of Algar. It was simple but clean, with a linen bed pallet stuffed full of straw for sleeping and a small chest for possessions. A thin curtain covered the window and the room was high enough to provide a view of the streets around the palace and block some of the city’s noises and smells.

He spent the day watching from his window, wondering if the fates would smile on him and he would see the first consul’s daughter. He examined passing groups of soldiers and countless women in shawls and veils, but when late afternoon came and he hadn’t seen her he wasn’t surprised.

He pondered time and again what Kargan and Solon would have done with her. Chloe would have been questioned, undoubtedly, and with such men questioning often involved torture. But would they torture the first consul’s daughter? If they harmed her they would lose some of their negotiating position. Surely she would be in the palace, safe and well.

But he wasn’t certain that their plans involved using Chloe as a bargaining chip. If all they wanted her for was questioning, or if Kargan had taken her on a whim with the sun king having little use for her, she could already be dead.

Dion abandoned this line of thought. He had to assume she was alive.

Realizing it would soon be sunset, he attempted to make his way to the harbor without Anoush to guide him. He was glad he’d given himself plenty of time, becoming lost until a tea seller gave him directions. He arrived at the naval yard just in time, as a radiant orange sun dropped to within a finger’s width of the horizon.

Passing through the guards, he found Roxana standing close to the water’s edge on a cleared patch of hard sand, directing slaves to place straw targets at set distances from a line of red rope. As Dion approached she gave him a short nod but continued with her work. Nearby he saw two other archers, both dressed in similar tunics and trousers, but carrying bows that were plainer and longer than his. Away from the red line, a dozen armed marines watched with arms folded over their chests.

Dion shielded his eyes as he examined the archery range Roxana was preparing. The first thing he realized was that, intentionally or not, she had set it up so that the archers would be staring into the sun. The first target was at thirty paces, the second at fifty, and the third at seventy.

Breathing slowly and evenly, Dion began to pace, stretching his arms over his head and swinging them to loosen his muscles. He circled for a time before coming to a halt near the two Ilean archers. One looked at his bow curiously, but neither made a comment about his appearance: there were plenty of men in Lamara who could pass for Galeans, so unless they heard him speak, Dion barely stood out.

Dion saw that both men had kohl under their eyes, applied thicker than even the most brazen street harlot. Roxana came over with a cloth in her hand, black on the tip.

‘Here.’ She handed it to him. ‘Use it, you fool. It will help your aim against the sun.’

Not about to argue, Dion took the cloth and rubbed the kohl under each eye in turn, before handing it to a waiting slave.

‘All men – or women’—she grinned—‘here to enlist, come stand behind the red rope. Everyone else, back!’