Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) (19 page)

When she wanted to, she could bellow as loud as any officer in the army of Xanthos. It was a talent that would serve her well on the deck of an eighty-foot-long bireme.

‘Dion? What are you waiting for?’

Realizing he was the last to step forward, Dion took a place in between the two other archers. Roxana walked along the line of three men, staring into each face as she spoke.

‘I’ve chosen shooting into the sun because on the sea, the sun shines twice. Once in the sky and once on the water. You’ll often be blinded. So if you feel like complaining about the test’—she gestured at the city with her thumb—‘get away from here, I don’t want you.’

She waited for a moment, but when no one moved, she nodded and continued.

‘The sun king pays archers well, but you have to provide your own equipment. If you fail this test you can still apply to fight with spear – you’ll be paid less but your armor and equipment will then be loaned to you. There’s no place in the sun king’s navy for paid oarsmen. War has been good to the king of kings. We have plenty of slaves.’

Roxana ran a hand over her short bleached hair as she paused to take a breath. Dion fixed his gaze on the closest of the round straw targets. At thirty paces, he could make out the individual bands. If he wanted to learn more about the biremes and their construction, and to get the money he would need in the coming days, he had to strike as close as he could to the target’s center.

‘Nock your arrows. I will tap you on the shoulder and then you will draw and release. I’ll be judging how swiftly you release after I tap you – speed and accuracy are both important.’

Dion’s quiver was at his feet. He bent to pick up an arrow and fitted it to the string.

‘We start with the closest target. Failure to strike at thirty paces means you’re out. I take only the best.’

Roxana circled behind the archers and tapped the man to Dion’s left on the shoulder.

The Ilean archer drew the string to his cheek and held it for a breath. A moment later the arrow whistled through the air, plunging into the straw target halfway between the center and the circle’s perimeter.

Roxana grunted. ‘Passable. Faster next time or you’re out.’

Dion sensed Roxana moving, but he kept his attention on the target, allowing his eyes to unfocus as he waited for the instruction to shoot.

He felt a rough clap on his shoulder blade, and in one swift movement he pulled back on the string, sighted along the shaft, and released.

Lowering the composite bow, he whispered a curse as he saw that while he was closer than the man to his left, he was three inches from the center.

The third archer loosed his arrow a moment later and struck the target an inch closer than Dion’s arrow.

Dion frowned. He had to do better.

‘Next target!’ Roxana cried. ‘Fifty paces!’

The extra distance meant Dion struggled to focus on the target’s center. He spoke a prayer to Silex in his mind, the familiar words calming him.

Roxana pounded the archer on Dion’s left on the back almost before she’d finished speaking. The Ilean pulled and held for a long time as he struggled to regain his composure. Finally releasing his arrow, he clipped the edge of the target but missed making a solid strike.

The archer sighed.

‘Loose more quickly and strike the final target properly or you’re out,’ Roxana growled.

Dion forced himself to breathe evenly. He squinted into the bright orange sun made hazy from dust. The target wavered.

‘Draw!’ Roxana bellowed in his ear, at the same time slapping him on the back.

The unexpected sound shocked him into drawing without thinking and loosing in less time than it takes a man to clench his fist. Dion’s heart raced as he peered ahead to see the strike.

He soundlessly thanked his brother for the gift of the composite bow as he saw that his arrow had struck the circular target in the dead center.

‘Well done,’ Roxana said.

She clapped two meaty hands on the back of the final archer. He fumbled as he drew and his shot went wide, the shaft skittering along the hard sand of the beach as it lost its energy.

‘Not even close,’ she said. ‘You’re out.’

With slumped shoulders the man on Dion’s right scowled at his two fellows and left.

‘Final target! Seventy paces!’

Even Roxana seemed to know that distracting tricks weren’t fair at such a distance. She tapped the archer on Dion’s left gently on the back. Knowing he had to be swift to be accepted, the Ilean drew smoothly and sighted in a heartbeat before loosing.

But his arrow struck the ground just in front of the target.

‘You’re out.’

Dion’s pulse was racing. As he bent to pick up another arrow his arms felt tight and his shoulders sore. He looked down at the ground – squinting into the sun made his eyes water.

The tap on his shoulder came an instant later.

Dion pulled and sighted, loosed and lowered. The watering of his eyes made him look down before he’d even had a chance to see where he’d made his strike.

He heard a roar of appreciation from the watching soldiers. Finally, looking up, Dion saw a white-feathered shaft sprouting from the center of the straw target. He lowered his bow as Roxana came to stand in front of him, her legs astride as she folded her arms over her chest and grinned.

‘Congratulations, Dion of No-land. You have gained entry as a marine archer in the sun king’s navy. The pay is two silvers a week, but acts of courage lead to bonuses starting at an extra silver. A dead wildran can buy a night with a woman even more comely than me.’ Her gaze flickered to the onlookers; she grinned as a raucous laugh greeted her words.

With the test over, the crowd began to disperse. Turning suddenly serious, Roxana took Dion by the arm and spoke for his ears alone.

‘Listen, Dion
. . .
I can tell you’re new to the city. There’s a warning I give all my men. Spend your money on women, drink, or even boys – it’s yours to spend. But if you’re offered tar of heaven, stay away. You might have noticed the wretches in the streets. Their lives are no longer their own. And if the sun king’s soldiers catch them in the act . . .’ Roxana shook her head. ‘Understood?’

Dion remembered the group of hiding youths he’d seen with the pipe. He didn’t know what tar of heaven was, but he had no desire to find out. ‘Understood.’

‘Good. Return tomorrow for orientation. Your real test will come soon.’

28

Chloe navigated the bustling bazaar, weaving around people in a bewildering array of costumes. Wealthy nobles stood encircled by private soldiers, given an enviable buffer from the heaving crowd. Old women in shawls glared at her as she pushed past; the locals, accustomed to the market, were unwilling to give ground to anyone. Strange sweet scents rose from stalls selling colorful spices, with bright powders and fragrant herbs displayed in baskets. The jabber of conversation and cries of hawkers created a cacophony of sound. The air was hot and sticky, so that she sweated in her chiton and wished she wasn’t forced to wear a shawl over her shoulders.

Beside her at all times – stern and unyielding, never letting her out of his sight for a moment – was her bodyguard, Tomarys.

Chloe glanced over her shoulder; he had no difficulty keeping up. He towered over her, easily the largest man she had ever seen. He was neither lean nor stocky, but had broad shoulders and a heavy build, with muscled arms as big as Chloe’s legs. He was brown-skinned and had whip scars on his shoulders, wounds she would never have the courage to ask him about. His face was broad, with thick lips and a wide mouth, a rounded nose, and deep-set eyes. Tomarys’s black hair was tied behind his head with a leather thong.

He wore a brown leather vest, open at his hairy chest, and coarse linen trousers. She couldn’t see any weapons, but it was obvious why he was a bodyguard. Her task of navigating the market was made infinitely easier by the man beside her radiating both strength and deadly grace.

Chloe finally had the freedom to enter the city, but she knew she could never escape Tomarys. Her only option was to befriend him.

‘You are a eunuch?’ she asked, looking up at him.

‘Yes,’ he grunted. ‘All who watch over the women must be.’

‘You are from Ilea?’

‘From Lamara. This city is my home.’ He scanned the bazaar, looking for threats. ‘Stay close. There are thieves in this area. Thieves and worse.’

Chloe had already run out of conversation; she had a difficult task ahead of her if she wanted to learn more about him. Her thoughts instead turned to her purpose in the market.

She had gained some freedom, but unless she could ease the sun king’s pain her liberty would be revoked. Intuition told her that Tomarys would never help her escape. But with freedom, an opportunity might come.

They passed the spice market and entered a section of ceramics. Glancing at the stalls and the countless varieties of jugs, bowls, plates, amphorae, vases, urns, and cups, Chloe decided that Phalesia possessed far greater skill with pottery than the nations of the Salesian continent.

‘Tell me about your family,’ she said.

‘My father is dead. My sister cares for my mother. My brother is a slave working on the pyramid.’

‘A slave?’

‘He incurred debts he could not pay. I hope to buy my brother’s freedom. Why are we here?’

Chloe realized they would soon be at the end of the bazaar. ‘I’m looking for something.’

‘If you tell me what you are looking for I can help you.’

She hesitated, but she realized she wouldn’t find what she needed without help. ‘I need to find the soma flower.’

Tomarys suddenly stopped, gripping Chloe by the upper arm as he stared down at her. ‘You don’t mean to obtain tar of heaven?’ He shook his head. ‘It is outlawed by decree of the sun king.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I only want the flower. Among my people, it has been used for generations to ease pain. It is safe if prepared correctly, I assure you.’

Tomarys released Chloe’s arm, but continued to scowl at her. He wasn’t convinced.

‘Please, trust me,’ she said. ‘The tar and the flower it comes from are different things.’

He shook his head once more.

‘Tomarys, the sun king will no doubt have someone taste any medicine I give him. I have no wish to be killed.’

He rubbed his chin. ‘You follow the goddess of healing?’

‘Aeris is my personal deity. I studied at the temple.’

‘You are certain?’

‘I am. I don’t want the tar, only the flower.’

He finally nodded with reluctance and led her back the way they had come, turning into a thin path between a cluster of stalls until they were in a hidden section of the bazaar. This area was seedy and ramshackle, with beggars sitting against the walls and skinny youths standing lookout. A street urchin weaved around them, almost circling, his eyes appraising as he inspected the newcomers, assessing the potential for threat. But Tomarys, despite his appearance, was unarmed, and Chloe posed no danger.

Tomarys waited for the boy to nod, and then led Chloe to an old man with pockmarked skin and a hooked nose, standing outside a wooden hut and drinking tea.

‘Tell him what you want,’ Chloe’s bodyguard instructed.

‘I want soma flowers,’ Chloe said.

‘You want tar of heaven?’ The old man looked at Tomarys and then back to her. ‘Show me your coin.’

‘I don’t want the tar,’ she said. ‘I want some of the flowers.’

‘What for?’ He looked down his hooked nose and scowled. ‘It is the tar you want.’

‘Just the flowers,’ she insisted.

He scratched at his cheek as he considered. Finally, the old man nodded. ‘Wait here.’

She glanced at Tomarys, seeing that he appeared surprisingly nonchalant, but wondering if it was an act. Her instincts told her that she needed to be wary. She felt comforted by her escort’s towering presence.

The old man returned, emerging from behind the shack and beckoning. ‘Follow me.’

The pair fell in behind him. The hut covered the approach of a narrow lane, with high stone walls on both sides. The pockmarked old man continued to beckon them forward, into the boxed alley.

‘This is a dangerous place,’ Tomarys muttered. ‘We should go.’

‘You serve me?’ Chloe tilted her head to look up at him.

‘I do. I must protect you. I must also keep you close, and never let you out of my sight.’ Tomarys’s voice became deeper, a rumbling growl. ‘But girl, do not think we are friends. I will do my duty and no more. If you try to escape, I have orders to recapture you, or kill you if I must.’

The lane was long and curved, so that it was hard to see what they would find at the other end. Eventually, they saw light. The old man had now vanished, and a boy who couldn’t have been older than seven stood waiting for them.

‘Two silvers,’ he said.

Tomarys took a pouch from his belt and counted out the coins, handing them to the boy.

‘Wait here,’ the boy instructed. Leaving them still a dozen paces from the alley’s end, he exited and soon vanished.

‘I doubt we’ll see him again,’ Chloe murmured.

‘Look,’ said Tomarys.

The boy returned. Glancing around him, looking past the two figures to see if anyone lurked behind them, he handed Chloe a leather pouch.

She started to open the pouch.

‘Not here,’ the boy hissed.

She opened it anyway. Within were two plump flowers, somewhere between fresh and completely dried, with petals closed. Noting the purple-yellow coloring and pale green stem, Chloe nodded.

The boy departed without another word.

‘Back to the palace,’ she said.

‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ Tomarys muttered.

29

It was late in the women’s quarters as Chloe sat cross-legged on her bed pallet, with only the light of a few flickering torches to see by.

Tomarys slept nearby on a woven mat, lying on his back as his chest rose and fell evenly. He was covered in just a thin linen sheet, but at least the night was warm. He’d told her this was an improvement compared to his last sleeping quarters.

Given her bodyguard’s reactions, Chloe had decided it would be best if she worked at night. Tomarys had fetched a mortar and pestle on their return, and one of the flower pods was still in the pouch, hidden under the pallet.

The other was in the bowl-shaped mortar on her lap. Keeping her movements quiet, Chloe used the pestle to grind the bulb, working over the broken bits of plant again and again. She recalled the instruction she’d received at the Temple of Aeris in Phalesia and knew that the finer the particles became, the more surface area would be exposed to allow the pain-relieving agents to be extracted.

She worked the pestle tirelessly, her muscles becoming sore as she turned the flower pod into an unrecognizable cluster of fine hay-like particles. Finally deciding she was finished, she set the bowl beside her bed pallet. Before retiring, she checked the pouch with the last flower to remind herself it was safely hidden.

Then Chloe lay on the pallet, staring up at the ceiling.

She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Chloe woke suddenly, certain that she’d been sleeping only for a few hours, her senses groggy and sleep in her eyes. Something had hold of her ankle.

The room was dark and the night still and quiet. Tomarys crouched over her; he had his hand on her foot and had been shaking her.

Sitting up, she saw that there was another man present, a slim Ilean in a plain white tunic, standing with his back at an angle to her, eyes averted. Wondering at his posture, Chloe realized he wasn’t supposed to be in the women’s quarters. To bring him here, his need must have been urgent.

‘What is it?’ Chloe whispered.

‘I am Carin, one of the stewards. The king of kings is in terrible pain,’ he said. ‘The magi cannot help him. He has asked for you.’

Chloe rummaged in her chest and quickly threw a garment over her sleeping shift as the robed man spoke.

‘Of course,’ she said. She picked up the bowl full of crushed soma flower and moved until she was facing the steward. ‘Take me to him.’

Tomarys followed as the steward led her out of the women’s quarters to a part of the palace she’d never been to before. Passing through the silent courtyards and carpeted corridors they stopped at an ornate archway. Two palace soldiers stood guard outside.

‘Enter,’ the steward said to Chloe. He indicated Tomarys. ‘He can wait here.’

Her heart pounding as she held the bowl in her hands, Chloe walked through the doorway.

She entered a huge bedchamber dominated by a four-poster bed with the mattress held above the floor by a frame of wood and cloth strips. Barely taking in the tapestries and carpets, the windows facing the harbor and the luxurious bed linen, Chloe’s gaze went immediately to the man lying on his back on the bed.

Solon was on top of the tangled linen, eyes wide open as he wheezed. He wore a silk robe on his lean frame and had both hands over his sternum.

A magus in yellow hovered near the bed on the far side, turning his dark stare on Chloe as she entered with the steward behind her. Beside him she recognized one of the lords from the throne room, a short bald man in an orange robe.

Knowing she must project confidence, she turned to address the steward. ‘I will need an empty cup, a jug of very hot water, some fine silk, honey, and lemon.’

‘Wait,’ the magus said, talking to the steward rather than Chloe. ‘She could be preparing a slow-acting poison. She is a foreigner. She is not to be trusted.’

‘Lord?’ the steward addressed the bald man.

He thought for a moment. ‘Bring what she needs. But fetch a slave also.’

When the lord nodded for her to proceed, Chloe made an inspection of the sun king. Despite who he was, she felt sympathy for the obvious pain he was in. Solon’s wide eyes followed her movements as she checked him over and he winced at regular intervals. She felt gently around his throat, making the magus tense when she had both hands around his neck, and checked the color of his hands. His circulation was good, and his glands weren’t swollen. His face had none of the yellow discoloration of jaundice. The shadow around his eyes was the result of fatigue and pain.

The problem was evidently in his chest, and Chloe found herself agreeing with his magi’s assessment: he had a cancer, a malignant growth inside him. It was advanced, she decided. The magi, priests, and priestesses from the Temple of Aeris said that such cases always meant a painful but imminent death.

Completing her inspection, she saw the steward returning with the items she’d asked for. He’d brought a slave with him, an old man with a loincloth bunched around his waist.

‘He is the best I could find at short notice,’ the steward said. ‘A night worker. I found him scrubbing floors.’

‘Please, place the items on the table there.’ Chloe pointed.

She soon busied herself preparing the tea of the soma flower, adding the plant matter from the bowl to the jug of hot water.

‘What is it that you are making?’ the magus asked.

‘Tea,’ Chloe said.

‘What is in it?’ he persisted.

‘A flower, prepared in a special way.’

‘What flower?’ he asked in exasperation.

Chloe knew she had to let the tea steep for a time. She hesitated as she saw the magus come over to watch, hovering at her shoulder. ‘The tulip.’

‘Tulip?’ He scowled. ‘I would know if tulips had uses other than in a poultice.’

‘It must be selected with care,’ Chloe said, examining the swirling contents of the jug. ‘I must select a single bulb out of hundreds. Certain features mark out a bulb that possesses the power to ease pain.’

‘I want you to show me how you make it,’ the magus demanded.

‘The process is simple. I’ve ground the closed flower pod and now I’m making this tea. You’ve seen me do it.’

‘Let her continue,’ the bald lord in orange robes instructed from the other side of the bed. ‘The king of kings is in pain.’

The magus grunted.

Chloe made a filter out of the fine silk, doubling it over on itself. She glanced around the room, seeing that the steward was busy pressing a damp cloth to the sun king’s brow. ‘I need someone to help me.’

‘I will,’ the lord said. He came around the bed and the magus made way for him. ‘What can I do?’

‘Hold this cloth over the cup. Mind your hands, the water is hot.’

Chloe poured the tea over the cloth in small portions until the cup was full and sodden plant matter had gathered on the silk. Seeing that enough liquid remained in the jug for another cup, she returned the soma flower clinging to the silk to the jug, scraping it off with her fingertips, loath to waste any of its potency.

Finally, she trickled honey from another jar into the cup, then dropped in a wedge of lemon. The last two ingredients were purely to disguise the taste.

‘It’s done,’ she said.

Reaching around Chloe and the lord, the magus took hold of the cup and turned, beckoning for the old slave to come closer.

‘Drink,’ the magus said. ‘A good swallow or I will have you impaled.’

Glancing fearfully at the onlookers, the old slave tipped the cup back, drinking a third of the contents in a single gulp.

While the magus and lord waited, Chloe kept her expression neutral. She saw that the steward had brought a second empty cup and with a nod at the lord to help her again she prepared the additional serving.

When she was done, she returned her gaze to the room. With nothing to occupy her attention the wait dragged out. The old slave looked from face to face. The tension had gone out of his stooped shoulders. He looked like a man contentedly preparing for bed.

‘How do you feel?’ the lord asked.

‘I feel . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘I feel fine.’

‘We should wait longer,’ the magus growled.

At that moment the sun king began to writhe, waving his arms about as he clutched at his chest and then reached out to grab hold of the steward’s arm. He coughed, a wracking, shuddering cough that hurt Chloe to hear. He continued for what felt like an eternity and then blessedly stopped, his skin so pale he looked like death. The steward touched a cloth to his lips and Chloe was almost surprised to see there was no blood.

‘We can wait no longer,’ the steward said.

‘I agree,’ said the lord in orange robes. He nodded at the magus. ‘Give the cup to the steward.’

Solon leaned forward slightly to swallow the tea, his bony throat swelling and contracting as he gulped it down. The steward tilted the cup back until every drop was gone.

The king lay back once more. Every set of eyes in the room was on him.

His color slowly returned.

The sun king’s lips parted. He spoke, his voice strengthening with every word. ‘Better . . . So much better.’ His eyes were slightly glazed. ‘The pain. It is still present, but my soul’s passage through the jagged gates is made easier.’

A sleepy smile crossed his face. The magus frowned, but the steward looked relieved.

‘The girl,’ Solon murmured. ‘Bring her to me.’

The bald man took Chloe by the elbow and led her to the sun king’s bedside.

‘What can I do, king of kings?’ she asked.

‘Your skills have made me better.’ His smile drifted; he looked as if he would soon fall asleep. His eyes closed as she waited, but after a moment they opened once more. ‘I would grant you a small boon for your service.’

Chloe held her breath. She knew the soma flower brought feelings of contentment. She may not get this chance again.

She wondered what she should ask for. She tossed away idea after idea. She couldn’t ask for anything too big. Even if he granted her request, he may take it away the next day. She couldn’t ask for alternate sleeping quarters, nor the freedom to roam the city unaccompanied. She couldn’t ask to be returned to her homeland or for the sun king to cease his desire for the Ark of Revelation.

In the end, she realized, there was nothing she could ask for herself.

But she could help another.

‘My bodyguard, Tomarys, has a brother working as a slave on the pyramid.’

‘Mmm.’ Solon nodded, close to drifting away.

‘The work is dangerous. I would ask that you free the slave, or find him safer work somewhere else.’

Solon glanced up at the lord in orange robes and nodded. ‘See it done,’ he said.

‘I will, sire.’

The sun king’s eyes finally closed, and Chloe was taken from the room.