Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) (24 page)

37

Dion was impatient for news as he helped the crew beach the
Anoraxis
on the harbor shore. He had been gone for more than a week; at any moment the sun king could return.

After fulfilling his duties, he bid farewell to his captain and with his bow and quiver in hand left the harbor, heading out the gate to make his way into the city. Skirting the bazaar, following the now familiar streets to the palace quarter, Dion approached the guesthouse. He knew Algar would ask him for more money but the paymaster had told him to come back the next day to collect his wages.

Dion spoke to his well-dressed host, who grumbled but agreed to grant him another day. He then looked anxiously for Anoush and saw the boy sitting on a low wall near the House of Algar, munching on a handful of raisins.

‘Anoush.’ Dion frowned. ‘Not watching the palace?’

‘Master!’ His eyes widened. ‘You’re back!’ He leaped to his feet and ran over, tilting his head to look up at him as he hopped from foot to foot. ‘I have news. I passed the girl your message yesterday.’

‘How did she react?’

‘I do not think she understood. I only had a short time to speak before the big guard with her knocked me away . . . But I am sure she heard me. She was confused, I think.’

Dion cursed as he looked away. If she knew he was here and that help might be coming, the knowledge could make his task easier.

‘But there is more.’

Dion’s eyes shot once more to the young boy. ‘What?’

‘She regularly goes to the abandoned arena in the poor quarter. She is probably there right now.’

‘Alone?’

‘No, the guard goes with her.’

‘What is she doing there?’

‘I did not follow them inside. I only saw that they came out again some time later.’

Dion’s heart started to race. He had learned about Ilea and about the size of the sun king’s navy. He had learned a great deal about the capabilities of ships like the
Anoraxis
and something about the way they were built. Chloe would have spent time with the sun king himself, and would know his mind.

All Dion needed to do now was to free Chloe and escape. The only obstacle in his way was her warden.

Dion’s bow was in his hand and a quiver was on his shoulder. He spoke to Anoush with urgency. ‘The abandoned arena. Take me there now.’

Dion crept along the wide passage, keeping to the shadows as he felt the weight of stone above his head, under foot, and in the walls on both sides. He saw bright light through a tall rectangular exit ahead and slowed his pace even further, placing one foot down before moving the next, anxious to move as silently and unobtrusively as possible.

Behind him Anoush hung back, fearful and hesitant. Now that he had led Dion this far, Dion waved the boy to stay in the corridor. He didn’t want him getting involved in any conflict.

Dion took three more steps and then stopped just before the exit, where clouds of dust swirled in the bright rays of sunshine. He knew that as soon as he stepped forward once more the sunlight would blind him. He stopped and listened.

He heard voices, one male and one female.

Blood throbbed in his temples; he felt the tempo of his pulse increase, reminding him of the galloping rhythm of the
Anoraxis
at ramming speed. He heard the gruff notes of the guard’s deep voice and the higher pitch of Chloe’s replies. They sounded far enough away that he felt confident of exiting the passage.

He dropped to a crouch and squinted as he left the corridor. Dion saw that there was a wall in front of him and a set of steps heading up to the side. Keeping in the shadow of the wall he climbed the steps and peered around the corner.

Dion was halfway up the tiered gallery of a structure in the shape of a wheel. It reminded him of the lyceum in Phalesia, but the proportions were far greater than even that huge structure. There were seats doubling as steps that all faced a circular space in the center.

He saw two figures standing close together in the middle of the arena’s sandy central floor.

The huge guard – tall and muscled, wearing a leather vest and brown trousers – stood at an angle with Dion looking mostly at his back. Near him and with her face visible in profile was Chloe.

His breath caught as he saw that she held a sword, pointed at the guard, who was unarmed. It appeared that Dion had timed his arrival perfectly; he couldn’t have come a moment too soon. Chloe was making her own bid for freedom.

Dion left his hiding place. He was now exposed in bright daylight but Chloe’s attention was entirely on the bodyguard. Dion pulled an arrow out of his quiver and nocked it to the string of his bow. Knowing that a fast-moving shape draws the eye, he fought to keep his breathing deep and even, fighting the power of fear to remain steady as he descended, creeping down first one step and then another. He kept his eyes on his enemy the entire time. If he could kill this man his quest would be accomplished.

Dion circled around as he lost height, moving so that he would approach the tall warrior directly from behind. Chloe kept the tip of the sword pointed at her opponent as she said something to him; her attention was on anything but the gallery above.

Glancing back the way he’d come, Dion saw Anoush standing near the exit corridor, watching him with wide eyes. He made another wave to tell him to stay back.

He would need to make a good strike, firmly between the warrior’s shoulder blades. Dion narrowed the distance to forty paces, and then thirty. He was now on level ground, standing in a gap in the decrepit wooden fence, with no obstruction between him and his target.

He lifted his bow. He drew the string to his ear and stilled his breathing.

He fixed his gaze on the big warrior’s shoulders.

Dion prayed for a solid strike as he let the arrow fly.

‘Keep the point always on your enemy,’ Tomarys said. ‘Think of the tip as a shield as well as a weapon, as long as you have the sharp end between the two of you, you are defending yourself. Angle it slightly higher, you do not want the sword to be horizontal.’

Chloe complied, but the sword was heavier than it looked. Holding the hilt with both hands, she lifted the point.

‘Good,’ Tomarys said. ‘Now take a single step forward, leading with your front foot. Angle your body to the side so you are presenting a smaller target.’

Chloe followed his instructions and brought the sword closer to her opponent’s chest.

‘Now attack!’ Tomarys said.

As Chloe was about to thrust, she saw motion out of the corner of her eye.

Time stood still.

The bowman was in Ilean clothing: white tunic and trousers, common dress she might see on any of Lamara’s streets. His sandy hair marked him out as different, but there were many different peoples in the sun king’s capital. He stood just outside the wooden rail girding the arena floor, where a gap in the broken fence enabled ingress.

He had his bow drawn, about to loose an arrow. Chloe knew she had the briefest instant to react.

She dropped the sword and ran at Tomarys.

His eyes widened with shock and surprise as she struck. Chloe hit him with her shoulder tucked in, shoving him forward. She felt the whistle of the arrow as it missed her head by an inch. Tomarys grunted, but although knocked back he stayed standing. Chloe’s mad lunge meant she fell to the ground, tumbling onto the sand.

She rolled on to her back and saw Tomarys spy his assailant and make a swift assessment. The archer fitted another arrow and drew and released in a single smooth motion.

But Tomarys was aware of the attack now, and weaved as he ran directly at him. The second arrow flew past the big warrior’s shoulder. Realizing he didn’t have time to release a third shaft, the bowman dropped his bow and charged.

The two men crashed into each other and went down in a mess of flailing limbs. The archer got on top and smashed a fist into Tomarys’s jaw, but the bodyguard merely grunted and brought the heel of his hand into his opponent’s chin.

The strike resounded like an axe splitting kindling. The bowman fell backwards and his eyes rolled. Tomarys shook his head to clear it and climbed to his feet as his opponent moaned, on his back and senseless.

Tomarys scowled and rubbed his jaw. He reached down and with his left hand grabbed hold of the archer by the throat, lifting him into the sky. The bowman’s feet were now dangling and he gurgled as the bodyguard looked into his face.

As Tomarys held him high, squeezing his neck, he clenched his right fist and smashed it into his opponent’s chest.

Chloe winced, hearing ribs crack. Another strike hit the bowman’s face, near his eye.

Breathlessly, she managed to get to her feet as Tomarys pounded the bowman again and again. She saw that his face was turning red; his struggles were now pitiful. Tomarys was going to kill him.

In that instant, despite his foreign clothing, Chloe suddenly recognized him.

Her face drained of color.

Tomarys was beating Dion, prince of Xanthos, the second son of King Markos. He was the last person she expected to see.

The pieces fitted together. He had used the boy to pass Chloe a message in the street. He had seen Chloe holding a sword pointed at Tomarys. Dion had come here to rescue her.

‘Stop!’ Chloe screamed. She ran to Tomarys and pulled at the arm holding Dion by the throat. ‘Stop! Don’t kill him!’

Tomarys looked at Chloe and she saw the madness of rage in his eyes. But he let go, and Dion fell to the ground. He was barely conscious. His lip had burst, covering his mouth and jaw in blood. His right eye was puffed up and nearly closed shut. His fingers twitched as he lay prone on his side, the only sign that life was still in him.

‘You know who he is?’

Chloe thought furiously. ‘No . . . He must be part of the group that attacked us in the alley.’

Tomarys glanced down at him again. ‘He chose the wrong people to waylay,’ he muttered. ‘I should kill him.’

‘Tomarys . . . Don’t. Let’s just leave.’

He scanned the arena, looking for more enemies, but saw that his assailant had acted alone. ‘This place is no longer safe,’ he said. ‘We need to leave. Now.’

Chloe nodded. She wondered if there was anything she could do for Dion, but any help she gave him would arouse Tomarys’s suspicions.

She felt terrible leaving him this way, but once she’d saved Tomarys there was no other path before her. She was confused. Tomarys was her friend. She had no wish to see him dead on the ground with an arrow in his back.

They left the arena. Chloe glanced back once.

Dion still hadn’t moved.

38

The sun king was back.

Solon had returned while Chloe and Tomarys were at the arena. Chloe was now terrified, for as soon as they returned soldiers took Tomarys away while more guards escorted Chloe to the women’s quarters. Tomarys had been as confused as Chloe. Their manner hadn’t been friendly.

She spent the night wondering what was happening. When she woke in the morning, her bodyguard’s presence had been so constant that she felt strange not seeing him. The only information she got from the eunuchs was that the sun king had defeated the uprising in Shadria. She knew nothing more.

The day passed interminably. Chloe struggled to maintain her composure but couldn’t contain the dark thoughts that kept bubbling to the surface. Had the sun king learned about her training sessions with Tomarys? Did he think that they had been spending too much time away from the palace? Was he planning to launch an attack on Phalesia?

A sudden fear clutched hold of her chest. She lifted up her bed pallet to look for the sack of flower pods.

It was gone.

Chloe hunted underneath and searched the area frantically. She heard a man clear his throat.

The wild-haired eunuch with pockmarked skin stood looking down at her. Beside him were two soldiers of the palace guard.

Chloe felt her breathing come in gasps as she stopped what she was doing and climbed to her feet.

‘The sun king demands your presence,’ one of the soldiers said.

‘Come with us,’ the other growled.

The first man gripped Chloe tightly by the upper arm as they marched her out of the women’s quarters, through the corridors and waiting chamber, to the sun king’s throne room.

Guards lined both sides of the rectangular space facing the throne. Behind it, a cool breeze blew in through the open doors leading to the terrace. The two guards stood on either side of her as Chloe glanced up at the man on the throne.

This time, she didn’t prostrate herself, and no one asked her to.

Solon looked terrible.

He had lost more weight, even though only a couple of weeks had passed. His eyes were dark sunken pits and his cheeks were as tight as drums. He started to speak and then burst into a fit of coughing. When he finally finished, he touched a white cloth to his lips, and Chloe saw red.

‘King of kings,’ Chloe said. ‘How are you?’

He placed a hand on his chest and winced, before straightening with an effort as he looked down his sharp nose at her.

‘We took gold,’ he said, ‘but not enough.’ His voice was still clipped and precise, but it was weaker than when they had last spoken. ‘And now I can feel that the end is near. The Seer’s prophecies always come true. This is the year I will die.’

‘If there is anything I can—’

He held up a hand for silence. Chloe stopped. The sun king swallowed with pain and it was some time before he spoke.

‘I need to speak with you about this very subject.’ He nodded to a distant figure, and Chloe saw one of his magi come forward, the man’s yellow robe indicating dedication to the sun god. As she recognized the dark-eyed magus who had questioned her when she first administered to Solon in his bedchamber, he handed Solon a sack, before bowing and withdrawing.

Chloe’s eyes widened with horror as she recognized the sack, but she fought to remain calm. She had made it this far; she had to be strong.

‘One of my magi smelled my tea and told me something that I initially did not believe,’ Solon said. ‘But on my return we searched your chambers and found these.’

He reached into the sack and withdrew a single flower pod, greenish-purple, with a circular crest on top.

‘Tell me, Chloe of Phalesia, follower of Aeris, skilled healer,’ he said, speaking in a low voice that filled Chloe with dread. ‘Are these what the magi say they are? Are these things . . . flowers of bliss?’

Chloe tried to speak with a firm voice. ‘They are a powerful medication for easing pain—’

‘They are banned by law,’ Solon said softly. He drew himself up on the throne, leaning forward, looming over her. His expression shifted from pain, to anger, to vengeful rage. ‘You have had me drinking milk of the poppy!’

‘If it eases your pain—’

‘My pain—’ he cried, and then broke off, coughing. He started again. ‘My pain is merely my soul passing through the jagged gates of Ar-Rayan. We know what you have been doing. We know where you have been going to get these . . . things.’

He stood, stepping down from the dais and walked forward to loom over Chloe.

‘Come,’ Solon said.

With guards on both sides of her, Chloe had no choice but to follow. Solon walked to the terrace, passing through the archways and standing out in the open air. He turned and waited for her approach.

The terrace was a pleasant place, overlooking the city and the broad river, with colorful flowers in pots and a wide central basin filled with water.

It was devoid of people, and Chloe couldn’t see what Solon wanted to show her. When she reached him he walked to the edge of the terrace and clutched onto the rail with bony fingers. Leaning forward, he looked down.

Chloe came to stand beside him.

There was a lower level of paved stones and spiky plants in gardens that she hadn’t previously been aware of. It was far larger than the terrace, and she guessed it had something to do with the soldiers
.

The wide space was revealed to her as she came closer to the rail, until she stood alongside the sun king.

She followed his gaze.

‘No!’ she moaned.

Tomarys was bare-chested and crimson blood covered his torso. His head lolled to the side, exposing his neck. Whip marks covered every part of his skin and his trousers hung in shreds.

His feet weren’t touching the ground.

Looking down, Chloe saw a vertical wooden stake holding him up. It entered his body somewhere between his legs and traveled up through his insides, emerging from his mouth.

‘I watched every moment of it,’ Solon hissed. ‘I made sure it went in slowly. Your betrayal was unexpected, but I understand it, you are my prisoner here. His, on the other hand, was not.’

Chloe couldn’t look on, but nor could she look away. The only man who had shown her any kindness had been given the worst death imaginable. And it was all because of her.

‘He told us everything,’ Solon said. ‘About your daily quests to find more flowers of bliss. He would not say that you planned to increase the dose to cause my death, but to me that is clear.’

Chloe realized that Tomarys had stayed loyal to her even in the face of unspeakable pain. He hadn’t told his torturers about training her in the arena, or about his gift of the amulet that even now hung around her neck.

Then her breath stopped. She felt as if she would be sick. Chills ran up and down her spine.

Tomarys’s head moved and he made a horrific gurgling moan.

He was still alive.

‘Dear gods!’ she whispered. Tears ran down her cheeks and she stifled a wracking sob. ‘Please . . . Dear gods!’

‘Rest in the knowledge that you did this to him, girl,’ Solon said, his low voice sounding somehow self-satisfied. ‘His pain is your doing.’

‘Please—’ Chloe said. She turned her moisture-filled eyes on the tall man beside her. ‘Please . . . Let me go to him. Let me say goodbye.’

Solon tugged on his pointed beard as he mused. He finally nodded to the guards on both sides of her. ‘Take her down to him. Let her see from a closer vantage.’

Chloe was barely aware of being led from the terrace and back through the throne room. Her guards took her outside, near the palace gates, and down a set of steps. Her feet were leaden as she walked, horror in every tread. She passed through a section of palace more functional than beautiful and emerged out into the open once more.

She approached the impaled man and looked up at him.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Chloe said.

Tomarys couldn’t speak; he couldn’t even turn his head to look at her, but she knew he could hear.

Glancing up to where Solon watched from above, she pushed the guards away. She walked forward until just a few paces from her friend.

Chloe knew what she had to do.

She wrapped a hand around her amulet and looked down as if praying. With a click the small throwing knife came free.

Chloe prayed then. For the first time in her life, she prayed to Balal, the god of war, for her aim to be true. She prayed to Aeris to grant her this one act of compassion.

With her eyes fixed steadily on his exposed neck, she drew in a breath. Chloe’s arm whipped down and she released the knife when the point was right on target.

The triangle of sharp steel flew through the air. It sliced into her bodyguard’s jugular and then fell back to the ground with a clang of metal on stone.

Chloe watched, stone-faced and red-eyed, as bright, fresh blood pumped out of the man’s neck, gushing in a torrent. Tomarys’s head stopped moving. His body became entirely still.

She was dimly aware of shouting men, running forward and holding her fast. She kept her eyes on her bodyguard until they dragged her away.

Solon snarled. ‘Throw her into one of the cells beneath the palace while I decide what to do with her.’ He then called out again. ‘My last gift to you, girl. I am assembling the navy. Do you hear me? We sail to war. Soon it will be your beloved father who writhes on the stake.’