Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) (20 page)

30

Dion couldn’t believe he was actually part of the crew of an Ilean warship. No amount of examining a beached bireme, or even a vessel under construction, could have given him the level of knowledge he was accumulating by sailing on one. The warship’s name was the
Anoraxis
, and it was a thing of beauty.

Dion and the other marines that formed the complement of soldiers under Captain Roxana generally remained above decks, but he was free to roam wherever he wished, and had already explored the vessel from top to bottom. He had inspected the twin tiers of rowing benches and assessed the length of the oars. After speaking with the master of the drum he had learned about the various tempos, from the slow rate used to bring the warship into safe harbor to the galloping rhythm used only when employing the sharpened bronze ram.

The big main sail that hung from upper and lower crossbeams fastened to the mast supplemented the power provided by over a hundred oarsmen. Halfway along the upper deck, the mast plunged through the two lower levels all the way to the vessel’s hull. But where a sailing boat of this size would have had a deep keel, the bireme’s draught was shallow, enabling it to be easily driven straight up onto a beach to unload soldiers on an unsuspecting enemy.

Soon after leaving Lamara the captain had tested the crew by performing maneuvers. Roxana had them turning one hundred and eighty degrees, all while instructing a slave that he wasn’t allowed to take a breath. When they’d completely turned around the slave was gasping, but he’d held his breath the entire time. The arc they had covered was no wider than three ship lengths. Dion couldn’t believe what he’d seen.

Roxana could sail the
Anoraxis
directly into the wind if she wanted to. She could alter its speed faster than any galley even close to its size. The captain’s intimate knowledge of the vessel and its construction gave her respect with the crew, despite the fact she was a woman.

Now Dion stood close to the bow, gazing ahead and scanning the horizon. He had his bow in his hand and a full quiver of arrows on his shoulder.

The
Anoraxis
was hunting wildren.

It was one creature in particular that they hunted. A serpent had been destroying fishing boats and devouring the contents: not just the catch but also the crews. The
Anoraxis
scouted the Maltherean Sea near the isle of Ibris, two days sailing from the coast of Ilea. It was the last place the wildran had been spotted.

Dion heard heavy footsteps on the wooden deck and Roxana joined him in scouring the sea. He glanced at her, taking note of the sun-blasted skin and short hair. She had an expression he knew well. It was the face of someone only truly happy at sea.

‘Nothing yet,’ he said.

‘Really?’ she grunted. ‘I thought perhaps you’d seen our prey but hadn’t found the right moment to tell me.’

Dion smiled. ‘She’s a beautiful ship.’

‘Got any more questions? The others only want to talk about the women they’ll buy with their bonus.’

‘They give the bonus to the entire crew?’

‘No,’ Roxana snorted. ‘Only to the man who makes the kill. They all think it’s going to be them.’

‘What if it’s the
Anoraxis
that makes the kill? That ram looks sharp.’

‘So it is. And you’re right; more often than not that’s how we do it with serpents. I get the bonus in that case, and I get to decide how it’s shared out. If’—she gave him an evil grin—‘I decide to share it at all.’

‘I do have one question,’ Dion said.

‘What now? You still want to know if it could take less than a year to build a bireme? I told you: it’s possible, but it would take more than just manpower and gold. There’s one final ingredient.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘Knowledge.’

‘That brings me to my question,’ he said. ‘How did you get to be both shipbuilder and sailor?’

‘Captain, you mean,’ she growled, but there was no menace in it. She peered ahead as she spoke. ‘I was a slave, apprenticed to one of the shipwrights. I learned things quickly. But why build ships and never sail them? The other captains talk about me. Say I’m too informal with my men. But as long as I have my own ship to command I’ll do as I please, and I’m too valued to punish.’

‘Are you wealthy?’ Dion asked, unable to hide his curiosity. ‘A shipbuilder must be prized.’

Roxana chuckled. ‘I’m still a slave. I share a house with seven others.’

‘Why are you here, then? Has Lamara always been your home?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m originally from Efu, in Haria. I sailed in the king of Haria’s navy before Solon’s conquest. Now I’m here, making and sailing ships for the sun king.’

‘Why fight for Solon?’

She fixed him with a puzzled look. ‘Besides Solon, who would have the resources to build ships? One day, I might even have the opportunity to build my dream.’

Dion thought he saw a spray of water in the distance, but decided it was just two waves colliding.

She glared at him. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me about it?’

Dion laughed. ‘Please, I want to hear.’

‘I want to build a trireme,’ she said. Roxana had a wistful expression that appeared out of odds with her broad face and brisk manner. ‘Like this ship, but with three rows of oars. Slightly longer, it would have to be, but with even more power and the same beam. Think about it. One hundred and eighty oars, all pulling the most deadly warship the world has ever seen.’

Dion shared her dream for a moment.

Finally, he spoke, choosing his words carefully. ‘You would be given that opportunity in Galea. In Xanthos or Phalesia.’

She grinned. ‘I thought you were from a tiny village on a tiny island with no name.’

Dion spread his hands. ‘I didn’t say it had no name. I simply said you wouldn’t know it. I’ve spent time in Galea, across the sea. You would be given a villa in Xanthos.’

‘I don’t believe you—’

‘Bahamut!’ a sailor cried.

Dion was puzzled, but Roxana returned his look calmly. ‘Sea serpent,’ she said. ‘Not as big as a leviathan, but big enough. This will be the wildran we’re chasing.’

Half the crew and all the marines on the upper deck now rushed to the rails, scanning the sea, until another sailor pointed.

Dion saw a gush of water shoot into the air half a mile ahead of the
Anoraxis
. A moment later a humped sea monster with glossy silver scales plunged back down into the water, revealing a long tail at the end.

Roxana left Dion’s side to take command of the ship, bellowing for the oarsmen to increase speed. The pounding drum below resounded as it increased tempo, thudding along to the rhythm of Dion’s pulse. As he clutched his bow he remembered the serpent he had killed as it wrapped its length around the sailboat off the shore of Cinder Fen. His first arrow had bounced off the leathery hide. But his second had proven true: the creatures could be killed by arrows.

It was close to noon and the sea was calm, with little wind to create waves. The island of Ibris formed a distant landmass, further impeding large seas. The regular dip and pull, lift and drop of the oars hauled the warship ever faster through the water. Despite the breezeless day a wind now gusted against Dion’s skin as he felt the thrill of the chase.

He thought again about the huge leviathan that had swallowed Cob, his old friend. In Xanthos the vessels that traded with Phalesia were at the whim of the wildren, but in Ilea, the wildren were actively hunted. It was a prospect only made possible by ships like these.

The serpent disappeared again for a time and now every man was peering into the water as well as scanning the horizon. Dion wondered if the creature would flee their approach, or would be bold enough to attack.

The question was answered when he saw a dark, sinuous shape speeding underneath the water. It was directly ahead of the bireme. The serpent was heading straight for them.

‘Dead ahead!’ Dion cried. ‘It’s under the surface!’

He nocked an arrow but the serpent was too deep. As the silver silhouette passed out of sight beneath the ship, deep enough to avoid the ram, he only saw that the creature was fat, and longer than the ship by half a length. White-faced sailors peered down, hanging over the rail as they wondered where it would next appear.

Making a guess, Dion raced along the open deck to the ship’s stern. He stood on his toes as he leaned against the rail.

Fifty feet behind the vessel and slightly to port, a scaled triangular head shot to the surface. Dion immediately drew the bowstring to his cheek and sighted along the shaft, aiming for the soft skin between its jaw and the frill behind its neck. Releasing the arrow, he grabbed another from his quiver and loosed again.

The first arrow tore into the silver flesh just behind the frill but didn’t sink deep. The second bounced off its skull.

More arrows filled the air a moment later as half a dozen archers fired together. The serpent plunged back into the water, thrashing its huge paddled tail in agitation.

‘Turn us around!’ Roxana roared.

Executing the turn at practice was one thing, but to be traveling so fast and then have half the oarsmen back while the other half continued to push forward made the vessel groan like a wounded beast. The
Anoraxis
heeled to the side and anything loose rolled across the deck.

The mast creaked alarmingly and Dion ran to the ropes holding the top of the sail to the upper beam. He knew the risk of the ship turning so hard while on sail: if he didn’t act quickly the mast could snap. He unhitched one line after another, careful of his hands as the whistling rope shot away once it was unfastened.

‘Get that sail down!’

Sailors ran to take over and with most of the work done he left them to it, earning a quick grateful nod from the stocky captain. He now ran to the bow as the chase began in earnest.

‘Ramming speed!’ Roxana cried.

With the turn complete, the drum increased to a beat so fast that Dion wondered how any oarsman could keep up with it. He heard a whip crack below and winced: a slave had just lost part of his skin.

‘Where is it? Come on, men. Talk to me!’ Roxana bellowed.

‘Dead ahead, cap’n!’ a sailor shouted.

The oars tossed the sea into white foam, leaving surging swirls in their wake. The marine infantry hefted their spears. Archers waited with arrows nocked.

The serpent shot out of the water ahead, nearly leaping in its haste, flying forward as its head again submerged.

‘Two hundred paces!’ Dion called back.

‘Sail back on!’ Roxana shouted.

He turned in surprise. It was a bold move, for the extra speed the sail gave them would come with a risk if they needed to turn at short notice.

He heard a snap as the sail once more climbed the mast. With the vessel at ramming speed, the bireme flew over the water, her prow carving the waves like a knife.

‘One hundred paces!’ Dion cried as the serpent reared out of the water, sending a cloud of spray into the air behind it as the thick reptilian monster plunged back into the sea.

Roxana ran to the bow and then back to the stern to give orders to the helmsman. The
Anoraxis
turned slightly to bring them into a direct line with the wide body of their quarry.

The head came up at seventy paces and Dion pulled his bowstring to his ear. He again aimed behind its jaw, and his experience on boats came to the fore as he calmly rode the motion of the vessel beneath him. It was a difficult shot, at the limit of his ability.

He released and watched as the string thrummed. Someone nearby cheered, and he felt a sudden surge of pride as the arrow struck home.

The serpent shivered and its entire body came to the surface and into the path of the warship. The head turned and wild eyes glared back at them.

A heartbeat later the sharp bronze ram of the
Anoraxis
met the creature’s silver scales behind its head, the sea frothing into blood as it struck. Dion saw the wildran’s body floating on the surface of the water as they passed. The bronze ram had almost completely severed its triangular head from its body.

Roxana came to the bow to join him.

‘Well done,’ she said. She clapped him on the back and grinned.

31

Chloe and Tomarys were once more in the bazaar, but this time she’d asked her bodyguard to take her directly to the hidden section at the rear. They passed droves of beggars, and numerous cloth sellers trying to attract them with rolled lengths of yellow silk. But it was earlier in the day than their last visit, and the crowds were comparatively thin.

The going was made even easier by the imposing man who walked at Chloe’s side. Tomarys still wore his leather vest and brown trousers; she had seen him in nothing else. Despite his towering height he walked with athletic grace. Even though he was unarmed, many people who would have intimidated or pestered Chloe drew back when they saw the man with her, averting their eyes and walking away.

‘Chloe . . .’ Tomarys said. It was the first time she had heard him use her name. ‘Now that we are away from the palace . . . I must thank you. For what you did for my brother.’

‘It was nothing.’

‘No.’ Tomarys turned and stopped in his tracks to look down at her. He gripped her shoulders with both hands. ‘It was not nothing. In another few weeks, perhaps a month, he would have been dead. Pyramid slaves suffer a fate worse than any hell.’ He spoke forcefully, with passion. ‘Fed worse than animals. Whipped until the skin slides off their shoulders. Dozens of bodies are thrown into the river every day, where they are eaten by the crocodiles.’ The tall man’s wide mouth spread into a smile. ‘Now my brother tends horses in the stables. The money I was saving to buy his freedom will now be used to pay healers to look after my mother. If my mother’s health improves my sister will be able to find work in the bazaar. And I have you to thank.’

Tomarys looked at his hands clutching Chloe’s upper arms and released her, suddenly embarrassed. ‘I am sorry, lady.’

‘It’s fine,’ Chloe said with a smile. ‘Shall we continue?’

He nodded, and followed her as she walked to the gap between the stalls leading to the decrepit square behind. A half-dozen beggars sitting in a semicircle on the floor stared up at the pair. Chloe’s gaze instantly went to the hut where they’d last found the old man drinking tea, but there was no one there. She knew that behind the shack was the long narrow lane where the boy had given them the soma flowers. She wondered what to do.

Chloe had managed to ease the sun king’s pain, but he had soon finished all the tea she could brew, despite her admonishment to eke out the medicine over a period of time. Now, just a few days after her last visit to the market, the sun king had given Tomarys silver and asked her to make more.

As soon as possible after being charged with her task, Chloe had left for the market. If she’d waited long enough for the magus to hear that she was buying more flowers he might have insisted on going with her, which was the last thing she wanted.

She had to buy more flowers. And this time she needed to find more than two.

‘We should not spend long here,’ Tomarys cautioned.

Scanning the area, Chloe wondered if she should look inside the shack. Slowly, she walked closer to the shadowy opening and called out. ‘Hello?’

Tomarys walked forward to stand slightly in front of her, holding her back with an arm, as they both spied movement inside.

The old man with the pockmarked face and hooked nose slowly emerged. He was licking each greasy finger in turn as he walked toward them, making grotesque sounds of enjoyment. He stopped in front of them and wiped his hands on his coarse brown trousers.

‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’

‘We need more flowers.’

He shook his head. ‘I have tar of heaven. That is what I will bring you.’

‘No,’ Chloe said. ‘I already told you last time. I need flowers. Many more.’

He looked up at Tomarys and then at Chloe, regarding her with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘You have money?’

Chloe nodded.

‘Wait.’

The old man turned and walked around the back of the hut. Chloe and Tomarys waited. The time wore on.

Chloe started to walk forward, peering around the side of the shack until Tomarys pulled her back. They continued to wait.

Finally, after such a long time that even Chloe was about to leave, she saw movement. The seven-year-old boy who had given her the flowers last time came forward, beckoning.

‘Come,’ he said. ‘This way.’

Following him they came to the back of the hut and saw the narrow alley. The boy skipped ahead and then turned around, continuing to wave them forward.

‘Let me go first,’ said Tomarys.

The tall, muscled bodyguard entered the alley with Chloe just behind. Once again they followed its interminable curve.

One moment the boy was just ahead, the next he suddenly put his head down and ran.

There was a sound of running footsteps from behind. Chloe started to turn. A man’s arm went around her neck.

He held her up on her toes and she felt sharp steel pressed to her throat. She couldn’t see his face, but she could smell his rancid breath. Tomarys stood looking at her, half a dozen paces away, trapped in the middle of the alley. Chloe saw another man approaching behind him. He carried a long curved dagger and was as lean as a pole, with a narrow face and a diagonal scar across his nose.

Tomarys stood with his back to the wall, Chloe held captive on his left and the second attacker on his right.

It had all happened in an instant. Chloe’s heart pounded in her ears so loudly that for a moment it was all she could hear. Fear clutched hold of her stomach; she forgot to breathe. Finally, she gasped. But she was terrified that the slightest movement would cause the sharp steel to cut her neck. Her chest rose and fell with an irregular rhythm, short gasps followed by great heaves as her lungs forced her throat to bring more air.

Chloe felt the blood drain from her face as she turned pleading eyes on Tomarys. Her toes barely touching the ground, she was trembling.

‘Give my friend the silver,’ the assailant with his arm around Chloe’s neck hissed to Tomarys, ‘or she dies.’

Tomarys’s eyes shifted as he looked from man to man. He was penned in the alley with opponents on both sides. His gaze suddenly shot to the right and Chloe saw a third brigand standing back, arms folded over his chest as he watched.

Making peaceful motions with his hands, spreading them out so they could see he was unarmed, Tomarys spoke. ‘My pouch has only copper.’ He moved slowly to touch the leather vest. ‘The silver is in here.’

‘Get it.’ Chloe’s captor clutched her harder, making her yelp as he pushed his knife harder against her throat. ‘Hurry up!’

‘There is no need to harm her,’ Tomarys said. ‘Here.’ With his right hand he reached into his open vest.

Faster than Chloe had thought a man could move she saw him bring out something small and triangular. He made a flicking motion with his wrist. Steel flashed through the air, on a direct path for Chloe’s head.

The grip around her neck melted away and she heard a gurgling sound. A moment later the brigand behind her crumpled.

Tomarys hadn’t stopped moving. His left hand reached inside the other side of the vest and he took out a small silver throwing knife.

The whipcord-thin man charged, his curved blade held high in the air.

Tomarys weaved around him and pulled his attacker’s extended arm forward, sending the man crashing to the ground. As the last of the attackers realized what was happening and ran forward to help, Tomarys crouched and tossed his knife. It struck the third brigand deep in the center of the chest. With a cry of pain the man sank to his knees and then fell to the side. Blood welled on his clothing and his eyes, staring directly at Chloe, began to glaze.

Turning his attention back to the scar-faced swordsman on the ground, Tomarys walked forward and saw that the sword had fallen out of the man’s hand. He was scrabbling on the ground, reaching for it. Tomarys stamped on his wrist and Chloe winced as she heard a sickening crunch. The swordsman rolled and moaned, staring up at his assailant.

Tomarys bent down and gripped him around the throat. He took the man’s shoulder in his other hand and grunted, his thick muscles bulging. With an expert twist, he broke the swordsman’s neck.

Finally, Tomarys strode to Chloe, staring past her shoulder and nodding in satisfaction when he saw there were no more attackers.

‘Are you hurt?’

Chloe tried to speak but choked. She tried again. ‘No.’

‘Good. Keep an eye out.’

She turned to the body behind her and saw Tomarys pluck his throwing knife from where it was embedded deep in the brigand’s eye. He wiped the blade of the triangular weapon on the dead man’s clothing and then returned it to his vest, before retrieving his other blade from the chest of the other assailant.

The struggle was over in seconds. Chloe was still trembling.

She looked away from the body at her feet as she watched Tomarys returning the last of his knives to his vest.

‘Look out!’ she suddenly cried.

A newcomer ran at Tomarys with sword held high. He must have been hiding around the curve of the lane. Tomarys was unarmed and crouched on the ground. She knew he would be killed.

Glancing up and seeing the danger, Tomarys shot to his feet and spun on his heel as the sword speared the air where he’d been a moment before. His hand was suddenly on the hilt of his enemy’s sword, and then as Chloe watched wide-eyed she saw the point come around until it was in the air. The swordsman cried out in pain.

And then the sword was in Tomarys’s hand.

He didn’t hesitate to strike, thrusting in a practiced way that told Chloe this wasn’t his first time holding a sword. He pushed hard, bringing the blade up into his opponent’s chest, holding grimly until he yanked the weapon out. Blood gushed from the man’s mouth and Tomarys stood back as he fell face forward, sprawling on top of his friend.

Tomarys threw down the sword and turned to Chloe. ‘We need to leave. Now.’

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she shook her head. ‘We can’t.’

‘Did you hear me? This is their place. More will come.’

‘Tomarys, we can’t go. I need the flowers. Please,’ she implored. ‘I need your help.’

He hesitated, aware that every second was precious. ‘All right. Come.’

Stepping past the four bodies, Chloe followed him to the end of the alley, where previously they had seen little more than an opening. They came to a crossroads, an intersection between four lanes, where sunlight overhead revealed a small square and a row of rickety shacks against the longest wall.

Tomarys entered the first of the huts and came out a moment later, shaking his head. ‘Roof fallen in.’

‘That one,’ Chloe said, pointing to the most structurally sound of the huts.

This time she followed close behind him as he entered. She knew she’d come to the right place when she saw tables with strips of tar drying on leaves. Tomarys looked at her inquiringly.

‘Keep moving,’ she said.

At the back of the shack she lifted the lid of a large ceramic urn. Inside were flower pods, dozens of them. Chloe searched the dark interior until she found a sack. Her heart raced as she tossed pod after pod into the sack while Tomarys stood guard outside. She’d only half filled the sack when he called out. ‘Voices. Quick. We need to go now.’

He held her by the arm as they left the way they’d come.

They made the journey back to the palace in silence.