Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) (5 page)

7

‘Oh, no.’ Cob shook his head. ‘Not that.’

‘Come, Cob. You taught me everything there is to know about sailing. You’re up to the challenge, aren’t you?’

‘I have never done it, lad. And nor have you.’

‘Some of the fishermen do it all the time.’

‘And some of them don’t come back to their wives at the end of the day and are never seen again.’

‘I know you, old man. You are eager to try. I can tell.’

‘What makes you so certain of that?’

Dion indicated the harbor of Xanthos with his chin. Soon they would pass by the city altogether. ‘You’ve already agreed, else you would have turned us into the harbor rather than taking us past.’

Cob growled. ‘If I turned this boat, with the two of us working against each other, we’d capsize. The route through the Shards is a secret, to be reserved for emergencies.’

Dion’s smile became a frown. ‘Cob. This is an emergency. You know my father. If we go back to Xanthos we’ll never get another chance to try. And you know Peithon. He’ll advise against anything involving the eldren.’

Cob slowly nodded. ‘You have the right of it there.’ He looked up at the blue sky, still washed with a hint of gold after the recent dawn. ‘But what of provisions? We don’t have enough food and water for a full day’s sailing, and Phalesia would be at least that.’

Dion was at the midpoint of the boat and able to move more freely than Cob, who couldn’t take his hand from the tiller. Glancing down until the stumpy old sailor followed his eyes, he moved aside the bunched-up sailing cloth with his foot.

He revealed a large skin filled with water, flatbread wrapped in cloth, and two sealed jars. One jar he knew was filled with olives and the other with dried goat meat. The thought of the food made Dion’s stomach rumble as he once more covered the supplies with the sailcloth to ward off the worst of the sun.

‘You planned this?’ Cob spluttered.

‘Well, I didn’t just wish the supplies here.’

Cob proceeded to sink into one of his moods, so Dion left him to it. He knew the old man well enough to know he was eager to test their combined skills against the Shards; he was like Dion in that once he started sailing he never wanted to return to land. But Dion also knew Cob well enough to know that if Dion had mentioned the plan prior to leaving, he would have sought permission from King Markos or Nikolas. The old man would stop sulking when the danger began.

Dion recalled the route as he left Xanthos behind, following the isle of Coros at his left while the rocky mainland grew distant.

‘Go right at the Spire of Kor to the Great Shard,’ he muttered. ‘Follow the Coros cliffs, then left of the Twins.’

The directions sounded uncomplicated. He had spoken to more than one fisherman who had said that navigating the Shards was simple, provided one knew the way. The only caution he’d been given was to use oars rather than sail, for the wind was unpredictable and some of the turns were tight.

This boat wasn’t made for rowing; the oars were to be used only if something went wrong with the sail. Dion decided not to mention what the fishermen had said to his older companion.

Both the wind and the sea increased intensity as the boat approached the Shards. The series of jagged rocks was the reason that Xanthos had little to fear from an enemy navy, for they stretched across the entire channel until both Coros and the mainland fell away and the open sea began. Even sighting the Shards from a distance would strike fear into any captain. It was the route through the narrows in the opposite direction that was the official path to Phalesia and the open sea beyond.

Yet with the narrows blocked, one of the risks that made Dion so determined was that more vessels would start to take the hidden path, and that the secret route through the Shards would become known. There would be no Phalesia to protect Xanthos from raiders then.

Dion thought again about how the sea was the future. He decided to try breaking the silence with Cob.

‘Xanthos needs a real navy.’

Cob turned his gaze away from contemplation of the sea. ‘I will let you be the one to argue that out with your father.’

‘We shouldn’t just rely on Phalesia to protect us and give us the leavings of their trade. We need ships coming to Xanthos too, from Sarsica and Lenus, and from Orius, Tirius, and Parnos.’

‘And how will we make them visit Xanthos?’

‘We’ll build our own ships and go to their cities. Much of what they consider Phalesian produce actually comes from us. When they see what we have to offer they will come. Surely Father knows that an army costs silver, and the more silver we have, the better an army we can maintain?’

‘If I were Phalesian and you were a consul, you would have my vote,’ Cob said. He moved the tiller to adjust the boat’s course, shading his eyes with his hand. ‘Right at the Spire of Kor,’ he muttered.

‘There it is!’ Dion pointed.

It was a hundred feet ahead, a tall plume of solid rock, twisted like a potter’s mistake.

‘Bleed a bit of speed, would you?’ Cob asked.

‘If we slow too much we will lose steerage.’

‘Lad.’ Cob spoke in a tone that Dion had rarely heard him use. Looking to the rear of the boat, he saw the old sailor regarding him with gravity. ‘I let you have control before because this is your father’s boat and you know what you’re doing. But if we’re sailing the Shards, despite the fact that every fool knows it should be done with oars, I will be the one in charge.’

Dion met the man’s eyes and held them, then nodded. ‘Understood.’ He opened up the sail to allow the wind to brush past rather than pocket it.

‘Too much, a bit more on.’

Following the order, he pulled in the sail a touch.

‘Good. Well done, lad.’ Cob scratched at the stubble on his chin. ‘Have a look down.’

They were now approaching the Spire of Kor, and Dion had been fixated on the sight of the strange formation looming larger with every passing moment, but when he stared down into the water he gasped.

Rather than looking at a sandy ocean floor, such as existed in the harbor of Xanthos, or one filled with a carpet of smooth white stones, as in Phalesia’s bay, under the water here there was nothing but a field of jagged black rocks.

Dion was a capable swimmer and diver and knew that the water magnified what was below, but even so he had to suppress a shudder. Experience told him the rocks were at least a dozen feet under the small boat’s keel, but they still appeared far too close for comfort. Some were the size of his hand, others as big as the boulder that had sheared off the cliff back at the narrows. There were different types, with rocks that were smooth and worn by the passage of time, akin to the approaching spire, but most were sharp and jagged.

Cob took them to the right of the Spire of Kor and Dion knew that the next part of the course was to travel straight on to the Great Shard. He saw it in the distance, hazy on the horizon, and realized there must be a fair margin of error in the route.

‘On the sail,’ Cob said. ‘We’ll make speed now.’

They were well into the Shards and Dion saw more rocks that would challenge the Great Shard for its name. They poked like the tips of spears above the water, more of them on the side of the mainland than could be seen in the direction of the isle of Coros. The path they followed was clear, though, and there was a wide swathe of unbroken water to their left and right.

Dion’s heart had been racing, but now he felt calm. Xanthians had been using this passage for generations. They would make it safely through and then with a wind like this it would be plain sailing the rest of the way.

‘Wildren!’ Cob suddenly called.

Dion glanced back at his companion but the old man didn’t seem alarmed, merely pointing at some distant rocks, flat-topped and slightly angular to the sun.

Squinting, Dion finally saw them, half a dozen large man-sized shapes with their upper bodies out of the water, sunning themselves and evidently presenting no danger.

‘Oh,’ Dion said. ‘Only some merfolk.’

He looked for their scaled tails but the water was breaking on the rocks and he couldn’t make out much more than the silver hair and bare torsos of both males and females.

‘We should still keep an eye on them.’

Dion continued to watch the distant merfolk as the boat sailed past, heading for the Great Shard. ‘Hard to think that once they were eldren, little different from you and me.’

‘Eldren are nothing like you and me.’

The merfolk continued to ignore them. Dion thought about the times he’d felt primal rage or animal hunger overwhelm every other emotion. Was that what it felt like for an eldran when it turned wild? He vowed to ask his mother when he returned to Xanthos. Unlike some others, she could always be relied upon to discuss the eldren and their strange abilities with calm and reason.

An axe blade of black rock jutted out of the water ahead, as tall as the tip of the sailboat’s mast. He had seen the Spire of Kor from a distance before, but he’d never seen the Great Shard. He couldn’t believe how huge it was.

‘Left or right of the Great Shard?’ Dion asked.

‘The direction is simply: “Right at the Spire of Kor to the Great Shard. Follow the Coros cliffs, then left of the Twins.”’

‘I suppose that if we turn in the direction of the cliffs of Coros we will be left of the Great Shard?’ Dion asked hopefully.

‘Makes sense to me,’ Cob said. ‘This is going to take us across the wind. Are you ready?’

Cob pushed at the tiller, sending the vessel heeling as he turned it across the stiff breeze. The dark silhouette of the isle of Coros was a mile away, but with the wind now gusting and a new sail set the boat grew swifter with every passing moment. It rocked up and down on the waves, but despite the wind it was a fair day with no chance of a storm. Dion never experienced seasickness and he smiled, patting the boat’s gunwale as it met each wave head on.

Spray splashed his face, welcome and cooling in the growing heat of the day. The two men covered the next stretch in silence, crossing the channel to Coros in a surprisingly short amount of time before they changed tack again, following the cliffs. Dion kept an eye out for the Twins; he had no idea what they were supposed to look like.

‘There!’ He pointed.

The two waist-thick fingers of stone had initially appeared to be one, the distance between them barely six inches. They were tall and nestled together at the waist and the top, like two confidants sharing a secret.

‘Left of the Twins.’ Cob grinned. ‘Look how much room we’ve got. At least two hundred feet between the rocks and Coros.’

Dion whooped with him as they shot through and then they were free. They tacked one last time, and then it was clear sailing all the way to Phalesia.

8

It was late afternoon by the time Phalesia became more in Dion’s vision than just a landmass in the distance. He had never sailed from the southern tip of Coros, but both he and Cob were experienced at traveling by the sun and the currents, and when he entered the harbor and saw the Temple of Aldus on its tall summit, the highest point in the city, Dion felt a surge of pride at the successful transit.

He swept his gaze from left to right, comparing this city with his home. Phalesia was both wealthier and more populated than Xanthos, that was evident at a glance, but there was also a certain sophistication about Phalesia that Dion found it hard to put into words. The ceramics the city produced were artistic marvels, with pleasing shapes and stunning artwork no Xanthian potter could replicate. There were no less than four temples around the vibrant agora, and the other two huge civic buildings, the library and the lyceum, didn’t even exist in Xanthos.

His homeland could rise to this level and higher, Dion thought, if only Xanthos had Phalesia’s navy.

He dropped his gaze from the famed temple at the city’s edge, crowning steep cliffs that plunged down into the water. As his eyes traveled to the right, away from the temple and marble columns, he took in the villas of the wealthiest consuls that occupied the hills near the agora, high above the unpleasant smells of the crowded city.

Dion’s vision then came to the agora and the cluster of colonnaded temples on the surrounding high ground, each with peaked roofs and interminable marble steps. The market was as busy as ever, crowded with tiny scurrying locals, a riot of color from the swirling tunics of the men to the even brighter chitons of the women. On the seaward side of the agora was an embankment leading to a sloped wall that plunged to the stony shore.

Within the long curve of the embankment were villas, shops, and houses. Scores of fishing and trading boats were pulled up high on the shore below. The bay finally terminated in yet another set of cliffs, with a lookout tower located a dozen paces above the water’s edge.

But it was the vessels that interested Dion. After taking in the approaching city, glowing rose-colored in the afternoon light, he turned to point them out to Cob.

‘See the new Phalesian galleys? They’re building them bigger to hold more cargo and handle stronger seas.’ He pointed out a group of stout ships, fifty feet long, with a single large mast in the center and a smaller mast up front. ‘I wouldn’t want to face a score of archers firing from the deck.’

When Cob didn’t answer him, Dion glanced back at his friend manning the tiller. He had his eyes fixed on something far from the Phalesian galleys.

‘What are you . . . ?’ Dion trailed off as he followed the older man’s gaze.

He wondered that he hadn’t seen it at first, but it was at the extreme right side of the bay and he had been focused on the left.

‘That ship is not Phalesian,’ Dion murmured.

The Phalesian galleys were stout and strong, but they were small compared with the vessel that occupied its own private stretch of shore. Dion estimated that the length of the warship was at least seventy feet. It was beached far from the other vessels and rolled to expose one side, where swarthy bare-chested men were crowded so close together that Dion couldn’t see what they were doing.

‘Take us closer,’ he instructed.

Both men were silent for a time as their boat approached the foreign ship. Dion revised his estimation of the warship’s length, reckoning it was closer to eighty feet long, with a beam of about ten feet. It was nearly flat-bottomed, designed to be sailed during the day and beached at night, and although the central main mast was tall, he guessed that the power of the wind was intended to augment the oarsmen. The timber it was constructed from appeared to be pine.

‘Have you ever seen such a thing?’ Dion murmured.

‘My guess is she is not from our part of the world. One of the Salesian lands, I’d say. Look at the one directing them.’

They were now sailing close enough to make out individual faces and Dion saw a man with a barrel chest and curled black beard calling out orders to the workers. The commander’s yellow robe was unmistakably foreign, not the dress of Galea at all.

‘She must have been damaged in the tremor,’ Dion said. ‘They are repairing her. By Silex, look at her ram!’

The ship’s prow jutted out from above a painted eye, and Dion guessed there would be another eye on the other side. The prow curved inwards and followed the bow, where she would carve the waves, before curving again below what would be the waterline and spearing forward in a ten-foot-long bronze ram.

He thought about the damage such a weapon would inflict on another vessel. Suddenly he understood the full import of what he was seeing.

A foreign warship had come to Phalesia. And despite Phalesia’s sizable navy, this ship outclassed the Phalesian vessels in every way. The thought filled him with dread.

‘Take us closer still.’

The black-bearded commander was now staring at their small boat and glaring at its two occupants, his arms folded in front of his chest. Undeterred, Dion continued his assessment of the warship, feeling dwarfed by the monstrous rudder, which was as tall as the sailing boat’s mast.

It had three decks, two for the rowers, open at the sides with scores of holes for the oars, and an upper deck giving a roof to those below.

Dion realized the simplicity of the design and wondered that it was only now that someone had thought of such a thing. He murmured to himself more than to Cob, ‘A bigger ship is slower in the water, harder to move . . . makes it more difficult to increase to ramming speed. But more oarsmen create more power. So to keep the ship’s length and beam the same we add another row of oarsmen, so that one is on top of the other.’

‘It’s a clever design.’ When Dion glanced back at Cob he saw his friend was nodding as he spoke, but the wrinkles on his forehead showed concern.

‘I count thirty ports for oars,’ Dion said.

‘Your eyes are better than mine. So two rows of fifteen oars each.’

‘No,’ Dion said. Cob’s eyebrows went up. ‘Thirty ports to a row. Sixty rowers to a side. That makes a hundred and twenty rowers in total.’

Cob whistled. ‘Silex help us.’

‘I think we’ve learned all we can here. But we need to find out more when we get to the city.’

Working together, Cob and Dion turned the sailing boat back away from the warship, following the shore as they headed for a place closer to the embankment steps. As he searched for a clear patch of shore where they wouldn’t be in the way of the fishermen mending nets on the beach or the sailors scrubbing the decks of their galleys, Dion heard a voice calling out and glanced up.

A young woman was running out onto the rocky promontory on the harbor’s left side, below the Temple of Aldus high above. She waved her arms as she ran, gesticulating wildly, but her words were lost on the wind.

‘I think she wants us,’ Cob said. ‘She seems quite upset.’

Frowning, Dion nodded. ‘We had best see what it is.’

The woman clambered down the rocks until she was close to the water, heedless of the splashes wetting the hem of her fine indigo chiton. She lowered her arms when she saw that the sailboat was coming over.

She had near-black hair flowing to her waist, her thick locks blowing in the wind. The dark hair contrasted with her pale skin and framed a triangular face, with an upturned nose and a wide mouth. Around her neck was a copper medallion, and as the distance narrowed to several feet Dion recognized the symbol of Aeris, goddess of music and healing.

The woman was pretty, but in a haughty manner that was heightened by her present expression of blazing eyes and set jaw.

Recognizing her, Dion thought she’d grown since he’d last seen her, some years ago. She would be nineteen now, he thought.

They were close enough to hear each other. Cob turned the sailboat so that Dion came alongside the rocks.

Chloe, daughter of the first consul of Phalesia, was furious.

‘Get away from the Ilean ship!’

‘Of course, lady,’ Dion said. ‘Should I draw away now?’

Chloe clenched her fists, uncertain whether he was mocking her. Dion could see that she didn’t recognize him.

‘Before I do, could you tell me something about it?’ Dion asked. ‘You said the ship is from Ilea?’

‘We have an agreement. We are to stay away from it.’

‘You have my apologies, Chloe, daughter of Aristocles. I am not Phalesian and was not aware.’

‘Just stay away.’

Dion nodded gravely. ‘You have my word.’

Chloe turned her back on him and climbed back up the rocks. As she moved from rock to rock, Dion smiled at the damage she was wreaking on her chiton. Evidently she valued her father’s agreement with the Ilean shipmaster more than she valued her clothing.

‘Come on,’ Dion said to Cob. ‘We need to land.’

‘I’m surprised she didn’t recognize you.’

‘A king’s son.’ Dion grinned. ‘Arriving on a derelict sailboat with a stunted old man?’

‘Derelict?’ Cob patted the boat fondly. ‘She’s a good girl. I’ll award you the stunted part, though. But tell me, why didn’t you explain who you are?’

‘I wanted to see what she would say about the warship. And I would prefer to announce myself to Aristocles on my own terms. Preferably without her around.’

Cob chuckled, shaking his head.

‘Do you mind waiting while I find the first consul?’ said Dion. ‘I might be a while.’

‘I can find lodgings in the city if need be.’

Dion began to take down the sail as they approached a patch of pebbled beach. ‘I have to see if Aristocles will help us clear the narrows. I also have to find out what I can about that ship.’

Dion climbed the narrow steps leading up the sloped bastion from the harbor. The way was unguarded and soon he was making his way through the agora.

He turned to look back at the sea one last time, then found his gaze drawn to the summit of the cliff and the golden ark with the eternal flame burning brightly at the Temple of Aldus. There was only one approach to the temple, a series of precarious steps carved into the stone, leading from the top of the embankment and curving left and right as they wound their way up.

The sun was sinking in the west, melting into the horizon. Even so the agora buzzed with activity as he navigated the market stalls, passing cloth sellers displaying lengths of wool dyed a multitude of bright hues: orange, scarlet, emerald, and turquoise. The smell of rosemary and baking bread wafted from a vendor serving three consuls in white tunics. Phalesian ceramics stood on the alternating pink and brown paving stones, each jar, plate, or vase decorated with a unique scene, from daily life in the city to depictions of the gods. He paused to examine a stunning design of children at play, each boy or girl running around the circumference of a wide bowl, but moved on when the seller noted his interest
.

As he headed deeper into the marketplace the Temple of Aeris loomed ahead, each spaced column as wide as the stoutest tree. He watched citizens come and go with regularity, making offerings for the health of loved ones. He then returned his attention to the agora as a priestess of Edra slinked past, her gauzy chiton revealing tantalizing female flesh and her eyes lined with kohl. She gave Dion an appraising look, but he simply smiled and nodded and she turned away, looking for customers elsewhere.

Although the Temple of Helios was the farthest from the agora, it was as busy as always. Dion fingered the silver medallion with a trident in a circle that he wore on a chain around his neck. The shrine dedicated to his personal deity, Silex, the god of fortune and the sea, was down in the lower city; he doubted he would have time to visit.

As he wondered how he would find the first consul, his gaze traveled over the several hills dotting the city’s upper level, crowned by palatial residences, the homes of the wealthy. He knew one of the villas was the home of Aristocles, but he didn’t know which.

The market ended halfway into the agora, and now on his right there were steps leading upwards to the library and the lyceum. He had once visited the library and was awed by the thousands upon thousands of clay tablets, astonished that with nothing more than the simple act of reading he could find out the price of wheat on the day he was born.

He paused and rubbed his chin as he looked at the lyceum and the bronze statue of the god of justice just outside. Shaking his head, he continued walking. His father the king would be angry enough that he had visited Phalesia, let alone announced himself to the consuls.

Looking around, scanning the hilltop villas and the merchants’ homes below, he could see occasional signs of the recent tremor. It had evidently struck Phalesia much harder than Xanthos, but already men were repairing the buildings. The sight reminded him of his task. He knew that clearing the narrows would be worth risking his father’s ire.

Then Dion saw someone he knew. A stocky man in leather armor with a weathered face of crags and wrinkles was walking toward the market. He had an athletic build, square jaw, and dark, somber eyes.