Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) (23 page)

35

Peithon, first adviser to King Markos of Xanthos, master of trade and the treasury, stood on the balcony of his majestic villa, hands on the rail as he gazed out at the city below.

The voice of the overseer droned on and Peithon was fighting to keep listening. Instead he was thinking about his home.

After the Royal Palace, it was the most impressive residence in the city, but Theodotus, the richest merchant in Xanthos, had just commenced work on a villa that would make Peithon’s home pale in comparison. Admittedly, the new villa’s position, while high, was less desirable than Peithon’s, which was both close to the palace and loftily raised from the stench of the poor. But what chafed most of all was that it would block the view he was currently enjoying. He could see it now – already the foundations had been laid and workers scurried to and fro as they erected the walls. He would be forced to watch as the first story went up, and then the second. The most skilled artists from Phalesia would decorate the exterior and design elaborate gardens. Statues would catch his eye whenever he looked from this vantage. People would remark on the residence of Theodotus where they had previously talked about Peithon’s home.

Something the overseer said caught his attention.

‘—going to halt work. I need a hundred pieces of silver just to keep going for another week.’

He was discussing the new harbor wall. It was barely a few inches high and didn’t yet cover the length of the city’s shore. Nikolas, the king’s eldest son and heir, had pushed his father to erect it, but workers were expensive, as was stone.

Peithon turned to face the frowning overseer. ‘You will get your coin when I have it.’

‘Stopping work will set us back,’ the overseer persisted. ‘It takes time to assemble a crew and explain what needs doing to the team leaders.’

‘Then don’t stop work,’ Peithon stated, spreading his hands.

‘They are family men. They need to feed their children.’ The overseer changed tone, his voice now inquiring. ‘Perhaps, lord, you can provide some of your own silver, just until the king’s money arrives? I heard in the city that you’ve just paid a sizable sum for an extension to your villa . . .’

Peithon’s eyes narrowed. Heavyset but tall, he leaned forward and jutted a pudgy finger with a thick silver ring as he spoke to the overseer. ‘Who am I?’

The overseer stammered, remembering his station. ‘You are the king’s first adviser.’

‘And who are you?’

‘I am a master of stone.’

‘Well, I am master of stone, timber, food, wine, coin – the list goes on. There are many items that require my attention and that make demands on the treasury—’

Peithon’s speech was interrupted when he saw one of his servants leading a slim man with neatly combed hair to the balcony. Recognizing Alastor, the king’s chief steward, he decided to close the conversation.

‘Tell your men to keep working. They will get their money when the king is ready. If they decide to halt, I will inform the king, and he will make an appropriate response. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, First Adviser. But the queen said—’

‘You spoke to the queen, rather than come directly to me?’ Now Peithon was truly furious.

‘She asked me about the progress on the wall,’ the overseer protested.

‘Everything comes by me,’ Peithon spat. ‘Everything. If you circumvent my authority again I will have you thrown out of the city. Your wife and children will go with you, and you will find yourself without a home, looking for work in a place where you have no friends.’

‘Yes, First Adviser,’ the overseer said mournfully.

‘Good. Now get out.’

Peithon scowled at the overseer as he left, but then smoothed his expression and turned to face the king’s steward.

‘Alastor, my friend. What can I do for you?’

‘Lord, you said you wanted to know about all messages that arrive for the king?’

‘I do.’

‘The silver . . . ?’

Peithon’s smile tightened. ‘Is your news worth silver?’

‘It is.’

‘Follow me.’ He led the king’s steward into the villa’s interior and retrieved a single coin from the ornate wooden box on a side table. He offered it, but when the steward reached out he drew back his hand. ‘The news?’

‘The news is from Phalesia. It is old, but we are only getting it now. The Ilean warship that was damaged in the earthquake . . .’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘Prior to the quake, as part of a larger fleet, the Ileans sacked three towns on the isle of Orius. They burned the houses, looted the temples, and raped the women.’

Peithon rubbed his chin as he murmured. ‘Then, damaged in the tremor, they had the nerve to ask Phalesia for help.’

‘The reports have convinced the Assembly. Despite the peace faction, they are preparing for war.’

Peithon mused, pondering these events, thinking about how it affected Xanthos and himself.

‘The silver?’

‘Here.’ Peithon handed out the coin. ‘You have done well. Keep this up and I will see you prosper. My position as master of trade is a very lucrative one. I am sure you understand.’

The steward hesitated. ‘I have more news. But this is worth more than one silver. It involves you.’

Peithon frowned. ‘How much?’

‘Five silver.’

‘If it isn’t as important as you say . . .’

‘Trust me, you will find it so.’

Peithon returned to the moneybox and counted out five silver coins, each bearing the impression of the eagle of Phalesia.

‘Lord, I overheard the queen bringing up uncertainties regarding the payments from the king’s treasury to the workers on the new harbor wall.’

Peithon kept his face carefully smooth, hiding his emotions. ‘Go on.’

‘It was difficult to hear. She said she has a witness, a merchant, who will prove the validity of what she says.’

Fear clenched his stomach but all he did was murmur. ‘Who is the witness?’

‘I do not know. The king saw me nearby and asked me to leave.’

Peithon forced a smile. ‘Here is your silver. I am pleased you have brought this to my attention. Never fear, Alastor. This misunderstanding will be cleared up.’

‘Lord.’ The steward bowed and departed.

Peithon wondered if he had left any loose ends. He had carefully cultivated strong alliances with the merchants, who stood to benefit as much as he did from their arrangements. He murmured names and considered each man in turn. Who would betray him? Who would stand to benefit?

He decided it was time to see the king.

Peithon found the king and his queen out on the Orange Terrace, sitting on the stone benches and staring out to sea. Their heads were close together; they stopped speaking when he approached.

Markos smiled and stood, fixing a warm expression of welcome on his closest adviser. Although stooped, he still had the frame of a warrior, and there was no thinning of his thick, curly white hair. His matching beard covered his mouth but didn’t hide the small scar on his left cheek.

Peithon remembered when the king had taken that wound, long ago in the war against Tanus. Once they had both been young men, strong and invincible, with the athletic builds of the world’s finest warriors. Markos had been ten years Peithon’s senior, but a strong friendship had grown. He remembered how close they had been then.

Now Markos’s shoulders were hunched while Peithon’s muscle had run to fat. Time had passed. This world was a different place.

‘Peithon,’ the king said. ‘Please, sit with us.’

The queen didn’t stand, nor did she speak or smile. Over time Thea had poisoned the king against Peithon, and she now had her husband’s ear, whispering slurs against him, the king’s most loyal companion. Peithon felt rage build within him, both at Thea and her policy of befriending the disgusting creatures who had robbed him of a bride, and at Markos, who appeared to have forgotten the strong bond they once shared. He suddenly wanted to hurt them, to make them acknowledge that he deserved to be more than a glorified merchant.

Peithon remained standing. ‘King Markos, Queen Thea, I heard the news. The sacking of Orius was only the beginning, I fear.’

‘Word travels fast,’ Thea murmured.

‘You won’t sit?’ Markos asked, returning to his seat.

‘No, sire. It seems that I have many tasks ahead of me if we are to prepare for what might come.’

‘Yet still no word from Dion,’ Thea said, gazing out to sea. ‘It has been weeks since he left on his foolish quest.’

‘We all fear for him,’ Peithon said. ‘We must assume he is safe.’

‘So what are your thoughts, Peithon?’ The king turned his steady gaze on him.

‘They are going to return to attack Phalesia. I have no doubt.’

The king’s eyes widened with surprise at his conviction.

Thea frowned. ‘All we know is that they raided Orius.’

Ignoring her, Peithon spoke to the king. ‘The sun king’s men slaughtered our neighbors, our countrymen – Galeans all of them – before making threats to Phalesia and seizing the first consul’s daughter. We must send the army to help reinforce Phalesia’s defenses. Our soldiers need to train with theirs, and our officers should advise the consuls in preparation for battle. Our allies need our help.’

‘It would leave Xanthos defenseless,’ Thea retorted. ‘Who are you to advise the king on military strategy?’

‘Now, wife,’ Markos said, holding up a hand. ‘Peithon is a warrior first and foremost. Just because we are old men with new responsibilities does not mean we have forgotten who we were.’

Keeping his expression sincere as his gaze turned from the king to his formidable queen, Peithon thought about how much he hated her. The king had needed a second son, he understood that, but somehow this woman with no people and no home had wormed her way into his graces. She had betrayed the memories of her countrymen, slaughtered by wildren, by refusing to take the fight to the eldren they once were. Eldren once fought humans for control of the world. They were just biding their time before the war began again. If he were king—

‘Sire,’ Peithon said, revealing nothing of his thoughts. ‘The Shards protect our flank. Any attack from the sea must go through Phalesia to reach us here in Xanthos. Phalesia must be strong. Her navy and our army are all that will prevent our mutual destruction. We must combine our forces, sooner rather than later. The Ileans could arrive at any moment. The sun king is too powerful for either of us to face alone.’

Markos scratched his beard as he mused. Finally, he turned to Thea. ‘I am sorry, wife, but Peithon speaks sense. I’ll tell Nikolas to take the army through the Gates of Annika to Phalesia. We can always recall them if we have need.’

‘The men will need supplies.’ Peithon bowed. ‘By your leave?’

‘Of course,’ the old king said.

Leaving the terrace and walking through the arched entrance to the king’s audience chamber, Peithon glanced at the high-backed wooden chair that was the king’s throne.

Peithon had made inquiries. Even working together, Xanthos and Phalesia would never be able to hold out against the might of the Ilean Empire. Challenging the sun king was foolhardy in the extreme.

He thought about the message he would send. He had a captain in mind who would make the journey for silver.

The king would send Nikolas and the army to Phalesia. Xanthos would then be a very tempting target for the Ileans.

The secret route through the Shards would soon be secret no more.

All Peithon had to do was keep the army away from Xanthos until the sun king’s soldiers arrived.

36

The old arena was now familiar to Chloe; this was her fourth visit in as many days. She was no longer in awe of the empty seats, filled with ghosts of the past, watching savage combat and howling for blood. Instead, she now saw it as her training ground, the place where she transformed from a healer and musician into something else altogether.

‘Come,’ Tomarys said. ‘I will crouch down, and you grab hold of my hair. People often use this to cause pain and immobilize an opponent, but I will show you how to take back control.’

She walked up behind him and with her right hand took a fistful of his dark hair, tied back behind his head with a thong. She grabbed it close to the root as hard as she could.

‘Argh,’ he grunted. ‘That hurts.’ She started to relax her hold. ‘No! Do not soften. If a man takes you like this, he will not be gentle.’

She gripped hard once more.

‘I will show you the move quickly, and then I will show it slow. Here it is.’

He slapped his hand down on hers, trapping her palm to the top of his head. He then brought his other arm into play and whirled. Chloe felt a burst of pain in her wrist. If he’d used all his strength, he would have broken her arm.

‘Did you see?’

‘Not really,’ Chloe admitted.

‘Slowly this time. Take my hair again. Good. Now watch. I clasp my hand over yours. This takes away your power to yank hard, immobilizing me with pain. That is the first step. I then crouch, sinking lower. This removes still more of your power to pull my hair, while removing some of your leverage. Your arm is no longer strong in this position. It feels awkward, does it not?’ He paused. ‘We will stop here. This is the important part.’

Chloe examined their postures. Her hand still gripped his hair, but he had his right hand on top of hers. He had allowed his body to sink, meaning her arm was angled more than it had previously been
.

‘Now I still have one free hand. So I stiffen my hand like a knife. I bring my left hand behind my head, up and across. I place the knife between your hand and your wrist, where there is a joint.’ He moved accordingly. ‘Your arm is now mine. I spin, using the full force of my back and shoulders. I will do it slowly.’

He turned, keeping his stiffened hand against the joint of her wrist, still holding her hand clasped against his head. Pain grew in Chloe’s wrist, even with Tomarys moving at a snail’s pace.

‘The assailant now wants only to be free of the pain. When I complete my spin, even if I haven’t broken his arm, he will be nursing his hand. That is when I attack.’

Chloe nodded as he finished the spin until he was facing her.

‘Your turn now. I am taller than you, so you do not need to crouch. I will come up behind you and grab the hair on the top of your head.’

He gripped Chloe hard, making her wince. She slapped her hand down, crouched so that she was moving into his body behind him, then brought her stiff left hand up, inserted it into the joint at his wrist, and spun into him. Tomarys had no choice but to let go as she whirled to face him. Even if Chloe couldn’t break a man’s arm, she could get herself free of such an attack.

‘Good!’ He smiled. ‘We will practice it more over the coming days. I have one more movement to teach you. An easier one this time. Face away from me again.’

Chloe complied. Tomarys came up behind her and suddenly grabbed her right wrist. He twisted her arm up behind her back. She grunted at the sudden pain.

‘Many people use this hold. It is extremely common, so it is a
good one to know how to get out of. It is a matter of instinct. You want to pull away, but pulling in the direction your mind tells you to go in simply adds to the pain. Here is the key. As soon as you can –
ideally surprising the man who holds you – turn in the direction of your free arm. The easiest way to remember this is to rotate and swing your free elbow at your enemy’s head. As you turn, you bring your entire body to bear against the force of one man’s hand. The hand being held moves away, reducing your opponent’s leverage. The key is to use surprise. You are a woman, and surprise is your key advantage, for they will not be expecting you to have any skill or power. Try it now.’

Sure enough, when Chloe turned, the pain of the wrist twisted behind her back decreased rather than increased. She made a point with her elbow and freed herself as she whirled.

But her raised elbow didn’t come close to touching her bodyguard’s chin.

Tomarys grinned. ‘Do not worry – my height is rare. Your elbow will likely strike a man’s mouth, causing him a great deal of pain. If you are skilled, you could even strike his throat. We will practice that move in addition to the first. I will also teach you some basic swordplay. Remember, you only need to know enough to kill a man after taking his weapon.’

Tomarys looked up at the sky.

‘Now, before we go, I have a gift for you. You wear a copper chain around your neck, but the chain is bare.’

Chloe’s brow furrowed as he reached into the pouch at his belt and withdrew a heavy copper amulet. He handed it to her and watched to see her reaction.

The amulet of shiny red metal had the circumference of a large cup and was perfectly circular. Within the circle was an open child’s palm, the fingers slightly curled so that the child held what appeared to be a sheaf of wheat. The sheaf had a narrow stem and was pointed at one end.

Chloe wondered how she should react.

‘Tomarys . . . This is a fine gift. But I fear angering my deity. This is the symbol of Edra, goddess of love, fertility, and children. I worship Aeris, goddess of music and healing.’

‘I know,’ Tomarys said, his arms folded over his chest as he grinned. ‘But the symbol of Aeris didn’t suit my purpose. Examine it.’

‘Wheat is the symbol of fertility . . . It appears I’m asking Edra’s blessing to conceive.’ Chloe looked up, perplexed, but smiling. ‘Thank you, Tomarys. This is the first kind gesture anyone has made since I was first taken from my home.’

Accepting the gift, she unclasped the chain from around her neck and threaded the amulet through the little hoop at the top, before once more fastening the necklace. The amulet was a little large for Chloe’s taste, and now hung below her neck, just above her breasts.

Tomarys’s grin broadened as he reached forward and did something to the amulet. A moment later he showed Chloe the sheaf in his palm; he had completely removed it from the rest of the piece.

It was tapered and sharp on the underside. Chloe’s eyes widened as realization dawned.

‘It is a small throwing knife, made of bronze, rather than copper, for bronze takes a better edge. Practice with it as much as you can.’

He showed her how to place the decorated knife back in the child’s open palm. Tomarys then glanced up at the sky again. He opened his mouth, hesitating before speaking.

‘Listen, Chloe . . . I plan to get my family out of Lamara, but it will take some weeks. I want to leave the sun king’s service and be with my family, far from here, and you should be with yours. I hope to be ready before Solon returns. For now, we need to bide our time.’

‘Tomarys—’

He held up his hand. ‘This is only possible because of what you did for my brother. He, too, wishes to be free.’

Chloe saw that the timbers of the dilapidated rail around the arena floor cast long shadows on the sand.

‘We should leave,’ Tomarys said. He smiled. ‘Every day your skills improve. Perhaps one day it will be you who protects the weak from evil men.’

Chloe laughed aloud when she heard these words of praise from the toughest man she’d ever met.

The journey back was uneventful, with Chloe examining her new amulet as she walked. The usual beggars cried out to her when they thought they were out of her bodyguard’s earshot. The stench of refuse and human waste rose from the sides of every street and alley of the poor quarter.

A particularly persistent street urchin came up and grabbed Chloe’s chiton. ‘The curious sailor is at the House of Algar,’ he said, looking at her with wild eyes as she tried to fend him off. Tomarys sent him sprawling with a shove.

The words were so strange she assumed the boy must be taken by madness. She thought nothing more of the encounter.

The one stab of fear came when she passed the palace guards and wondered if they would take note of her new amulet; it would be difficult not to notice it. But as Tomarys said, sometimes the best hiding place was in plain sight.

They passed through unchallenged. Chloe was one step closer to freedom.