Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(103)

‘Cinder Fen,’ he said softly.

At the base of the valley was an immense swamp. Gnarled trees emerged from a continuous stretch of dark murky water interspersed with the occasional muddy bank. Every second tree was blackened as if burned by lightning or flame. The quagmire went on and on, filling an area larger than Xanthos and Phalesia put together.

‘The ancient homeland of the eldren,’ Dion said. ‘They say that when King Palemon drove them out he intended to take their lands. But then it became like this.’

‘Come on,’ Chloe said. ‘We need to keep moving.’

The sky was still filled with dark clouds and they walked in shadow. The hazy sun had now passed to the escarpment’s far side and would soon be dropping into the sea. The going was easier now as they traversed the high side of the valley, but they were exposed and Dion knew they would soon need to find shelter. They passed the skeleton of a goat – its bones picked completely clean – reminding them both of the danger posed by furies and dragons, ogres and giants.

They searched as they walked, but by the time complete darkness came they still hadn’t found shelter. Eventually they could go no further, and they hunkered down behind some spiky bushes with dark leaves and thorns.

That night, Dion couldn’t sleep. He stared up into the darkness and tried to ignore the eerie shrieks and growls that seemed to come from everywhere. But despite the danger, one fear was strongest of all.

How far behind them was Solon?





50


More than a hundred oars rose and fell in unison, while the hoisted sail snapped and crackled in the gusting wind, causing the timbers of the mast to groan. Solon was aboard the Nexotardis as it carved through the waves, leading a flotilla of two dozen similar vessels. Soldiers filled the decks of every ship; they were heavy in the water and Kargan constantly fumed at the loss of power and maneuverability. Many of the oarsmen had been replaced by soldiers, who were both inexperienced and struggled in the harsh conditions. For once, the lash couldn’t overcome their fading energy: whipped soldiers wouldn’t be the best men to lead an attack on a strong city.

Solon understood these problems, but he also knew enough to leave them for Kargan to solve. He had his own struggle to manage.

The pain now filled his chest, sending stabbing needles into his bones and heart. The torment he’d once thought was more than he could bear was nothing compared to the agony he felt now. His soul was being drawn through the jagged gates of Ar-Rayan on its passage to the afterlife. He was being tortured on the way.

Yet as he paced on the upper deck of the Nexotardis he applied the iron control that had seen him through the difficult situations of the past. He allowed nothing of his agony to show. His limbs were filled with urgency and fire. His eyes burned with intensity as he kept his mind firmly on his prize. He had committed deeds that might weigh heavily against him when judged by the sun god, but he had brought the nation of Ilea to a new, golden age. He fixed his thoughts on the prize. When he died, his body would enter the pyramid and his magi and sun priests would perform the necessary rites. He would wake in paradise.

He visualized it now. A palace in the clouds would make his crude home in Lamara look like the dirty mortal residence it was. His carnal desire, which the pain had taken away, would return with force. He would have countless women in his harem, a different consort for every time the mood came upon him, some with the high cheekbones and ebony skin of faraway Imakale and others with the ethereal complexion of the Galean nations. He would have small-breasted girls with narrow hips and buxom women as tall as himself but with strong feminine curves.

His appreciation for food had also diminished, but in paradise his appetite would be insatiable. He would eat until he could eat no more, but unlike in the mortal world, he would suffer no ill effects. Rare birds and roasted meats would fill his stomach. Colorful fruits would sizzle on his tongue, tart and sweet.

The finest wines would trickle into his mouth, held in the hands of the gods. Solon would look down at the mortal world he’d left behind and bathe his radiant smile on the citizens of the great empire he had formed, who would worship him as a god. The other gods would raise him among them.

He had climbed as high as it was possible to climb in this world. He now planned to rise in the next.

Solon’s musings were distracted when the soldiers on deck suddenly cried out. They scattered, running to clear a space at the front as a huge one-eyed dragon swooped down from above to hover over the deck. The instant it landed, the creature shimmered as white smoke covered it in a cloud. When the cloud disappeared, Triton stood in its place.

Seeing Kargan cross the deck to the eldran king, Solon joined them.

‘No sign of the spy since the storm. The sea is clear. If there was a boat out here, we would have found it,’ Triton said.

‘How are your people faring?’ Solon asked as he approached.

Triton’s one good eye turned to the line of ships. The distance was too great to make them out, but there were a few silver-haired eldren on every ship, although Triton was the only one of his race to sail aboard the Nexotardis. The men always gave them a wide berth. The eldren didn’t seem to care.

‘Well enough. We are ready for the fight, if that is what you are asking, sun king. Just remember our—’

‘Serpent!’ a sailor at the bow suddenly cried. ‘Dead ahead!’

‘We will deal with it,’ Triton said. ‘It will cause you no problem.’