Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(36)

‘This banquet is not over!’ Kargan rasped as he returned. He sank down again beside Aristocles. ‘I nearly forgot! Your daughter plays the flute, does she not? Did she bring her instrument as I asked?’

When Aristocles hesitated, Kargan barked at Chloe, ‘Play, girl.’ He waved his arms to the people nearby. ‘Quiet, all of you!’

Chloe unwrapped her flute and placed it to her lips. She commenced a bright melody often performed at feast days.

She had played for only a short while when Kargan put his hands over his ears and grimaced. ‘Enough! Save my senses!’

Chloe winced and stopped playing. She wrapped her copper flute once more in cloth and stood.

‘Girl, why don’t you dance instead?’

Chloe gave Kargan a look that he barely seemed to notice. She walked away from the carpets and cushions, heading for the ramp and the shore.

‘Chloe.’ Aristocles tried to stand. His head was throbbing from the wine. ‘Lord Kargan, I must protest—’

‘Not so fast, First Consul.’ Kargan clapped a hand firmly around Aristocles’ shoulder. ‘Not while the stars still shine. More wine! More food!’




Finally, the last star left the sky and the horizon began to glow. Aristocles, Nilus, and the other two consuls lumbered across a deck filled with lolling Ileans and made their way to the gangway at the bow.

Kargan saw them to the ramp and then clapped Aristocles on the back. ‘I foresee good relations between our peoples, First Consul.’

‘I wish you safe travels.’ Aristocles struggled to make the words. ‘And I must apologize for my daughter’s hasty departure—’

‘Bah,’ he said. ‘It is nothing. Girls her age are often headstrong, which is why they need husbands.’

‘Well . . . It has been a pleasure . . .’ Aristocles mumbled.

‘Your soldiers will escort you back to the city. I saw a pair with your daughter earlier. She will be home and safe.’

Aristocles nodded, his attention consumed with the prospect of making it safely down the gangway. As he reached the pebbled shore where his fellow consuls waited, he turned back and ran his eyes over the warship one last time.

The Phalesian soldiers came to join the group and together they followed the shore back to the steps below the agora. Aristocles heard one of his stumbling companions cough as he was violently sick and his own stomach writhed in response.

When they finally reached the embankment they heard the blast of a horn and gazed back at the Ilean ship; the Nexotardis was already moving.

A multitude of oars hauled at the water, tossing it into foam with synchronized motions, sending the ship forward with astonishing speed. The sail went up.

‘They’re gone now,’ Nilus said. ‘Thank the gods.’





16


Dion picked up a bulging water skin, his muscles groaning as he carried it from the sandy shore to the large vessel rocking on the waves. He plunged into water up to his knees and handed the skin up to bald-headed Cob, who carried it to the bow and nestled it in the sheltered section with the other supplies.

His jaw cracked as he stifled a yawn; it was just after dawn; they were leaving early to catch the outgoing tide and give them plenty of time to sail to Phalesia. The water was warm on his legs and a sea breeze blew gently on his face, cooling his tanned skin from the already radiant sun. He wore a well-made white tunic suitable to both sailing and trading.

Dion made way for a wiry man twenty years his senior to get past and nodded. Sal, a longtime friend of Cob, nodded back, handing up still more supplies to the old man. As Dion headed back to the beach for more provisions he saw the last two men who would be crewing the twenty-foot sailing galley – his father’s biggest ship – newly arrived.

‘What orders?’ a slim youth with his first growth of beard asked. Dion saw he had a scabbarded sword in one hand and a stuffed satchel in the other.

‘Riko,’ Dion said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Glad you could make it. Get your things into the boat, and then help us load her up.’

‘Not much in the way of provisions,’ said the second man, Otus, a tall brawler with a broken nose.

‘We’re only going to Phalesia. If we’re traveling further we can get supplies there.’

‘Will we be there tonight?’ Riko asked.

‘No,’ Dion said. ‘The wind’s against us. We’ll have to beach tonight on the far side of the narrows.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Otus. ‘Come on, lad.’ He inclined his head to Riko.

Shielding his eyes, Dion saw his mother waiting on the grassy bank higher up. He looked for more figures but felt a surge of disappointment when he saw that she was the only member of his family who had come to say goodbye.

As he climbed the beach he felt sad. He hadn’t expected much more from the king, but it was unlike Nikolas to let him go without a word of farewell.

‘Mother,’ he said, ‘it’s time to go.’

With her typical lithe grace, she came forward to embrace her son. ‘I don’t know if you are departing on a long journey or not. I wish I knew.’

She continued to hold him by the shoulders as he scanned the area, trying to hide his emotions but failing.

‘Father . . . Nikolas . . . They’re both busy?’