Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(67)

With slumped shoulders the man on Dion’s right scowled at his two fellows and left.

‘Final target! Seventy paces!’

Even Roxana seemed to know that distracting tricks weren’t fair at such a distance. She tapped the archer on Dion’s left gently on the back. Knowing he had to be swift to be accepted, the Ilean drew smoothly and sighted in a heartbeat before loosing.

But his arrow struck the ground just in front of the target.

‘You’re out.’

Dion’s pulse was racing. As he bent to pick up another arrow his arms felt tight and his shoulders sore. He looked down at the ground – squinting into the sun made his eyes water.

The tap on his shoulder came an instant later.

Dion pulled and sighted, loosed and lowered. The watering of his eyes made him look down before he’d even had a chance to see where he’d made his strike.

He heard a roar of appreciation from the watching soldiers. Finally, looking up, Dion saw a white-feathered shaft sprouting from the center of the straw target. He lowered his bow as Roxana came to stand in front of him, her legs astride as she folded her arms over her chest and grinned.

‘Congratulations, Dion of No-land. You have gained entry as a marine archer in the sun king’s navy. The pay is two silvers a week, but acts of courage lead to bonuses starting at an extra silver. A dead wildran can buy a night with a woman even more comely than me.’ Her gaze flickered to the onlookers; she grinned as a raucous laugh greeted her words.

With the test over, the crowd began to disperse. Turning suddenly serious, Roxana took Dion by the arm and spoke for his ears alone.

‘Listen, Dion . . . I can tell you’re new to the city. There’s a warning I give all my men. Spend your money on women, drink, or even boys – it’s yours to spend. But if you’re offered tar of heaven, stay away. You might have noticed the wretches in the streets. Their lives are no longer their own. And if the sun king’s soldiers catch them in the act . . .’ Roxana shook her head. ‘Understood?’

Dion remembered the group of hiding youths he’d seen with the pipe. He didn’t know what tar of heaven was, but he had no desire to find out. ‘Understood.’

‘Good. Return tomorrow for orientation. Your real test will come soon.’





28


Chloe navigated the bustling bazaar, weaving around people in a bewildering array of costumes. Wealthy nobles stood encircled by private soldiers, given an enviable buffer from the heaving crowd. Old women in shawls glared at her as she pushed past; the locals, accustomed to the market, were unwilling to give ground to anyone. Strange sweet scents rose from stalls selling colorful spices, with bright powders and fragrant herbs displayed in baskets. The jabber of conversation and cries of hawkers created a cacophony of sound. The air was hot and sticky, so that she sweated in her chiton and wished she wasn’t forced to wear a shawl over her shoulders.

Beside her at all times – stern and unyielding, never letting her out of his sight for a moment – was her bodyguard, Tomarys.

Chloe glanced over her shoulder; he had no difficulty keeping up. He towered over her, easily the largest man she had ever seen. He was neither lean nor stocky, but had broad shoulders and a heavy build, with muscled arms as big as Chloe’s legs. He was brown-skinned and had whip scars on his shoulders, wounds she would never have the courage to ask him about. His face was broad, with thick lips and a wide mouth, a rounded nose, and deep-set eyes. Tomarys’s black hair was tied behind his head with a leather thong.

He wore a brown leather vest, open at his hairy chest, and coarse linen trousers. She couldn’t see any weapons, but it was obvious why he was a bodyguard. Her task of navigating the market was made infinitely easier by the man beside her radiating both strength and deadly grace.

Chloe finally had the freedom to enter the city, but she knew she could never escape Tomarys. Her only option was to befriend him.

‘You are a eunuch?’ she asked, looking up at him.

‘Yes,’ he grunted. ‘All who watch over the women must be.’

‘You are from Ilea?’

‘From Lamara. This city is my home.’ He scanned the bazaar, looking for threats. ‘Stay close. There are thieves in this area. Thieves and worse.’

Chloe had already run out of conversation; she had a difficult task ahead of her if she wanted to learn more about him. Her thoughts instead turned to her purpose in the market.

She had gained some freedom, but unless she could ease the sun king’s pain her liberty would be revoked. Intuition told her that Tomarys would never help her escape. But with freedom, an opportunity might come.

They passed the spice market and entered a section of ceramics. Glancing at the stalls and the countless varieties of jugs, bowls, plates, amphorae, vases, urns, and cups, Chloe decided that Phalesia possessed far greater skill with pottery than the nations of the Salesian continent.

‘Tell me about your family,’ she said.

‘My father is dead. My sister cares for my mother. My brother is a slave working on the pyramid.’

‘A slave?’

‘He incurred debts he could not pay. I hope to buy my brother’s freedom. Why are we here?’

Chloe realized they would soon be at the end of the bazaar. ‘I’m looking for something.’

‘If you tell me what you are looking for I can help you.’