Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(90)

In his mind’s eye he saw Chloe push her guard to the side and his shot go wild. He had taken a great risk to free her. Why did she help her captors?

From now on, she was on her own. As soon as he could, he would return home to Xanthos. The first consul’s daughter could remain a prisoner for all he cared.

He stood and looked around his small room. He wouldn’t miss Lamara. When he returned to Xanthos he would tell his father and brother about the things he had learned in his time away. He would find the best carpenters and shipwrights and start working on warships to rival anything in the sun king’s fleet. He would help Nikolas prepare strategies to prevent the sun king’s biremes making an easy landing.

As Dion prepared to depart he swayed slightly but decided he was able to make the journey. He dressed and put his quiver over his shoulder, then took up his composite bow. He was just about to leave when he heard light footsteps outside, and a moment later the round-faced boy who had saved his life drew the entrance curtain aside. Anoush grinned when he saw Dion up and about.

‘Master, you are well again. I have come straight from the harbor. Your captain gave me a message for you.’

Dion didn’t expect to see Roxana again, but he nodded for Anoush to continue.

‘She says that the sun king’s navy is being made ready, and asks if you are fit enough to join her on a great expedition. There will be glory and plunder. The ships will sail to a new land across the sea.’

Dion’s heart sank at the news. He thought quickly. ‘Did they name the land? Did you hear the name Phalesia?’

Anoush frowned. ‘No, that was not it. It was a different name.’

Dion’s eyes widened. ‘Xanthos?’

‘Yes.’ Anoush nodded vigorously. ‘Xanthos. That is it.’

He wondered how it was possible. Why would Solon’s fleet be sailing to Xanthos? The only route to the city’s harbor would take them past Phalesia. The Shards blocked the only other channel.

‘Are you certain it was Xanthos?’

‘Yes, master. They are sailing for Xanthos.’

Dion clenched his jaw. He wondered if there was something he could do to help his people. With his quest to rescue Chloe at an end, he now had to put his homeland first.

He was known at Lamara’s harbor. The guards would let him through. He had access to the sun king’s fleet.

He knew he had no choice.

Dion reached into the pouch at his belt, wincing as even the slight motion reminded him there were places that still hurt, and took out the last of his money: a silver coin and a handful of coppers.

‘Cup your hands,’ he instructed Anoush. He spilled coins into the boy’s palms. ‘I need you to do something for me. I want you to go to the bazaar, quickly, and buy me some lamp oil. As much as you can carry. Get tinder also. If there’s money left over it’s yours. Go, lad. Now!’

Anoush nodded and left swiftly to do his bidding. Dion paced and made plans, feeling the time passing far too quickly for his comfort. He decided he would head for the harbor at the end of the day, when most of the crews would have left. He had to be clever as well as lucky if he was going to leave Lamara alive.

He ate some dried fruit and drank water, feeling his strength return. His brow furrowed as he tried to understand the plans of Solon and his naval overlord, Kargan. Roxana had told Anoush they were sailing for Xanthos . . .

But how was that possible?

Anoush finally returned an hour before sunset. He struggled to make his way up the stairs as he carried a heavy satchel over one shoulder.

‘What is this for, master?’

‘Anoush, I cannot tell you. The best thing you can do is to forget you ever met me. We might not see each other again.’

Dion took the satchel and put it over his shoulder. Peering inside, he saw a bulging skin and a bundle of dry tinder.

He left his bow and quiver in the room; if he could, afterwards, he would return to get them. He still hurt, but he could do this. Pushing aside the last remnants of pain, he summoned his determination as he crouched down and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, Anoush.’

Without another word, Dion left the House of Algar. He walked with purpose, heading straight for the harbor.




The guards at the gate let him through unchallenged, and Dion soon found himself walking along the sandy shore. Passing the lined-up warships, he saw bireme after bireme, with barely enough space between them for a man to walk. They were all drawn up on the shore with just a section of stern in the water. Some showed activity, sailors scrubbing the decks and mending sails. But most of the vessels were still and silent; their crews were done for the day.

Dion headed in the direction of the rectangular hut that was the mess. A hood on the structure’s side funneled black smoke from the cooking hearth within. He saw a marine he knew and waved casually; Dion was just a man carrying supplies.

But inside, Dion’s nerves ran ragged. He couldn’t believe he was going to attempt this, but he could see no other option. He tried to keep calm, but his face was tight and drawn. He knew he still had a black eye and a swollen cheek. It didn’t matter; he wouldn’t be the only man in the sun king’s fleet to have a wound or two.

He entered the mess and scanned the room. The hearth fire was kept constantly lit, banked up twice a day. He saw a few dozen sailors sitting around tables as they ate and he nodded to them. There were hundreds of lidded stone jugs – any fleet needed vast quantities of drinking water – lined up one after another against the wall. Dion picked up an empty jug and strode directly to the open hearth. Taking the tongs, he covered his movements with his body as he placed coal after coal into the jug. He replaced the lid to prevent the giveaway of smoke rising from the container.