They exchanged glances. ‘We need this horse,’ Dion said.
He walked slowly toward the mare, his arms spread peacefully as he made soothing sounds. He’d always been good with horses, and the horse allowed him to carefully take the bridle. Chloe came to join him and together they untangled the rider. The body fell to the ground with a heavy thump, startling the horse, making the ears go back and nostrils flare.
‘Shh,’ Dion soothed. ‘She’s thirsty,’ he said to Chloe.
Leaving Chloe holding the bridle, he found a depression in the stone and poured the last of his water from the skin.
‘Bring her over.’
The mare drank greedily. Glancing up, Dion saw Chloe watching him.
‘We both know you should take her,’ she said.
Dion tried to protest, but Chloe held up a hand. ‘Xanthos is further than Phalesia. We’re past the threat of wildren now. You need to warn your father. I’ll get to Phalesia and we’ll send out the fleet.’
‘But you—’
‘We don’t have time to argue. The road continues for a time and then forks at the city. The right-hand path continues along the high ground to the Gates of Annika.’ She met his gaze with a steady stare. ‘Go.’
‘Chloe . . .’ Dion said. He hesitated. ‘I—’
‘There is a traitor in your father’s court. If Xanthos is not yet under attack, it soon will be. Solon has eldren fighting with him. Go!’
Dion looked at the mare; the horse’s spirits had improved with the slaking of its thirst and the removal of the dead rider. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and hoisted himself up onto the saddle of cloth spread over its broad back. From his new height, he could see that the road stretched on and on.
‘Good luck,’ Chloe said.
‘And you. Get to your father as quickly as you can.’
Dion dug in his heels, urging speed into his mount. He glanced over his shoulder once, seeing Chloe growing smaller and smaller, her hand raised in farewell.
And then she was gone from sight.
52
Dion had never ridden so hard. He gave both himself and the mare no respite, kicking her ribs every time she flagged and keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead.
He passed way stops for travelers and watered the horse twice more, but always he pushed on, never taking food himself or allowing his mount to graze. The mare’s entire purpose was to get him to Xanthos as swiftly as possible. If he killed her as a result, it didn’t matter. The promise of saving his homeland and his family’s lives would be worth it.
He rode all through the day and night, and early on the second day he came to the fork in the road. Gazing at the city of Phalesia below, spanning the wide curve of its harbor, he saw a scene of utter normality. Fishing boats dotted the blue water and galleys headed out on a day’s patrol. The walls on the landward side showed little activity, while within the boundary the clay-tiled roofs of the houses clustered around the winding streets and alleys, obscuring the everyday movements of the city folk. He could see the agora hugging the embankment and the glistening structures of white marble around it. The largest of them – the lyceum – stood proud and tall. The peaked roof of the library crowned rows of sturdy polished columns. The sight of the city made him finally realize he was back in Galea.
Tearing his eyes from Phalesia, Dion took the right-hand fork, following the high ground. As he passed farmland on sloping hills at his left and rugged pastures with clusters of milling goats on his right, the ground began to climb.
Two farmers stood by the roadside ahead. Rather than working, they were grumbling, arms folded over their chests as they looked at something below.
Reaching them, Dion suddenly reined in. He felt the blood drain from his face.
The farmers were looking at a large military encampment, evidently muttering about the rapacious appetites of soldiers. Taking in the size of the camp, Dion saw red pennants flying above tents.
He realized he was looking at the army of Xanthos.
Nikolas had brought his army where it would be close at hand if it was needed in Phalesia. With the Shards protecting Xanthos and the sun king’s desire for the Ark of Revelation, everyone thought the Ileans would come for Phalesia.
After all, Xanthos could be assaulted only if Phalesia fell first.
Dion could even make out his brother’s flag, crimson bordered with black, rippling in the breeze as it flew above a large tent. Down in the city he realized he could see red-cloaked soldiers manning Phalesia’s walls, side by side with warriors in blue.
Xanthos was undefended.
Fear taking hold of his heart, Dion slipped off the horse and cried out to the farmers. They turned, surprised, and saw a haggard young man in foreign clothing, dragging a horse by the bridle as he ran toward them, calling out and waving.