Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)

‘Everything will be well, brother,’ Dion said. ‘He’s a strong lad, and waves his toy sword at anyone who comes near him. The magus will choose rightly. He’ll make a fine warrior.’


Dion looked across the room at Nikolas’s black-haired seven-year-old son, who was dressed in the naming gown, a special garment he would wear only today. The crimson tunic was oversized on his small frame and he looked overwhelmed by all the attention. Nikolas’s statuesque blonde wife, Helena, was beside him, crouching and arranging the folds of his tunic as she smiled and spoke to Dion’s mother. Thea chuckled as she assisted Helena. The women stood clustered in a group close to the empty center of the room and apart from the men. There was an air of expectancy to their posture; they were evidently nervous as they awaited the magus.

In contrast, Dion’s father sat near the cooking hearth with his old comrades, paying the women little attention as he laughed and waved his cup with stabbing motions, evidently reliving some past battle. He made an overly ambitious swipe and nearly fell from his recliner, as inebriated as Nikolas. A servant scurried to help him up while the scarred soldiers with him roared and stamped their feet on the floor.

Peithon formed another group, in company with two of the city’s richly dressed merchants and a burly old man with an iron necklace who oversaw the quarries and mines. They were deep in discussion, and the plump first adviser to the king was sober-faced as he prodded his palm with the tip of a thick finger.

‘Tell my wife to come over,’ Nikolas suddenly barked. ‘I want to talk to my son again.’

‘Leave them be,’ Dion said, smiling as he sipped from his cup. ‘He’s as prepared as he’ll ever be.’

‘He soon won’t be Luni anymore,’ Nikolas said. ‘He’ll be given a man’s name. How will he fare when they put a real sword in his hands? Will the other boys consent to his leadership?’

A servant bent down to refill Dion’s cup. ‘There’s only so much you can do, brother. His fate is in Balal’s hands.’

Nikolas turned a bleary gaze on his younger sibling. ‘I sacrificed this morning and prayed at the temple.’

‘Then you have done all you can.’

‘Listen, Dion. When I am king I will help you build your navy.’

Dion smiled. ‘You’re drunk,’ he said again.

‘Truly,’ Nikolas insisted. ‘Peithon agrees that we need one. You have a place here, and a part to play. I will give you—’

‘Hush!’ someone called out. ‘The magus is here!’

Gradually all conversation came to a halt, and the musicians in the corner ceased playing. Those standing near the stairs to the ground level parted.

A withered old man in a black robe came into view.

As the people around him drew back in sudden awe, he walked with slow footsteps taken laboriously, one after the other. All eyes were on him but his head was down and the cowl of his robe was over his head, so that only his sharp nose could be seen. His hands were clasped together, the white skin contrasting with the long black sleeves.

His breath rasped as he walked and shuffled. Finally, he came to stand in the cleared area in the center of the room and lifted his head. He pulled back the hood of his robe.

The magus wore a heavy black chain made of thick rings around his neck from which hung an iron medallion, the size of a dinner plate, displaying an embossed flame in a circle. Wisps of white hair crowned his wrinkled scalp and when he turned to cast his eyes over the assembled gathering his stare was intent.

The rug that usually covered the floor was gone, leaving the dark stone bare. The magus began to hum, a singsong chant that rose in volume as he took a piece of pale chalk and started to draw.

He drew a long white line, five paces in length, and then turned at a sharp angle to draw another, connected to the first. His chant now formed words, but they were in a strange language that caused the hairs to rise on the back of Dion’s neck. The magus chalked a third line and then a fourth, until he had drawn a diamond in the middle of the banqueting hall.

Dion glanced at his brother, who now looked completely sober as he sat bolt upright and watched the magus at work. The magus moved to stand inside the diamond and lifted his arms.

His voice never ceased as his chant increased still further in volume. Dion heard the names of the gods interspersed in the chant: Balal, the god of war; Edra, the goddess of fertility and children; Aldus, the god of justice; Helios, the sun god; Silex, the god of fortune and the sea; Aeris, the goddess of music and healing; Charys, the goddess of wisdom.

The magus ceased his singing, and silence filled the room as he slowly let his arms fall at his sides. All eyes were on the stooped figure in black robes.

‘I place the materia of gold,’ the magus called.

Dion saw that in his hand he had a nugget of solid gold. He turned so that everyone in the room could see it, before taking five steps. He placed the gold on one of the diamond’s four points, farthest from Dion and Nikolas. He then returned to the center of the room.