‘Climb.’
She tried to grip the rungs but couldn’t. Fire filled her fingers and she cried out in pain. Her limbs were little better; she could barely stand.
The sailor looked up at the open hatch, where another man beckoned, his arms reaching. Chloe felt herself lifted from underneath and the other man grabbed her arms. The sailor on the top deck hauled her up and sat her on the edge of the hatch.
‘I . . . I can walk,’ Chloe said.
He grunted and stood as she clambered to her feet. The bright light blinded her and the deck rolled, nearly sending her over the rail until yet another sailor caught her. Spying the mast, she gripped a hoop on the stout pole with one hand and waited for her eyes to adjust to the glare. High above her a square sail snapped in the freshening wind. The air was blessedly fresh, her senses freed from the sickening reek below.
‘Hurry up!’ She heard Kargan’s voice.
He stood at the ship’s bow, legs astride, easily riding the ship’s listing rhythm. He had changed into long linen trousers and an open shirt that revealed his barrel chest, covered with a dense mat of dark hair.
A strong hand pushed her from behind and she walked to the bow, where a forked bench afforded space for two people to sit side by side. The bowsprit nodded up and down while, audible even on the topmost deck, the throbbing drum formed a countermelody to the splashes of more than a hundred oars.
Glancing over her shoulder, Chloe felt her stomach lurch when she saw that her homeland was little more than a flat gray line on the horizon. She knew that none of her father’s ships was this fast. No one could catch her, and even if a captain could, no Phalesian warship working alone could challenge the bireme’s power.
‘Come,’ Kargan said. ‘Sit.’
Chloe lurched to the seat opposite. Her bowels clenched at the unceasing up-and-down, rolling motion. She had never enjoyed the sea.
‘You want to know why I took you,’ Kargan said. ‘I have more than one answer to give.’ He paused as he gazed back along the deck of his ship, and then looked up at the sail, finally nodding in satisfaction. ‘I think the sun king will want to learn more about your people.’
‘My father will see this as a declaration of war,’ she said, glaring at him.
‘I think not,’ he said dismissively. ‘Your consuls were afraid of me.’ He shrugged. ‘And perhaps war is what the sun king will want. If not, you can always be returned. Or ransomed.’ He stared directly into her eyes. ‘At any rate, your father is no king. A king would seek vengeance, no matter the consequence. But these consuls will advise caution. Such men always do.’
Chloe felt the seeds of doubt grow in her mind. She knew the way the Assembly functioned.
‘Believe me, Chloe of Phalesia,’ Kargan said. ‘Your fate is now in the hands of the sun king.’
17
Dion climbed the series of stone steps cut into the cliff at odd angles. Some were larger than others and he had to be careful with his footing. The higher he ascended, the more conscious he was of the steep drop to the sea below.
He tried not to look down, instead focusing on each individual step. But his gaze wandered, and he occasionally looked out at the city, seeing a scene of strange normality at the agora and surrounding temples where one would instead expect chaos and turmoil.
Finally, the path leveled and he paused, gripping a nearby jut, and waited for his breathing and heart rate to return to normal. Tough shrubs lined both sides of the path ahead, which was short and led directly to the plateau.
He had never climbed to the Temple of Aldus before, and had never been so high. The cliff dropped away at his left and he fought off the dizzying sensation of vertigo as he walked along the path. Keeping his back straight and his eyes level, he approached the dozen columns surrounding the flat, circular space, and now that his footsteps were taking him away from the cliff he finally began to breathe more easily.
From his vantage point he could see the entire city of Phalesia revealed behind the plateau’s far side. The evenly spaced columns held up no roof, simply providing a skirting fence for the sacred relics within. Even though it was near noon, the eternal flame was easily visible, burning fiercely on a stepped pyramid, nestled within a hollow at the very top. The spears of fire leaped and danced.
Six paces in front of the flame, at the temple’s perfect center, the Ark of Revelation shone brightly, the gold shimmering under the sun’s rays. Ornate and decorated with imprinted designs, it had a flat lid that was small compared to the chest. Strange, sharply angled symbols were arranged along the front, underneath lines of cursive text in a language Dion had never seen before.