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Back Copper Chain Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. CONTENTS
  5. MAP
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  62. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Urbane city folk walked past, dressed in loose trousers and tight vests, along with bare-footed clansmen from the desert, wrapped in cloth leaving only their dark eyes bare. Seeing young women shopping in the markets and children skipping in the streets, Dion decided the city’s new rulers appeared to be leaving the citizens to their own devices. Ilea was a foreign power, after all, and seeing how many clansmen were armed, it was clear that denizens of Imakale had played a part in the fight for their capital, making it more of a liberation than a conquest.

His suspicion was confirmed when he glanced through a break between the buildings and briefly saw the city walls. Warriors in steel armor manned the battlements, but they were outnumbered by their dark-skinned companions from the dry lands in the south. At every turn he looked for signs of fighting – blood-stained streets or burned-out husks of buildings – but couldn’t see any. The city had been taken swiftly.

The long-haired soldier broke the silence. ‘The palace is just ahead.’

‘Your king,’ Dion asked. ‘What is his name?’

‘He is Palemon, direct descendant of Palemon the First, who ruled Aleuthea.’

Dion’s stomach tightened further.

7

7

Remembering his place, Dion hung behind Cob as they were led through the gates of the palace and up a series of steps to an audience chamber, with evenly spaced columns holding up the ceiling and windows facing the sea. The view was captivating, but his eyes were instead drawn to the man standing in front of the ebony throne.

He was powerfully built, broad-shouldered with a narrow waist, and wore a bleached leather vest, dark trousers, and high boots. He wasn’t a young man, and his pale skin was lined, but his back was straight and he was tall enough to tower over most men. He had long black hair streaked with gray and a braided beard, and his eyes were dark and brooding, with bags under them as if he’d been having difficulty sleeping.

Dion noted that he wasn’t sitting on the throne; nor were there courtiers and advisers filling the room. This wasn’t a king who was accustomed to ceremony. He had just the one companion, a black-haired hunchback with shoulders sitting oddly high and muscular, ropey arms.

The long-haired soldier nodded at Cob. ‘King Palemon, this man is the captain.’

Cob bowed – the first time Dion had seen him do so – and gave his full name, which sounded odd on the old man’s lips. ‘King. My name is Cobrim, and I am captain of the Liberty.’

Palemon glanced at Dion. As their eyes met, Dion suddenly felt the worry gnawing at his guts grow even stronger. The stare was dismissive, arrogant. The dark eyes were cold. Nothing would stand in this man’s way.

‘And you are?’

‘Andion. Captain’s mate.’ Rather than bow, Dion merely nodded. He saw Palemon scowl.