Solon, king of kings, ruler of the empire of Ilea, was standing close to the water’s edge, the bulk of the Nexotardis above and behind him. He was confident of victory: his stronger, more disciplined soldiers had crested the embankment and would soon seize the city. Beside him the one-eyed eldran king, Triton, had his fists clenched at his sides.

Solon frowned as he saw Kargan running in the wrong direction. For some reason Kargan had descended the steps; he was leading hundreds of men away from the defensive wall.

He raised an eyebrow when Kargan arrived, covered in blood. The big man gasped and wheezed as he made his report. ‘The battle is lost! We must retreat.’

‘Lost?’ Solon’s eyes widened. ‘The city is yours!’

‘The army of Xanthos has arrived,’ Kargan panted. ‘We don’t have the numbers to push them back.’

Shielding his eyes as he gazed up at the city, Solon saw soldiers in crimson cloaks fighting with savagery as they cleared the embankment. The Ileans began to flee, their flight becoming a desperate retreat down the steps as the bravest among them tried to hold against the onslaught of the soldiers at their backs. Yellow-cloaked soldiers tumbled from the high wall of the embankment, screaming until they struck the ground.

Kargan barked orders at his men. ‘Get the ships off the beach! Hurry or you’re all dead men!’

‘No,’ Solon said, shaking his head. ‘No!’

Kargan turned his dark gaze on his king. ‘Solon, your prize is lost. If we don’t leave now we’ll lose the fleet.’

Solon watched in disbelief as Kargan ordered the men who’d stayed with the warships to get them afloat. As more soldiers rushed down from the city he bellowed commands and instilled order in the terror-filled men.

The newly arrived Xanthian soldiers, under the leadership of a broad-shouldered bearded warrior in a crimson-plumed helmet, poured down the steps and began to gather in numbers, preparing to make a final charge to destroy their fleeing enemies and seize as many ships as they could.

Solon realized in a daze that he would soon be leaving. But he couldn’t leave. The ark at the temple remained tantalizingly in reach.

Beside him, Triton spoke. ‘You can still be victorious, Solon. When next will you see enough gold to send your soul on its journey to the afterlife?’

‘I . . .’ Solon shook his head, at a loss for words.

‘I can win you this city,’ Triton said. ‘But I cannot open the ark. For that I need your help.’

Solon looked from the eldran to Kargan, still bellowing orders to get his men moving.

‘I can take you to the ark,’ Triton continued. ‘The lid is heavy but you will be strong enough to open it. Give me what is inside and I will win this battle for you. You can have the gold. You know that gold is not what I want.’