The whisper of steel sounded as Aristocles unsheathed the weapon, revealing a bright, well-oiled blade with an edge kept sharp by the servants. The hilt of her father’s weapon was plainer than Kargan’s dagger, but it was as good a sword as silver could buy.

Kargan spent time comparing the two weapons. He lifted the sword and carried it out to the terrace, making some practice swings, while the consuls swapped bemused glances. Returning a moment later, he laid the sword back down next to the dagger and ran a finger along the edge of both blades. He balanced the sword on a finger to find the center of gravity and then rubbed his chin as he looked across the table at Aristocles.

‘This is a fine sword. The steel is good quality. Where is it made?’

‘It comes from Xanthos,’ Aristocles said.

‘Xanthos?’

‘The neighboring kingdom to the west, located between Phalesia and Sarsica.’

‘Hmm. It seems I have much to learn, but I am only here for a short time.’ He picked up the sword again, looking sideways along the steel, with his eye close to the blade. ‘May I have this?’

Stunned, Chloe waited for her father to react. Nilus opened his mouth, then closed it.

‘You may,’ Aristocles said tightly.

‘Tomorrow we will talk about payment for the use of your harbor. Your gift will ease negotiations.’

Kargan replaced the sword in its scabbard and then, straightening, he bowed to the two consuls of Phalesia.

‘I bid you good night.’

He left with a slight weave in his step, having put away a prodigious amount of wine.

Chloe’s father let out a breath.

6

6

Bright sunlight sparkled off the waves, strong rays that poured from the rising sun and lent growing heat to the morning. It was a good day for sailing.

Dion, youngest son of King Markos of Xanthos, felt his spirits soar as the small sailing vessel skipped over the waves, riding the peaks one after another, the sail pocketing the wind and making the boat’s timbers groan like muscles stretched by a sprinter at the Games.

He pulled the rope that traveled from his fingers to a rounded cleat, smoothed from friction, and then to the boom. As he hauled the sail closer in with the wind coming across his beam the boat leaped forward.

He heard a familiar grumbling voice nearby.

‘If the narrows are truly blocked we are going too fast. Slow down, lad.’

‘Of course, Master Cob,’ Dion said with elaborate respect. He grinned and tightened the sail still further.

The sailing boat heeled in response, listing hard to port. Dion clambered across to put his weight on the starboard side. ‘Move across,’ he said to his companion. ‘We can still get more speed out of her.’

‘In the name of Silex, why is it we need such speed?’

‘We have a big day ahead of us.’