Dark Prince

Attalus came through the wall behind him.

'Not seen enough to amuse you?' asked Parmenion.

'Almost,' the swordsman answered. 'Where did he go?'

Parmenion pointed to a distant shaft of golden sunlight and the two men headed towards it, emerging at last from a wide cave-mouth which overlooked a verdant valley. At the bottom of the slope was a white-walled house, built alongside a mountain stream. Mounting their horses, the two warriors rode down to the house where Aristotle was waiting beside a table laden with food and wine.

'Now to the point of your visit,' said Aristotle as the meal was concluded. 'The child, Alexander, is no longer in this world.'

'You mean he is dead?' hissed Attalus. 'I do not believe it!'

'Not dead,' said Aristotle patiently. 'He was drawn through a portal into a parallel world — that is why his guards reported seeing stars in the corridor. In order to rescue him, you must travel into that world. I can show you the way.'

'This is nonsense,' stormed Attalus, rising from the table. 'Are you going to sit and listen to this horse-dung?' he asked the Spartan.

'Before making judgements,' Parmenion told him, 'look about you. Where are the mountains we rode through? Where is the River Nestos? Can you not see that we are already in another world?'

'It's a trick of some kind,' muttered Attalus, swinging round to stare at the unfamiliar horizon.

Ignoring him, Parmenion turned back to Aristotle. 'Why did they take the boy?'

Aristotle leaned forward, resting his elbows on the broad table-top. 'There is a King there, a man possessed. He desires immortality. To win such a prize he must devour the heart of a special sacrifice. His priests told him of a golden child… a special child.'

'This world — is it like our own? Can we find our way through it?' asked the Spartan.

'I cannot fully answer that,' the magus told him. 'There are great similarities and yet enormous differences. There are centaurs there, and all the creatures you would hear of only in myth — werebeasts and Harpies, gorgons and beasts of darkness. It is a world of magic, my friend. And yet it is Greece.'

'The King you spoke of- he has a name?'

‘Philippos, King of the Makedones. And, before you ask, yes, he is Philip, the image of the man you serve.'

'This is insane,' sneered Attalus. 'Why do you sit and listen to such gibberish?'

'As I told you before,' said Parmenion coldly, 'you are more than welcome to return to Pella. As for myself, I will travel into this other Greece. And I will find the prince. Will you come with me, Aristotle?'

The magus shook his head and looked away. 'I cannot. . not yet. Much as I would wish it.'

'Too dangerous for you, wizard?' Attalus mocked.

'Indeed it is,' agreed Aristotle with no trace of rancour. 'But I will come to you when I can, to lead you home. If you survive.'

Book Two, 352 BC

The Forests of Olympus

The pursuing Makedones were not far behind as Camiron climbed the slopes of the mountains. Alexander looked up at the snow-crested peaks and shivered.

'How high will we go?' he called out.

'To Chiron's caves,' replied the centaur, 'on the roof of the world.'

Alexander glanced back. The Makedones were close enough now for him to see the bright sunburst emblems on their black breastplates, and their lance-points glittering in the sunlight. Camiron galloped on, seemingly tireless, while the boy held fast to the chestnut mane. 'How much further?' shouted Alexander.

Camiron paused in his climb and pointed to a forest that clung to the mountain-sides like green mist. There! The Makedones will not follow. If they do, they will die.' Bunching the muscles of his hind legs the centaur leapt forward, almost dislodging the boy as he galloped at great speed towards the trees.

As they neared the forest four centaurs rode out to meet them. All were smaller than Camiron, and only two were bearded. Armed with bows, they formed a line and waited. Camiron halted before them.

'What do you want here, outcast?' asked the leading centaur, his beard white, his flanks golden.

'I am riding to Chiron's cave,' Camiron answered diffidently. 'We are pursued by Makedones.'

'You are not welcome here,' said another. 'You will bring us trouble.'

'It is the order of Chiron,' protested Camiron. 'I must obey.'

'Lickspittle!' snorted a third centaur. 'What is the Human to you? Are you a slave to his bidding?'

'I am no man's slave,' said Camiron, his voice deepening. Alexander could feel the centaur's muscles tensing.

Leaning back, the boy lifted his hand, catching the attention of the newcomers.

'Would you surrender one of your own to his enemies?' he asked.

'Speak when you are spoken to, Human!' snapped the white-bearded leader.

'No,' replied Alexander. 'Answer my question — or does your cowardice shame you to silence?'

'Let me kill him, Father!' shouted a youngster, notching an arrow to his bow.

'No!' thundered White-beard. 'Let them pass!'

'But, Father

'Let them pass, I say.' The centaurs moved aside and Camiron galloped into the trees. There were more horse people here, all armed with bows. Alexander swung to see the Makedones toiling up the slope, and he heard their screams as the first volley of arrows tore into them.

But the sounds of battle faded as they rode deeper into the forest.

Camiron was silent as they moved on, but Alexander could feel the deep well of his anguish. The boy could think of nothing to say and settled down once more against the.broad back. At last they came to a clearing and an open cave-mouth. Camiron trotted inside and lifted Alexander to the ground.

'There is no sign of Chiron,' said the centaur, his eyes brooding and angry.

'May I thank you?' asked Alexander, moving close to the beast. 'You saved my life, and you were very courageous.'

'I am the bravest of them all,' said Camiron. 'And the strongest,' he added, lifting his arms and tensing the huge muscles of his biceps.

'You are indeed,' the boy agreed. 'I have never seen anyone stronger.'

The centaur swung his head. 'Where is Chiron, boy? You said he would be here.'

'No,' said Alexander slowly. 'I said he asked you to come here — to bring me to safety. He told me you could be trusted; he talked of your courage.'

'I hurt,' said Camiron suddenly, touching his hand to the shallow gash in his flanks. The blood had already begun to congeal around the wound, but it had flowed down the right foreleg, matting the hair.

'If there is water, I will clean it for you,' offered the boy.

'Why is Chiron not here? Why is he never here? I need him.' The tone was suddenly plaintive, with an edge of panic.

'Chiron!' he bellowed, the sound echoing in the cave. 'Chiron!'

'He will come,' promised Alexander. 'But you must rest. Even one as strong as you must be tired after such a ride.'

'I am not tired. But I am hungry,' he said, his dark eyes fixing on the child.

Tell me about yourself,' urged Alexander. 'I have never met a centaur, though I have heard tales of them.'

'I don't want to speak. I want to eat,' snapped Camiron, turning and trotting from the cave. Alexander sat down on a rock. He too was hungry and tired, but he dared not sleep while the unpredictable Camiron was close by. After a while he decided to explore the cave. It was not deep, but there were small alcoves that appeared man-made.

Entering the first, Alexander noticed that the right-hand wall was a slightly different shade of grey from the stone around it. Reaching out he tried to touch the rock — only to see his hand pass through it. Edging forward he passed through the wall to find himself inside a beautifully furnished room, hung with silks, the walls painted with delicate scenes from Homer, the wooden horse at the gates of Troy, the ship of Odysseus by the island of Sirens, the seeress Circe turning men into swine.