The mirror darkened. Chiron covered it and backed from the room, running up the stairs and out through the cave.
Then he saw Kytin's bow and quiver lying where the centaur had left them, and heard the beating of wings from the sky above him.
Kytin galloped across the sunlit clearing, reared, and sent an arrow flashing into the heart of a hovering Vore whose wings collapsed, its pale form crashing to the grass. A black dart narrowly missed Kytin's head and the centaur swung to send a second arrow winging its way into his assailant's belly.
Eleven centaurs were down and more than thirty Vores, but still they came — their great wings flapping, their deadly missiles slashing through the air.
'Back under the trees!' shouted Kytin. 'They cannot fly there!' Several centaurs made a dash for the forest, but amid the stamping hooves, the beating of wings and the screams of the dying many others could not hear him and fought on. A Vore dropped from the sky to Kytin's back, sharp talons cutting into the centaur's shoulder. The old man bellowed in rage and pain, bucking and flinging the creature into the air. Its wings spread wide, halting its fall. Kytin leapt forward, his huge hands grabbing the scrawny neck and twisting savagely, snapping the hollow bones of the Vore's throat.
A dart sliced into Kytin's back, the poison streaming into his blood like acid. The imminence of death galvanized the centaur. Twisting and rearing he galloped to Gaea's hut, ducking inside the doorway and stepping over the dart-pierced body of the old healer to gather up the still-sleeping child. Kytin's legs almost buckled, but with a supreme effort of will he raced back out into the daylight with the boy held safe in his arms, and thundered towards the trees.
Two more darts struck him, one piercing the flesh beside his long spine, the other glancing from his hind-quarters.
Then he was past his attackers and on to the mountain path.
Vores soared up above the trees, but they could not easily follow him, for the branches were interlaced like a canopy over the trail. Several of the creatures flew low, but the undergrowth was thick, overhanging limbs hampering their flight.
Kytin galloped on, the poison spreading through his limbs. Twice he stumbled and almost fell, but drew on his reserves of strength and courage, holding himself alive by the power of his dream.
Iskander! He had to rescue the boy. The Enchantment had to be saved.
He ran on deeper into the forest, seeking a cave, a hollow tree — anywhere he could hide the boy. But his eyes were veiled by a grey mist that swirled across his mind, and so many thoughts flitted by him, old memories, scenes of triumph and tragedy. He saw again the fight with Boas, the great ride to Cadmos, his marriage to Elena, the birth of his first child. .
The boy awoke and struggled in his arms.
'It is all right, Iskander,' he told him, his voice slurred now. 'I will save you.'
'There is blood on your chin, staining your beard,' said the boy. 'You are hurt.'
'All. . will… be well.'
The centaur slowed, his front legs buckling, Alexander tumbling from his arms and landing on his back with the breath knocked out of him.
A Vore swooped down between the high branches with arms outstretched, a rope dangling from his hands. The boy tried to run, but he was still winded and the loop dropped over his shoulders, pulling tight. Alexander screamed as he was pulled into the air.
An arrow plunged into the Vore's side. Letting go the rope the creature tried to escape, but his wings crashed against a branch and he somersaulted through the air before falling to his death.
Two horsemen galloped into sight and Alexander looked up.
'Parmenion!' he cried. The Spartan leapt to the ground and drew his sword. A black dart flashed towards him but his sword-blade batted it aside. Another arrow lanced through the air, bringing a screech of pain from a hovering Vore.
Parmenion picked up the boy and ran back to the gelding.
'No!' shouted Alexander. 'We mustn't leave! My friend is hurt!'
'Your friend is dead, boy,' Attalus told him, notching another arrow to his bow. 'Where to now, strategos? I can hear more of them coming.'
The cave,' Alexander told them.
'Which way?' asked Parmenion, lifting the boy to the gelding and vaulting to sit behind him.
There on the mountainside!' shouted Alexander, pointing to a break in the trees.
'Can we outrun them?' Attalus asked.
'I would doubt it,' answered Parmenion. 'But we must try.'
Urging their mounts to a run, the Macedonians raced along the narrow trail and out onto the mountainside.
'Up there!' yelled Alexander. Parmenion glanced up. The black mouth of the cave was less than two hundred paces from them. Looking back, he saw the Vores closing fast. They would not reach it in time.
Attalus was ahead; the powerful grey, with less of a load, was surging on towards the sanctuary of the cave. A black dart lanced into the stallion's back. For a few moments the beast ran on, then its front legs gave way, pitching Attalus to the earth. The swordsman hit hard, but rolled to his knees. He still held the bow — but it was snapped at the tip.
Flinging it aside, he drew his sword.
Parmenion leapt down beside him, slapping the gelding's rump and urging the beast towards the cave. With less to carry the gelding sped on, Alexander clinging to his mane.
Suddenly a flash of lightning exploded into the hovering ranks of the Vores, scattering them and killing more than twenty. In the momentary confusion Parmenion saw their chance to escape. 'Run!' he yelled, turning to sprint up the mountainside.
A grey-haired man stepped into their path, but he did not look at them. Instead his hands were raised, pointing at the skies. Blinding white light leapt from his fingers, and the air was filled with the smell of burning flesh and the echoing death-cries of the Vores.
Without looking back, the Macedonians scrambled into the cave where Alexander waited. 'Follow me!' ordered the boy, leading them through the illusory wall and into the palace.
'Can the beasts follow us here?' asked Parmenion.
'Chiron says no enemies can pass through the wall,' the boy answered.
'We'll see,' said Parmenion, hefting his sword and waiting, Attalus beside him.
Chiron appeared. 'I must offer you my thanks,' said the magus, smiling.
'That's why you sent us here,' replied Parmenion. 'It is good to see you again, Aristotle.'
'I fear there is some mistake,' the magus told them. 'I do not know you.'
'What game is this?' hissed Attalus, moving forward to lay his sword on Chiron's shoulder, the blade resting against his throat. 'You send us into a world of madness and now claim we are strangers? No jests, magus l I am not in the mood for them.'
'Wait!' said Parmenion, stepping in and lifting Attalus' blade clear. 'What is your name, friend?'
'I am Chiron,' the magus told him. 'The name Aristotle is not known to me. But this is truly fascinating. I exist — in another form — in your world. And in how many others, I wonder?'
'Are you believing this?' stormed Attalus. 'We can see who he is!'
'No,' said Parmenion. 'Look closely. He is more thick-set, and Aristotle has a small scar on his right temple. Other than that they could be twins. But, before we enter into a debate, let us first ascertain how safe we are here. Can the creatures enter?'
'Not immediately,' replied the magus. 'But the Enemy has many allies, and my power is not what it was.'