Dark Prince

Alexander was waiting beside his armour. 'You swim well,' said the boy.

Attalus swallowed a curse. He did not like the child. A demon, they said, barely human, who could kill at a touch.

The swordsman nodded a greeting and sat down on a rock, waiting for the sun to dry his skin.

'Are you frightened?' asked the prince, his expression disarmingly innocent, head cocked to one side.

'I fear nothing, my prince,' Attalus answered. 'And any man who says differently will answer to me with a blade.'

The child nodded solemnly. 'You are very brave to come so far to find me. I know my father will reward you.'

Attalus laughed. 'I have three estates and more wealth than I can spend in a lifetime. I need no rewards, Prince Alexander. But I would give a king's ransom to see Macedonia again.'

'We will. Parmenion will find a way.'

Attalus bit back an angry retort. 'It is good to have faith in one's heroes,' he said at last.

'You do not like him, do you?'

'I like no man — save Philip. And you see too much. Beware, Alexander, such gifts can be double-edged.'

'Do not ever go against him,' warned the prince. 'He would kill you, Attalus.'

The swordsman made no reply, but he smiled with genuine humour. Alexander stood silently for a moment, then looked up into the Macedonian's eyes. 'I know you are said to be the best swordsman in the land, and also my father's most trusted. . assassin. But know this, if ever Parmenion dies in mysterious circumstances it is to you I will come.

And your death will follow soon after.'

Attalus sighed. 'I did not enter this world of the bizarre to hear your threats, boy. I came to rescue you. You do not have to like me — why should you, after all? I am not a likeable man. But — should I ever have cause to fight Parmenion — your threats will not sway me. I am my own man and I walk my own path. Remember that.'

'We will both remember,' said Alexander.

'There's truth in that,' the swordsman agreed.

* * *

'Do not try to think of a way to defeat Philippos,' said Chiron. 'It is not possible.'

'Nothing is impossible,' Parmenion assured him, as the two men strolled through the palace grounds in the last lingering light of the fading sun.

'You misunderstand me,' continued Chiron. 'There are greater issues here. Why do you think such a being of enormous power would wish to house himself in the frail human shell of a man — even a king?'

Parmenion halted by a stream and sat on a wooden bench. 'Tell me,' he said.

Chiron stretched himself out on the grass and sighed. 'It is not a simple matter. The Chaos Spirit has no natural form.

He is. . IT is… of spirit, apparently both immortal and eternal. So then, the real question is how he exists. Do you follow me?'

'Not yet, magus, but I am ever the willing learner.'

'Then let us take it slowly. What is the single greatest moment of your life?'

'What has this to do with anything?' asked Parmenion, suddenly uncomfortable.

'Bear with me, warrior,' urged Chiron.

Parmenion took a deep breath. 'Many years ago- a lifetime, it seems — I loved a young woman. She made the sun shine more brightly. She made me live.'

'What happened to her?'

The Spartan's expression hardened, his blue eyes gleaming with a cold light. 'She was taken from me and slain. Now make your point, magus, for I am losing patience.'

'Exactly my point!' said Chiron, pushing himself to his feet and sitting beside the Spartan. 'I want you to think back to how you felt at the moment you pictured your love and your days together, and then how those thoughts changed when touched with bitterness. The Chaos Spirit may seem to be immortal and eternal, but it is not entirely the truth.

He needs to feed. I do not know if pain, anguish and hatred sired him, or whether he is the father and mother of all bitterness. In a way it does not matter. But he needs Chaos to keep him alive. In the body of Philippos he strides the world, birthing oceans of hatred. Every slave, every widow, every orphaned child will know hate; they will lust for revenge. Long after Philippos is dust the Makedones will be despised. Do you see? He cannot be beaten, for even in destroying Philippos you only continue to feed the spirit that possesses him.'

'What then do you suggest, that we meekly lie down before the Tyrant, offering our lives with a smile and a blessing?'

'Yes,' answered Chiron simply, 'for then we would be countering Chaos with a greater force — love. But that will never be. It would take a greater man than any I have met who could answer violence with forgiveness, evil with love. At best all we can do is to fight him without hatred.'

'Why did you make the eye for Philippos?' asked Parmenion suddenly.

'I had a vain hope that he would use it to see himself, the true soul within. He did not. It has always been a problem for me, Parmenion, for I seek to see the good in every man, hoping it will conquer. Yet it happens so rarely. A strong man will seek to rule; it is his nature. And to rule he will need to conquer others.' Chiron sighed. 'All our heroes are men of violence, are they not? I do not know the names of such heroes in your world. But it will be the same story.'

'Yes,' agreed Parmenion. 'Achilles, Heracles, Agamemnon, Odysseus. All men of the sword. But surely if evil men choose sword and lance, then good men must do the same to combat them?'

'Would that it were that simple,' snapped Chiron. 'But good and evil are not so easily distinguished. Good does not wear golden armour, nor does evil always dress in black. Who is to say where evil lies? You are a general in your own world. Did you ever sack a city? Kill women and children?'

'Yes,' answered Parmenion, uncomfortable now.

'And were you serving the forces of good?'

The Spartan shook his head. 'Your point is well made. You are a good man, Chiron. Will you come with us to Sparta?'

'Where else would I go?' answered the magus sadly. Rising, he made as if to walk away, then turned. 'There is a legend here — a fine legend. It is said that one day the Enchantment will return, that it will be brought back to us by a golden-haired child of the gods. He will restore peace and harmony, and the world will shine again. Is that not a beautiful idea?'

'Hold to it,' advised Parmenion, his voice gentle.

'I do. I hoped Alexander was the Golden One. But he too is cursed by Chaos. How many other worlds are there, Parmenion? Does a version of the Dark God stalk them all?'

'Never give in to despair,' the Spartan advised. 'Think on this: If you are correct, then perhaps in most of those worlds the Golden Child has already come.'

'That is a good thought,' agreed Chiron. 'And now I must leave you for a while. You are safe here — for the moment.

But watch the sea. Philippos will be using all his powers to locate Alexander.'

'Where are you going?'

'Back to the wood. They will need me there.'

* * *

Parmenion found the sorcerer's mood infectious and his spirits were sombre as he strolled along the line of cliffs overlooking the beach. Far below he could see Attalus and Alexander sitting on the white sand, deep in conversation, and he stopped for a while to watch them.

My son, he thought suddenly, and sadness struck him like a blow. Philotas, Nicci and Hector were his sons, yet his feelings for them were ambivalent. But this boy — this golden child — was everything to him. There is no profit in regret, he reminded himself, but the words, though true, offered no comfort. For this one regret lived on in his own private Hall of Shame. On the wedding night in Samothrace, when Philip was awaiting the arrival of his bride, Parmenion had betrayed him. There was no other word to suit the occasion. With the King lying in a drunken stupor, it was Parmenion who had donned the ceremonial full-faced helm and cloak of Kadmilos and walked into the torchlit room where Olympias lay waiting; Parmenion who had climbed to the bed, pinning her arms beneath him; Parmenion who had felt her soft thighs slide over his hips. .