Dark Prince

'What is this Giant's Gateway?' the Spartan asked.

'There is a wood a day's ride south of Sparta. There, on a hill, stand two colossal pillars linked by a great lintel stone.

That is the Gateway.'

‘To where?'

'To nowhere,' replied Chiron. 'But the legend says that Iskander will open it, that he will grow to the height of the tallest tree and rest his hands on each pillar. Only then will the Enchantment return, bathing the world. But Alexander cannot do it; he is not the Golden Child.'

'What would you have me do, magus? Lose the only allies we have in this strange world of yours? Condemn Alexander to death? No, I will not do it. They have made their choice. I did not force it upon them.'

'That is not an argument you can use,' said Chiron. 'You know they are wrong, but you allow them to continue in their error because it suits your purpose. What you are doing will, in all likelihood, condemn them all to death.'

'Is there a problem here, Chiron?' asked Brontes, ambling forward to join them.

'Is there a problem?' the magus enquired of Parmenion.

The Spartan's cold blue eyes met his gaze. 'No,' he answered. 'Tomorrow we will take Iskander to his destiny.'

Then he turned and saw the woman.

* * *

Derae took a deep breath as the Spartan turned. Her legs felt weak and boneless and her hands trembled. So close, she thought. They had talked on Samothrace, but then Derae had been hooded and veiled, her mind locked to the task ahead. But now, as he walked slowly towards her, she felt sixteen again — remembering the softness of his touch, the sweetness of his breath.

'Do you know me, lady?' he asked. It was not the voice of the youth she had loved, but still the sound sent a shiver through her. Her spirit flickered out, touching his mind, sensing the emotions surging through him: curiosity, empathy, and — though her body was now plain and unmemorable — arousal. Swiftly she withdrew from him.

'I know you,' she answered, her voice steady, her hazel eyes meeting his gaze.

He stood for a moment, silent, indecisive. Brontes strolled across to them. 'She is a friend to the Goddess, my mother,' said Brontes. 'She is of the Enchantment.'

Parmenion nodded, but his gaze remained on the dark-haired woman. 'We must get away from this place,' he said, turning to Brontes. 'You know these woods. Where can we go?'

'Do not answer,' said Derae swiftly. 'We are being observed.'

Brontes' huge hand closed around the haft of the axe hanging from his belt and Parmenion swung to scan the clearing. 'There is no one here,' Derae told them. 'We are being watched from afar.'

'By whom?' the minotaur asked.

'By a priest of Philippos.'

'Can you shield us? My mother says you are a mystic.'

'Perhaps.' Derae sat down on the grass and closed her eyes, her spirit flying free. A lance of light swept towards her.

Her hand flashed up, the lance splitting into a thousand sparks which floated around her like fireflies.

'You will die,' shouted the shaven-headed priest as he floated before her.

'We will all die one day,' she answered. Her hands came up and the fireflies streamed back to the priest, linking to form a golden ribbon that wound about his head and face to blind him. 'Go back to your master,' said Derae. The priest disappeared.

She opened her eyes and stood. 'He is gone,' she told Brontes. 'Now you may speak freely.'

'There are only two ways we can travel to Sparta, south-east to the Peleponnese and through Korinthos, or north-west to the sea and take a ship around the coast to Gytheum.'

'What about west?' asked Parmenion. 'Surely we can cross the Pindos Mountains and make our way to the gulf?'

'No- that way lies death,' said Brontes. 'You cannot pass through the Forest of Gorgon. The Vores dwell there, and Gorgon himself. He is the most vile beast and his heart is corruption. I could speak of his evil, but I swear my tongue would blacken and your soul be shrivelled by what you hear. We might just as well drink poison now as consider that route.'

'Tell me of it anyway,' ordered the Spartan.

'Why? It is out of the question.'

'Because he is the strategos,' said Derae, 'and he needs to know.'

Brontes sighed. 'The forest stretches south to the Gulf of Korinthos. It is vast and deep, and unexplored by Man. But every hill and hollow, every dark glen, teems with the creatures of Chaos.'

Derae watched the Spartan. His expression was set and unreadable, and this time she did not reach out to read his thoughts. 'What can you tell us, lady?' he asked suddenly.

'The forces of Makedon are all around you,' she told him. 'They are coming from north, south and east. They have creatures. . Vores?… in the sky and men, and beasts that walk like men, upon the ground.'

'Can we skirt them?'

Derae shrugged. 'Not with twenty centaurs. They are seeking the child. Philippos is linked to him. Whichever route we take will draw peril to us. I have the power to shield us from the Demon King for a little while. But not long, Parmenion; he is too strong for me.'

'So, we are being herded towards the west whether we wish it or no?'

'Yes,' she agreed.

'I will think on it. But first let us find a place to spend the night.'

The Pindos Mountains

Brontes led the way to a cluster of shallow caves, leaving Parmenion, Alexander, Chiron and Attalus in one while he and his brothers took shelter nearby, the dark-haired woman remaining with them. The centaurs drifted away at dusk, returning as men when night fell. They also chose to stay in a separate cave a little to the north of the others.

Chiron was silent as Attalus prepared a fire by the far wall and Parmenion walked out into the night to satisfy himself that the glow did not reflect any light past the cave entrance. Wrapped in Parmenion's cloak, Alexander slept peacefully by the small blaze and the Spartan sat alone in the cave-mouth, watching the stars.

'Are you making plans?' asked Attalus, moving alongside him and sitting with his back to the wall.

'No, I was thinking about my youth.'

'I hope it was misspent.'

'Indeed it was,' answered Parmenion, sighing. The night sky was clear, the moon bright, bathing the trees in silver light. A badger shuffled out into the open, then loped away into the undergrowth.

'It is said you were a champion in Sparta,' said Attalus. 'With all the rewards, why did you leave?'

Parmenion shook his head. 'Where do these stories start? A champion? I was a hated half-breed, a mix-blood, derided, beaten. All I carried from Sparta was my bruises, and a hatred that was all-consuming and ultimately self-defeating. Have you ever been in love, Attalus?'

'No,' admitted the Macedonian, suddenly uncomfortable.

'I was. . once. And for that love I broke the law. I slept with an unmarried girl of good family. Because of it she was killed, and I slew a fine man. Worse, I brought about the downfall of my own city and with it the death of the only friend I had ever had. His name was Hermias, and he was killed at Leuctra, fighting alongside the King he adored.'

'All men die,' said Attalus softly. 'But you surprise me, Spartan. I thought you were the ice-cold general, the fighting man who had never lost a battle. I thought your life was charmed — blessed, if you like.'

Parmenion smiled. 'The other man's life often looks that way. There was a rich merchant in Thebes. Men would look at him with envy, cursing his luck, jealous of the gold rings he wore and the huge house he built upon a hill high above the stench of the city. But then they didn't know he was once a slave, working in a Thracian mine; that he had toiled for ten years before purchasing his freedom, and then had worked for another five to build a small amount of coin which he gambled on a risky venture that made him rich. Do not envy me, Attalus.'