Two riders bore down on the seeress. The first she slew with a spear of light, but the sword of the second pierced her breast, jutting from her back and setting light to her robes. Tamis staggered — but she did not fall. Blasting the rider from his mount, she half turned and saw that Parmenion and Aristotle had reached the pass.
Ignoring the dying woman, the riders galloped on after the running men. Tamis sank to the dust, her mind swimming. She saw again her first passing, remembering the pain and the bitterness. Her soul had fled to the furthest corners of the Void, lost and alone. It was there that the servants of Kadmilos had found her, binding her with chains of fire, sending the Death Crows to rip at her spirit flesh. In her despair, she had been unable to find the strength to fight them.
Taking hold of the sword of fire she drew it from her body, casting it aside.
So many mistakes, Tamis, she chided herself. But here, at the end, perhaps you have atoned. Far ahead of her she watched the soul-flame reach the Elysian Gates. The riders of Hades had halted some distance away, unable to cross the open pass before the gateway without further orders.
The quest is with you now, Parmenion, my son, she thought. And I did — despite my mistakes — train you well.
At last content, she surrendered to the second, final, death.
The gates were carved from shining black rock — as tall as three men, as wide as ten. Beyond them were green fields, flowering trees, tall snow-capped mountains and a sky the blue of dreams.
Parmenion ached to walk there, to put behind him the grey, soul-less horror of the Void.
But two guards stood in the gateway.
'You cannot pass,' said the first.
Parmenion approached the man. The guard's armour was archaic, the breastplate gilded, the bronze shield huge and oval, the helm full-faced and red-plumed. Only the blue of the man's eyes could be seen.
Parmenion lifted the flame. 'This is the soul of a child in peril. The Lord of Chaos seeks to walk the world of flesh, stealing his life, his body.'
'The world of flesh is nothing to us,' said the second guard.
'Is there no one beyond the gate to whom we can appeal?' put in Aristotle.
'Here there is no bending of the law,' the first man answered. 'The Word is absolute. Only the souls of dead heroes may pass this way, and those we will recognize by a star of light that shines on their brows.'
Parmenion heard movement behind him and turned. The horsemen had begun to edge forward, and beyond them a vast army of demons had filled the mouth of the pass.
'At least take the soul-flame,' Aristotle urged the guards.
'We cannot. He is of the living… as are you.'
Moving to a nearby boulder, Parmenion opened his palm, willing the flame to flow from his hand.
The white light streamed to the rock, leaving the Spartan with a powerful sense of loss. Drawing his sword, he ignored the guards and moved to stand at the centre of the pass.
'Wait!' shouted the first sentry. 'Where did you come by that blade?'
'It was once mine in life,' Parmenion answered.
'I asked how you came by it?'
'I won it in the General's Games. Once it was wielded by my city's greatest hero — the Sword King, Leonidas. He died more than a century ago, defending the pass of Thermopylae against the Persian invaders.'
'A century? Was it so long? You are Spartan, then?'
'lam.'
'Then you'll not stand alone,' said the man, walking from the gateway and taking a position on Parmenion's left.
'Go back,' said Parmenion, his eyes on the horde before them. 'It is senseless enough for one man to die in this way, and a second sword will make no difference.'
The sentry laughed. 'There are more than two, brother,' he said. 'Boleus will soon fetch the others.' Even as he spoke the sound of marching feet could be heard from behind them, and 300
armoured warriors moved out to form three fighting lines across the pass.
'Why do you do this for me?' Parmenion asked.
'Because you carry my blade,' answered the Sword King of legend, 'and because you are a Spartan.
Now stand back with your friend, and the soul-flame. The demons shall not pass while we live.'
Behind them the gateway disappeared, leaving only a cliff wall, black and impenetrable.
'You have powerful friends, it seems,' remarked Aristotle, taking Parmenion's arm and guiding him back to where the globe rested on the rocks.
The Spartan was still dazed. 'He is. .'
'I know who he is — Leonidas, the Sword King. The men with him are the heroes who died at Thermopylae and they are risking eternity for you, Parmenion. It is a humbling thought. But then the Spartans were always a strange people.'
'I cannot allow it,' whispered Parmenion. 'They died once for their city, and for Greece. They don't know who I am. I humbled their city, destroying its greatness! I must save them!'
'They know all they need to know,' hissed Aristotle, seizing the Spartan's arm. "The babe is everything!'
Parmenion tore himself loose of Aristotle's grip, then saw the globe flickering. The soul of a child. His child! Glancing to his left he saw the Spartan fighting lines — shields locked, spears pointed — and beyond them the vast army of demons.
The Sword King laid down his shield and sword, striding back to where Parmenion stood. 'They are waiting for something,' he said, 'but it gives us time to talk. What is your name, brother?'
'Savra,' Aristotle said swiftly.
The Spartan shook his head. 'That was my name as a child,' he said softly. 'Now I am Parmenion.'
The Sword King was silent for a moment, then he lifted his hands to his helm and removed it. His face was regular, though not handsome, his hair long and golden, his eyes the blue of a summer sky. 'I have heard of you; you have sent many Spartan brothers to the Elysian fields.'
'Yes. I wish there had been time to tell you the truth. But you were beside me so fast. Can you open the gateway and withdraw?'
'No. Nor would I if I could. It would have changed nothing, Parmenion. It still changes nothing.
We stand together.'
'I don't understand,' Parmenion whispered.
'That is because you are from a different age, brother. At Thermopylae we led a united Greek force against the invader. We stood firm then, and died. We did not die gladly but we did die willingly, brother beside brother. You are a Spartan and that is enough for us. Our blood is in your veins."
'You accept me?' asked Parmenion, all the tortures of his childhood roaring to the surface — the rejections, the beatings and the endless humiliations.
Placing his hands on Parmenion's shoulders, the Sword King smiled. 'Come stand beside me, brother, and the demons shall see how Spartans do battle.'
In that moment all Parmenion's bitterness dissolved, as if a fresh spring breeze had whispered through the cob-webbed recesses of his mind.
Acceptance! By the greatest Spartan who had ever lived!
Drawing his sword, he followed his King into the battle-line.
The Temple
It seemed to Leucion that the night was more beautiful than any he could remember. The sky was clear, sable-dark, the distant stars glittering like spear-points, the moon a huge coin of shining silver. He had once received a coin like that, minted in Susa, when he served as a mercenary in Egypt. Since most of the warriors were Athenians the Persians had stamped the coin with the owl of Athena. His wonderment at its beauty had lasted only one night, when he had given it to a Numidean whore.
Now, staring at the moon from the ramparts of the temple, he wished he had kept it. Sighing, he turned from the wall and wandered down the steps to the moonlit garden. There were no colours to the roses now; all were shades of grey under the moon, but the fragrance remained.