David Gemmell - Dark Prince

Derae nodded and his head sagged back to the pillow.

'Please help him!' begged the wailing woman, throwing herself to her knees before the Healer.

The man on the bed tensed suddenly, his face darkening. His mouth opened but no words came forth, only a long, broken sigh. 'No!' screamed the woman. 'No!'

Derae eased herself to her feet and walked slowly from the altar room, waving away the servants who moved to assist her. The corridors were cold and she shivered as she made her way to her room.

A man stepped into her path. 'They have taken him,' said Aristotle.

Derae closed her eyes. 'I am tired. I can be of little use to you. Go away.' Pushing past him, she forced her weary body on. Behind her Aristotle dipped his hand into the pouch at his side, lifting clear a golden stone.

Derae walked on, her mind locked to the merchant whose death she could not prevent. She took a deep breath. The air felt good in her lungs, refreshing, invigorating. How strange, she thought, as her weariness evaporated. She felt better than she had in years and remembered how cool it was in the sea, how good to run down to the beach and wade out into the crystal-clear waters, feeling the sun warm on her back.

Suddenly she laughed. It was too long since she had last left the temple to walk the cliff path. And she was hungry.

Ravenous!

Pushing open the door to her room, she wandered to the window. How clear the air, she thought as she stared out over the sea. White gulls circled the cliffs and she could see each bird as it wheeled and dived. Even the clouds were sharply denned. Then she realized she was not using her spirit eyes. Her blindness had gone. Glancing down, she looked at her hands. The skin was smooth and unlined. Anger flared in her and she swung to face the magus who stood, silently, in the doorway.

'How dare you!' she thundered. 'How dare you do this to me!'

'I need you,' he responded, moving into the room and pushing shut the door behind him. 'And what is so terrible about youth, Derae? What is it you fear?'

'I fear nothing!' she stormed, 'unless it be the suffering I cannot heal. Did you see the man they carried in? He was a prince; he was kind, caring. But his heart had rotted within him, moving far beyond my capacity to heal. That is what I fear — living long enough to see another thousand like him. You think I want to be young again? Why? For what purpose? Everything I ever desired has been denied me. Why should I want to live any longer?'

Aristotle moved further into the room, his face reflecting his sorrow.

'If you wish then I will return your body to its former. . glory? But first will you help me? Will you aid Parmenion?'

Derae moved to the mirror and stared at her youthful reflection. A deep sigh came from her and she nodded. 'I will go. But first you must change my face. He must not know me — you understand?'

'It will be as you say,' he promised.

'I think it was rash to execute the sentries,' said Parmenion, struggling to hold his temper.

'And what would you have done, Spartan?' sneered Attalus. 'Promoted them, perhaps?'

Parmenion swung away from the man, focusing on the King who sat hunched on the throne, his face grey from exhaustion, his eyes dull. In the two days since the disappearance of the prince, Philip had not slept. The 3,000

Guards had scoured the city, searching every house, attic and cellar. Riders had swept out into the countryside, seeking news of anyone travelling with a child or children.

But there was no sign of Alexander.

'Sire,' said Parmenion.

The King looked up. 'What is it?'

'The sentries who were executed. Did they say anything?'

Philip shrugged. 'They told us nonsense, an incredible fabrication. I don't even remember it all. Something about stars. . Tell him, Attalus.'

'To what point, sire? It will bring us no closer to recovering the prince. He is being held somewhere for ransom; someone will contact us.'

'Tell him anyway,' said Philip.

'They said that the corridor disappeared and a great wind swept them from their feet. All they could see were stars, and they heard the prince cry out as if from a great distance. They both swore to it; it was lunatic.'

'Perhaps so, Attalus,' said Parmenion softly, 'but if your life was at stake would you invent such a ridiculous tale?'

'Of course not. You think they were telling the truth?' Attalus chuckled and shook his head.

'I have no idea what the truth is… yet. But the guards at the gate say no one passed them. The sentries on the walls outside reported no screams or shouts. Yet the prince is gone. Have you identified the corpse?'

'No,' answered Attalus. 'He had rotted almost to nothing.'

'Have you checked the household slaves to see who might be missing?'

'What makes you think he was a slave?' asked Philip.

'All that was left was his tunic. It was poor cloth — even a servant would have worn better.'

'That is a good point,' said the King. 'See to it, Attalus. Now!' he added, as the warrior made to speak. Attalus, his face reddening, bowed and left the throne-room.

'We must find him,' Philip told Parmenion. 'We must.'

'We will, sire. I do not believe him dead. If that was the purpose, his body would have been found by now.'

Philip glanced up, his single green eye gleaming with a savage light. 'When I find those responsible they will suffer as no one has ever suffered before. I will see them die — and their families, and their city. Men will talk of it for a thousand years. I swear it.'

'Let us first find him,' said Parmenion.

The King did not seem to hear him. Rubbing at his blind eye he rose from the throne with fists clenched, knuckles ivory-white. 'How could this happen?' he hissed. 'To me? To Philip?' Parmenion kept silent, hoping the murderous rage would pass. In this mood Philip was always unpredictable. The Spartan had not told him of the Persian, Parzalamis, and had sworn Mothac to secrecy. No matter what Philip believed, Parmenion knew the Macedonians were not yet ready for a war against the Persian empire. Parzalamis' body had been secretly buried on the estate, and while the slaying of the three assassins could not be kept from the King, no one knew where they came from nor who had sent them.

The wound on Parmenion's thigh itched as he stood silently watching the King, and he idly scratched at it through the linen bandage. Philip saw the movement — and smiled.

'You did well, Spartan,' he said, the tension seeping from him. 'To kill three was no mean feat. How many times have I urged you to have guards at your estate?'

'Many times, sire, and I shall listen to your advice from now on.'

Philip sank back to the throne. 'I thank the gods Olympias is not here. And I hope to Zeus that we find him before news reaches Epirus. She will return like an avenging Harpy, threatening to rip my heart out with her bare hands.'

'We will find him,' promised Parmenion, forcing a confidence into his voice that he did not feel.

'I should not have killed the sentries,' said Philip. 'It was foolish. You think there may be sorcery in this?'

There is too much we do not know,' Parmenion answered. 'Who was the man in the room? Why did he carry a dagger? Was his mission to kill? If it was, was he alone? As to the sentries. . what did they mean about the stars?

There is little sense in this, Philip. If the boy had been killed we would have found the body. Yet, why would he be taken? Ransom? Who would live to spend such wealth? Let us, for argument's sake, assume that the Olynthians were responsible. They are not fools. They know Macedonia's army would descend on them with fire and sword; the lands of the Chalcidice would run with blood.'

'Athens,' muttered Philip. 'They would do anything to cause me pain. Athens. .' Parmenion saw again the gleam in the eye, and spoke swiftly.