David Gemmell - Dark Prince

Gathering wet twigs, he laid them in the hot ashes at the edge of the fire to dry, then rose and began to scout the area.

He needed fuel for the fire; without it he could die in this cold. The altar yielded nothing and he walked further into the wood. Here the darkness was deeper, the tree branches interlaced like a great domed roof. But the ground was dryer underfoot, and Alexander found several broken branches which he gathered in his arms before returning to the fire.

Patiently he worked at the small blaze, careful not to smother it, feeding small twigs to the dancing fingers of flame until at last his trembling body began to feel the growing heat.

Three times he returned to the heart of the wood, gathering fuel, building up a store which he hoped would last the night. On his fourth journey he thought he heard a sound in the darkness and paused. At first there was silence, then came a stealthy padding that filled him with terror. Dropping the wood he ran for his fire, sprinting across the clearing and crouching beside the blaze, seizing a burning branch and hoisting it above his head.

From the woods came a hunting pack of grey wolves, padding out to circle him — yellow eyes gleaming, fangs bared.

They were huge beasts, taller even than the war-hounds of his father, and he had no weapon save the burning branch.

He could feel their hunger beating upon his mind, coming at him in waves. They feared the fire, but their empty bellies were fuelling their courage.

Alexander stood very still and closed his eyes, reaching out with his Talent, sliding through the haze of hunger and fury, seeking the pack leader, touching his soul fire and merging with his memories. The child saw a birth in a dark cave, tumbling tussles with brothers and sisters, more bitter fights and battles as he grew — scars and pain, long hunts, victories.

At last the boy opened his eyes. 'You and I are one,' he told the great, grey wolf. The beast cocked its head and advanced on him. Alexander returned the branch to the fire and waited while the wolf came closer, his jaws level with the boy's face. Reaching out slowly, Alexander stroked the grizzled head and the matted fur of its neck.

Puzzled, the other wolves moved uneasily around the clearing.

The boy let his mind wander further, scouring the mountainside and the woods beyond until at last he felt the beating of another heart- a doe sleeping. Alexander shared the image with the wolf-leader and pointed to the south.

The wolf padded silently away, the pack following. Alexander sank to his knees by the fire — tired, frightened, yet exultant.

'I am the son of a King,' he said aloud, 'and I conquered my fear.'

'A fine job you made of it,' said a voice from behind him. Alexander did not move. 'Do not fear me, lad,' said the man, moving out into the boy's range of vision and squatting by the fire. 'I am not your enemy.' The newcomer was not tall, his hair short-cropped and grey, his beard tightly curled. He was wearing a kilt of leather and a bow was slung across his broad shoulders. A horse moved out into the clearing; it wore no chabraque or bridle but came close to the man, nuzzling his back. 'Be at ease, Caymal,' he whispered, stroking the stallion's nose. 'The wolves are gone.

The young prince dismissed them in search of a doe.'

'Why did I not sense your presence?' asked Alexander. 'And why did the wolves not pick up your scent?'

'The two answers are one: I did not wish to be found.'

'You are a magus , then?'

'I am many things,' the man told him. 'But despite all my virtues I have one irritating vice: I am by nature curious, and I find this current situation irresistibly intriguing. How old are you, boy?'

'Four.'

The man nodded. 'Are you hungry?'

'I am,' admitted Alexander. 'But I see you have no food.'

The newcomer laughed and dipped his hand into a leather pouch by his side. The pouch was small, yet — impossibly — the man drew from it a woollen tunic which he tossed to the boy. 'What we see is not always the complete truth,' he said. 'Put on the tunic.' Alexander stood, lifting the garment over his head and settling it into place. It was a perfect fit, the material soft and warm, edged with leather. When he sat down again the man was turning an iron spit over the flames, on which meat was sizzling.

'I am Chiron,' said the man. 'Welcome to my woods.'

'I am Alexander,' responded the boy, the smell of the roasting meat filling his senses.

'And the son of a King. Which King would that be, Alexander?'

'My father is Philip, King of Macedonia.'

'Wonderful!' said Chiron. 'And how did you come here?'

The prince told him of the dream and the night of stars followed by the long fall into darkness. Chiron sat silently as the boy talked, then questioned him about Macedonia and Pella.

'But surely you know of my father,' said Alexander, surprised. 'He is the greatest King in all of Greece.'

'Greece? How interesting. Let us eat.' Chiron lifted the meat from the spit, pulling it apart and handing a section to the boy. Alexander took it gingerly, expecting the hot fat to burn his fingers. But although well-cooked the food was only warm, and he devoured it swiftly.

'Will you take me to my father?' he asked when the meal was finished. 'He will reward you well.'

'I am afraid, my boy, that what you ask is beyond even my powers.'

'Why? You have a horse. I cannot be far from home.'

'You could not be further. This is not Greece, but a land called Achaea. And here the great power is Philippos, Lord of the Makedones _ the Demon King. It was he who stood upon this hillside, his priests calling you from your home.

It is he who hunts you even now. And, though my power temporarily blocked the magic of his golden eye, no, Alexander, I cannot take you home.'

'I am lost then?' whispered the boy. 'I will never see my father again?'

'Let us not leap to conclusions,' advised Chiron, but his grey eyes avoided Alexander's gaze.

'Why would this. . Philippos want me?'

'I… am not sure,' replied Chiron.

Alexander looked at him sharply. 'I think you are… not telling me the truth.'

'You are quite right, young prince. And let us leave it that way for the moment. We will sleep now, and tomorrow I will take you to my home. There we can think and plan.'

The child looked into the grey eyes of the man, not knowing whether to trust him nor how to arrive at a decision concerning him. Chiron had fed him and clothed him, offering him no harm, but this in itself gave no indication of his longer-term plans. The fire was warm and Alexander lay down beside it to think. .

And slept.

He was awoken by the man's hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him, and it was some moments before he realized that the killing power he had come to dread had not touched the grey-haired magus .

'We must leave — and swiftly,' said Chiron. 'The Makedones are back!'

'How do you know?' asked Alexander sleepily.

'Caymal kept watch for us,' the magus answered. 'Now listen to me, this is most important. You are about to meet another friend. He will surprise you, but you will trust him. You must. Tell him that Chiron wants him to go home.

Tell him the Makedones are upon us and he must run — not fight. You understand?'

'Where are you going?' asked the boy fearfully.

'Nowhere,' answered Chiron, handing his bow and quiver to the prince. 'Watch and learn.' Rising swiftly, he ran to the stallion and turned to face the boy. The stallion's great head rested on the man's shoulder, and the two stood as still as statues. Alexander blinked, and it seemed that a heat-haze danced over man and horse. Chiron's chest swelled, his head thickening, beard darkening. Great bands of muscle writhed over his chest, while his legs stretched and twisted, his feet shrivelling into hooves.