David Gemmell - Dark Prince

The voice faded and Parmenion mounted his horse and rode after Attalus. The two riders made their camp by a small stream that meandered through the wood. Hobbling the horses the warriors sat in silence, enjoying the warmth of the blaze. Parmenion stretched out on the ground, closing his eyes, his mind working at the problem facing him: how to find a single child in a strange land.

Aristotle had known only that the boy was not held by the Makedones. Somehow he had escaped. Yet despite his skills the magus could not locate him. All he knew was that the child had appeared close to Olympus and the Makedones still searched for him.

Wrapping himself in his cloak, Parmenion slept.

He awoke in the night to hear a whispering laughter echoing in the woods. Sitting up he looked towards Attalus, but the swordsman was asleep beside the dead fire. Easing himself to his feet, Parmenion tried to locate the source of the laughter. Some distance away he saw twinkling lights, but the trees and undergrowth prevented him from identifying their nature and source. Moving to Attalus, he tapped the man's arm. The swordsman awoke instantly, rolling to his feet with sword in hand. Gesturing him to silence, Parmenion pointed to the flickering lights and began to edge his way towards them. Attalus followed him, sword still drawn.

They came at last to a circular clearing where torches had been set in iron brackets on the trees. A group of young women, dressed in shimmering chitons , were sitting in a circle drinking wine from golden goblets.

One of the women rose from the circle, calling out a name. Instantly a small creature ran forward, bearing a pitcher of wine and refilling her goblet. Parmenion felt Attalus tense beside him, for the creature was a satyr, no taller than a child — ears pointed, upper body bare of hair, his legs those of a goat, his hooves cloven.

Touching Attalus' arm, Parmenion backed away and the men returned to their camp.

'Were they nymphs, do you think?' asked Attalus.

Parmenion shrugged. 'I don't know,' he admitted. ‘I took little note of myths and legends when a child. Now I wish I had studied them more carefully.'

Suddenly the distant laughter faded, to be replaced by screams, high-pitched and chilling. Drawing their swords, the two men ran back through the trees. Parmenion was the first to burst into the clearing.

Armed men were everywhere. Some of the women had escaped, but at least four had been borne to the ground, black-cloaked warriors kneeling around them. A girl ran clear, pursued by two soldiers. Parmenion leapt forward, slashing his sword through the neck of the first man, then blocking a savage cut from the second. Hurling himself forward he crashed his shoulder into his assailant, spinning him from his feet.

Hearing the sound of clashing blades, the other warriors left the women and ran to the attack. There were at least ten of them and Parmenion backed away.

'Who in Hades are you?' demanded a black-bearded soldier, advancing on Parmenion with sword extended.

'I am the name of your death,' the Spartan answered.

The man laughed grimly. 'A demi-god, are you? Heracles reborn, perhaps? You think to kill ten Makedones?'

'Perhaps not,' agreed Parmenion, as the soldiers formed a semi-circle around him, 'but I'll begin with you.'

'Kill him!' the man ordered.

At that moment Attalus emerged behind the circle, stabbing one man through the back with his dagger and sending a slicing cut across the face of a second. Parmenion leapt forward as the men swung to face this new threat. The black-bearded leader parried his first lunge, but the second plunged through his leather kilt to slice open the artery in his groin.

Attalus was in trouble, desperately fending off four attackers, the remaining three turning on Parmenion. The Spartan backed away once more, then sprang forward and left, engaging a warrior and slashing his sword towards the man's neck; he swayed back and Parmenion almost lost his balance. A soldier ran at him. Dropping to one knee Parmenion thrust his sword into the man's belly, ripping the blade clear as the other two closed on him.

'Help me, Parmenion!' yelled Attalus. Diving to his left, Parmenion rolled to his feet and ran across the clearing.

Attalus had killed one man and wounded another, but now he was fighting with his back to an oak tree, and there was blood on his face and arm.

'I am with you!' shouted Parmenion, seeking to distract the attackers. When one turned towards him, Attalus' blade licked out, plunging into the man's throat. Attalus shoulder-charged the warriors before him, ducking as a slashing sword tore the helm from his head.

Parmenion reached his side and the two Macedonians stood back to back against the remaining four warriors.

A deafening roar sounded from the trees and the Makedones, terror in their eyes, fled from the clearing.

'By Zeus, that was close,' said Attalus.

'It's not over yet,' Parmenion whispered.

Emerging from the tree-line came three colossal men, each over seven feet tall. One had the head of a bull and was carrying a huge double-headed axe. The second had a face that was almost human, save that it boasted a huge double-pupilled single eye in the centre of the forehead; this one carried a club into which iron nails had been half hammered. The third had the head of a lion; he carried no weapon, but his hands ended in talons the length of daggers. Behind them the women gathered together, fear still showing in their eyes.

'Sheathe your sword,' ordered Parmenion.

'You must be insane!'

'Do it — and swiftly! They are here to protect the women. It may be we can reason with them.'

'Dream on, Spartan,' whispered Attalus as the demonic beasts shuffled forward, but he returned the stabbing sword to its scabbard and the two men stood before the advancing monsters. The cyclops moved closer, raising his pitted club.

'You. . kill. . Makedones. Why?' he asked, his voice deep, the words coming like drum-beats from his cavernous mouth.

'They were attacking the women,' Parmenion answered. 'We came to their aid.'

'Why?' asked the monster again, and Parmenion looked up at the club hovering above his head.

'The Makedones are our enemies,' he said, tearing his eyes from the grisly weapon.

'All. . Humans… are… our. . enemies,' replied the cyclops. To the right the lion-headed monster squatted down over a dead soldier, ripping loose an arm at which he began to gnaw. But all the while his tawny eyes remained fixed on Parmenion. The minotaur moved closer on the left, dipping his horned head to look into the Spartan's face. His voice whispered out, surprising Parmenion, for it was gentle, the tone perfect. 'Tell me, warrior, why we should not kill you.'

'Tell me first why you should?' Parmenion responded.

The minotaur sat down, beckoning the Spartan to join him. 'Everywhere your race destroys us. There is no land -

save one — where our lives are safe from Humans. Once this land was ours; now we hide in woods and forests. Soon there will be no more of the Elder races; the sons and daughters of the Titans will be gone for ever. Why should I kill you? Because even if you are good and heroic your sons, and the sons of your sons, will hunt down my sons, and the sons of my sons. Is that an answer?'

'It is a good one,' agreed Parmenion, 'yet it is flawed. Should you kill me, then my sons would have reason to hate you, and that alone will make your vision true. But should we become friends, then my sons would come to know you and look upon you with kindly eyes.'

'When has that ever been true?' the minotaur asked.

'I do not know. I can only speak for myself. But it seems to me that if an act of rescue can result in summary execution then you are little different from the Makedones. Surely a son of the Titans will show more gratitude than that?'