David Gemmell - Dark Prince

There were many pools within the hall, surrounded by white marble boulders from which grew enormous flowers of salmon-pink and crimson. Yellow-stoned paths had been set around the pools, curving across the moss-covered floor of the hall, all leading to the dais at the far end.

Ignoring the women and satyrs who sat by the water's edge, Brontes marched on until he stood before the dais. His brothers, Steropes and Arges, were sitting here, but Parmenion barely glanced at them; his eyes were drawn to the naked woman who sat upon a throne carved from a huge block of shining marble. Her hair was white — but not the tired, listless colour of the aged, more the proud, unconquered white of mountain snow. Her eyes were grey, her face ageless, unlined and smooth, but not young. Her body was slim, breasts small, hips boyish.

Parmenion bowed low. The woman rose from the throne and climbed from the dais, taking the Spartan's arm and leading him deeper into the hall, then out through the vines to a hollow in the hills bathed in sunshine.

'Who are you, Lady?' he asked, as she sat beneath a spreading oak.

'Men have given me many names,' she answered. 'More than the stars, I think. But you may continue to call me Lady.

I like the sound of it upon your tongue. Now sit beside me, Parmenion, and tell me of your son, Alexander.' It was a moment before he realized what she had said, and a cold thrill of fear whispered through his soul.

'He is the son of my King,' he told her, as he stretched out on the grass beside her. 'He has been abducted by Philippos. I am here to return him to… his father.'

She smiled, but her knowing eyes held his gaze. 'He is your child, sired during a night of Mysteries. It is a shame you bear — with many other guilts and despairs. I know you, Man, I know your thoughts and your fears. You may speak openly.'

Parmenion looked away. 'I am sorry that you have seen so much, Lady. It grieves me to bring my. . darkness… to this place of beauty.'

Her fingers touched his face, stroking the skin. 'Do not concern yourself with such shame — your guilt is all that kept you alive after you drank my wine. For only the good can know guilt and you are not evil, Parmenion. There is kindness in your heart and greatness in your soul — which is more than can be said for your companion. I have let him live only because you need him. But he will sleep on until you leave, and will never see my land.' Rising smoothly, she walked to the crest of a hill and stood staring at the distant mountains. Parmenion followed her and listened as she pointed out the landmarks. 'There, far to the west, are the Pindos Mountains, and there, across the plains to the south, is River Peneios. You know these places, for they exist in your own world. But further south there are cities you will not know: Cadmos, Thospae, Leonidae. They fight in a league against Philippos — and will soon fall. Athens was destroyed during the spring. Soon only one city state will stand against the Tyrant: Sparta. When you find Alexander, take him there.'

'First I must find him,' said the warrior.

'He is with the magus , Chiron, and safe for the moment. But Philippos will find him soon, and the Wood of the Centaurs will prove no barrier to the Makedones.'

Turning to him she took his arm, leading him back through the glades to the hall of vines.

'Once upon a time,' she said, her voice soft and sorrowful, 'I could have helped you in this quest. No longer. We are the people of the Enchantment, and we are slowly dying. Our magic is failing, our sorcery faint against the bright swords of the Makedones. I give you my blessing, Parmenion. There is little else.'

'It is enough, Lady, and a gift I am unworthy of,' he told her, taking her hand and kissing it. 'But why give me even that?'

'Our interests may yet be mutual. As I said, the Enchantment is fading. Yet there is a legend here that all of us know.

It is said that a golden child will come among us, and the land will shine once more. Do you think Alexander is that golden child?'

'How could I know?'

'How indeed? Once I could see into the future — not far, but far enough to be able to protect my people. Now I see only the past and lost glories. And perhaps I too cling to foolish legends. Sleep now — and awake refreshed!'

He awoke wrapped in his cloak at the camp-site, the horses grazing by the stream. Across from the dead fire Attalus slept on, no signs of wounds upon his face and arms.

Parmenion stood and walked through the woods to the clearing. There were no bodies here, but dried blood still stained the earth.

Back at the camp-site he woke Attalus.

'I had the strangest dream,' said the swordsman. 'I dreamt we rescued a group of nymphs. There was a minotaur and.

. and. . damn, it's fading now.' Attalus rolled to his feet and brushed dirt from his cloak. 'I hate forgetting dreams,'

he said. 'But I remember the nymphs — wonderful women, beautiful beyond description. What of you? How did you sleep?'

'Without dreams,' answered the Spartan.

Derae watched Parmenion and Attalus ride west, then stepped from the shadows of the trees to the centre of the camp-site. Her hair was no longer flame-red but a deep brown, close-cropped. Her face was more square, her nose long, her eyes, once sea-green, now hazel beneath thick brows.

'You are certainly no beauty now,' Aristotle told her, as they stood in the Stone Circle following the departure of the Macedonians.

'I will not need beauty,' she answered, her voice deep and almost husky.

She had stepped through the portal in time to see Parmenion and Attalus riding into the woods and had followed them, settling herself down a little way from their camp-site. At first she had intended to introduce herself that same night but, reaching out with her Talent, she touched the souls of both men, learning their fears. They were uneasy with one another. Parmenion did not trust the cold-eyed Macedonian warrior, while Attalus had no love for the man he considered an arrogant Spartan. They needed time, she realized and, wrapping herself in her cloak, she slept.

She was awakened by the sound of laughter and heard the two Macedonians creeping through the undergrowth.

Soaring from her body, she viewed the scene from above and was the first to see the dark-cloaked Makedones warriors making their way through the woods towards the women.

When the first screams came, Derae sped to Parmenion. His emotions were surging. Part of him yearned to rescue the maidens, but a stronger desire was to stay safe and think of Alexander. Instinctively Derae used her power, filling him with a new sense of purpose. Even as she did so she knew it was a mistake. One against ten would mean the death of the man she loved. Transferring her spirit to Attalus, she swiftly read his intent. There was no way he would go to Parmenion's aid. His mind was locked to a single thought: Protect yourself! With nothing else to work on Derae made his fear swell. If Parmenion was to die Attalus would be trapped in this world for ever, all his riches counting for nothing. Never would he see his palaces and his concubines. He would spend his life as a mercenary soldier in a world that was not his own. His anger was colossal as he drew his sword and raced to Parmenion's aid.

The two warriors fought magnificently, but Derae was sickened by the slaughter and, when it was over, withdrew to her body, carrying with her a sense of shame.

The deaths were on her conscience. She had manipulated the events, and that was contrary to all her beliefs. Long into the night she tried to rationalize her actions. The Makedones were intent on rape and murder. Had she not intervened the women would have been abused and slain. But their deaths would not have been your fault, she told herself. Now the blood of the Makedones was on her hands.