David Gemmell - Dark Prince

'What happened to her?'

The Spartan's expression hardened, his blue eyes gleaming with a cold light. 'She was taken from me and slain. Now make your point, magus , for I am losing patience.'

'Exactly my point!' said Chiron, pushing himself to his feet and sitting beside the Spartan. 'I want you to think back to how you felt at the moment you pictured your love and your days together, and then how those thoughts changed when touched with bitterness. The Chaos Spirit may seem to be immortal and eternal, but it is not entirely the truth.

He needs to feed. I do not know if pain, anguish and hatred sired him, or whether he is the father and mother of all bitterness. In a way it does not matter. But he needs Chaos to keep him alive. In the body of Philippos he strides the world, birthing oceans of hatred. Every slave, every widow, every orphaned child will know hate; they will lust for revenge. Long after Philippos is dust the Makedones will be despised. Do you see? He cannot be beaten, for even in destroying Philippos you only continue to feed the spirit that possesses him.'

'What then do you suggest, that we meekly lie down before the Tyrant, offering our lives with a smile and a blessing?'

'Yes,' answered Chiron simply, 'for then we would be countering Chaos with a greater force — love. But that will never be. It would take a greater man than any I have met who could answer violence with forgiveness, evil with love. At best all we can do is to fight him without hatred.'

'Why did you make the eye for Philippos?' asked Parmenion suddenly.

'I had a vain hope that he would use it to see himself, the true soul within. He did not. It has always been a problem for me, Parmenion, for I seek to see the good in every man, hoping it will conquer. Yet it happens so rarely. A strong man will seek to rule; it is his nature. And to rule he will need to conquer others.' Chiron sighed. 'All our heroes are men of violence, are they not? I do not know the names of such heroes in your world. But it will be the same story.'

'Yes,' agreed Parmenion. 'Achilles, Heracles, Agamemnon, Odysseus. All men of the sword. But surely if evil men choose sword and lance, then good men must do the same to combat them?'

'Would that it were that simple,' snapped Chiron. 'But good and evil are not so easily distinguished. Good does not wear golden armour, nor does evil always dress in black. Who is to say where evil lies? You are a general in your own world. Did you ever sack a city? Kill women and children?'

'Yes,' answered Parmenion, uncomfortable now.

'And were you serving the forces of good?'

The Spartan shook his head. 'Your point is well made. You are a good man, Chiron. Will you come with us to Sparta?'

'Where else would I go?' answered the magus sadly. Rising, he made as if to walk away, then turned. 'There is a legend here — a fine legend. It is said that one day the Enchantment will return, that it will be brought back to us by a golden-haired child of the gods. He will restore peace and harmony, and the world will shine again. Is that not a beautiful idea?'

'Hold to it,' advised Parmenion, his voice gentle.

'I do. I hoped Alexander was the Golden One. But he too is cursed by Chaos. How many other worlds are there, Parmenion? Does a version of the Dark God stalk them all?'

'Never give in to despair,' the Spartan advised. 'Think on this: If you are correct, then perhaps in most of those worlds the Golden Child has already come.'

'That is a good thought,' agreed Chiron. 'And now I must leave you for a while. You are safe here — for the moment.

But watch the sea. Philippos will be using all his powers to locate Alexander.'

'Where are you going?'

'Back to the wood. They will need me there.'

Parmenion found the sorcerer's mood infectious and his spirits were sombre as he strolled along the line of cliffs overlooking the beach. Far below he could see Attalus and Alexander sitting on the white sand, deep in conversation, and he stopped for a while to watch them.

My son, he thought suddenly, and sadness struck him like a blow. Philotas, Nicci and Hector were his sons, yet his feelings for them were ambivalent. But this boy — this golden child — was everything to him. There is no profit in regret, he reminded himself, but the words, though true, offered no comfort. For this one regret lived on in his own private Hall of Shame. On the wedding night in Samothrace, when Philip was awaiting the arrival of his bride, Parmenion had betrayed him. There was no other word to suit the occasion. With the King lying in a drunken stupor, it was Parmenion who had donned the ceremonial full-faced helm and cloak of Kadmilos and walked into the torchlit room where Olympias lay waiting; Parmenion who had climbed to the bed, pinning her arms beneath him; Parmenion who had felt her soft thighs slide over his hips. .

'Enough!' he said aloud, as the memory brought fresh arousal. It was a form of double betrayal, and even now he could not understand it. His pride and powerful sense of honour had led him to believe that he would never betray a friend. Yet he had. But what was worse, and continued to torment him, was how even now, while his mind reeled sick with the shame of his deed, his body continued to react to the memory with arousal, lust and delight.

It was why he endured Philip's anger, and his occasional taunts. Guilt tied him to the Macedonian King with bonds stronger than love, as if by serving Philip faithfully he could in some way even the balance, eradicate the shame.

'You never will,' he whispered.

Olympias had been so much like Deraes, slim and beautiful, her red-gold hair glinting in the torchlight. She had tried to remove the helm, complaining that the cold metal was hurting her face, but he held her hands down against the soft sheets, ignoring her pleas. She had spent the first part of the night in the Woods of the Mysteries, inhaling the Sacred Smoke. Her pupils were enormously dilated and she lost consciousness while he lay upon her. It did not stop him.

Guilt came later when he crept back into Philip's rooms, where the King lay naked on a couch, lost in a drunken sleep. Pulling clear his helm, Parmenion gazed down on the man he had sworn to serve and felt then the sharp pain of regret. He dressed the unconscious monarch in the cloak and helm and carried the King into the bedroom, laying him alongside Olympias.

Back in his own rooms he had tried to justify his actions. The Lady Aida, in whose palace they were guests, had told Philip that if he did not consummate the wedding within what she termed the Holy Hour, then the marriage would be annulled. Philip had laughed at that. Faced with a beautiful woman, he had never been found wanting, and felt no concern at the threat. Yet, as he waited through the long night, he had continued — despite Parmenion's warnings — to drain goblet after goblet of the heavy Samothracian wine. Philip's capacity for alcohol was legendary, and it still surprised Parmenion how swiftly the King had succumbed to its influence on this special night.

At first Parmenion tried desperately to rouse Philip, but then he had gazed into the bedroom where Olympias lay naked on the broad bed. He tried to convince himself that his first thought had been of Philip, and the hurt to his pride in the morning when all of Samothrace heard of his failure in the marriage bed. But it was a lie. That excuse came later, as he lay awake watching the dawn.

Now he lived with a constant torment, as double-edged as any dagger. Firstly he feared the truth becoming known, and secondly he had to endure the sight of his beloved son being raised by another.

'I hope you are thinking of a plan to get us home,' said Attalus, moving silently alongside the Spartan.