David Gemmell - Dark Prince

'Wait!' called Parmenion. 'Your world is a long way from here. Only I can return you to it. Without me you will be trapped here, in the body of a child. How will you survive?'

'I have my army,' answered the Demon, but his voice wavered as he looked upon the beasts around him.

'You will conquer nothing with those,' said Parmenion. 'You might not even best the Forest King.'

'And if I give you the boy?'

'I will return him to his own world.'

'How so?' sneered the Demon. 'By trusting Gorgon? He will kill him. . me.'

'Then you must decide — and swiftly. You may have this forest… or a world. Decide, damn you!'

For a moment the Demon sat very still, his slitted eyes fixed on Parmenion, then he seemed to relax. 'One day I will kill you both,' he said, his voice echoing as if from a great distance. The horns began to shrink, Alexander cried out and fell from the centaur. Parmenion ran forward, lifting the boy and pushing back the golden hair. There was no sign now of the Demon, save in the fading brown patches of skin at the temples. Once more his hair was golden, his face beautiful.

'I couldn't. . stop him. . Parmenion,' wailed the child. 'I tried!'

'You did enough. Believe me! You did not allow him his full strength. That confused him.'

'Look out, Parmenion!' shouted Attalus. All around the man and the boy the beasts were rising, their eyes baleful.

Without the Demon to control them they saw only three Humans and a centaur, four enemies for the slaughter.

Parmenion surged upright, holding Alexander tightly to his shoulder. 'Back!' he shouted, but the beasts ignored him.

His sword snaked out as a creature with the head of a lizard sprang forward. His blade slashed across its throat, hurling it back.

Suddenly an eerie wailing filled the air and the creatures fell to their knees. Parmenion swung to see Gorgon striding from the forest, Thena and Brontes behind him.

A horned beast of prodigious size lifted a huge club and ran at the Forest King. Gorgon's eyes glowed. The beast staggered — and began to shrink, its muscles wasting away. Thinner and thinner it became until at last it fell to the earth, breaking into many pieces. A slight wind blew, raising a cloud of dust where the beast had fallen. Not even bones were left.

Gorgon turned towards Parmenion. 'Bring the child to me!' he commanded. The Spartan's legs were unsteady as he walked to the King, but his sword was still in his hand and he was ready to plunge it into the King's belly at the first sign of treachery.

'Be brave!' he whispered to the boy. Alexander nodded. Parmenion lowered the prince to the ground and the boy approached the Forest King, staring up into the green snake-shrouded face.

'Show me your power,' said Gorgon.

'I will show you,' Alexander told him. 'But at the Giant's Gateway.'

'Then you are truly Iskander.'

'I am,' Alexander answered.

The prince stood silently with head cocked to one side, his green eyes watching the writhing snakes. 'Are they real snakes?' he asked suddenly.

'Reality depends upon your perspective,' answered Gorgon, kneeling down and dipping his head. The snakes rose up, hissing, their forked tongues darting forward under sharp fangs.

The boy did not flinch. 'They are not alive,' he said.

'If they bite you, you will die,' Gorgon pointed out.

'That does not make them real. Their eyes are blind. They cannot see, they cannot feel. They move because you order it.'

'So does my arm — and that is real.'

'Indeed,' agreed the boy, 'and that is precisely what the snakes are — an extension of your body, like arms or legs. They merely look like snakes.'

'Are you not frightened of me?'

'I fear nothing,' lied Alexander, straightening his back and lifting his chin defiantly.

'But you find me monstrous and ugly.'

'I find you fascinating. Why did you choose such a countenance?'

A sound resembling laughter roared from the Forest King. 'I chose it to instil fear in my enemies. It did so. It still does so. But then the war was lost and the losers were. . punished? A spell was cast upon us, forcing us to hold our forms. You, Iskander, will wash away this spell.'

'Are you evil?' asked the boy.

'Of course. We lost. The losers are always evil, for it is the victors who sing the songs that become history. And in these forms they have left us what choices do we have? Look at the Vores! Their touch is death, their breath the plague. How many good works can they accomplish? The victors left us with hate and bitterness in our hearts. They called us evil, and made us evil. Now we live up to their expectations. You believe me?'

'It would be discourteous to admit that I did not,' answered the boy.

'True,' agreed the King, 'but I will allow you one discourtesy.'

'Then I must say that I do disagree. Parmenion says that every man has choices. If what you say is true, then all ugly men would be evil and all handsome men good.'

'Well said, child,' commented the minotaur, Brontes. 'My brother omits to mention that he — and his allies — began the war, bringing death and slaughter to thousands.'

Gorgon rose and shook his head, the snakes hissing and writhing. 'Just when it seemed I could have an intelligent conversation… Ah well, let us not rake over the ashes of history, Brontes. As I recall there were many thousands on both sides who died, brother killing brother. Let it end with the coming of Iskander.'

'I do not believe you will ever let it end, Dionius,' said Brontes sadly. 'It is not in your nature.'

'We shall see, brother. How is our mother? Does she still pine for me?'

A low growl came from Brontes, his fists clenching, the muscles of his shoulders bunching into tight ridges. 'Do not even think of it,' whispered Gorgon, his pale eyes glowing like lanterns.

'Please do not fight,' pleaded Alexander.

'No one is going to fight,' said Parmenion, moving between Brontes and the Forest King. 'We are allies now, against a common enemy. Is that not correct, Brontes?'

'Allies?' hissed the minotaur, shaking his head. 'I cannot bring myself to believe so.'

'You can,' argued Parmenion, 'because you must. This war you speak of was fought eons ago. There must come a time when it can be put aside. Let that time be now. Let it be here in this forest.'

'You have no idea what he did!' stormed Brontes.

'No, I have not. Nor do I need to. It is the way of war to bring out both the best and the worst in the combatants. But the war is over.'

'As long as he lives it will never be over,' said Brontes, turning away and stalking back into the forest. Alexander switched his gaze to the Forest King and thought he saw a look of disappointment, almost sadness on the twisted features. Then the grim, sardonic expression returned.

'Your mission has not begun well, Iskander,' said the King.

'Nothing of worth comes easily,' the boy answered.

'You are a wise child. I could almost like you — were I able to remember what such an emotion feels like.'

'You can remember,' said Alexander, with a bright smile. 'And I like you too.'

Alexander moved away from the Forest King and saw Camiron standing apart from the monsters who filled the clearing. The centaur was trembling, his front hooves pawing at the ground. The prince walked towards him but Camiron, seeing him, backed away several steps.

'You hurt me,' said the centaur, his huge eyes blinking rapidly.

'It was not me,' said Alexander soothingly, reaching out his hand. 'Did it look like me?'

'Except for the horns,' said Camiron. 'I don't like this place; I don't want to be here.'

'We will be leaving soon,' the boy told him. 'Will you let me ride you?'

'Where will we go?'