David Gemmell - Dark Prince

'But you said. .'

'I changed my mind.'

'You cannot trust him ,' Thena pulsed, but Parmenion ignored her.

Stretching out on the cold ground, he closed his eyes. All around them, as he had said, there were deadly enemies, moving in from three sides and guided by the malevolent power of the Makedones King. The Spartan considered his allies: a dying minotaur, a priestess, a twisted assassin and a Forest King steeped in evil.

His thoughts were not hopeful, his dreams full of torment.

Attalus lay awake, his thoughts confused. The threat from the demon nagged at him, burning in his mind with fingers of fire. It would be so easy to creep across the camp-site and draw his dagger across the boy's throat. Then the threat would be neutralized. And yet the child was the son of Philip — the only man whose friendship Attalus had ever desired.

I need no friends, he told himself. But the words echoed in his mind, flat and unconvincing. Life without Philip was worth nothing. He was the sun, the only warmth the swordsman had known since childhood.

He need not know you slew his child. Now this thought was tempting. At some point he could lure Alexander away from the others and kill him silently. Breaking Philip's heart in the process.

As Attalus rolled to his side the darkness was lifting, thin beams of moonlight piercing the overhanging trees. There came a sound, a soft swishing, like a stick cutting the air, and Attalus looked up to see a Vore gliding down from the upper branches of a tall pine. The creature landed lightly, moving silently towards the sleeping Alexander.

The swordsman did not move. Wings folded, the Vore leaned over the child, reaching out. .

Here, thought Attalus exultantly, was deliverance!

The creature's taloned hands dropped towards Alexander. Attalus' dagger flashed through the air, glittering in the moonlight to plunge into the Vore's back. The beast let out a high-pitched shriek. One wing flared out, but the second was pinned to its back by the jutting dagger. Gorgon surged to his feet and ran towards the Vore. The dying creature stumbled, pitching face-first to the ground. Parmenion and the others, awakened by the Vore's screams, gathered around the still twitching corpse.

Attalus stepped past them, ripping clear his dagger.

'Be careful,' snapped Gorgon, 'the blood is poisonous. One touch and you will die.' Attalus plunged the blade into the earth at his feet cleaning the dagger on the moss before returning it to its sheath.

Gorgon flipped the Vore to its back. 'He was one of mine,' he said. 'It is time to leave.'

'You saved me,' said Alexander, moving alongside Attalus and gazing up into the swordsman's face.

'Are you surprised, my prince?'

'Yes,' answered the boy.

'Are you?' Attalus asked Parmenion.

The Spartan shook his head. 'Why should I be? Did you not give me your word?'

'Spoken words are small noises that vanish in the air,' said Attalus softly. 'Do not put your faith in words.'

'If that were true, you would not have intervened,' countered Parmenion.

Attalus had no answer and swung away, his thoughts full of guilt and self-loathing. How could you be so stupid, he railed at himself? Moving back to his bed he gathered the cloak he had used for a blanket, brushing the dirt from it and fastening it once more to his shoulders with the brooch of turkis given to him by Philip.

The others were all preparing to leave — save the priestess, who was sitting quietly beneath a spreading oak.

Gorgon's voice broke the silence. 'Stay close to me, for where we travel it is very dark and the dangers are many.' But still Thena sat beneath the tree. Attalus walked across to her.

'We are ready,' he said.

'I will not be travelling with you,' she whispered.

'You cannot stay here.'

'I must.'

Parmenion joined them and the seeress looked up at the Spartan. 'You go on,' she said, forcing a smile. 'I will join you when I can.'

'Why are you doing this?' asked Parmenion, kneeling down beside her.

'I must delay the Makedones — and fool the Demon King.'

'How?' Attalus asked.

'Like that!' she said, pointing back across the camp. Attalus and Parmenion turned… to see themselves apparently still sleeping by a fire that now burned brightly. Across the clearing the form of Gorgon could be seen, lying beside the minotaur Brontes, while Alexander snuggled against the sleeping centaur. 'You must go swiftly- before the spirit of Philippos returns.'

'I will not see you in danger,' said Parmenion.

'We are all in danger,' she insisted. 'Go now!'

Attalus could see Parmenion had more to say and seized his arm. 'No more foolishness, remember? The boy must be saved. Now come on!' Parmenion pulled clear of his grip, but moved away to stand alongside Gorgon.

'She has great power,' said the Forest King, gazing at his own sleeping form several paces away.

The Spartan did not answer and Gorgon led the way into the depths of the forest; Parmenion and Brontes followed, Attalus bringing up the rear just behind the centaur and the boy.

As Gorgon had said, the trail was dark, and they made slow progress for the first two hours. Then the dawn light began to seep through the intertwined branches, though no bird-song greeted the morning and all was silent.

But towards mid-morning Gorgon, at the front of the small column, suddenly waved his hand and darted into the undergrowth, moving with surprising speed for all his bulk. Swiftly the others followed him, Parmenion grabbing Camiron and pulling the centaur to his side. For a moment the beast's hooves flailed in the air. 'Quiet!' hissed the Spartan. From the north came the sounds of many men trampling through the undergrowth. Dropping to his belly, Attalus eased back the bush before him and saw a troop of soldiers emerging from the trees some thirty paces away.

They were marching in single file, their spears held carelessly to their shoulders.

After they were gone Gorgon rose from his hiding place and the group set off once more, this time angling to the north.

Parmenion dropped back alongside Attalus. 'How many did you count?' asked the Spartan.

'Eighty-five. You?'

'The same. That means there are more ahead of us.' Parmenion glanced back. 'I hope she escapes them.'

Attalus nodded, but said nothing.

Derae sat in the moonlight, her thoughts sorrowful. This, she knew with calm certainty, would be her last night alive.

In order to keep the Makedones away from Parmenion she needed to hold the spell, but in so doing was forced to remain in the clearing, drawing the warriors of the Demon King towards her.

The night was cool, the trunks of the nearby trees bathed in silver. A fox moved out into the clearing, drawn to the carcass of the Vore. Carefully it moved around the body and then, catching the putrid scent of the dead beast, it slunk away into the undergrowth.

Derae took a deep breath. The golden stone was warm in her hand and she gazed down at it, marvelling at its beauty and its power. Aristotle had given it to her as they stood in the Stone Circle.

'Whatever you wish — within reason — the stone will supply,' he had told her. 'It will turn stones to bread, or bread to stone. Use it with care.' The stone was but a fragment of gold, veined with slender lines of jet. But as she held the spell in place the black lines thickened, the power in the fragment fading.

'Where did you come by it?' she had asked the magus .

'In another age,' he answered, 'before the oceans drank Atlantis and the world changed.'

Closing her fist around the stone, she looked across the clearing at the sleeping image of Parmenion. It was a surprising thought that these five days in Achaea had doubled their time together.