David Gemmell - Dark Prince

Rain lashed down — the death ship was faltering, slowing.

'My magic is almost gone,' confided Gorgon. 'Soon she will break up and sink — for the second time.'

They were less than a mile from land, but the storm was against them.

The mist fled against the force of the storm winds. As Parmenion glanced back, the trireme hove into view.

Lightning flashed once more, glinting from the bronze ram at the prow as it clove the water towards the death ship's hull.

Alexander crouched down on the windswept deck, holding hard to a wooden post as the death ship rose and fell in the surging storm-tossed sea. From here he could only see the chasing trireme when the huge swell lifted the prow. A massive wave hit the death ship, a section of the upper deck collapsing under the weight of the water. Camiron lost his grip on the broken mast and was swept towards the raging sea. Alexander screamed, but no one heard him above the roar of the storm. Seeing Camiron in peril, Brontes threw himself across the rain-lashed deck, grabbing the centaur's hand. For a moment it seemed as if the former minotaur had succeeded, but the ship rolled and a second wave broke over them, plucking both from the deck.

Alexander tried to stand, hoping to reach Parmenion at the stern, but he slipped and almost lost his grip on the post.

Thena made her way to him, holding him tightly.

'Camiron is gone!' wailed the prince. Thena nodded, but said nothing. Another section of deck, close to the prow, sheared away into the sea.

Alexander reached out with his spirit, trying to locate Camiron.

At first there was nothing, but then his mind was filled with the sweetest music he had ever heard. High-pitched and joyous, it forced all thoughts of the centaur from his mind. The ship shuddered, the rotten wood groaning under the onslaught of the storm, but Alexander heard nothing save the ethereal song from below the sea. He let the music drift across his thoughts, waiting for his talent to translate it. But it was almost beyond his powers. There were no words, merely emotions, rich and satisfying. Reaching out further he sought the source, but the sound came from all around him in a harmony beyond imagining. When he had heard birds singing in the trees he had been able to fasten to each, for they were individual. But this music was different. The singers were empathically linked.

The death ship foundered, water gushing in through the open oarports. The deck split in half, the sea roaring around the child and the priestess. Alexander's hands were torn from their grip on the post.

Thena tried to hold on to him but the ship rolled, spilling them both into the water. Alexander felt the sea close over him, but still the music filled his soul.

As he sank beneath the waves he felt a soft, curiously warm body alongside him, bearing him up. His head broke clear of the surface and he sucked in a deep breath, his hands thrashing out at the water as he struggled to stay afloat.

A dark grey form surfaced alongside him, a curved fin on its back. He grabbed for the fin, holding to it with all his strength. The dolphin flicked its tail and swam towards the distant shore, the music of its song washing over the child and soothing all his fears.

The trireme's ram smashed through the timbers of the death ship's stern, the force of impact hurling Parmenion from his feet. Sliding across the rain-lashed deck he caught hold of a section of rail and struggled to rise. He saw Gorgon hurl the tree-root high into the air, watched it caught by the storm winds and carried to the trireme's deck. Locked together now, the two ships wallowed in the swell. The rowers on the trireme tried to back oars, in an attempt to pull away from the doomed vessel. But the magic which kept the death ship afloat was gone and the full weight of the saturated timbers dragged down on the enemy trireme, pulling the prow down, the stern rising up from the water.

The death ship rolled, pitching Parmenion towards the sea. But he clung on grimly with his left hand, while his right scrabbled at the fastenings of his breastplate. He would never be able to swim with its weight upon his torso. A massive wave crashed over the decks, pulling the Spartan loose and carrying him over the side.

His helm was ripped from his head — and still the breastplate was in place. Staying calm Parmenion drew his dagger, cutting away the last thongs holding the armour in place. Shrugging free of the breastplate, he surfaced in time to see the doomed ships vanish beneath the waves.

To his right, for a moment, he saw Attalus desperately trying to keep his head above water. Dropping his dagger Parmenion struck out towards the Macedonian. Still in full armour, Attalus sank beneath the waves. Parmenion dived deep, his powerful legs propelling him towards the drowning swordsman.

It was pitch-dark, but a flash of lightning speared the sky and, for a heartbeat only, Parmenion saw the still struggling Macedonian. Grabbing hold of Attalus' shoulder-guard, Parmenion swam for the surface. His lungs were close to bursting as his head came clear. Attalus came up alongside him, but sank almost immediately under the weight of his breastplate. Parmenion dived once more, feeling for the dagger Attalus wore on his left hip. It was still in place. The Spartan drew it and sawed at the breastplate thongs. The blade was razor-sharp and the wet leather parted. Attalus ducked his head, pushing the breastplate up and away from him. Free of its weight, he rose to the surface.

A wave lifted the warriors high and Parmenion saw the distant shoreline. Keeping his movements slow and preserving his strength, the Spartan angled his body towards the beach, allowing the currents to carry him to safety.

He did not look back for Attalus, nor allow his mind to dwell on the fate of Alexander and the others. Alone against the might of sea and storm he anchored his thoughts to a single objective.

Survival.

Ektalis sat apart from his men under a small overhang of rock, watching the rain on the grey stone cascading down before him. He was drier here, but the wind occasionally blew the curtain of water against his bare legs, where it trickled behind the bronze greaves he wore. Staring gloomily out over the storm-lashed gulf, Ektalis wished he were back in Korinthos with his wife and sons.

He glanced to his left where the remaining ten men of his detachment sheltered in a shallow cave, then looked to his right where the five Makedones sat in the open, watching the sea.

Ektalis felt his hatred rise like bile in his throat. Loathsome barbarians! How such a cultured city as Korinthos could form an alliance with the Demon King was beyond him. But form it they had, and now he rode with the devil's army.

If you were a man, he told himself, you would have stood against the decision in the agora when the councillors put the question to the public vote. But you did not… and stayed alive. The debate had been heated. Leman, Parsidan and Ardanas — good friends all — had spoken heroically, denouncing the alliance. All had been murdered within a day of the meeting. Now Philippos ruled.

Ektalis shivered as the wind hurled more rain over his drenched white cloak. 'Find the Golden Child,' his general had told him. 'It is the King's order.'

He is not my King, Ektalis wanted to say. But he had not. Instead he had saluted, gathered his century and set off for the west. The priests first said the boy was in the Forest of Gorgon. Now a message had been received saying he was aboard a ship heading towards the coast. There were ten bays where a ship could come in close to the shore and Ektalis ordered men to guard them all.