David Gemmell - Dark Prince

Then the five Makedones had arrived — grim, cold-eyed warriors, proud and haughty. What have they to be proud about, wondered Ektalis? Ten years ago they were mating with sheep in the barbarous hills of their native land. They have no culture — no history. But now they strode among civilized men, looking down upon them, treating them like slaves. Treating ms like slaves, he corrected himself.

But then that is what we are, he realized. Slaves to the dreams of a child-murdering madman.

A patch of blue appeared in the sky to the east, sunlight shining on the distant hills. For a moment only, Ektalis felt his spirits lift; then he saw the Makedones rise to their feet, one of them pointing at the shoreline. Ektalis glanced down to see a small child emerging from the water.

His heart sank. Everyone knew the boy's intended fate — to be sacrificed to the Demon King.

The rain petered out, the clouds breaking. Ektalis moved back to his men. Sending two of them to fetch the soldiers from the other bays, the Korinthian led his warriors down the cliff path to the beach, following the five Makedones who had already drawn their swords.

Then came a sight which Ektalis would long remember. A dolphin swam into view, with a naked woman alongside it holding to its fin. It moved close to the shore, allowing the woman to find her feet and walk through the swell.

'I praise thee, Poseidon, Lord of the Deep,' whispered a man alongside Ektalis. The other Korinthians took up the prayer. 'Look upon us with favour, bless our families and our city.'

The goddess moved forward, kneeling down beside the boy and putting her arms around him. The Makedones reached the sand and advanced upon her.

'Stop!' cried Ektalis, but the Makedones ignored him and he began to run, his men following. A lean Makedones warrior pulled back his sword, ready to ram it into the woman's belly. Ektalis hurled himself at the man, knocking him from his feet.

'What in Hecate's name do you think you are doing?' stormed the Makedones officer, a tall, broad-shouldered warrior with a trident beard.

'She is one of Poseidon's daughters, Canus. Did you not see her riding through the waves upon a dolphin?'

Canus shook his head. 'You fool! She is a witch, that is all. Now stand aside.'

'No!' cried Ektalis, drawing his own sword. 'She will not be harmed. Take the child, but the woman is not to be harmed.'

'If you go against me in this,' hissed Canus, his dark eyes gleaming, 'then you go against my King. And that is treason.'

'Even so,' answered Ektalis, trying in vain to suppress his fear.

Canus saw his terror and laughed. The sound of his laughter ripped into Ektalis worse than a blade, and he felt his new-found courage melting before it.

'Say the word, captain, and we'll cut the dogs into pieces,' said a Korinthian warrior. Ektalis was amazed. He knew the men held him in low regard — as well they might, for he had never been a man of action. Canus turned and stared at the eight Korinthians.

'You think to thwart me? You believe five Makedones could not kill you all? Well, think on this, you worthless scum. My thoughts are linked to the High Priest, and his to the King. Everything that happens here is known already.

And if you persist in this, then not only you will die but all your families. You understand?' Canus saw the Korinthians relax, hands moving away from sword-hilts, and turned back to the woman. But as he moved towards her Ektalis leapt to stand before her.

Canus lunged at the Korinthian but Ektalis parried the blade, sending a reverse cut at the Makedones' face. Canus swayed back, the sword slashing harmlessly by him. Then he sprang forward, his sword plunging into Ektalis' groin.

The Korinthian knew he was finished, but with his last strength he rammed his blade into Canus' neck, slicing it up under the jaw-line, through mouth and tongue, before burying it in Canus' brain. The Makedonian fell forward, his weight tearing the blade from Ektalis' grasp as the dying Korinthian fell to his knees.

The goddess moved alongside him, pulling clear the sword. But his vision was failing and he fell against her.

'I… am… so sorry,' he whispered.

Derae eased the dying man to his back, ignoring the remaining Makedones. Her spirit flowed into him, moving through arteries and veins until she reached the terrible wound that had ripped into his lower belly. As swiftly as she could she began to work on the severed artery at the groin, closing it, increasing by tenfold its ability to heal. Moving on to the muscle wall she first slowed the flow of blood, then brought the tissue together in a perfect join. The Korinthian was wearing a leather kilt and this had prevented the blade from making deep penetration. The worst wound was to the groin, but with this now sealed the warrior would live. Derae returned to her body and opened her eyes.

'The woman may live,' said a tall Makedones, 'but the boy is ours.'

'Take him and go,' said the Korinthian who had first spoken in support of Ektalis.

'The boy stays,' said another voice, deep and metallic, and Derae swung to see a warrior walk into sight. His face was masked by a bronze helm, and his armour was bright in the sunlight. He moved smoothly across the sand and, as he came closer, she saw that the bronze covering his features was no mask but living metal; bronze lids above bronze eyes, a bronze beard and mouth.

'Who are you?' asked the new Makedones leader, a hatchet-faced warrior called Plius.

'I am Helm. And the boy is mine.'

'Take him!' yelled Plius. The four warriors sprang at the newcomer, but Helm's sword slashed through the throat of the first man and came up to block a wild cut from the second. Helm spun on his heel, ramming his elbow into Plius'

face, smashing his nose and hurling him back into the path of the fourth attacker. The bloody sword rose and fell -

and a second Makedones died. Helm leapt at Plius, who tried to block the deadly thrust; but the pain from his broken nose had partly blinded him and Helm's sword slid home in his throat. The last Makedones threw himself at Helm, but the newcomer sidestepped, slashing his sword through the back of the man's neck as he stumbled past. The soldier fell face-first into the sand and struggled to rise. Helm struck him again, the blade almost decapitating the man.

'The boy is mine,' said Helm again, turning to face the Korinthians.

At that moment Ektalis woke and stared up into Derae's face. 'Is this death?' he asked.

'No. You are healed.'

'Thank you, goddess.'

Smiling, she helped him to his feet. The Korinthians moved forward, gathering around the captain, mystified and amazed by his recovery.

Derae looked at the newcomer. 'Do you mean harm to the child?' she asked.

'No, lady,' came the metallic voice, 'but I need him.'

'For what purpose?'

'To free me from the curse of this helm.'

'How do you know that he can do this?'

'I was told to seek him.'

'By whom?'

'I do not know,' he answered wearily. 'I know so little.'

Derae reached into the man's mind and saw that he spoke the truth.

There were no memories before waking upon the slab in the graveyard, no hint as to his identity.

The priestess withdrew, then called Alexander forward. 'Can you help him?' she asked.

For a moment the boy was silent. 'This is not the time,' he whispered.

Ektalis wrapped his white cloak around the shoulders of the naked goddess while two of the other Korinthians stripped a dead Makedones of his armour, pulling clear his tunic and offering it to Derae. The men were silent, awestruck. They had seen a goddess rise from the sea, and watched as their dead captain was brought back to life.

And they had stood by as an enchanted warrior had slain the Makedones. Nothing would ever be the same for them again, and they waited for Ektalis to speak to them.