David Gemmell - Dark Prince

Ektalis nodded and gave the order to mount. Parmenion walked to the woman, laying his hand on her shoulder, but Helm could not hear the words that passed between them and moved on to the horses. The mounts of the Makedones were smaller than the horses of the Korinthians, but they were deep-chested and powerful, reared for stamina rather than speed; Helm chose a roan gelding, taking hold of the mane and smoothly vaulting to its back.

'You know your horses,' said Parmenion. 'He is one I would have chosen.'

For two hours the group rode in silence, angling south and east through rolling hills, skirting small villages and towns and holding to the tree-line.

At last, as the sun began to set, they made camp in a sheltered hollow.

Parmenion called Ektalis to him. 'We will need sentries,' he said, 'one on that hillside, a second in the trees to the north.'

As Ektalis saluted and moved away, Helm grinned. The salute had seemed natural, Parmenion accepting it as his due.

'I think you are used to larger armies than this,' offered Helm.

'I am indeed,' the man answered, his hand resting on the hilt of a Makedones sword now belted at his side, 'but this is all we have. May I see your sword?'

'Of course,' answered Helm, sliding the blade from its scabbard, reversing it and passing it hilt first to the general.

'It is a fine weapon. How did you come by it?'

'When I awoke it was close by, along with the armour and the helm.'

'What made you think it was yours?'

'I cannot answer that. I was naked and alone. . and it fitted me well. Especially the helm which, as you can see, has melted over my face.'

Parmenion was silent for a moment. 'You concern'me, warrior,' he said, and Helm became acutely aware that the man before him was now holding his sword. 'How do I know you were not sent by Philippos?'

'You don't,' answered Helm. 'But then neither do I.'

'You fight well. That is good. Your slaying of the Makedones supplied Attalus and myself with weapons, and for that I am grateful. Such a deed makes it unlikely you are an enemy. Unlikely but not impossible.'

'I accept that, Parmenion. And where does that leave us?'

'In mortal peril either way,' the general answered, returning Helm's sword and turning away.

By the afternoon of the following day the riders had reached the high ground overlooking the Plain of Mantinea — a wide, flat area between the mountains, bordering on the kingdom of Argolis. In the distance they could see two mighty armies facing one another. Thena dismounted and sat on a cliff-ledge, closing her eyes, her spirit soaring out over the waiting forces.

What she saw sent a shiver through her and she fled back to her body, crying out as she woke.

'What is it?' asked Parmenion, dismounting and kneeling beside her, gripping her shoulder.

'Send the others south,' she whispered. 'Tell them we will join them later.'

'Why?'

'Trust me! You are about to walk a different path and you must send them on. Swiftly now, for there is little time.'

Parmenion called Attalus to him. 'You must travel on without me for a while, my friend. Take Alexander south — to the Gateway, if necessary. I will meet you when I can.'

'We should stay together,' argued Attalus.

'There is no time for debate. You must protect Alexander. Brontes has gone to prepare the way, and you will be safe in the south. I can tell you no more, for I know no more.'

Attalus cursed softly, then vaulted to his mount. 'Look after yourself, Spartan,' he called, as he led the company away to the south.

Parmenion returned to the priestess. 'Tell me all,' he said.

'Wait,' she advised. 'The battle is beginning.'

The strategos turned his attention to the two armies. At this distance they were just like the tiny carved models with which he had won his first encounter with his rival, Leonidas, thirty-three years ago in another world. They appeared as toys, glittering and bright, moving across the dusty plain. But they were not toys. Within moments living, breathing men would be cut down, swords and spears slashing and cleaving through flesh and bone. The army of Makedon, black cloaks and black banners swirling in the breeze, marched forward confidently, the cavalry to the left sweeping out to envelop the enemy flanks.

But then they were met by a counter-charge, warriors in blue cloaks and shining helms emerging from their hiding-places among the boulders at the foot of the slopes. Parmenion smiled. This was good strategy from the Spartan King. Straining his eyes, he could just make out the monarch standing at the centre of the Spartan phalanx, 300 men in tight formation six ranks deep, fifty shields wide. It was a defensive formation and had been placed at the centre of the field, with mercenary divisions around it. 'He seeks to hold the centre steady,' said Parmenion. 'See how they gather around the Spartans?' More allied cavalry rode from the right, but the Makedones swung their lines to meet the charge. It seemed to Parmenion that the Makedones' defence was moving into action even before the charge, and he recalled with sinking heart that Philippos could read the mind of his enemy.

Even so the charge carried through, pushing back the enemy. The Spartan centre surged forward and Parmenion watched as the King mounted a fine grey stallion and rode back to join the reserve cavalry on the left. The battle was fully joined now, a great heaving mass of men vying for control of the field.

'Now!' whispered Parmenion. 'Now lead the charge!' As if the Spartan King had heard him Parmenion saw the great grey horse thunder into the gallop, riders streaming behind with the sun glittering on their lance-points.

But on the far side of the battle the allied cavalry suddenly gave way, panic sweeping their ranks. Swinging their mounts they fled the field. The Makedones poured into the breach, moving out to surround the allied centre. Two mercenary divisions broke and ran, leaving a gap on the Spartan right.

'Sweet Zeus, no!' shouted Parmenion. 'He had it won!'

The Spartan King disengaged his cavalry from the attack and led his men in a desperate ride across the battlefield, trying to close the gap, but Parmenion knew the attempt was doomed. Panic swept through the allied army like a grass fire, and all but the Spartans threw down their shields and ran.

The Spartan phalanx closed, becoming a fighting square, moving back from the centre towards a narrow pass in the mountains. But the King led one last desperate charge against the enemy centre, almost reaching Philippos. Now Parmenion saw the Demon King riding forward on a giant black stallion, hacking and cutting his way towards his enemy. A spear slashed into the grey stallion and it bolted, carrying the Spartan King clear of the action as he fought to control the pain-maddened beast.

Now the King was riding towards Parmenion and Thena, pursued by a score of black-cloaked riders. Glancing back, he saw them and swung the horse up on to a scree slope, the beast scrambling on to a ledge. There was nowhere else to go and the Spartan King leapt from his mount as the first Makedones reached the top. The man's horse reared as the King ran at it, toppling his rider, but then the others arrived, leaping from their horses and advancing on the lone warrior.

Parmenion's heart ached for the man. He had come so close, only to be betrayed by cowards and men of little heart.

He longed to gallop down to fight alongside the King, but a gorge separated them and the King was but moments from death — before him a score of enemies, behind him a chasm. He fought bravely and with great skill, but at the last a sword gashed his throat and he fell back, teetering on the edge of the abyss. Parmenion cried out in anguish as the Spartan King toppled from the ledge, his bronze-clad body cartwheeling through the air to crash against the mountainside before pitching once more into space to be dashed against the rocks below. Parmenion groaned and looked away. 'So close — so near to victory,' he whispered.