David Gemmell - Dark Prince

Derae pointed to the man beside Theoparlis. 'Take up your sword,' she ordered. The man obeyed. 'Draw the blade across your palm.'

'No!' shouted the man, but the sword rose of its own accord, his left hand opening to receive it. 'No!' he screamed again, but the sharp iron cut into his flesh and blood welled from the wound.

'Hold up the hand so that all may see,' Derae ordered. 'This is no illusion. Theoparlis, touch the blood.' The Makedones obeyed. 'Is it real?'

'Yes, lady.'

'Now watch. . and learn.'

Derae closed her eyes. The cut was shallow and even and it was a matter of moments to accelerate the tissue bond, producing ten days of healing in as many heartbeats. When she opened her eyes the men had gathered around the injured warrior and were staring at his blood-covered hand. 'Wipe clear the blood,' said Derae. Using the edge of his black cloak the man did so. Only a faint scar remained.

'Now you know how the King survived,' she told them. 'I healed him. And I tell you this, he is beloved of the gods.

The next time you see him will be on the day of your deaths — if he should so choose.'

'His army is destroyed,' said Theoparlis.

'You have yet to face the might of Sparta.'

'Five thousand men cannot stand against the forces of Makedon.'

'We shall see. Go now. Report what I have said to Philippos. And tell him the words of Athena — if he marches against Sparta he will die.'

Theoparlis bowed and backed away to his horse, his men following.

Derae let fall the illusion, and it seemed to the warriors as if the goddess had suddenly disappeared from view.

Unnoticed, the priestess walked away to the west and the distant woods.

She found Parmenion sitting by the freshly-covered grave. 'You will take his place?' she asked.

'I don't know, Thena,' he answered. 'We were heading for Sparta because we thought it would be safe and Aristotle could meet us there. But now? Now the Spartans have no war leader and the Makedones could march all the way to the city.'

'What choices are there?'

He shrugged. 'We could make for the Gateway and allow Alexander his destiny — if such it be… and hope Aristotle is there to bring us home before the Makedones arrive.'

'And the Demon King?'

'He is not my problem, Thena. This is not my world.' His words lacked conviction and his gaze strayed to the grave.

He sighed and stood. 'Tell me what is right,' he said.

'Are you asking me — or him? He was you, Parmenion. Ask yourself what you would wish for if the roles were reversed. Would you prefer to see your city conquered, your people enslaved? Or would you hope that your twin could achieve what you could not?'

'You know the answer to that. But there is Alexander to consider.'

'Yet the situation is the same as before,' she said. 'We need Sparta to hold back the Makedones, to give Alexander time at the Gateway. Who better to ensure the Spartans can do just that than their own Battle King?'

'But I am not him. It feels wrong, Thena. He may have a family — a wife, sons, daughters. They will know him. And even if they do not, surely it is an insult to his memory?'

'Would you consider it an insult to yours if it was he who fought for you?'

'No,' he admitted. 'Yet still it does not sit well with me. And what of Attalus and the Korinthians? They know I am not the Spartan King.'

'Attalus knows what he must do. But you and I must ride to Sparta. There is much to be done, and little time, for Philippos will march upon the city within a few days.'

Suddenly Parmenion cursed. 'Why me?' he shouted. 'I came here to rescue my son, not to become embroiled in a war in which I have no interest.'

Derae said nothing for a while, then came close to the Spartan and laid her hand on his arm. 'You know the answer to that, my dear. Why you? Because you are here. Simply that. Now time is short.'

Parmenion moved to the graveside. 'I never knew you,' he said softly, 'but men spoke well of you. I will do what I can for your city and your people.'

Swiftly he donned the dented armour of the dead monarch, strapping the sword of Leonidas to his side. Turning to Derae, he smiled.

'There is much to do,' she told him.

'Then let us begin,' he said.

For two hours they rode south, then cut towards the east over rolling hills, stopping at dusk in a ruined and deserted settlement. Parmenion built a fire against the stones of a fallen wall and sat in silence staring at the flames. Derae did not intrude on his thoughts. At last he spoke.

'The King's bodyguard were engaged in a fighting retreat,' he said suddenly. 'Did they escape?'

'I will find out,' she said. Moments later she nodded. 'They lost more than a third of their number, but they are defending a narrow pass and still holding the Makedones.'

'We must be with them by dawn. If I can convince the King's captain that there is a chance, I can carry this through.'

'Even then,' she whispered, 'can you win against the Demon King?'

'I have fought in many wars, lady, and I have never lost. I do not say this with arrogance, but I am the strategos . If there is a way to defeat Philippos I will find it. Or be buried like. . like my brother in an unmarked grave. I can do no more.'

'You know that you need not fight this war? It is not your world, not your city. You could ride to the Giant's Gateway and wait for Aristotle.'

'No, I could not do that.'

'Why?'

He shrugged. 'Ever since I came here I have heard nothing but good of the Spartan King. Even the creatures of Enchantment speak well of him, saying he gave them lands for their own where they would not be hunted. He was everything I would wish to be. But our lives took different paths. I became a wandering mercenary, filled with bitterness and hatred, with war my only talent. He became a King — and a better man.'

'That is not so. You also are kind, noble and generous of spirit.'

'I am the Death of Nations, Thena, not the father of one.'

'The woman who gave you that title was wrong — wrong in all that she did. She manipulated your life, causing you grief and fuelling your hatred. But you rose above that.'

'You knew her?' he asked, surprised.

'I was… a disciple. It was part of a plan she had — a dream. You were to be the warrior who would stand against the Dark God. But it was a futile, self-defeating vision, and she died knowing it. But here there was no bitterness and hatred. You understand? He was no different from you. He was a man of courage and nobility, intelligent and caring.

But then so is the Parmenion I know.' Her breathing was ragged, her colour high, and she turned away from him, lying down and covering herself with her cloak.

He moved to her, his hand touching her shoulder. 'You are angry with me,' he said, his voice soft, his touch gentle.

'No,' she told him, 'there is no anger. Let me sleep now, for I am very tired.'

She heard him move back to the fire and closed her eyes.

Leonidas shouted an order and stepped back from the line. The warriors on either side of him closed ranks and waited, shields held high, short stabbing swords extended. Leonidas ran several paces, then climbed to a high boulder and gazed back down the pass.

The Makedones were dragging aside the corpses, preparing the way for yet another charge. Leonidas strained his eyes to see the new troops massing. The golden sunbursts on their black breastplates proclaimed them to be the King's Guards. So at last they send the best, he thought. But then the Spartans had held against the Illyrians, the Thracians and other mercenary units. How many attacks had they faced? Twenty? Thirty? Leonidas had lost count. It was enough that the battleground was slick with enemy blood. Hundreds of the Tyrant's troops had fallen. Hundreds more would fall.