David Gemmell - Dark Prince

'Because it was true,' he said simply.

'Then why have you never said it before?'

He could not reply. He merely stood gazing down at her face in the moonlight, drinking in the living beauty, scanning every contour. She was older than the Derae of his dreams and memories, yet still youthful, her lips full, her skin soft. He was almost unaware of his hands moving up to rest gently on her shoulders, his fingers sliding under the robe, stroking her skin and feeling the warmth of her body.

'No,' she whispered, pulling back from him. 'That is no answer.'

'I know,' he told her, letting fall his arms and walking past her into the room.

'In two years you have never called for me, never asked me to share your bed. Now — with Sparta facing ruin — you tell me you love me. There is no sense in it.'

He smiled then. 'We are in agreement on that,' he admitted. 'Would you like some wine?' She nodded and he filled two golden cups, not bothering to add water. Silently he handed her a wine-cup, then lay down on the long sofa by the balcony wall. Derae sat in a chair opposite him.

For a time they remained in silence, sipping their drinks. 'Do you truly love Nestus?' he asked.

She shook her head and smiled. 'Once I thought I did, when my father first arranged the marriage. But the more time we spent together, the more I saw how boorish and arrogant he was.'

'Then why did you defend him so fiercely?'

'He was what you took from me,' she answered. 'You understand?'

'I think so. A marriage to Nestus would at least have been consummated, and you would have had a role to play.

Instead you were used by a cold-hearted general who sought to be King. What a fool I have been!'

'Why did you never ask me to share your bed? Was the thought so painful?'

'Let us not talk of past bitterness, nor past stupidity. The man I was died at Mantinea; the man I am may be dead within a few days. This is the present, Derae. This is all there ever is in life. This is now.' Swinging his legs from the couch he stood, holding out his hand to her. She took it and he drew her towards him, then leaned down and gently kissed her cheek. Suppressed passion made him tremble and he longed to tear the robe from her body and carry her to the bed. Yet he did not. He stroked the skin of her neck and shoulders, then pushed his fingers through her red-gold hair. She moved into him and he felt the warmth of her body through the robe. His hands slid down her back to rest on her hips and her head came up. Tenderly he kissed her lips.

Her arms moved around him, fingers tracing the lines of tired muscle on his back. As she touched him warmth flowed into his frame, relaxing him. 'You have healing hands,' he whispered.

'Don't speak,' she replied, rising on tiptoe to kiss him again. He parted the robe, pushing it from her shoulders to fall to the floor, then felt her breasts against his chest, the nipples hard against his skin.

He carried her to the bed, then lay beside her — his right hand stroking her flank, tracing an invisible line along the outside of her thigh. Slowly he reversed the movement, this time along the inside, his hand coming to rest against soft, silken hair. She moaned as his finger slid gently inside her. Parmenion was almost beyond conscious thought.

Desire was everything. Not the crazed, lustful desire that had seen him bed Olympias on that terrible night, but the desire born of a lifetime of suppressed feelings and empty dreams. She was here. Not dead, not white bleached bones at the bottom of the sea, but here! The love he had lost a lifetime ago was his again.

Images from the past kaleidoscoped through his brain as he rose above her, feeling her legs slide over his hips. The five glorious days in Olympia when the sun shone in glory, the sky was brilliant turquoise and two young lovers ignored the world and its laws. He saw again the smile of the young Derae, heard her laughter echoing in the mountains.

Together again! His passion mounted and he was suddenly, blissfully, oblivious to his surroundings. There was no Demon King, no army of terror. There were no Gateways between worlds, no sorcerers, no futures.

The now was everything.

Derae's back arched and she cried out again and again. But he did not stop. . could not stop. And when the passion was too great to contain, and he felt as if his soul were flowing from him, he lost consciousness — falling into a darkness so sweet and so fulfilling that, in his last moment of conscious thought, he never wanted to wake.

Attalus plunged his sword into an attacker's chest, wrenching it clear and pushing the body back over the boulders. A second man climbed into sight, hurling a short javelin at the Macedonian. Attalus threw himself aside and the missile tore into the back of a Korinthian warrior fighting alongside Helm.

Recovering his balance Attalus rushed at the javeliner, but the man ducked from sight.

'Come on, you sons of dogs!' Attalus yelled. 'Where are you?'

But the Messenians pulled back from the fort of boulders, dragging their wounded with them. Attalus spun round, scanning the defenders. Three Korinthians were dead, four others badly wounded. The seeress was helping to heal the more serious injuries, while Alexander sat calmly by, his young face expressionless.

Attalus wiped away the blood from a shallow cut in his forehead and moved alongside Helm. 'How many?' he asked.

'Twelve we have killed, with maybe six others unable to fight again.'

'Not enough,' Attalus muttered.

'We'll kill some more soon,' said Helm.

Attalus chuckled. 'I am beginning to like you. It is a shame we are to die here.'

'We're not dead yet,' the warrior pointed out.

Ektalis joined them. 'We won't be able to hold this position for much longer. Already we are stretched.'

'I can see that!' snapped Attalus. 'Are you suggesting surrender?'

'No, I am merely stating the obvious. One more concerted attack and they will breach the circle. Once inside we cannot hold them.'

'You have a plan?'

'We could make a run for it. Once in the woods they would find it hard to track us.'

Attalus climbed to the nearest boulder, his gaze resting on the woods less than a mile distant. So close — and yet the trees might as well be growing across the ocean, for more than thirty warriors were waiting below and their mounts were Attic stock — several hands taller than the Makedonian and Korinthian horses, and much faster. 'We would not make half the distance,' he told Ektalis, 'and once on the plain they would take us singly.'

'Then we must fight and die,' said the Korinthian.

Attalus bit back an angry response and merely nodded. They had escaped the first of the riders but been cut off by this second group. Helm had spotted the circle of boulders and here they had made their stand.

But to fail in sight of the woods! Attalus felt his fury rise. This was all Parmenion's fault. Had he remained with them none of this would have happened. But no: he had to play his hero's game.

'There are more coming,' said Helm and Attalus looked to the north. A dust-cloud heralded at least fifty more Messenian riders.

The swordsman swore. 'Let them all come. What difference does it make? Thirty was too many anyway. It might as well be eighty — or a hundred and eighty.' He swore again.

Below them the Messenians waited for their comrades and Attalus watched as the two enemy officers moved away from the men to discuss strategy. The sun was beginning to set, the sky turning flame-red over the distant mountains.

Thena approached Attalus. 'I shall take Alexander to the woods,' she said, keeping her voice low.

'They will capture you,' he argued.

'They will not see us,' she told him wearily. 'I cannot do the same for you and the others. My powers have been drained, but even at their height they would not have veiled such a large group.'