David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'Now that is a weapon you should use,' he said.

'Ah, how wise you are. Will I have no secrets from you, Parmenion?'

'As many as you wish, lady. You are very beautiful and yet intelligent. I think you will continue to captivate the King. But, make no mistake, he is also a man of wit and discernment.'

'Is that a warning, general?'

'It is the advice of a friend.'

'Do you have many friends?'

'Two. One is Mothac, the other Bernios. Friendship is not a gift I give lightly,' he said, holding her gaze.

Reaching out, she touched his arm. 'Then I am honoured. But, is not Philip a friend?'

'Kings have no friends, lady. They have loyal servants and bitter enemies. Sometimes the two can be interchangeable; it is the mark of the man how well he recognizes this.'

'You are a fine teacher,' said Olympias. 'But one last question, if I may?'

'As long as it does not touch upon strategy,' he answered, smiling. For a moment she was silent.

The smile had changed his face, making him almost boyish.

'No, not strategy — at least, not directly. I was wondering about you, Parmenion. What ambitions are there for a man with your reputation?'

'What indeed?' he said, rising. Bowing to her, he turned and strolled back to the soldier's camp-fire, checking on the sentries before allowing himself the luxury of sleep.

Back in the carriage Phaedra lay awake, her heart pounding. When Parmenion lifted her she had been jerked from sleep by the power of his spirit. It was too strong to read and she had felt swept away by a sea of images of enormous intensity. But through them all was one overriding vision. It was this which made her heart beat so, which left her mouth dry and her hands trembling.

All her life Phaedra had known of the one way to lose the curse of seeing. Her mother had told her of it.

'When you give yourself to a man, the powers will wither and die like a winter rose.'

The thought had been so disgusting that Phaedra would sooner keep the curse than surrender it in that way. In truth, the thought was still disgusting — but the rewards! She summoned the vision from memory, watching again the glories of the future.

How could she not take the risk?

Sitting up, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stared at the stars shining bright beyond the carriage window. She could hear Parmenion and Olympias talking by the fire. His voice was soft, almost gentle, yet his words were confident and born of an inner strength.

'I could grow to love him,' Phaedra assured herself. 'I could will it so.' But she did not believe it. 'It does not matter anyway,' she whispered. 'I do not need to love him.'

She waited until Parmenion had gone, and pretended sleep when Olympias climbed into the carriage.

Slowly the hours passed. Steeling herself, Phaedra slipped from the carriage and moved stealthily through the camp seeking out where Parmenion lay; he had made his bed away from the soldiers in a sheltered hollow. As she gazed down on his sleeping form her courage almost fled from her but, steeling herself, she slipped from her dress and lay down beside him, carefully lifting the single blanket over her slender body. For some time she lay still, unable to summon the courage to wake him. But again the vision came to her — more powerfully than before. Gently her fingers touched the skin of his chest. He was still impossible to read, random scenes pouring over her like a wave and engulfing her senses.

Her hand slid lower, stroking his belly. He groaned in his sleep, but did not wake. Her fingers touched his penis and — for a moment only — she recoiled. Gathering her courage she touched him again, fingers circling him, feeling him swelling under her touch. He awoke then and turned towards her. His right arm moved over her, his hand touching her shoulder, sliding down over her breast.

'I have you!' she thought. 'You are mine! And our son will be the god-King. He will rule the world!'

And she saw again the vision of a Battle King leading his troops across the world.

Parmenion's first-born.

My son!

Derae lay on her bed and loosed the chains of her soul, floating free of the temple and soaring into the blue winter sky. In the distance clouds were bunching for a storm, but here by the sea the day was fine. Gulls arced and dived around her invisible form and she gloried in their freedom.

Swiftly she sped across the sea, crossing the trident-shaped land mass of the Chalcidice and on to Pella — seeking, as always, the lover fate had denied her. She found him in the throne-room. .

and wished she had chosen another day for the journey. For beside him stood Olympias.

Sadness struck Derae like a blow.

The mother of the Dark God!

The mother of Parmenion's child.

Hatred touched her and her vision swam. 'Help me, Lord of All Harmony,' she prayed.

She watched Olympias walk forward into Philip's embrace, saw the momentary spasm of jealousy on Parmenion's face.

'What did we do to you, my love?' she thought, remembering her years with Tamis as they had battled to prevent the conception of the Dark God. According to the old seeress, Parmenion was the Sword of the Source, the one man capable of preventing Kadmilos from being born in the flesh. How vain they were. . and how stupid. Tamis had secretly manipulated events in Parmenion's life, creating in him a warrior like no other in the civilized world: a fighter, a killer, a strategist beyond compare. All this so that he would be ready to destroy the Dark God's plans. Instead, the opposite had been achieved.

Derae's anger grew. For a moment she wanted nothing more than to use her power to obliterate the babe in the belly of the new Queen. Frightened by the impulse, she fled back to the temple.

And here her anger turned to sadness, for she floated above her own body, staring down at the careworn face and the silver-streaked hair. Once she had been a beauty like Olympias. Once Parmenion had loved her. Not any more. No, she thought, if he could see you now he would turn away, his eyes drawn to the youthful skin and the earthly joys of girls like Olympias.

Returning to her body, she slept for two hours.

Leucion awoke her. 'I have prepared a bath for you,' he told her. 'And I bought three new gowns for you at the market.'

'I need no gowns. And I have no coin.'

'The clothes you have are theadbare, Derae. You are beginning to look like a beggar. Anyway, I have my own money."

For a moment only she considered rebuking him, but dismissed the thought. Leucion was a warrior who had chosen to travel to the Temple to serve her. He asked for nothing in return.

'Why do you stay?' she asked him, her spirit eyes scanning his hawk-like face, so stern and strong.

'Because I love you,' he answered. 'You know that. I have said it often enough.'

'It is my vanity that makes me continue to ask,' she admitted, 'but I feel guilty, for there will never be any more than we have. We are brother and sister, now and always.'

'It is more than I deserve.'

She traced a line on his cheek, her finger running the length of his jaw. 'You deserve far more.

You must not let your mind drift back to our first meeting- that was not you. There are forces in the world which use us, abuse us, discard us. You were possessed, Leucion.'

'I know,' said the silver-haired warrior. 'I too have studied the Mysteries. But the Dark One can only enhance what is already there. I almost raped you, Derae, and I would have killed you. I did not know there was such darkness in my soul.'

'Hush! There is Darkness in every soul, and Light also. For you the Light was — ultimately -

stronger. Be proud. You have saved my life, and remain my only friend.'