David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'Still she interferes,' hissed Aida, opening the eyes of her body and rising from the ebony throne.

'What happened, mistress?' whispered her acolyte, Poris. The woman in the black robes stared down at the kneeling girl.

'There are three who struggle against us, keeping the child alive. Tamis — curse her — and the man Parmenion. There is another also, a man I do not know. Wait beside me!' Once more the Dark Woman closed her eyes, her body slumping back against the ebony throne. The slender acolyte took Aida's hand, touching her lips to it.

For some time she sat stroking Aida's fingers, then the Dark Woman sighed. 'The man is a magus.

His body lies waiting for him at the healer's temple. The woman Derae lies there also, her soul in Pella holding Parmenion's body among the living. Well, they have stretched themselves thin, my dear. Very thin. And it is time they died.'

'You will send the Nighthunters, mistress?'

'Three should be sufficient. There is only an old man guarding their bodies. Walk with me, my pretty one.'

Poris followed her mistress out into the cold stone corridors of the palace and down to the torchlit tunnels below. Aida opened a leaf-shaped door and entered a small room; it was empty of furniture, save for a raised stone slab at the centre. Aida traced her fingers on the carved lettering there. 'Do you know what this says?' she asked Poris.

'No, my lady.'

'It is Accadian, carved before the dawn of our history. It is an incantation. Tell me,' she asked, laying her hand on the girl's shoulder, 'do you love me?'

'More than life,' the girl assured her.

'Good,' answered Aida, pulling her into a tight embrace, 'and I love you, child. You are more than a daughter to me. But Kadmilos must be served, and his well-being is all that concerns me.' The slender dagger plunged into Poris' back, through the ribs and into the heart. The girl stiffened, then sagged into Aida's arms.

The woman in black eased the corpse on to the slab and began to speak the words of power. Smoke rose from the letters engraved on the stone, covering the dead girl. A foul smell filled the room, the stench of decay. Aida waved her hand and the smoke drew back into the rock. All that now lay upon the slab was a tracing of white-grey ashes.

Shadows danced on the dark walls, grotesque shapes which once had been men.

Moving to each of them, she touched her hand to their misshapen brows. 'The temple is unprotected,' she told them. 'Find the body of the woman Derae and devour her flesh — and all with her.'

The shadows faded.

Aida walked to the slab, dipping her fingers into the ashes.

'I shall miss you, Poris,' she murmured.

Cresting the mountain, the hunted trio ran down the scree-covered slopes. Tamis fell and slid towards a precipice, but Aristotle hurled himself in her path, seizing her white robes and hauling her to safety.

On they sped, the cries of their pursuers coming ever closer. From above them came the sound of leather wings and Parmenion glanced up to see huge shapes hovering around them — their skins scaled, their forms barely human. But they did not attack and the Spartan ignored them as he ran on.

To the left!' shouted Aristotle, pointing to a pass between rearing black peaks.

Behind them the ghostly riders were closing fast. Parmenion risked a glance back over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to the pass ahead.

They were not going to succeed. With a muttered curse he halted and spun, sword in hand, to meet the enemy. There were more than twenty riders, faces hidden by the winged helms they wore. In their hands swords of red name glittered like torches.

Tamis came alongside Parmenion. 'Go on, I will hold them,' she cried.

'I cannot leave you to face them alone.'

'GO!' she shouted. 'The soul-flame is everything.'

For a moment only he hesitated, then turned and ran on. The riders swept towards the seeress and her hands came up, white fire blazing across the Void to hurl four demons from their mounts. The rest charged on, sweeping out to pass Tamis by. Once more the lightning flared, scything through the first rank, the long-dead horses collapsing with bones cracking and splitting.

Two riders bore down on the seeress. The first she slew with a spear of light, but the sword of the second pierced her breast, jutting from her back and setting light to her robes. Tamis staggered — but she did not fall. Blasting the rider from his mount, she half turned and saw that Parmenion and Aristotle had reached the pass.

Ignoring the dying woman, the riders galloped on after the running men. Tamis sank to the dust, her mind swimming. She saw again her first passing, remembering the pain and the bitterness. Her soul had fled to the furthest corners of the Void, lost and alone. It was there that the servants of Kadmilos had found her, binding her with chains of fire, sending the Death Crows to rip at her spirit flesh. In her despair, she had been unable to find the strength to fight them.

Taking hold of the sword of fire she drew it from her body, casting it aside.

So many mistakes, Tamis, she chided herself. But here, at the end, perhaps you have atoned. Far ahead of her she watched the soul-flame reach the Elysian Gates. The riders of Hades had halted some distance away, unable to cross the open pass before the gateway without further orders.

The quest is with you now, Parmenion, my son, she thought. And I did — despite my mistakes — train you well.

At last content, she surrendered to the second, final, death.

The gates were carved from shining black rock — as tall as three men, as wide as ten. Beyond them were green fields, flowering trees, tall snow-capped mountains and a sky the blue of dreams.

Parmenion ached to walk there, to put behind him the grey, soul-less horror of the Void.

But two guards stood in the gateway.

'You cannot pass,' said the first.

Parmenion approached the man. The guard's armour was archaic, the breastplate gilded, the bronze shield huge and oval, the helm full-faced and red-plumed. Only the blue of the man's eyes could be seen.

Parmenion lifted the flame. 'This is the soul of a child in peril. The Lord of Chaos seeks to walk the world of flesh, stealing his life, his body.'

'The world of flesh is nothing to us,' said the second guard.

'Is there no one beyond the gate to whom we can appeal?' put in Aristotle.

'Here there is no bending of the law,' the first man answered. 'The Word is absolute. Only the souls of dead heroes may pass this way, and those we will recognize by a star of light that shines on their brows.'

Parmenion heard movement behind him and turned. The horsemen had begun to edge forward, and beyond them a vast army of demons had filled the mouth of the pass.

'At least take the soul-flame,' Aristotle urged the guards.

'We cannot. He is of the living… as are you.'

Moving to a nearby boulder, Parmenion opened his palm, willing the flame to flow from his hand.

The white light streamed to the rock, leaving the Spartan with a powerful sense of loss. Drawing his sword, he ignored the guards and moved to stand at the centre of the pass.

'Wait!' shouted the first sentry. 'Where did you come by that blade?'

'It was once mine in life,' Parmenion answered.

'I asked how you came by it?'

'I won it in the General's Games. Once it was wielded by my city's greatest hero — the Sword King, Leonidas. He died more than a century ago, defending the pass of Thermopylae against the Persian invaders.'

'A century? Was it so long? You are Spartan, then?'

'lam.'

'Then you'll not stand alone,' said the man, walking from the gateway and taking a position on Parmenion's left.