Dark Prince

From there we will travel south through Arkadia to Sparta. After that… I don't know.'

'I can open the Giant's Gateway,' said Alexander softly.

'Do not think of it,' whispered the Spartan. 'You are not who they think you are.'

'Oh, but I am,' answered the boy. 'Believe me, Parmenion, I am Iskander.'

* * *

For three days the small group moved south through the forest, led by Gorgon and guided by three Vores who swooped and dived in the sky above the trees, watching for signs of pursuit. Alexander rode Camiron, whose spirits had soared on the second morning.

'I can remember,' Camiron told the prince. 'It is wonderful. I went to sleep and woke up in the same place.'

'That is good,' replied the boy distantly.

Parmenion walked often beside the Forest King, Derae and'Attalus bringing up the rear behind the centaur and his rider.

For the first two days the priestess said little to the swordsman, walking in silence and spending her evenings in deep conversation with Parmenion. But on the morning of the third day Attalus hung back from the group, allowing some thirty paces to grow between them.

'You are walking very slowly,' said Derae.

'I want to talk to you,' he told her.

'Why? What am I to you?'

'I need… I want. . advice.'

Derae looked at him closely, reaching out to touch his spirit, feeling the surging, complex emotions raging within him. Swiftly she withdrew. 'How may I help you?'

'You are a seeress, are you not?'

'I am.'

'And you can see the future?'

'There are many futures, Attalus; they change day by day. Tell me what troubles you.'

'The Demon said that he would see Parmenion and me both slain. Did he speak the truth?'

Derae looked into the swordsman's troubled face. 'What would you do if I told you that he did?'

'I don't know. All my known enemies are dead; there is safety in that. But he is the son of the only friend I have ever had. I could not. .' His voice trailed away. 'Will you tell me my future?'

'No, it would not be wise. You carry great hatred and bitterness, Attalus. And the events of your past have twisted your soul. Your love for Philip is the only redeeming quality you have.'

'Will you tell me whether the boy is a danger to me?'

For a moment only she hesitated. 'Give me your hand,' she commanded. He obeyed her, offering his left, his right resting on his sword-hilt. Emotions flooded her — strong, harsh and almost overpowering. She saw his mother slain by his father, saw the father murdered by the young Attalus. Then, in the years that followed, she saw the bitter young man send scores of people to their deaths, using knife or bow, sword or poison. At last she sighed and released his hand.

'Well?' he demanded.

'You have many enemies,' she told him, her voice low and sorrowful. 'You are hated by almost all who know you.

Believe me, assassin, at this time the prince is the least of your foes.'

'But he will be an enemy, will he not?'

'If he lives,' she replied, holding to his gaze. 'If any of us live.'

'Thank you,' he said, moving past her and walking on.

That night, as the others slept, Derae sat with Parmenion on the brow of a hill and told the Spartan what had occurred with Attalus. 'You think he will try to kill the boy?' he asked.

'Not immediately. But he is a sad, twisted man. There is little good in him.'

'I will watch him with care. But tell me, lady, why did Aristotle send you?'

'He thought I could help you. Have I not done so?'

'Of course — but that is not what I meant. Why did he send.you? Why not another?'

'Is my company so painful to you?' she countered, her unease growing.

'Not at all. You are like a cool breeze on a summer's day. You make my soul rest. I am not good with women, Thena.

I am clumsy and short of temper.' He chuckled. 'The ways of your race are alien to me.'

'You make us sound like another species.'

'Sometimes I think that you are,' he admitted. 'When I was very young I used to watch Derae run. I would hide on a hilltop and observe the girls in their races. Their grace made me feel ungainly and awkward — and yet the memories have a certain glow.'

'It is good to talk of fine memories,' she told him. 'They are all that makes life a joy. Tell me of your family.'

'I thought you wanted good memories,' he snapped, looking away.

'You do not love your wife?'

'Love Phaedra?' he answered, shaking his head. 'She married me for one purpose. . and I do not wish to talk of it.'

'Then we will not.'

Suddenly he gave a wry smile. 'Why did you ask me that question? You are a seeress, Thena; you know the answer already.' The smile faded, his expression hardening. 'Do you know all my secrets?'

The thought of lying flitted across her mind, but she dismissed it. 'Yes,' she told him softly.

He nodded. 'I thought so. Then you know why she married me.'

'To rid herself of the unwanted gift of prophecy.'

'And?' he pressed — his eyes, cold now, holding to her gaze.

'Because her gift told her you would sire a god-king to rule the world. She wanted that boy to be her son.'

'And now,' said Parmenion sorrowfully, 'she raises poor Philotas, filling his mind with thoughts of future glories. It is a terrible illusion — and I can do nothing to stop it. Is this the price I must pay for my. . betrayal?'

'You are not an evil man,' she told him, taking his hand. 'Do not allow one mistake to poison your feelings of self-worth.'

'It could all have been so different, Thena, if Derae and I had been allowed to wed. Maybe there would have been no riches — but we would have had a home and children.' Pushing himself to his feet, he stared out over the moonlit treetops. 'But then there is little advantage in trying to reshape the past. We didn't marry. They killed her. And I became Parmenion, the Death of Nations. I can live with it. Come, let us get back to the camp. Perhaps tonight I can sleep without dreams.'

* * *

By the fifth day of their journey the trek south had slowed. The Vores had flown away the night before and not returned, and Gorgon seemed to Parmenion to have grown more cautious, constantly scouting ahead, leaving the others behind. Brontes had been unusually silent for the past two days, wandering away from his companions and sitting alone, his huge bull's head in his hands. And Attalus was growing surly, his pale eyes constantly flickering towards Alexander.

Parmenion felt a growing unease. The forest was thicker here, little light breaking through the thick canopy of intertwined branches high above, the air filled with the stench of rotting vegetation. But it was not just the sickening smell or the lack of light that left the Spartan on edge; in this place there was an aura of evil that entered the mind, touching the soul with dread.

That night, for the first time, Parmenion built a fire. Attalus and Thena sat down beside it, the swordsman staring gloomily into the dancing flames. Brontes moved away and sat with his back to a broad oak and Parmenion followed him.

'Are you in pain?' asked the Spartan.

Brontes' head came up. A thin trickle of blood was dripping from his right nostril.

'I need. . the Change,' whispered Brontes. 'But it cannot be… accomplished… in this place. If we do not move clear of this forest in the next two days I shall die.'

'You knew this would happen?'

'Yes.'

'And yet you came with us? I don't know what to say, Brontes.'

The minotaur shrugged. 'Iskander is all-important; he must arrive at the Giant's Gateway. Leave me, my friend. It is hard to speak through the pain.'

At that moment Gorgon returned, easing his giant bulk through the undergrowth. He ran across the small clearing and kicked earth upon the fire, scattering sparks that swept across Thena's robes.