The others were all preparing to leave — save the priestess, who was sitting quietly beneath a spreading oak.
Gorgon's voice broke the silence. 'Stay close to me, for where we travel it is very dark and the dangers are many.' But still Thena sat beneath the tree. Attalus walked across to her.
'We are ready,' he said.
'I will not be travelling with you,' she whispered.
'You cannot stay here.'
'I must.'
Parmenion joined them and the seeress looked up at the Spartan. 'You go on,' she said, forcing a smile. 'I will join you when I can.'
'Why are you doing this?' asked Parmenion, kneeling down beside her.
'I must delay the Makedones — and fool the Demon King.'
'How?' Attalus asked.
'Like that!' she said, pointing back across the camp. Attalus and Parmenion turned… to see themselves apparently still sleeping by a fire that now burned brightly. Across the clearing the form of Gorgon could be seen, lying beside the minotaur Brontes, while Alexander snuggled against the sleeping centaur. 'You must go swiftly- before the spirit of Philippos returns.'
'I will not see you in danger,' said Parmenion.
'We are all in danger,' she insisted. 'Go now!'
Attalus could see Parmenion had more to say and seized his arm. 'No more foolishness, remember? The boy must be saved. Now come on!' Parmenion pulled clear of his grip, but moved away to stand alongside Gorgon.
'She has great power,' said the Forest King, gazing at his own sleeping form several paces away.
The Spartan did not answer and Gorgon led the way into the depths of the forest; Parmenion and Brontes followed, Attalus bringing up the rear just behind the centaur and the boy.
As Gorgon had said, the trail was dark, and they made slow progress for the first two hours. Then the dawn light began to seep through the intertwined branches, though no bird-song greeted the morning and all was silent.
But towards mid-morning Gorgon, at the front of the small column, suddenly waved his hand and darted into the undergrowth, moving with surprising speed for all his bulk. Swiftly the others followed him, Parmenion grabbing Camiron and pulling the centaur to his side. For a moment the beast's hooves flailed in the air. 'Quiet!' hissed the Spartan. From the north came the sounds of many men trampling through the undergrowth. Dropping to his belly, Attalus eased back the bush before him and saw a troop of soldiers emerging from the trees some thirty paces away.
They were marching in single file, their spears held carelessly to their shoulders.
After they were gone Gorgon rose from his hiding place and the group set off once more, this time angling to the north.
Parmenion dropped back alongside Attalus. 'How many did you count?' asked the Spartan.
'Eighty-five. You?'
'The same. That means there are more ahead of us.' Parmenion glanced back. 'I hope she escapes them.'
Attalus nodded, but said nothing.
Derae sat in the moonlight, her thoughts sorrowful. This, she knew with calm certainty, would be her last night alive.
In order to keep the Makedones away from Parmenion she needed to hold the spell, but in so doing was forced to remain in the clearing, drawing the warriors of the Demon King towards her.
The night was cool, the trunks of the nearby trees bathed in silver. A fox moved out into the clearing, drawn to the carcass of the Vore. Carefully it moved around the body and then, catching the putrid scent of the dead beast, it slunk away into the undergrowth.
Derae took a deep breath. The golden stone was warm in her hand and she gazed down at it, marvelling at its beauty and its power. Aristotle had given it to her as they stood in the Stone Circle.
'Whatever you wish — within reason — the stone will supply,' he had told her. 'It will turn stones to bread, or bread to stone. Use it with care.' The stone was but a fragment of gold, veined with slender lines of jet. But as she held the spell in place the black lines thickened, the power in the fragment fading.
'Where did you come by it?' she had asked the magus.
'In another age,' he answered, 'before the oceans drank Atlantis and the world changed.'
Closing her fist around the stone, she looked across the clearing at the sleeping image of Parmenion. It was a surprising thought that these five days in Achaea had doubled their time together.
Her thoughts sped back over the years, her mind's eye picturing the gardens of Xenophon's home near Olympia where she and Parmenion, uncaring of danger, had kissed and touched and loved. Five days: the longest and shortest five days of her life. The longest because her memories dwelt in them, seizing on every passionate moment, the shortest because of the weight of the barren years that followed.
The seeress Tamis was the source of all the pain Derae had endured, yet in truth it was impossible to hate her for it.
The old woman had been obsessed by a dream, her mind dominated by one ambition — to prevent the birth of the Dark God. Walking the paths of the many futures, Tamis had discovered all the identities of the men who could be used by Chaos to sire the demon. What she needed was a man to use as a weapon against them — a Sword of the Source.
In order to achieve her desire she caused Derae to be taken from Sparta and hurled into the sea off the coast of Troy, her hands bound behind her. When Parmenion discovered her fate it unleashed within him a terrible hatred, changing his destiny and setting him on the path of revenge. All this had been planned by Tamis, in order that Parmenion would become the man of destiny she longed for.
It would have been better, thought Derae, had I died in that sea. But Tamis had rescued her, keeping her prisoner in the Temple, filling her head with lies and half-truths.
And for what?
Parmenion did kill all the possible fathers save one. Himself.
'I will not miss this life,' she said aloud.
She shivered as fear touched her soul. Gazing up with her spirit eyes she saw the image of Philippos hovering in the air above the camp-site, his golden eye staring at her and probing her thoughts. Filling her head with memories of the past she obscured all her fears of the present, while the power of the Eye whispered through her mind like a cold, cold breeze.
In the distance she could hear the stealthy sounds of men creeping through the forest and her fear swelled. She licked her lips, but there was no moisture on her tongue. Her heart began to hammer.
Just then she felt the elation of Philippos as he gazed down on the sleeping child. Anger flared in Derae and she let fall the spell, revelling in the King's shock and disappointment as the bodies disappeared.
Rising from her body, she faced Philippos. They have escaped you,' she said.
For a moment he did not reply, then a smile appeared on his handsome, bearded face. 'You have been clever, witch.
But no one escapes me for long. Who are you?'
'The enemy,' she answered.
'A man is judged by the strength of his enemies, Derae. Where is the boy?'
The golden eye glowed, but Derae fled for the sanctuary of her body, her hand closing around the golden stone and shielding her thoughts.
'I do hope you will gain some enjoyment from your last hours alive,' came the voice of the King. 'I know my men will.'
Soldiers burst clear of the bushes surrounding the clearing. Derae stood — and waited for death, her mind suddenly calm.
Two men ran forward to pin her arms, while a third strode out to stand before her. 'Where are they?' he asked, his right hand on her throat, his fingers digging into her cheeks.