'Where you will not find them,' she answered icily. Releasing her chin he struck her savagely with his open hand, splitting her lip.
'I think you would be wise to tell me,' he warned her.
'I have nothing to say to you.'
Slowly he drew his dagger. 'You will tell me all I wish to know,' he assured her, his voice deepening, his face flushing. 'If not now — then later.' His fingers hooked into the neck of her tunic, the dagger slicing through the material, which he ripped clear to expose her breasts and belly. Sheathing the blade he moved in, his hand sliding over her skin, fingers forcing themselves between her legs.
She felt her emotions swamped by the surging lust of the men all around her, then the soldier whispered an obscenity in her ear.
All her adult life Derae had followed the path of the Source, knowing with cold certainty that she would rather die than kill. But in the moment he spoke all her training fled away, taking with it the years of devotion and dedication.
All that was left was the girl from Sparta — and in her ran the blood of a warrior race.
Her head came up, her eyes meeting his. 'Die,' she whispered. His eyes widened. The stone in her hand grew warmer.
Suddenly he gasped and fell back with blood spurting from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth.
'She's a witch!' someone shouted, as the officer's lifeless body slumped to the earth. The men holding her tightened their grip on her upper arms, but she raised her hands — which transformed themselves into cobras, hooded and hissing. The soldiers leapt back from her. Spinning on her heel she pointed the snakes at them. Lightning leapt from the serpents' mouths, smashing the men from their feet.
Derae swung once more, as the remaining soldiers drew their weapons and rushed at her. A flash of brilliant light seared across the clearing, blinding the warriors, causing them to stumble and fall.
In the confusion that followed Derae strode from the camp-site and into the woods.
Derae moved silently towards the south, drawing her cloak tightly around her naked frame. The trees were thinner here, the stars bright above them, and she broke into a loping run, following a path that sloped down to where a dark stream rippled over black stones.
In the distance behind her she could hear the shouts of the soldiers, but she knew they would not catch her now. They were blundering around in the dark, with no idea of the direction she had taken.
Come daylight it would be different, when they could send the Vores soaring above the trees to hunt her in the sunshine. But this was the night — and it was hers! She had waited for the enemy, fooled them and killed at least one.
A savage joy flowed through her, filling her body with strength as she ran.
Suddenly she faltered and slowed.
I killed a man!
The joy vanished, to be replaced by a numbing sense of horror. What have you become? she asked herself.
Her gaze flickered to the silent trees, her spirit recoiling from the malevolence of the forest. This place of evil had touched her, eroding all her beliefs, all the years of her dedication.
Falling to her knees Derae prayed for forgiveness, sending her thoughts up and out into the void and beyond. But she felt them echoing in a vast emptiness, seemingly unheard and certainly unanswered. Wearily she rose and walked on toward the south, making herself one promise that she swore to keep for as long as she lived. Never would she kill again.
Never.
On the morning of the third day since they had left the priestess, Parmenion awoke to see Gorgon kneeling over the sleeping form of Brontes. The minotaur was not moving and Gorgon's hand was resting lightly on the creature's chest. Parmenion's heart sank. For the last two days the minotaur had stumbled on, unspeaking, his eyes weary and bloodshot, his limbs leaden.
'You can make it,' Parmenion had told him the previous afternoon. But Brontes had not replied, his huge bull's head sagging forward, his gaze locked to the ground at his feet. The group had made camp early, for Brontes had been unable to keep up with the pace. Now Parmenion rose and moved alongside Gorgon.
'Is he dead?' he asked.
'Soon,' answered Gorgon. Parmenion knelt by the minotaur. Blood was seeping from both nostrils and he was barely breathing.
'What can we do?' the Spartan asked.
'Nothing,' grunted Gorgon.
'How soon will we be clear of the forest?'
'Not for another day.'
'In any direction?' queried the Spartan.
Gorgon shook his head. 'No. We could move directly east; then we would be at the edge of the forest, but maybe a day's march from the sea. It is the kingdom of Aetolia — close to the town of Calydon. But the King of Aetolia is a vassal of Philippos, and he keeps a force of over three hundred men at Calydon. They will be watching the forest.'
'Can you carry Brontes?'
Gorgon's huge hand snaked out, his fingers curling around Parmenion's cloak and dragging the Spartan forward. 'Are you insane? I have given up a kingdom for this quest of yours. Many of my own people have turned against me. And why? So that I can bring the Golden Child to the Giant's Gateway. Now you would risk it all for this? he demanded, pointing to the dying minotaur.
'No, I will not risk it all. But the men watching the forest cannot be everywhere. And there is something else, Gorgon,' said Parmenion softly. 'There is friendship. There is loyalty. Brontes has risked his life on this quest, saving mine in the process. I owe him a debt — and I always repay.'
'Ha! What if it was me lying there? Would you risk your life for me?'
'Yes.'
Gorgon relaxed his grip and smiled, his pale eyes glowing, his expression unreadable. 'I believe you would. You are a fool… as Brontes is a fool. But then what is one more foolishness? Yes, I will carry him to the sunlight, if that is your wish.' The Forest King pushed his great hands beneath the minotaur, lifting him with ease and draping the body over his shoulder.
Parmenion shook the others awake and they followed Gorgon to the east. Within the hour the trees thinned out and bird-song could be heard in the distance. At last they reached the edge of the forest and emerged on to a hillside overlooking a walled town.
Gorgon laid the minotaur on the grass and backed away. Parmenion knelt beside Brontes, his hand resting on the creature's shoulder. 'Can you hear me, my friend?' he whispered.
A low groan came from Brontes, but his eyes opened. Blood was seeping over the lids in crimson tears.
'Too. . late.'
'No. Use whatever strength you have. Try.'
The minotaur's eyes closed as Gorgon moved alongside Parmenion. 'Come away. He needs privacy. The sun will feed him and there is a little Enchantment left here. I can feel it burning my feet.'
Parmenion stepped back into the shade of the trees, turning his eyes from the body on the grass.
'Will he live?' asked Alexander, taking Parmenion's hand.
'If he has the will,' the Spartan answered.
'I am very hungry,' said Camiron. 'Will we eat soon?'
'We are all hungry,' snapped Attalus. 'My belly thinks my throat has been cut. So stop complaining!"
'I will hunt something,' announced Camiron. Before anyone could speak the centaur, bow in hand, galloped down the hillside, heading south-east.
'Come back!' yelled Parmenion, but Camiron carried on running — in full view of the sentries on the walls of Calydon.
Within minutes the gates opened and a score of riders issued forth, racing in pursuit of the centaur.
'At least they are heading away from us,' observed Attalus. Parmenion said nothing. Glancing back to Brontes he saw the body bathed in dazzling sunlight, the minotaur's skin glowing like gold. The great head began to shrink, the horns disappearing. Brontes' right arm twitched and he groaned. The light faded. Parmenion and Gorgon moved alongside him; once more he was a golden-haired young man, handsome and blue-eyed.