'Thank you,' he said, reaching up and gripping Parmenion's hand.
'Give your thanks to Gorgon,' answered the Spartan, pulling Brontes upright. 'He carried you here.'
'I don't doubt he had his own reasons,' Brontes remarked.
'You overwhelm me with your gratitude, brother,' said Gorgon, the snakes hissing on his skull and baring their fangs.
He turned to Parmenion. 'Now we must move on — unless of course you wish to rescue the centaur. Say the word, general, and I will surround the city.'
Parmenion smiled. 'That will not be necessary. Lead on!'
'But we cannot leave Camiron behind,' wailed Alexander.
'We cannot help him, my prince,' said Parmenion sadly.
A dark shadow flickered across the grass and Gorgon glanced up. High above them a Vore circled, then flew off towards the north.
'We have been seen,' said Gorgon. 'Now it will be a race to the sea.'
The march south-west was slow. For the past few days the companions had lived on sour berries and foul-tasting mushrooms, forced to drink brackish water from dark pools. Parmenion's strength was fading, while Attalus twice vomited beside the trail. Only Gorgon seemed unaffected and tireless, striding on ahead with Alexander perched upon his shoulders.
They made camp at dusk beneath an overhang of stone, Gorgon permitting a fire which lifted the spirits of the Macedonians.
'Once across the Gulf, how long until we reach Sparta?' asked Attalus.
'If we can find horses — three more days,' Parmenion answered.
'Why Sparta?' put in Gorgon. 'Why not straight to the Gateway?'
'We are hoping to meet a friend there,' the Spartan told him. 'A magus of great power.'
'He will need to be — for Sparta will not stand for long against Philippos. Even as you entered the forest my Vores were telling me of the Makedones' march to the south. Korinthos has declared for the Demon King. Cadmos is overthrown and destroyed. Only one army stands now against Philippos. And they cannot defeat him. Sparta may already have fallen before we cross the Gulf.'
'If that proves to be true,' said Parmenion, 'then we will make our way to the Giant's Gateway. But Philippos has not yet faced a Spartan army and he may find it a punishing experience.'
Towards midnight, when the blaze had flickered down to coals, Parmenion awoke from a light sleep to hear the sounds of stealthy movement from the undergrowth to his left. Drawing his sword he woke Attalus, and the two men moved silently away from the fire.
The bushes parted and Camiron trotted towards the camp, carrying a dead doe across his shoulders. The centaur spotted the Macedonians and gave a broad smile. 'I am a great hunter,' he said. 'Look what I have!'
Gorgon strode from the camp-site, moving away to the east. Attalus took the doe, skinning it and hacking away the choicest sections with his sword. Within minutes the air was rich with the smell of meat roasting over the freshly-built fire.
'I swear by Zeus I never smelt anything finer,' whispered Attalus, as the fat oozed into the flames.
'You are magnificent,' Alexander told the centaur. 'I am very proud of you. But what happened to the men chasing you?'
'No one is as fast as Camiron,' replied the centaur. 'I ran them until their horses were bathed in lather, then cut back to the west. Mighty is Camiron. No rider can catch him.'
The meat was tough and stringy, but no one cared. Parmenion felt strength seeping back into his muscles as he devoured his third portion and licked the fat from his fingers.
'You realize,' remarked Attalus, lying back replete, 'that in Macedonia we would have flogged a hunter who tried to sell us meat as tough as that?'
'Yes,' said Parmenion, 'but was it not wonderful?'
'Beyond description,' the swordsman agreed.
'It would need to be,' muttered Gorgon, stepping forward from the darkness. 'The centaur has left a trail a blind man could follow. And the enemy are already close enough to smell the feast.' Lifting Alexander to his shoulders, he set off towards the south.
'Did I do wrong?' asked Camiron nervously. Parmenion patted the centaur's shoulder.
'We needed to eat,' he said. 'You did well.'
'Yes, I did, didn't I?' exclaimed Camiron, his confidence returning.
Refreshed, the companions walked on through the night and by dawn had reached the last line of hills before the Gulf of Korinthos. The pursuers were close behind now and twice, looking back, Parmenion had seen moonlight gleaming from armour or lance-point.
As they cleared the trees Gorgon took hold of a jutting tree-root, ripping it clear and holding it above his head. He stood, statue-still, and began to chant in a language unfamiliar to the Macedonians.
'What is he doing?' Parmenion asked Brontes.
'He is drawing on the evil of the forest,' answered the former minotaur, turning away and walking to the crest of the hill to gaze down on the dawn-lit sea.
Finally Gorgon ceased his chanting and, the root in his hand, strode past Brontes to begin the long descent to the beach below. The others followed him on the sloping path. Camiron found the descent almost impossible, slithering and sliding, cannoning into Brontes and knocking him from his feet. Parmenion and Attalus moved to either side of the centaur, taking his hands and supporting him.
At last they reached the shore. High above them the first of the enemy appeared.
'What now?' demanded Attalus. 'Do we swim?'
'No,' answered Gorgon, lifting the tree-root above his head. Closing his eyes the Forest King began to chant once more. Parmenion glanced back up the cliff path. More than a hundred Makedones warriors were slowly making their way down the treacherous slope.
Smoke poured from the tree-root in Gorgon's hand, floating out over the sea and down into the waves. The water turned black and began to boil, yellow gases erupting from the surface and flaring into flame. Then a dark shape broke clear of the waves and an ancient trireme — its hull rotted, its sails rags — floated once more to the surface of the Gulf. Parmenion swallowed hard as the ship glided in to shore. There were skeletal corpses still seated at the oars, and rotted bodies lay upon the shell-encrusted decks. Glancing back, he saw the Makedones were almost within bowshot.
The ship beached close in, a narrow gangplank sliding from the upper deck to thud against the sand.
'If you want to live, climb aboard!' yelled Gorgon, carrying Alexander up to the deck. Parmenion and Attalus followed, then Camiron cantered up the plank, his hooves slipping on the slimy wood.
The trireme glided back on to the currents of the Gulf, leaving the Makedones standing, horror-struck, on the beach.
Several arrows and spears flew at the vessel, but most of the enemy warriors just stood and stared as the death ship disappeared into a grey mist seeping up from the night-dark sea.
Derae hid behind the trunk of a huge oak as the soldiers came into sight. The sea was so close, yet the way was barred. She scanned the cliff-tops looking for a way to slip past the Makedones, but the warriors had spread out, seeking other paths to the beach.
It was galling to have come so far and be thwarted. She had managed to evade the many patrols searching the forest and had emerged from the trees just as Parmenion and the others reached the shore.
Ducking back into the forest, Derae ran towards the west until the soldiers were far behind. Then she moved out along the line of the cliffs, looking for a way down. But, sometime in the recent past, the sea had finally clawed away at the last foundations of the cliff edge until great sections had sheared into the water. No paths were left. Derae slowed to a walk, then peered over the edge, seeking handholds that would enable her to climb down. But there were none that looked safe.