'You were to give me my dream,' said the monster softly. 'So tell me, where is Iskander?'
'I am alive,' answered Parmenion, gazing into the glowing eyes. 'You are alive. If Iskander lives, then so too does the dream. If not, then it is finished.'
'I should not have listened to you,' said Gorgon. 'I should have killed you as I first planned. Perhaps I will even now.
That would give me at least some small pleasure.'
'No, it would not,' said Parmenion swiftly. 'For then you would truly have nothing. You have made your decision.
You have set yourself against Philippos for good or ill. There is no turning back for you. Now swallow your anger and let us search for the others.'
'You want me to search the seabed? Even now the crabs are feasting on the child. He was not Iskander.' Lifting his serpent-framed head, Gorgon let out a deafening roar of anger and frustration. Parmenion tensed, waiting for the beast to turn on him.
'Now you see his true soul,' said the voice of Brontes, and Gorgon turned to see the minotaur sitting upon a boulder.
Gone was the man. Once more he was the creature of Enchantment, horned and colossal.
'I should have known you would return to haunt me, brother,' muttered Gorgon. 'What words of comfort do you offer?'
'I have nothing to say to you. But the Human is right. Until we know Iskander is dead we must continue. And I shall
— even if it means continuing in your foul company.'
Gorgon laughed, his good humour curiously restored. 'I shall stay the course. But know this, Human,' he said, turning to Parmenion. 'If the child is dead, you will follow him to Hades.'
Parmenion said nothing, for in that moment the sweet voice of Thena flowed into his mind:
'We are safe, Alexander and I. We are less than an hour's walk to the east of you. Attains is asleep exhausted in the bay just to your west. I cannot locate the centaur.'
'Thank you,' said Parmenion, aloud.
'You thank me for threatening your death?' said Gorgon. 'You are a strange man.'
'The child is alive,' said Parmenion. 'The quest goes on.'
'How do you know this?' Brontes asked.
Parmenion ignored the question. 'I am very weary. But if you are still strong, Brontes, I would be grateful if you could walk to the next bay and bring Attalus to us. He is resting there.'
'It is the witch woman,' said Gorgon. 'She is alive, is she not?'
'Yes,' said Parmenion, with a wide smile. 'Alive.'
'Is she your lover?' enquired the Forest King.
'No.'
'But you would like her to be.'
Parmenion walked away, but the words stayed with him. His heart had leapt when her voice whispered into his mind, and the weight of his emotion surprised him. Put such thoughts from your head, he told himself. She is not a priestess of Aphrodite selling her services for silver.
He lay down in the cave, allowing himself to drift into a healing sleep, but her face stayed in his mind and his thoughts were far from battles and enchantments, plans and strategies.
He dreamt he lay in a grove of oak trees back in Arkadia, where the sun was setting behind the mountains. Beside him lay Thena, her head on his shoulder, and he was at peace. He stroked her hair and kissed her, but as he gazed lovingly at her face it shimmered and changed, becoming Derae.
Guilt touched him then, and the dreams faded.
Unaware of his torment, Derae also experienced the surge of joy when her questing spirit found Parmenion alive, and now her soul flew high above the war-torn land of Achaea, tracing the course of the Gulf as it ran east towards the white-walled city of Korinthos.
Far below her she saw the armies of the Tyrant, the phalanxes and cavalry of the Makedones, mercenary archers from the islands to the south, warriors from Illyria and Thrace; a host geared for slaughter.
She flew to the south, seeking the Sparta of this strange world. But before she reached it she saw another army marching to face the Makedones. Though fewer in number they marched proudly and her Talent reached out to them.
They were the warriors of Kadmos, their city destroyed but their courage remaining. With them were soldiers from Argolis and Messenia, and rebels from Athens and Euboea. She sought out the Spartan force, and found to her surprise that only 300 were from the city.
Mystified, she moved on, flying further south until she hovered over the twin of the city of her birth. So much was the same — the Cattle Price Palace was still there, and the statue of Zeus at the top of the acropolis — but many of the streets were subtly different. The Avenue of Leaving did not boast a statue of Athena, the temple of Aphrodite was nowhere in sight; instead a barracks was built near the sacred lake. Yet, though it was not her home, still it was close enough to bring a touch of sorrow to her soul.
Sensing a presence close by she garbed her spirit in armour of white light, a blazing shield upon her arm. A figure hooded and robed in white appeared, the face in shadow.
'Who are you?' came a familiar voice.
'Tamis?' whispered Derae. 'Is it you?'
'Who else would it be to guard Sparta in this hour?' responded the woman. 'But I asked for your name.'
'I am called Thena. I am not an enemy.'
'I know that, child. Come to my home.'
The hooded figure became a glowing sphere that sank towards the city. Derae followed it to a small house nestling in a grove of cypress trees close to the sacred lake. There were only two rooms here, with little furniture and no rugs.
The floors were baked earth, the chairs simply made and unadorned. In the tiny bedroom upon a pallet bed lay an old woman, her blind eyes open, her wasted frame covered by a single thin blanket.
'I can feel your presence,' she said aloud, her voice faint like a breeze whispering through dead leaves. 'I have been waiting for you.'
Derae could find no words. This was not the Tamis she had known, the woman whose meddling had caused the birth of the Dark God, yet even so the sight of this twin caused a mixture of emotions Derae found hard to contain.
'Speak to me, child,' said Tamis. 'I have waited so long for you that I often wondered if the visions had been false.'
'Why have you waited? What can I do for you?'
The old woman smiled. 'Only the Source could answer that, and I am but the least of His followers. But I have seen the Chaos Spirit abroad in the land, listened to the screams of the dying, heard the cries of the dispossessed and widowed. These have been hard years, Thena. Hard, lonely years. Even now, with your coming, the darkness moves towards my city.'
'What would you have me do?'
'Is he with you?'
'Of whom do you speak?'
'The One who is to be. The strategos.'
'Yes, he is here.'
Tamis sighed and closed her opal eyes. 'The Spartan King is riding to his death. Nothing will change that. He is a noble man, a good man. I have helped him through these desperate years. But even now the Fates have worked against me. This is the time of the Festival of Apollo, when the priests say no Spartan army can march, so the King is leading the forces of Light with only his personal bodyguard. And he will die.'
Derae said nothing. Even in her own world Sparta had suffered through such stupidities. When the Persian King Xerxes led his army into Greece, the Spartans had refused to march against him because of a religious festival. And then, as now it seemed, the King had led his personal bodyguard of 300 men to block the pass of Thermopylae.
Three hundred against a quarter of a million! Their courage and valour had held against the Persian horde for several days, but at the last they were slain to a man.
'What was your vision?' Derae asked.
'I saw the strategos and the Golden Child, and a warrior with a face of bronze. And with that vision was a rainbow and the fleeing of a storm. I hoped it meant the Dark God was vanquished. But perhaps it did not. Perhaps my hopes have been in vain.'