Dark Prince

'Did you try to prevent the birth of the Dark God?' asked Derae, remembering the dark deeds of Tamis in the world of Greece.

'I considered it, but it seemed folly. Was I wrong?'

'No,' said Derae. 'You were wise, very wise. I will bring the strategos here. But I do not know what he can achieve.'

'You will understand very soon, child. Very soon. May the Source bless you.'

'He has, in many ways,' said Derae, but there was no response from the blind seeress.

* * *

Parmenion awoke from an uneasy sleep, his mind whirling with the many problems he faced. His head ached as he sat up and he sucked in a deep breath. Alexander was alive, and that in itself was a victory; but the strategos knew that, in battle as in life, only the final victory counted. And all the odds favoured Philippos.

One step at a time, he cautioned himself. Brontes had not yet returned with Attalus and Gorgon was sitting nearby staring out over the Gulf. Parmenion leaned his back to the cliff-face, calming his thoughts.

Through most of his life he had been forced to battle against the odds. In Sparta, as a despised mix-blood, he had fought alone against the hatred of his fellows. In Thebes he had engineered a victory against the Spartan overlords, inflicting the first major defeat on a full Spartan army. In Persia he had led the forces of minor satraps and governors, always finding the path to conquest. And in Macedonia he had helped a young King, beset by enemies, to build a nation feared across the world.

But here, in this enchanted realm, he was not a strategos or a general. He was a weaponless stranger in a world he scarcely understood. There were some similarities. Philippos was King of Makedon and had built an army to crush all opposition. Sparta was still the city of heroes. But here magic ruled; creatures like Gorgon, Brontes and Camiron were accepted as a normal part of life. Winged beasts patrolled the skies and the Demon King could read the hearts and minds of his enemies.

How then can I defeat him, Parmenion wondered?

Chiron had said the King was invulnerable to all weapons of war, his body immune to poisons. 'I only ever saw him hurt once,' the magus had told him. 'He was a child and playing with a sharp dagger. It cut his finger and blood flowed. It healed very swiftly. His mother scolded him in my presence, then turned to me, offering me the blade.

"Cut him," she told me. At first I refused, but she insisted. So I took the dagger and gently ran the edge over the skin of his arm, but could make no impression.'

'Then why did it cut him?' Parmenion had asked.

'The sorcery protects him from his enemies, but he is within the spell. Should he choose, he could no doubt kill himself.'

Parmenion smiled at the memory. All he had to do was find a way to defeat the greatest army of this strange world, outthinking a King who could reach his mind and ultimately forcing that King to take his own life.

'Why do you smile?' asked Gorgon.

'Why should I not? The sun is shining.'

'You are a curious man, Parmenion,' observed the Forest King, turning his great head to stare out over the waves.

Parmenion sat quietly, watching the creature. The skin of Gorgon's huge shoulders seemed lighter here in the sunlight, the mottled colours of the forest, dark green and rust brown, giving way to the paler hues of summer grass and polished pine. The snakes hung lank and lifeless from his head and his eyes had lost their demonic glow.

'What are you looking for?' asked the Spartan.

'I am not looking. I am remembering. It is more than a century since I last gazed upon the sea. I had a house once, with Persephone, on the island of Andros. We often came to the beach, to swim and to laze. The memories have been buried too long. Ah, but she was a beauty, her skin pale as marble, even in summer, her eyes like turkis, yet not cold and blue but warm and enchanting as the midsummer sky.' Gorgon sighed, then a low growl rumbled from his misshapen mouth. 'Why do I talk like this? My mind is failing.'

'You have spent too long in the forest,' said Parmenion softly.

'Aye, that is true. Persephone used to sing. We would sit under an awning watching the sunset over the waves, and she would sing. Yet I can remember no words. All that fills me is the memory of peace and joy. But I was a man then, and arrogant in the ways of youth. I could not begin to imagine a time when she would not be beside me, sending the sun to sleep with a song.'

'No one can take that from you, my friend. Not ever.'

'I have no friends, Human,' snapped Gorgon, surging to his feet and walking away. Parmenion watched the giant for a few moments and then followed him to the shore-line.

'I do not pretend to know your pain,' said the Spartan, 'and it would be trite to point out that we all carry scars. But I will do all that I can to fulfil my promise to you. Iskander tells me he is the chosen one. I believe that, and I will risk my life to see that he has the chance to prove it. But that is the greater quest, Gorgon, and for another day. Today we are a small group, battling for survival, and friendship is not to be spurned — not even by a child of the Titans.'

'You seek to lecture me?' hissed Gorgon.

'Perhaps I do. Perhaps your years in the slime of the dark forest have affected your perceptions.'

Gorgon nodded. 'Perhaps they have,' he conceded, his voice carrying no conviction. Then he smiled. 'Or perhaps I am now what I always was, a distorted monstrosity.'

'If that were true, would Persephone have loved you?'

'You do not understand, Human. How could you? The war was terrible and we all committed acts which would turn your soul to ashes. There is no escape from those memories. My brother Brontes is correct — you do not know what I have done, what colossal evils are stamped upon the pages of history in my name.'

'Nor do I need to,' answered Parmenion, 'for you are right that they would change my thoughts of you. But that was yesterday and whatever is hidden in the past can remain there. Today you stand on the side of the just, and seek to save the people of the Enchantment. And yes, if you succeed it will not wash away the evil of the past, but it will give at least some hope for a future.'

'How can we succeed,' asked Gorgon, 'when all the forces of Philippos are ranged against us?'

'We are not talking of defeating Philippos in a battle. We are speaking of opening the Giant's Gateway. If the Spartans can hold the Demon King for a little while, we can bring Iskander to his destiny.'

Gorgon sighed. 'I will not travel on with you, Human. Now that you are — for the moment — safe I will return to the forest to gather what followers remain and bring them to the Gateway.'

'How will you bring them all across the Gulf?'

'We will not cross the Gulf. We will travel the old paths, between Achaea and Hades. No Human may pass them and keep his sanity. But my. . people. . can walk them. I have played my part, Human. I have brought you across the sea. Now it is for you to bring Iskander to the Gateway.'

'We will succeed or die, my lord. It is all we can do. But let us, at least, part as friends.'

'Why is that important to you?'

'It is important to both of us,' answered Parmenion, extending his hand.

Gorgon glanced down at it, then looked into Parmenion's eyes. 'I have said it before, but you are a strange man, and I do not remember the last time I talked of friendship.' His arm came up, his fingers gripping Parmenion's hand, and they stood for a moment in silence.