Dark Prince

Then the Forest King waded out into the sea and began to swim.

It was late afternoon before Brontes returned with Attalus. The swordsman's face was bruised, his right eye swollen where a wave had dashed him against the rocks, but he did not complain as he sank down beside Parmenion.

'It was difficult to rouse him,' said Brontes, 'but he refused my offer to carry him.'

'I am glad to see you alive,' said Parmenion, gripping the Macedonian's shoulder.

Attalus smiled. 'You saved my life. I shall not forget it. The breastplate would have killed me. What now?'

'We will find the others and make our way south.'

'And after that?'

'I do not know.'

Attalus nodded. 'No, of course not. It is just. . well, I am used to you, strategos. And my faith in your talents grows day by day.'

'I cannot see why. After all, I failed to get the trees to uproot and march with us.'

Attalus chuckled. 'Forgive me for that, Spartan, but that cursed forest seeped into my soul. By all the gods, I swear it is good to be back in the sunlight. Brontes tells me Alexander is safe?'

'Yes,' answered Parmenion. 'And now it is time to find him. But first I must speak with Brontes.' The Spartan rose and walked to where the minotaur sat on a boulder overlooking the sea.

'Where is my brother?' Brontes asked.

'Gone.'

Brontes nodded. 'I thought he might stay the course. But what can you expect from such a creature?'

'He told me he was returning to gather his forces, and that he would bring them to the Giant's Gateway. I think that he will.'

The minotaur lifted his head and laughed. 'You cannot trust him, Parmenion. He is a creature of darkness.'

'We shall see. But we must proceed as if we do believe him.'

'Why?'

'Because if Gorgon does lead his beasts towards the south it is likely the people of the Enchantment will think he is attacking them.'

'As he probably will,' Brontes muttered.

'Listen to me: put aside your hate. I need you to travel alone to the woods around the Gateway. I want you to prepare the way for Gorgon.'

'Never! He is a traitor and a killer.'

'Then I shall see Iskander does not fulfil his destiny.'

The minotaur stormed to his feet. 'You dare to threaten me, Human?' he raged.

'Yes,' answered Parmenion. 'What is wrong with you? The war is over — and he is your brother. Without his aid none of us would be alive.'

'For his own purposes he helped us. Do not forget that!'

'And are you any different? Did you not threaten to kill me? You are only here because of Iskander.'

'You don't understand! Gorgon killed my children and raped my. . our. . mother. There is no good in him. He was born in darkness and he thrives on it. And you want me to prepare the way? Better for the Enchantment to die than for a creature like him to benefit from its return.'

'You do not believe that,' whispered Parmenion. 'That is the voice of your hatred. We are not talking here about your grief, or your bitterness. We are considering the future of all the people of the Enchantment. You have no right to make decisions concerning them. You are a dying race with one hope of survivaclass="underline" Iskander. Now go to the woods and do what must be done.'

'You will deny us Iskander if I refuse?'

'No,' admitted Parmenion. 'I will not deny you. That was the voice of my anger. Will you do as I ask?'

'I will think on it,' promised Brontes, but he looked away as he spoke, avoiding Parmenion's eyes.

The Plain of Mantinea

Helm was the first to see the two men emerge from the tree-line and walk towards the waiting group. He studied them as they approached, his hand resting lightly on his sword-hilt. The nine Korinthians all stood, but the golden-haired child shouted a name and began to run towards the newcomers.

The first of the men leaned forward to sweep the child into his arms. He had no sword, Helm noticed, but he moved like a warrior, smoothly and always in balance. The second man was pale-eyed, his movements cat-like and sure.

The lion and the wolf, thought Helm.

The taller man lowered the child to the ground, ruffling his hair, then swung his gaze over the waiting warriors, coming at last to Helm. There was no expression in his blue eyes as he saw the face of bronze.

The Korinthians were waiting, but the newcomer strolled directly to Helm. 'Who are you?' he asked, the tone easy, the question spoken without a sign of arrogance yet with quiet authority. Here, thought Helm, is a man used to command.

'I wish I could tell you. But I know nothing of my past, save that I was told to find the child.'

'For what purpose?'

'I do not know that either — but it was not to do him harm.'

'My name is Parmenion. If you ride with me, you follow my orders. If that should not suit you, then you can leave now.'

'It suits me,' answered Helm easily.

The man smiled and nodded, then turned to the Korinthians, singling out Ektalis. 'My thanks to you, sir, for helping the boy. You and your men have risked much, and I applaud your courage. I see there are enough horses for all of us, and I think it wise we move south before continuing our conversation. The enemy is closing in on us even as we speak.'

Ektalis nodded and gave the order to mount. Parmenion walked to the woman, laying his hand on her shoulder, but Helm could not hear the words that passed between them and moved on to the horses. The mounts of the Makedones were smaller than the horses of the Korinthians, but they were deep-chested and powerful, reared for stamina rather than speed; Helm chose a roan gelding, taking hold of the mane and smoothly vaulting to its back.

'You know your horses,' said Parmenion. 'He is one I would have chosen.'

For two hours the group rode in silence, angling south and east through rolling hills, skirting small villages and towns and holding to the tree-line.

At last, as the sun began to set, they made camp in a sheltered hollow.

Parmenion called Ektalis to him. 'We will need sentries,' he said, 'one on that hillside, a second in the trees to the north.'

As Ektalis saluted and moved away, Helm grinned. The salute had seemed natural, Parmenion accepting it as his due.

'I think you are used to larger armies than this,' offered Helm.

'I am indeed,' the man answered, his hand resting on the hilt of a Makedones sword now belted at his side, 'but this is all we have. May I see your sword?'

'Of course,' answered Helm, sliding the blade from its scabbard, reversing it and passing it hilt first to the general.

'It is a fine weapon. How did you come by it?'

'When I awoke it was close by, along with the armour and the helm.'

'What made you think it was yours?'

'I cannot answer that. I was naked and alone. . and it fitted me well. Especially the helm which, as you can see, has melted over my face.'

Parmenion was silent for a moment. 'You concern'me, warrior,' he said, and Helm became acutely aware that the man before him was now holding his sword. 'How do I know you were not sent by Philippos?'

'You don't,' answered Helm. 'But then neither do I.'

'You fight well. That is good. Your slaying of the Makedones supplied Attalus and myself with weapons, and for that I am grateful. Such a deed makes it unlikely you are an enemy. Unlikely but not impossible.'

'I accept that, Parmenion. And where does that leave us?'

'In mortal peril either way,' the general answered, returning Helm's sword and turning away.

* * *

By the afternoon of the following day the riders had reached the high ground overlooking the Plain of Mantinea — a wide, flat area between the mountains, bordering on the kingdom of Argolis. In the distance they could see two mighty armies facing one another. Thena dismounted and sat on a cliff-ledge, closing her eyes, her spirit soaring out over the waiting forces.