Dark Prince

'What now, lord?' asked Leonidas.

'Now? We prepare for war.'

* * *

Two days ride to the south-west of the city Attalus raised his arm to halt the company, then gazed around at the forbidding landscape — rockstrewn and jagged, thinly wooded and laced with streams. During their travels they had passed few villages in this inhospitable land, but had stopped at several lonely farms where they had been given food and grain for the horses.

Attalus was uneasy: the hunters were closing in. Helm had been the first to spot the pursuers, late the day before, when the setting sun had glinted from the lance-points of a large cavalry unit, perhaps an hour behind them. Through the heat haze Attalus had been unable to make out individual riders, but there were at least fifty.

Ektalis rode alongside the Macedonian, pointing at a dust-cloud to the west. 'Riders,' said the Korinthian. 'Probably Messenians. They serve the Tyrant.'

The company veered east and south, riding long into the night. But the horses were tired, and when the moonlight was lost behind unseasonal clouds Attalus was forced to call a halt. They made cold camp in a cluster of boulders on a hillside, where Ektalis set sentries and most of the company slept. But not Attalus.

Helm found him sitting alone, watching the trail to the north.

'You should rest,' the warrior advised.

'I cannot. Thoughts, plans, fears — they fly around my mind like angry wasps.'

'How far to the woods of the Enchantment?' asked Helm, moonlight gleaming eerily from his metal face.

'Another day — so Brontes told us.'

'Well, we have two chances,' said Helm, rising. 'Succeed or die.'

'Very comforting,' snapped Attalus.

'I find it so,' answered Helm, smiling and moving back amongst the boulders to sleep.

Silence surrounded the Macedonian, and a cool wind whispered across his face. For an hour he sat alone, miserable and dejected. Then the sound of a walking horse jerked him from his reverie. Rising smoothly, he drew his sword.

Why had the sentries not warned them? The horse moved into the boulders and Thena dismounted.

Attalus sheathed his blade and moved to her side. 'Where is Parmenion?' he asked.

'In Sparta, raising an army.'

'Why? He should be here with us. Let the Spartan King fight his own battles.'

'Parmenion is the Spartan King.'

'What madness is this?'

'I am thirsty. Fetch me some water and then we will talk,' Thena told him, moving away to sit on the hillside. He did as she asked, then sat beside her as she drank. Slowly she explained the events leading to Parmenion's decision, and the problems he faced.

'But there is no hope of victory,' said Attalus. 'I am no strategos, Thena, but even I know that the first object of battle is to contain the enemy flanks. If you cannot do that, then you will be encircled and destroyed. Five thousand men cannot contain the army we saw on the plain.'

'I know that,' she answered wearily.

'Are you saying he will die there? Why? In the name of Hecate, why?'

'He is a man of honour.'

'Honour? What has honour to do with it? He owes these people nothing. His duty is to Alexander, and to his King.'

'But Alexander is in your care — and Parmenion trusts you.'

'Well, a curse on him! Does he think he is a god that he can conquer any who stand in his way? Philippos will destroy him.'

Thena rubbed at her tired eyes. 'Parmenion wants you to take Alexander on to the woods and locate Brontes. Once there, we will discuss a plan he has.'

'If this plan involves Alexander and me returning to Macedonia, I will support it — but do not expect me to ride to the city or take part in any ill-fated battle against the Demon King.'

A cold wind brushed against Attains' back and a sibilant voice made his skin crawl. 'How wise of you,' it hissed.

Attalus spun, his sword flashing into his hand. Before him hovered a pale form, seemingly shaped from mist. Slowly it hardened to become a broad-shouldered man, bearded and powerful, whose right eye shone like gold. Thena sat silently, saying nothing. 'Ah, Attalus,' whispered Philippos, 'how curious to find you set against me. Everything in your heart and soul tells me you are mine. You should be marching with me. I can offer you riches, women, lands, empires. And why do you oppose me? For a child who will one day kill you. Give him to me, and his threat to you will be at an end.'

'I do not serve you,' answered Attalus, his voice hoarse.

'No, you serve a lesser version of me. You follow a man. Here you can follow a god. The idea pleases you, does it not? Yes, I can read it in your heart. Palaces, Attalus, nations under your sway. You can be a king.'

'His promises are worth nothing,' said Thena, but her words sounded shrill and empty.

'He knows,' said Philippos. 'He knows I speak the truth; he knows that warriors with his talents will always earn the hatred and envy of lesser men. Even Philip will turn on him one day. But here — with me — he can have his soul's desire. Is that not so, Attalus?'

'Yes,' answered the swordsman. 'I could serve you.'

'Then do so. Bring the child to me. Or wait until my riders arrive. Either way I will reward you.'

The Demon King shimmered, his form fading. Attalus turned to Thena. 'We cannot defeat him. We cannot.'

'What will you do?'

'Leave me alone, Thena. I need to think.'

'No,' she said, 'that is what you do not need. You need to feel. He called Philip a lesser man. Do you agree with that?'

'It does not matter whether I agree or disagree. In life there is only winning and losing. Philippos is a winner.'

'Winning and losing? Life is not a race,' she told him. 'A man who never loses a battle but ends his life alone and unloved has not won. Whatever you may say to the contrary, that is something you understand. If you did not, you would not have served Philip so faithfully. Be honest, Attalus, you love the man.'

'Yes, I do,' he shouted, 'and that makes me as big a fool as Parmenion. But here I could be a king!'

'Indeed you could. All you have to do is betray Philip and see his son murdered.'

Attalus fell silent for a moment, his head bowing. 'I have betrayed men before,' he said softly. 'It is not so hard.'

'Ah, but have you ever betrayed a friend?' asked Helm, moving from the shadows.

'I never had any friends,' answered Attalus.

'What about this. . Philip?'

Attalus sighed. 'He trusts me. He knows what I am and what I have done, yet he trusts me. He even calls me his friend.' Suddenly he laughed, the sound full of bitterness. 'And I am. I would die for the man. . and I probably will.'

'Well,' said Helm, 'if the discussion is over I would like to get back to sleep.'

Attalus turned to Thena. 'I will not betray the boy.'

She rose, moving to stand before him. 'You are a better man than you know,' she told him.

* * *

Derae looked into the man's pale eyes. He shook his head. 'I am what I am,' he told her. She watched as he walked back into the boulders to lie alone. Briefly she reached out, soothing his fears and bringing him the sanctuary of sleep.

Her spirits were curiously lifted. Philippos had been wrong. He had read Attalus, and read him right, yet still he had made a mistake. It was the first small gap in the Demon King's armour of invincibility. The Tyrant had failed.

Derae could scarce believe it. Of all the men who could be swayed, the bitter hate-filled Attalus should have been the simplest of victims. Yet he had resisted the promises, even though the dark side of his character cried out to accept.