'Why did you never ask me to share your bed? Was the thought so painful?'
'Let us not talk of past bitterness, nor past stupidity. The man I was died at Mantinea; the man I am may be dead within a few days. This is the present, Derae. This is all there ever is in life. This is now.' Swinging his legs from the couch he stood, holding out his hand to her. She took it and he drew her towards him, then leaned down and gently kissed her cheek. Suppressed passion made him tremble and he longed to tear the robe from her body and carry her to the bed. Yet he did not. He stroked the skin of her neck and shoulders, then pushed his fingers through her red-gold hair. She moved into him and he felt the warmth of her body through the robe. His hands slid down her back to rest on her hips and her head came up. Tenderly he kissed her lips.
Her arms moved around him, fingers tracing the lines of tired muscle on his back. As she touched him warmth flowed into his frame, relaxing him. 'You have healing hands,' he whispered.
'Don't speak,' she replied, rising on tiptoe to kiss him again. He parted the robe, pushing it from her shoulders to fall to the floor, then felt her breasts against his chest, the nipples hard against his skin.
He carried her to the bed, then lay beside her — his right hand stroking her flank, tracing an invisible line along the outside of her thigh. Slowly he reversed the movement, this time along the inside, his hand coming to rest against soft, silken hair. She moaned as his finger slid gently inside her. Parmenion was almost beyond conscious thought.
Desire was everything. Not the crazed, lustful desire that had seen him bed Olympias on that terrible night, but the desire born of a lifetime of suppressed feelings and empty dreams. She was here. Not dead, not white bleached bones at the bottom of the sea, but here! The love he had lost a lifetime ago was his again.
Images from the past kaleidoscoped through his brain as he rose above her, feeling her legs slide over his hips. The five glorious days in Olympia when the sun shone in glory, the sky was brilliant turquoise and two young lovers ignored the world and its laws. He saw again the smile of the young Derae, heard her laughter echoing in the mountains.
Together again! His passion mounted and he was suddenly, blissfully, oblivious to his surroundings. There was no Demon King, no army of terror. There were no Gateways between worlds, no sorcerers, no futures.
The now was everything.
Derae's back arched and she cried out again and again. But he did not stop. . could not stop. And when the passion was too great to contain, and he felt as if his soul were flowing from him, he lost consciousness — falling into a darkness so sweet and so fulfilling that, in his last moment of conscious thought, he never wanted to wake.
The Hills of Gytheum
Attalus plunged his sword into an attacker's chest, wrenching it clear and pushing the body back over the boulders. A second man climbed into sight, hurling a short javelin at the Macedonian. Attalus threw himself aside and the missile tore into the back of a Korinthian warrior fighting alongside Helm.
Recovering his balance Attalus rushed at the javeliner, but the man ducked from sight.
'Come on, you sons of dogs!' Attalus yelled. 'Where are you?'
But the Messenians pulled back from the fort of boulders, dragging their wounded with them. Attalus spun round, scanning the defenders. Three Korinthians were dead, four others badly wounded. The seeress was helping to heal the more serious injuries, while Alexander sat calmly by, his young face expressionless.
Attalus wiped away the blood from a shallow cut in his forehead and moved alongside Helm. 'How many?' he asked.
'Twelve we have killed, with maybe six others unable to fight again.'
'Not enough,' Attalus muttered.
'We'll kill some more soon,' said Helm.
Attalus chuckled. 'I am beginning to like you. It is a shame we are to die here.'
'We're not dead yet,' the warrior pointed out.
Ektalis joined them. 'We won't be able to hold this position for much longer. Already we are stretched.'
'I can see that!' snapped Attalus. 'Are you suggesting surrender?'
'No, I am merely stating the obvious. One more concerted attack and they will breach the circle. Once inside we cannot hold them.'
'You have a plan?'
'We could make a run for it. Once in the woods they would find it hard to track us.'
Attalus climbed to the nearest boulder, his gaze resting on the woods less than a mile distant. So close — and yet the trees might as well be growing across the ocean, for more than thirty warriors were waiting below and their mounts were Attic stock — several hands taller than the Makedonian and Korinthian horses, and much faster. 'We would not make half the distance,' he told Ektalis, 'and once on the plain they would take us singly.'
'Then we must fight and die,' said the Korinthian.
Attalus bit back an angry response and merely nodded. They had escaped the first of the riders but been cut off by this second group. Helm had spotted the circle of boulders and here they had made their stand.
But to fail in sight of the woods! Attalus felt his fury rise. This was all Parmenion's fault. Had he remained with them none of this would have happened. But no: he had to play his hero's game.
'There are more coming,' said Helm and Attalus looked to the north. A dust-cloud heralded at least fifty more Messenian riders.
The swordsman swore. 'Let them all come. What difference does it make? Thirty was too many anyway. It might as well be eighty — or a hundred and eighty.' He swore again.
Below them the Messenians waited for their comrades and Attalus watched as the two enemy officers moved away from the men to discuss strategy. The sun was beginning to set, the sky turning flame-red over the distant mountains.
Thena approached Attalus. 'I shall take Alexander to the woods,' she said, keeping her voice low.
'They will capture you,' he argued.
'They will not see us,' she told him wearily. 'I cannot do the same for you and the others. My powers have been drained, but even at their height they would not have veiled such a large group.'
Attalus turned away, his emotions boiling with a murderous rage. 'Take him!' he said. 'Take him and be damned!'
For a moment only the priestess stood her ground, then she backed away and led Alexander to the horses, lifting the prince into place and mounting behind him. The Korinthians watched her in silence and Helm strolled to stand beside the mount.
'Where are you going?' he asked softly.
'To the woods. No one will stop me.'
'The boy is important to me. If he is lost, I will die without a past.'
'I know. Yet his destiny is greater than your desire.'
'Not to me, lady.'
'Then you must make a choice, Helm,' she told him, her voice neutral, her expression serene. 'You can draw your sword and stop me. But then the Demon King will have the child. For you cannot hold this hill against the warriors who surround it.'
'That is true enough,' he admitted. 'Ah well, go in peace, lady.' He lifted his hand and patted Alexander's leg. 'I hope you succeed in your quest, boy. I'd hate to die for nothing.'
Alexander nodded, but spoke no word.
Thena tugged on the reins and the horse moved out between the boulders, walking slowly down the hillside. Attalus, Helm and the Korinthians watched her as she rode in plain sight towards the Messenians. No one moved to stop her, nor showed any sign that they could see her, and the Makedonian mare walked through the enemy camp and on towards the trees.
Attalus pulled a whetstone from his hip pouch and began to sharpen his sword.