Dark Prince (21 page)

“Can the beasts follow us here?” asked Parmenion.

“Chiron says no enemies can pass through the wall,” the boy answered.

“We’ll see,” said Parmenion, hefting his sword and waiting, Attalus beside him.

Chiron appeared. “I must offer you my thanks,” said the
magus
, smiling.

“That’s why you sent us here,” replied Parmenion. “It is good to see you again, Aristotle.”

“I fear there is some mistake,” the
magus
told them. “I do not know you.”

“What game is this?” hissed Attalus, moving forward to lay his sword on Chiron’s shoulder, the blade resting against his throat. “You send us into a world of madness and now claim we are strangers? No jests,
magus!
I am not in the mood for them.”

“Wait!” said Parmenion, stepping in and lifting Attalus’ blade clear. “What is your name, friend?”

“I am Chiron,” the
magus
told him. “The name Aristotle is not known to me. But this is truly fascinating. I exist in another form—in your world. And in how many others, I wonder?”

“Are you believing this?” stormed Attalus. “We can see who he is!”

“No,” said Parmenion. “Look closely. He is more thickset, and Aristotle has a small scar on his right temple. Other than that they could be twins. But before we enter into a debate, let us first ascertain how safe we are here. Can the creatures enter?”

“Not immediately,” replied the
magus
. “But the enemy has many allies, and my power is not what it was.”

Parmenion strolled to the window, staring out at the sparkling ocean. “Are we still in your world,
magus
, or is this yet another?”

“It is the same, merely in a different place. There are seven centers of power in Achaea. I can travel between them. This palace is on the Gulf of Malin.”

“Malin? Malia, perhaps,” whispered Parmenion. “Is there a pass close by with a name similar to Thermopylae?”

“Exactly that. Two days’ ride to the south.”

“Then Thebes will be the closest major city.”

“There is no city of that name,” the
magus
told him.

“The white lady spoke of Cadmos.”

“What white lady?” put in Attalus, but the other two men ignored him.

“Yes, there is Cadmos, the strongest city of central Achaea,” agreed Chiron, “but the Makedones have it besieged. They will not hold out against Philippos. What is it you plan?”

“We must get to Sparta,” said Parmenion.

“Why there?” asked Attalus. “And who is this lady? Will someone tell me what is going on?”

“A good question, my friend,” said Chiron, laying his hand on the swordsman’s shoulder. “Let us go to the kitchens, where I will prepare food and we can sit and talk. There is much here I also do not understand.”

Later, as they sat in the open air, Parmenion told Attalus of the meeting with the lady of the glade and of her advice. “It was no dream. We fought the Makedones and were then drugged. I do not know who the lady was, but she treated me well and I believe her advice to be sound.”

“I would not know about that,” snapped Attalus, “since she did not have the good manners to wake me. Why you, Spartan? Am I seen as some lackey running in your footsteps?”

“I cannot answer your questions. The glade was a place of magic and beauty. I do not think they desired the presence of men. But we rescued the nymphs and therefore, I suppose, earned their gratitude.”

“They showed it well, leaving me asleep on the cold earth. Well, a curse on them! I care nothing for them, nor any of the deformed monsters of this place. I have only one question: How do we get home?” he asked, turning to the
magus
.

Chiron spread his arms. “I do not know.”

“Does anyone know anything here?” stormed Attalus, rising and stalking out into the gardens and down the steps to the wide beach.

“Your friend is frightened,” said Chiron. “I cannot say that I blame him.”

Parmenion nodded. “He is a powerful man back in Macedonia, and he needs to feel in control of his surroundings. Here he is like a leaf in a storm.”

“I sense you are not friends. Why did he accompany you on this quest?”

“He has his own reasons,” said Parmenion. “The first among them is to see that I do not rescue Alexander alone. He wishes to share in that glory and will risk his life to that end.”

“And what of you, Parmenion? Are you frightened?”

“Of course. This world is strange to me; I have no place in it. But I am a hopeful man. I have found Alexander, and for the moment we are safe. That is enough.”

Alexander walked out into the sunshine and clambered onto Parmenion’s lap. “I knew you’d come, Parmenion. I told you, didn’t I, Chiron?”

“Yes you did, young prince. You are a good judge of men.”

“Why is Attalus here? I don’t like him.”

“He is here to help you,” said Parmenion. “Now, why don’t you go down to the beach and make friends with him.”

“Must I?”

“He is your father’s most trusted warrior, and Philip does
not give such trust lightly. Go. Speak to him. Then make your judgments.”

“You are just trying to get rid of me so that you can talk to Chiron.”

“Exactly right,” Parmenion admitted with a broad smile.

“Very well, then,” said the boy, easing himself to the ground and walking away.

“He’s a fine child,” said Chiron, “and he loves you dearly.”

Ignoring the comment, Parmenion stood and stretched his back. “Tell me something of this world,
magus
. Make me feel less of a stranger.”

“What do you wish to know?”

“The balance of power. Begin with Philippos. When did he come to the throne—and how?”

Chiron poured a goblet of wine, sipping it before answering. “He murdered his brother Perdikkas ten years ago and seized the crown. Then he led his troops into Illyria and the north, conquering their cities and stealing their mines. Athens declared war, as did the cities of the Trident—”

“The Trident?”

“The lands of the Halkidike?”

“Ah, yes. The Chalcidice. Go on.”

“Philippos crushed the armies of the Trident three years ago, then conquered Thrace.”

“What about the Persian empire?”

“What empire?” asked Chiron, chuckling. “How could such uncouth barbarians have an empire?”

Parmenion leaned back. “Then who rules the lands of Asia?”

“No one. It is a wilderness populated by nomadic tribes who slaughter and kill each other in scores of meaningless wars. There are Achaean cities on the coastline, once ruled by Athens or Sparta, but no … empire. Is there such where you come from?”

“Yes,” Parmenion told him. “The greatest the world has ever seen. The great king rules from the borders of Thrace to the edge of the world. Even Greece … Achaea as you call
it … pays homage to Persia. But you were telling me about the conquest of Thrace.”

Chiron nodded. “The army of Makedon moved through the country like a forest fire, destroying everything, every city, every town. The entire population was sold into slavery or slain. Then, last year, Philippos marched south into Thessalonika. The battle was fought near here against the combined forces of Cadmos and Athens. They were crushed utterly. Then the king skirted Cadmos and struck at Athens, burning the acropolis and killing all the citizens save those who escaped to sea. Now Cadmos faces his wrath. It will not stand long. After that it will be Sparta.”

“Why is he so invincible?” asked Parmenion. “Surely it is possible to defeat him?”

Chiron shook his head. “When he was a child, he was—like Achilles before him—dipped into the River Styx. He is invulnerable to wounds. Unlike Achilles, his mother did not neglect to cover his heel. No arrow can mark him, nor sword cut him. Then, when he was twenty and newly crowned, he asked a sorcerer of great power to create for him an eye of gold, an all-seeing eye that would allow him to read the hearts of men. The sorceror did as he was bidden. Philippos took the eye and then tore his own right eye from its socket, replacing it with the magical orb. So you see, Parmenion, no one can either outfight him or outthink him. He knows in advance all the plans of his enemies.”

“What happened to this sorcerer of great power? Perhaps he will know of a way to destroy his creation.”

“No, my friend. I am that sorcerer, and I can help you not at all.”

Attalus sat on the beach, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face, yet even this was not as hot as his anger. To be forced to travel with the loathsome Spartan was bad enough, but he had expected a ride into Thrace or the Chalcidice in order to rescue the prince. Not this appalling place of deformity and madness.

Picturing the flying creatures, he shivered. How could a warrior hope to combat such beasts?

Unbuckling his breastplate, he put aside his clothes and waded out into the sea, enjoying the sudden cool on his body. Hurling himself forward, he ducked under the water, swimming with long easy strokes to surface some way from the shore. Small translucent fish swam by him in glittering shoals, and he splashed his hand in the water, laughing as they scattered in all directions.

This at least was a reality he knew, and he reveled in the feeling.

At last he began to tire of the sea and headed back for the shore, pushing himself upright in the soft sand and flicking the water from his long hair.

Alexander was waiting beside his armor. “You swim well,” said the boy.

Attalus swallowed a curse. He did not like the child. A demon, they said, barely human, who could kill at a touch. The swordsman nodded a greeting and sat down on a rock, waiting for the sun to dry his skin.

“Are you frightened?” asked the prince, his expression disarmingly innocent, head cocked to one side.

“I fear nothing, my prince,” Attalus answered. “And any man who says differently will answer to me with a blade.”

The child nodded solemnly. “You are very brave to come so far to find me. I know my father will reward you.”

Attalus laughed. “I have three estates and more wealth than I can spend in a lifetime. I need no rewards, Prince Alexander. But I would give a king’s ransom to see Macedonia again.”

“We will. Parmenion will find a way.”

Attalus bit back an angry retort. “It is good to have faith in one’s heroes,” he said at last.

“You do not like him, do you?”

“I like no man save Philip. And you see too much. Beware, Alexander; such gifts can be double-edged.”

“Do not ever go against him,” warned the prince. “He would kill you, Attalus.”

The swordsman made no reply, but he smiled with genuine humor. Alexander stood silently for a moment, then looked up into the Macedonian’s eyes. “I know you are said to be the best swordsman in the land and also my father’s most trusted … assassin. But know this, if ever Parmenion dies in mysterious circumstances, it is to you I will come. And your death will follow soon after.”

Attalus sighed. “I did not enter this world of the bizarre to hear your threats, boy. I came to rescue you. You do not have to like me—why should you, after all? I am not a likable man. But should I ever have cause to fight Parmenion, your threats will not sway me. I am my own man, and I walk my own path. Remember that.”

“We will both remember,” said Alexander.

“There’s truth in that,” the swordsman agreed.

“Do not try to think of a way to defeat Philippos,” said Chiron. “It is not possible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Parmenion assured him as the two men strolled through the palace grounds in the last lingering light of the fading sun.

“You misunderstand me,” continued Chiron. “There are greater issues here. Why do you think a being of such enormous power would wish to house himself in the frail human shell of a man—even a king?”

Parmenion halted by a stream and sat on a wooden bench. “Tell me,” he said.

Chiron stretched himself out on the grass and sighed. “It is not a simple matter. The chaos spirit has no natural form. He is … it is … of spirit, apparently both immortal and eternal. So then, the real question is
how
he exists. Do you follow me?”

“Not yet,
magus
, but I am ever the willing learner.”

“Then let us take it slowly. What is the single greatest moment of your life?”

“What has this to do with anything?” asked Parmenion, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Bear with me, warrior,” urged Chiron.

Parmenion took a deep breath. “Many years ago—a lifetime, it seems—I loved a young woman. She made the sun shine more brightly. She made me live.”

“What happened to her?”

The Spartan’s expression hardened, his blue eyes gleaming with a cold light. “She was taken from me and slain. Now make your point,
magus
, for I am losing patience.”

“Exactly my point!” said Chiron, pushing himself to his feet and sitting beside the Spartan. “I want you to think back to how you felt at the moment you pictured your love and your days together and then how those thoughts changed when touched with bitterness. The chaos spirit may seem to be immortal and eternal, but it is not entirely the truth. He needs to feed. I do not know if pain, anguish, and hatred sired him or whether he is the father and mother of all bitterness. In a way it does not matter. But he needs chaos to keep him alive. In the body of Philippos he strides the world, birthing oceans of hatred. Every slave, every widow, every orphaned child will know hate; they will lust for revenge. Long after Philippos is dust, the Makedones will be despised. Do you see? He cannot be beaten, for even in destroying Philippos you only continue to feed the spirit that possesses him.”

“What, then, do you suggest, that we meekly lie down before the tyrant, offering our lives with a smile and a blessing?”

“Yes,” answered Chiron simply, “for then we would be countering chaos with a greater force—love. But that will never be. It would take a greater man than any I have met who could answer violence with forgiveness, evil with love. At best, all we can do is to fight him without hatred.”

“Why did you make the eye for Philippos?” asked Parmenion suddenly.

“I had a vain hope that he would use it to see himself, the true soul within. He did not. It has always been a problem for me, Parmenion, for I seek to see the good in every man, hoping it will conquer. Yet it happens so rarely. A strong man will seek to rule; it is his nature. And to rule he will need to conquer others.” Chiron sighed. “All our heroes are men of violence,
are they not? I do not know the names of such heroes in your world. But it will be the same story.”