Dark Prince (26 page)

“This place no good. This is Gorgon’s forest.”

Attalus lifted his leg and slid to the ground. “It’s safer than
where we were,” he said, releasing Alexander. The boy sank to the earth, his hands clasped to his temples.

“Are you ill?” Attalus asked, dropping to his knees beside the boy. Alexander looked up, and the swordsman found himself staring into yellow eyes, the pupils slitted.

“I am well,” came a deep voice. Attalus recoiled, and Alexander laughed, the sound hollow and cruel.

“Do not fear me, assassin. You have always served me well.”

Attalus said nothing. At Alexander’s temples dark skin erupted, flowing, swelling, curling back over his ears and down to his neck, forming into twin ram’s horns, ebony-dark and gleaming in the moonlight.

“I like this place,” said the chaos spirit. “It suits me.”

“Death to your enemies, sire,” said Parmenion, bowing low.

“You are an enemy,” hissed Gorgon. The Spartan straightened and smiled, looking into the pale eyes of the monstrosity before him.

“Indeed I am, for I am human. But I have the capacity to give you all that you desire.”

“You can have no understanding of what I desire. But speak on, for you amuse me—as your imminent death will amuse me.”

“Long ago you were a warrior,” said Parmenion softly, “a child of the Titans. You had the ability to change your shape, to fly, or to swim below the sea. But when the great war ended you were banished here, trapped in the last form you chose. Now the enchantment is dying all over the world. But you will survive, Gorgon; you know that. You will live for a thousand years here in this place of dark magic. But one day even this forest will fall to the axes of men.”

Gorgon surged to his feet, the snakes of his hair hissing and thrashing. “You came here to tell me what I already know? You are no longer amusing, human.”

“I came to offer the answer to your dreams,” Parmenion told him.

“And what is my dream?”

“Be careful, Parmenion,” came the voice of Thena in his mind. “I cannot read him.”

“You have many dreams,” said Parmenion. “You dream of revenge, you nurse your hatreds. But the one dream, the one great dream, is to see the enchantment restored, to be free of man.”

Gorgon sank back onto the throne of skulls. “And this you can give me?” he asked, his cavernous mouth stretching into an obscene smile.

“Iskander can bring the dream to life.”

For a moment the king was silent, then he leaned forward, his pale eyes glittering. “You speak of the child Philippos seeks; he has offered much for this child. Many women—not plain like the one with you—but beautiful, soft, and sweet. He promised to accept my sovereignty over the forest. I think his is the offer I will accept.”

“Why does he want the child so desperately?” countered Parmenion.

“For immortality.”

“An immortal human? Is that to be desired? And what else?”

“What else is there?”

“The death of enchantment. Without Iskander you have no hope. You will all wither and die. That is the ultimate aim of Philippos—it has to be.”

“And the child is Iskander?”

“He is,” Parmenion replied.

“And he can lift the curse from me and my people?”

“He can.”

“I do not believe it. Now it is time to die, human.”

“Is this all that you want?” asked Parmenion, his arm sweeping out to encompass the clearing, “or have you lived so long as a monstrosity that you can no longer remember what it was like to live as a god? I pity you.”

“Save your pity!” thundered the king. “Save it for yourself and the bony woman beside you!”

“What was your name?” asked Thena suddenly, her voice clear and sweet.

“My name? I am Gorgon.”

“What was your name before, in the bright golden days?”

“I … I … what has this to do with anything?”

“Can you not remember?” she asked, moving forward to stand before him.

“I remember,” he answered. “I was Dionius.” The king sagged back on the throne, the taut muscles of his shoulders relaxing. “I will think more on what you say. You and your man may stay with us tonight; you will be safe while I consider your words.”

Thena bowed and walked to Parmenion, leading him away to the edge of the clearing.

“What was that about his name?” asked the Spartan.

“His mind was too powerful to read, but one image kept flickering in his thoughts when you spoke of the return of the enchantment. It was of a handsome man with clear blue eyes. I guessed it must be him.”

“You are a good companion to have,” he told her, taking her hand and kissing it. “Wise and intuitive.”

“And bony and plain,” she replied with a smile.

“Not at all,” he whispered. “You are beautiful.”

Snatching her hand from his, she pulled back. “Do not mock me, Spartan.”

“I spoke only the truth. Beauty is more than skin, flesh, and bone. You have courage and spirit. And if you doubt my words, then read my mind.”

“No. I know what is there.”

“Then why are you angry?”

“I had a lover long ago,” she said, turning away from him. “He was young, as was I. We did not have long together, and I have missed him for many years.”

“What happened?”

“I was taken from him, across the sea, and held captive in a temple until I agreed to become a priestess.”

“And he made no attempt to find you? His love could not have been as great as yours.”

“He thought me dead.”

“I am sorry,” said Parmenion, taking her hand once more. “I know the scars you carry; I have them, too.”

“But you are married now, with three children. Surely you have forgotten your first love?”

“Never,” he replied, his voice so soft that the word was barely a sigh.

THE FOREST OF GORGON

For much of the night the creatures of the forest sat around the campfires. There was no laughter or song, and they huddled together in grim silence as Gorgon sat upon the throne of skulls. Thena was asleep, her head resting on Parmenion’s shoulder, but the Spartan stayed awake. The silence was unnatural; he sensed the creatures were waiting for something and remained tense and watchful as the hours passed.

Toward dawn the creatures climbed to their feet, moving to the left and right of the throne in two lines. Easing Thena to the ground, Parmenion rose. His limbs were stiff, and he stretched the muscles of his back. Tension hung in the air as Gorgon rose from the throne and stared to the east.

A dozen weird beasts emerged from the trees, dragging a prisoner, roped and tied. There was blood on the prisoner’s body and the marks of many wounds. Parmenion cursed softly.

The prisoner was Brontes.

His captors—part reptile, part cat, their limbs covered in fur, their faces scaled—pulled Brontes between the waiting lines. Jagged knives and swords hissed into the air.

“Wait!” called Parmenion, striding out to stand above the bound Minotaur. Brontes looked up at him, his expression unreadable. Swiftly Parmenion drew his dagger, slicing the razor-sharp blade through the thongs binding him. “Stay down,” ordered the Spartan, then rose to face the forest king.

“This is my friend and my ally,” he said. “He is under my protection.”

“Your protection? And who protects you, human?”

“You do, sire—until you have reached a decision.”

“So,” hissed Gorgon, pacing forward to stand over the Minotaur, “you have a human friend now, Brontes. Do you remember the last one? You don’t learn, do you?”

The Minotaur said nothing but lowered his head, avoiding Gorgon’s gaze. Then a sound came from the forest king that could have been laughter. “He was a prisoner on Creta,” he told Parmenion. “The king penned him in a labyrinth below his city, feeding him on the entrails of pigs and other vile meats. One day the king threw a
hero
into the labyrinth. But Brontes did not kill him, did you, Brother? No, he befriended him, and together they escaped. Imagine Brontes’ surprise when the hero returned home to brag of his battle with the deadly, man-eating Minotaur. Did he become king, Brontes? Yes, I believe that he did. And spent his days—as all kings do—hunting down the people of the enchantment. Thus do they build their legends.”

“Kill me,” said Brontes, “but pray do not bore me to death.”

“Ah, but how can I kill you, Brontes? You are under the protection of the human. How fortunate for you.” Suddenly Gorgon’s foot lashed out, cracking against Brontes’ jaw and hurling him to the ground.

“How many enemies do you need, sire?” asked Parmenion.

“Do not try my patience, human! This is my realm.”

“I do not question that, sire. But when the enchantment is restored, it will be restored for all the children of the Titans. All … including my friend Brontes.”

“And if I kill him?”

“Then you will need to kill me. For I will surely strike you down.”

Gorgon shook his head, the snakes convulsively rising, then he knelt by Brontes. “What are we to make of this, Brother?” he asked. “A human is prepared to die for you. How far have
we fallen that we should earn their pity?” Glancing up at Parmenion, he shook his head once more. “You will have my answer come the dawn. Enjoy the moments before then.”

Parmenion moved to Brontes, helping the Minotaur to his feet. His chest and back showed a score of shallow cuts, and he was bleeding freely.

“What happened?” asked Parmenion as he led the Minotaur back to where Thena slept.

“The Makedones surprised us. The centaurs are dead, as are my brothers. I managed to reach the forest, but there I was captured. All is lost, Parmenion.”

“What of the boy!”

“Your friend carried him clear, but I don’t know if they escaped.”

“I am sorry for your brothers, my friend. I should have led us all into the forest and taken the chance.”

“Do not blame yourself,
strategos
. And I thank you for speaking for me. Sadly, it will delay our deaths only a little while. Gorgon is playing with us, allowing hope to build. At dawn we will see his true evil.”

“He called you brother.”

“I do not wish to speak of it. I will sleep these last hours. It will annoy him dreadfully.” The Minotaur sank back to the grass, lowering his huge head to the ground.

“I will tend your wounds,” Parmenion offered.

“No need. They will be healed by the time we face our doom.” Brontes closed his eyes.

Parmenion touched Thena’s shoulder, and she woke instantly. “Alexander is lost somewhere. Can you find him?”

“I cannot soar here. The dark enchantment is too strong. What will you do?”

Parmenion shrugged. “I will use my wits to the last, and if that fails, I’ll stab the snake-headed bastard through the heart and order his men to surrender.”

“I believe that you would,” she said, smiling.

“Spartan training. Never admit defeat.”

“I, too, am Spartan,” she said. “We are a very stupid people.” They both laughed, and he put his arm around her.

“Go back to sleep,” he advised, his smile fading. “I will wake you for the dawn.”

“If you do not object, I would like to sit with you. You can tell me of your life.”

“There is nothing in my life to interest a priestess.”

“Tell me of your first love, how you met. I would like to hear that.”

The horned child moved to the center of the clearing and gazed through slitted eyes into the darkness of the forest. “Come to me!” he called, his voice echoing into the trees. Slowly, one by one, the beasts came forth until they formed a huge circle around him. Attalus stayed close to the centaur Camiron, who stamped his feet nervously, his brown eyes wide, almost panic-stricken.

“Stay calm,” advised Attalus.

“I am not frightened,” the centaur lied.

“Then stand still, damn you!”

“I want to leave. I will run to the open ground. I cannot breathe here. I need Chiron; I must find him.”

“Wait!” commanded Attalus. “Do nothing rash. If you run, they will drag you down. And more importantly, me with you.”

More and more creatures filed slowly forward, silently kneeling before Alexander. The stench was appalling, and Attalus almost gagged. A scaled beast pushed past him, its rough skin grazing the swordsman’s arm. But the beasts showed little interest in man or centaur; their eyes were fixed on the golden child.

Alexander walked back to Attalus. “Lift me to the centaur’s back,” he said. The swordsman did so, and Camiron shifted uneasily. Alexander patted Camiron’s shoulder, and Attalus saw that his fingernails were now black and pointed. “Such a puny body,” said the chaos spirit, staring at his hands. “But it will grow. Come, let us find Parmenion. Head south, Camiron.”

“I do not wish to carry you. You are hurting me,” said the centaur.

“Your wishes do not concern me. But you may die here if you desire it.”

Camiron cried out as fresh agony lanced through his frame. “That is true pain,” said the chaos spirit. “Now move—and slowly. Attalus, you will walk beside me. My servants can smell your blood. It makes them hungry. Stay close to me.”

“Yes, my prince. But where are we going?”

“To war and slaughter. There cannot be two kings in the forest.”

The sun rose slowly over the trees, but no birds sang. The creatures of Gorgon had remained in two lines before the throne, unmoving, unspeaking, waiting for the dawn. Parmenion stood and stretched. Thena rose with him. Brontes groaned and stirred as the first rays of sunshine touched him. His wounds had healed in the night; now only dried blood remained on his massive torso.