Dark Prince (49 page)

Alexander did so but did not reach out when ordered. “What is the matter, Brother?” the spirit asked.

“How can I trust you? For all I know you will send these creatures to a world of doom and dread.”

“Indeed I would,” admitted the spirit. “But you are Iskander, the promised one. You will not send them there.”

“I do not understand you.”

“Your coming was foretold, young prince. The gateway has been waiting for you. The alignments are already set, awaiting you. Can you not see? In this you are merely an instrument of destiny. The last man to pass these gates deliberately misaligned them. Only your hand can make the magic flow.”

Yet still Alexander did not move. “What more can I say to you?” asked the spirit. “Tell me how I can convince you.”

The prince did not reply. Slowly his hand reached out to touch the stone globe. The pillar began to vibrate, almost shaking Alexander loose. Swiftly he climbed down, stepping back from the gateway. The gray stone began to shine, and a strange smell like burning leaves filled the air, acrid and unpleasant.

Chiron awoke and scrambled to his feet, moving back to join Alexander. “You solved the mystery?”

“I believe so.”

The stones shone more brilliantly now, silver in the moonlight, the maps and carved script glowing with flames that licked out from the cuts in the stone. The globes were also aflame like miniature suns, and the hillside was bathed in light.

The gateway itself began to shimmer, and through it could be seen a plain between mountains and a distant forest lit by glorious sunshine. Alexander stepped forward, intending to pass through the gateway, but Chiron’s hand gripped his shoulder. “No,” whispered the
magus
. “It is not yet open.”

The creatures of the enchantment moved out from the treeline. Alexander turned to look at them. They were moving slowly, their eyes gazing in awe upon the gleaming portal. This moment, he knew, had been in their dreams for centuries. For them, this was the culmination of all their hopes. In a great half circle they spread out at the foot of the hill: centaurs, dryads, nymphs, tall men with huge wings growing from their shoulders, dark-skinned Vores, reptiles, Minotaurs—a seething, silent mass, edging forward.

The sunlight of another world bathed the scene in gold, shining on the faces of the host. And no one spoke. Not a sound came from the creatures of the enchantment.

Alexander’s mouth was dry, and he felt the weight of their expectation like a boulder upon his heart.

Closing his eyes, he sought out Thena; she was sitting alone at the center of the woods. Alexander felt her sorrow, but then it was as if an iron mask had fallen into place, shielding her.

“What do you require of me?” she asked him.

“I need you to make a journey,” he told her. Her spirit flowed from her. Keeping his eyes closed, his concentration total, he watched with his spirit as the seeress passed through the shimmering gateway. She returned within moments.

“It is a world of savagery and pain,” she told him.

Once more Alexander climbed the right-hand pillar, touching his fingers to the stones.

Now the gateway changed color again, this time shining like polished gold. The view between the pillars altered, becoming a pale blue ocean lapping against a beach of white-gold sand. “Travel there,” Alexander told Thena.

“There is no need,” her spirit told him. “I can feel the enchantment. It is pure and born of joy.”

The woods were silent as Parmenion, Philip, and Attalus rode between the trees. The moon was high, her silver light bathing the woods and glistening from stream and rock. But there was no sign of life as the trio rode ever deeper.

Thena’s voice echoed in Parmenion’s mind. “Keep moving south until you reach a waterfall, then turn west.”

They rode for just under an hour, emerging at last into a wide clearing filled with creatures of the enchantment: centaurs, cyclopes, winged men and women, dryads, and fauns. Parmenion dismounted and bowed as the white-haired goddess approached him. Her naked body gleamed in the moonlight, but there was nothing about her that aroused the Spartan. Ethereal and exquisite she seemed, far beyond the lusts of a mortal man.

“Welcome, Parmenion,” she said. “Your road has been long and perilous.”

“Yet we are here, lady,” he answered. “Where is the boy?”

“He is examining the gateway. Tell me how my son died.”

“Among friends,” Parmenion told her.

She nodded and smiled. “That is good to know. At least a spark of nobility remained in him.”

“More than that, I think.”

“In a thousand years he befriended no one. What special quality do you possess?”

“None that I know of.”

The goddess moved away from him, facing Philip. “Little did I expect ever to speak to one with your face, sir. Even now I can scarcely bring myself to look on you.”

“I am not Philippos.”

“I know that. You fought well.”

“It was not hard to kill him. All his life he had been invincible and therefore had no need to learn basic defense.”

“You are a king in your own land?”

“I am.”

“And do you also bring despair and terror to your neighbors?”

“I do,” he admitted. “It is the nature of Greece, lady. We are always at war. But soon we will be as one nation; then we will cease to kill each other.”

“Under your rule, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed.

“Nothing changes,” she said sadly, moving on to Attalus.

“And you, sir, what have you learned from your visit to this realm?”

The swordsman shrugged. “Little I did not know.”

“Is that really true? Have you not at least seen yourself in a different light?”

Attalus smiled. “I know who I am, what I am. I have no illusions.”

“But you faced the demon king and did not buckle. Did that not make you proud?”

“No. I came too close to giving in. There is no pride in that.”

“You are wrong, Attalus. You came here with hatred and bitterness, and you will leave much of it behind when you depart. Is that not so?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

The goddess moved back to Parmenion, taking his arm and leading him away into the trees. “You found love here, human,” she said. “Will you leave it behind you?”

“I will, for I must,” the Spartan told her.

“Your guilt still haunts you, then?”

“It does. I must see that Alexander lives. The demon is still within him, as it was with Philippos. He will need a true friend, someone who cares, someone who loves him.”

“Indeed he will.” She stopped then and turned to look up
into Parmenion’s face. “You know that he will one day kill you?”

“All men die, and no future is written in stone.”

“Not so. Not for you. Alexander will kill you, Parmenion. It is written in the stars, it is carried in whispers upon the wind, it is carved in the stone eternal. You cannot escape it.”

“We shall see,” he told her, his mouth suddenly dry.

“You are a good man,” she said after a while, “and you will carry my blessing with you. There is little power in it anymore, but a blessing is always better than a curse.”

“Indeed it is,” the Spartan replied. “Are all our futures set in this stone eternal?”

“No. Only yours and Alexander’s. And now it is time to seek the gateway, to leave this tortured realm. Come—and bid us farewell.”

Parmenion stood alongside Philip at the center of the vast, silent throng waiting before the gateway. High above them the moon shone clear and bright, the stars gleaming like gems on sable. But beyond the gateway all was sunshine that lit the hillside with golden light.

“The
magus!”
said Philip suddenly, pointing to Chiron. “That’s the sorcerer who cast the spell on me!”

“I think not, sire,” Parmenion told him. “That is Chiron. He is of this world.”

“If I see any more twins, I shall go insane,” muttered Philip.

Alexander walked back to the pillars, taking hold of the jutting stone on the right and stretching out his hand toward the other stone. For a moment only he stood, then his head fell back, dark smoke oozing from his nostrils and mouth to flow down over his chest and along his arm. The smoke took shape, becoming another Alexander—horned and yellow-eyed, a bizarre and deformed mirror image. Holding on to Alexander’s hand, the chaos spirit reached out and took hold of the second stone.

In that instant lightning forked between the pillars. Alexander
was flung forward to the ground, the chaos spirit hurled into the air.

The voice of Tamis echoed in Parmenion’s mind. “The necklet! Put it on the boy!”

Parmenion ran forward, kneeling by the unconscious prince. Glancing up, he saw the smoke form of the chaos spirit floating down toward them. Unclipping the necklet, he fastened it around Alexander’s neck. The smoke covered the child, but then a cool breeze blew, dispersing it.

Alexander opened his eyes. “Is the gate open?” he asked.

Parmenion looked up. “Yes,” he answered. The first of the centaurs was moving between the pillars.

Alexander struggled to rise. “I cannot sense the Dark God,” he whispered.

“He is not within you,” Parmenion told him. “You are wearing now a necklet of great power. No evil can enter your mind as long as it remains in place.”

Philip moved alongside them to kneel by his son. “You did well, boy,” said the Macedonian king, reaching out. Alexander embraced his father, and Philip rose, holding the boy to his chest.

Parmenion sighed and stood. The creatures of the enchantment were slowly filing through the gateway into a new world.

The white-haired goddess approached him. “Whatever else the future holds, Parmenion, be proud of this day.”

“I shall, lady.”

With a smile she turned and walked through the gate. At last only Chiron and Brontes were left, and the
magus
walked to Parmenion, extending his hand. “Sadly I missed most of your journey,” he said, “and was of little help to you.”

“You did enough,” Parmenion assured him. “You rescued us from the Vores on that first day, and as Camiron you carried Alexander to safety in the forest of Gorgon. What will you do now?”

“I shall pass the gateway and see what the new world offers. But there are many gates, Parmenion, and I feel we will meet again.”

“I will look forward to it.”

Chiron bade farewell to Alexander and Philip while the Minotaur approached Parmenion.

“I shall not forget you, human,” said Brontes.

“Nor I you.”

“You gave my brother a chance of redemption; I believe that he took it. For that alone I will always be grateful. May the gods walk with you, Parmenion.”

“And with you,” said the Spartan as Brontes moved away between the pillars.

As Brontes passed through the gate, the pillars shimmered once more, darkening to the gray of cold stone, and the world beyond flickered and was gone.

Attalus approached Parmenion. “What now,
strategos?”
he asked.

The Spartan shrugged, all energy leaving him. Moving to a nearby tree, he sat with his back to the trunk. In a few short days he had traveled halfway across a strange land, fought a major battle, and known, albeit briefly, the life of a king. Now his body was numb with fatigue, his mind confused and weary.

He heard Thena’s soft footfalls and smiled as she sat beside him. “What now?” he asked, echoing Attalus’ inquiry. “We wait for Aristotle,” she said. “Did you enjoy being king?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I found my love there. Derae.” He sighed, and tears began to well in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he looked away for a moment.

“You could stay,” Thena whispered.

“No. My destiny is beyond this world. I must remain with Alexander. What will you do?”

“Return to my temple. I am a healer, and there are those who need my skills.”

“You sound sad, lady. You should not be,” he told her, reaching out to take her hand.

“Life is full of sorrow,” she replied, “and yet it is still life. You are a good man. I hope you find happiness.” She rose and walked away down the hillside and into the trees.

Aristotle’s voice whispered into her mind, echoing as if from a vast distance: “Have the creatures passed the gateway?”

“Yes.”

“All of them? Every one?”

“Yes, all of them. Including your twin.”

“Then help me come through to where you are.”

“How?”

“Hold to my voice. Picture me. The Sipstrassi will do the rest.”

Derae felt a pull on her spirit and was almost torn from her body. Crying out, she resisted the force, but pain ripped through her and she cried out again. As suddenly as it had come, it vanished, and a misty figure formed before her, slowly becoming Aristotle. The
magus
staggered and fell to his knees, his fingers convulsively digging into the solid earth beneath him.

“That was a hard journey,” he said. “You did well, Derae.”

“Send me back,” she said softly, “and in my own form.”

“But you wish to keep your youth, surely?” he asked, rising.

“No,” answered Thena-Derae, “I wish to be as I was.”

He shook his head in disbelief but raised his hand, in which a golden stone shone brightly. Her dark hair became again silver, shot with fading red, the skin of her face sagging into middle age, her eyes clouded and once more blind. “How could you want this?” whispered Aristotle.

“It is who I am,” she answered. “Now send me back.”

“You have said your farewells?”

“I have said all that can be said.”

Aristotle lifted his hand. The golden stone gleamed, and soft light covered the priestess. When it faded, she was gone.

He made his way up the hillside to where the others waited.

“Chiron!” shouted Alexander. “You came back!”

“Yes, I did,” answered the
magus
. “I have come to take you home.”

“Which one is this?” asked Philip stonily.

“This, I believe, is Aristotle,” said Parmenion with a grin.

“Are you sure?”

“What do you think, Attalus?”

“I agree. This is Aristotle, sire.”

“Good,” said Philip. He took a deep breath. “You whoreson!” he roared, advancing on the
magus
.