Harkan’s bearded face went red once he recognized who was approaching. Batu smiled as if he’d won a wager. The lieutenant in charge stared at my bloody sword.
“Orion,” he snapped, “what’s going on?”
“They’re going to kill the king unless we stop them.”
“Kill the king? Who?”
“Pausanias.”
“Are you crazy? Pausanias is captain of the—”
He never finished the sentence. Screams and roars of rage broke out from the other side of the door. Harkan threw the door open and we saw that the hall was in turmoil. Men were leaping across couches, servants and slaves were scattering in every direction, screaming in terror.
“The king! The king!”
I bolted past Harkan and the others, through the wildly scrambling crowd, toward the king. A dozen men clustered around him. I pulled them away, forced my way to Philip’s side. He lay back against his couch, wine goblet locked in one frozen hand, his other clutched against his middle, his gut ripped open, hot red blood soaking his robe and dripping onto the dirt floor. It was a painful way to die.
“I trusted you,” he muttered. “I trusted you.”
And I heard Hera’s bitter laughter in my mind. The vision from my old dream had come true. I stood before the dying Philip with a bloody sword in my hand and watched the light fade from his eye.
Harkan grabbed me by the shoulders. “This way,” he said in a low voice. “Pausanias fled toward the stables.”
As I ran back toward the door with him and Batu, I saw Alexandros standing on one of the tables, white-faced with shock, guarded by Antipatros and Antigonos and a dozen of his Companions. None of them had weapons on them, but if an assassin meant to reach Alexandros he would have to go through them first. Armed guards were pouring into the hall, though, through the doors at its far end.
“I swear by Almighty Zeus,” Alexandros was shouting, his voice nearly cracking with emotion, “that I will find the assassins and deal with them as they’ve dealt with my father.”
So now he’s your father again, I thought as we left the hall. And you are his son and heir to the throne. Hera and the Golden One will have their way; pity the Great King and his shaky empire.
The three of us raced across the courtyard to the stables. A half-dozen armed men barred the gate, but we cut them down without an instant’s hesitation.
Pausanias was already on horseback when we broke in. Two other men were with him. Batu nailed one with his spear and Harkan knocked the other one off his horse, then drove his spear through the screaming traitor’s chest.
Wild-eyed, Pausanias drove his mount straight at us. Dropping my sword, I stepped to one side as the horse thundered by and grabbed him around the middle. The two of us thudded to the dirt floor of the stable. I planted a knee on Pausanias’ chest and pulled his own sword from its scabbard.
He stared up at me, gasping for breath. But his eyes became calm.
“It’s done,” he said. “Now you can do what you must. I don’t care anymore.”
I hesitated. Should I turn him over to Alexandros or give him a quick and painless death here and now? I thought of how he had slashed Philip and scalding anger boiled through me.
Harkan and Batu were standing over us. Quite calmly Harkan drove the point of his spear through Pausanias’ throat. Blood fountained hot and red, splashing over me, as he jerked convulsively and gave a single gargling groan.
I looked up at Harkan.
He yanked the spear from Pausanias’ dead body and said grimly, “She instructed us that there were to be no witnesses left alive, Orion.”
I got to my feet. “That includes me, doesn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.” He levelled his spear at my heart.
“Can you trust her?” I asked.
“My children are already safely at a farm up in the hills. That’s where I’m going when this is finished.”
“If she lets you live.”
He shrugged. “Even if she doesn’t, I’ll know that my children are free.”