Free Dark Prince by David Gemmell

take a little breaking yet. But what a horse!”
    “Look out!” yelled Croni. Titan charged the fence once more, leaping it without breaking stride. Parmenion dived out of the way, but the stallion swung, seeking him out. When Croni ran forward with his rope, Titan saw him and swerved toward the Thessalian, his huge shoulder crashing into the little man and punching him from his feet. Before anyone could move, Titan reared above the Thessalian, his front hooves hammering down into Croni’s face. The skull dissolved, the head collapsing in a sickening spray of blood and brains. Orsin managed to get a rope over the stallion, but twice more the hooves smashed down into the limp body on the grass. Titan felt the noose settle on his neck and jerked hard, tugging Orsin from his feet. Ignoring the boy, he thundered toward Parmenion. The Spartan threw himself to his left, but as if anticipating the move, Titan reared high, his blood-spattered hooves plunging down. Parmenion dived again, this time tohis right, his back striking a fence post. Titan loomed above him.
    Suddenly the stallion’s neck arched back, an arrow jutting from his skull.
    “No!” screamed Parmenion. “No!” But a second shaft buried itself deep in Titan’s flank, piercing the heart. The stallion sank to his knees, then toppled to his side.
    Parmenion rose on unsteady legs, staring down at the dead colossus. Then he swung to see Mothac lay aside the bow.
    “He was a demon,” the Theban said softly. “No question.”
    “I could have tamed him,” said Parmenion, his voice cold with rage.
    “You would have been dead, lord,” put in the boy Orsin. “As dead as my uncle Croni. And by all the gods, you rode him. And greatly.”
    “There will never be his like again,” Parmenion whispered.
    “There is the foal,” said Orsin. “He will be bigger than his sire.”
    Movement by Titan’s dead eye caught Parmenion’s attention. Thick white maggots were crawling from under the lid and slithering down the horse’s face like obscene tears. “There are your demons,” said Parmenion. “His brain must have been alive with them. Gods, they were driving him mad!”
    But the Thessalians were no longer in earshot. They had gathered around the corpse of their friend Croni, lifting him and carrying him back toward the main house.
    The death of the stallion left Parmenion’s spirits low. Never had he seen a finer horse or one with such an indomitable spirit. But worse than this, the slaying of Titan made him think of the child Alexander.
    Here was another beautiful creature possessed by evil. Intelligent—perhaps brilliant—and yet cursed by a hidden malevolence. An awful image leapt to his mind: the child lying dead with fat, pale maggots crawling across his lifeless eyes.
    Forcing the vision from his thoughts, he toiled alongsidethe men as they cleared the fields, helping them rope the young horses, getting them accustomed to the needs of man.
    Toward midday the Spartan wandered out to the lake where Mothac was exercising lame or injured mounts. The men had built a floating raft of timbers that was anchored at the center of a small lake, a bowshot’s length from the water’s edge. A horse would be led out into the water, where he would swim behind the boat leading him until the raft was reached. Once there, the lead rope would be thrown up to Mothac, who would encourage the horse to swim around the raft. The exercise built up a horse’s strength and endurance while putting no strain on injured muscles or ligaments. Mothac, his bald head covered by an enormous felt hat, was walking the perimeter of the raft, leading a bay mare that struggled in the water alongside.
    Removing his tunic, Parmenion waded out into the cold water, swimming slowly toward the raft, his arms moving in long, lazy strokes. The cool of the lake was refreshing, but his mind was full of awful images: maggots and eyes, beauty and decay.
    Hauling himself up onto the raft, he sat naked in