I am positively overwhelmed by the response to this story, both here and on my LiveJournal.My sincerest thanks to allmy reviewers.Please be assured that I cherish each and every one of your comments.

I do wish I had more time to write, so please bear with me.

Four

Night advanced on the camp and the noises of men, horses and weapons became fewer. With every ruffle of sound outside his tent, Hephaistion wondered if the guard was being reinforced. It wasn't. The guard still stood out there alone and no other soldiers were added to his detail.

Dread crept into Hephaistion's heart, because he understood too well the reason behind it: Bessos was indeed waiting for him to escape and reinforcing the guards would slim his chances of making a successful getaway. While Hephaistion was in Darius' keep as a war prisoner, Bessos could not touch him. But an escape attempt would cause that protection to fall away.

Yet even this knowledge was not enough to prevent Hephaistion from trying. If anything, he wanted to take the information about the scythed chariots back to his countrymen. And, to be true to his heart, he wanted to see Alexander again. He wanted to remember his life as it was before. He had no wish to die in the attempt, but he thought it the better alternative to living empty of memory, of what made him belong, or as a captive to enemies he did not remember why he was fighting.

Everything he had planned hung on a thread so thin that the simplest of details going wrong would bring about disaster. As it was, he had to rely on outside factors to make his pitiful plan come off. He wondered if ever, in his past, he had made a plan that was more foolish, or more desperate.

He lay quietly in his bed, forcing himself to breathe normally and to slow his pounding blood. When he judged the time to be right, he started to toss and turn vigorously, as if in a nightmare, then gradually he began to thrash and convulse.

In a moment, as he had expected, he felt the boy presence and his soothing hands, trying to calm him. But he did no relent. He heaved uncontrollably, his breath wheezing and hitching. His hands grappled at his own chest, as if trying to rip his ribcage apart and get air into his lungs. In panic, the boy raced out of the tent, dragging the guard inside and leading him to the narrow cot so he could to get a better look and call for help.

In the next instant, Hephaistion's arm shot up and seized the man around his throat, not quite crushing his windpipe but enough to render him helpless. The guard was powerfully built but he was no match for Hephaistion who, even though not fully recovered, had the element of surprise on his side. Swiftly, Hephaistion moved around the choking man and placed a knee on the small of his back, snapping the soldier's head back with his hands. He was desperate and he could not afford to take chances.

The body crumpled aside and Hephaistion's next move was to turn to the boy, frozen in the dark. He was glad he could not see the shock in those haunted eyes and he felt guilty for having forced the boy to witness the killing. There was no doubt that now, in this boy's eyes, Hephaistion was no more than a killer. He would never lay his hands on him other than in fear.

But it was hardly the time to dwell on feelings. The boy trembled as Hephaistion pulled him against his chest and spoke to him, knowing that he could not understand, but hoping that the meaning would get through somehow.

'I'm sorry you had to see this. But I need help.'

Trying to make his voice sound calmer than he felt, Hephaistion knelt beside the soldier's corpse, the boy's hands trapped in his own. He felt the boy recoil violently when he touched the dead body, tugging at the clothing.

But the boy seemed to understand what Hephaistion wanted of him, because he went to work immediately. On an impulse he felt compelled to heed, Hephaistion ran his thumb lightly across the boy's cheek; desperate to give a reassurance he knew would not be enough. He felt the cheek wet with tears and guilt washed over him anew. Before the night was over, he knew he would have to inflict far more suffering on this youngster.

With the boy's help, Hephaistion stripped the corpse. Already, he felt sweat beading in his hairline and discomfort building in his wounds. They heaved the inert body clumsily onto the cot and covered it with the blankets. Then Hephaistion set about the unpleasant business of dressing himself in the many layers of the Persian's attire. He wasn't making a very good job of it and getting annoyed at wasting the time when again he felt the boy's hands gently pushing his away. With his usual deftness, he had Hephaistion dressed in to time at all.

It felt familiar for Hephaistion to unsheathe the soldier's sword and - mindful of the boy's horror - swing it around gently a few times. He took stock of his other weapons. In addition to the sword, he had a long spear, a little too long to use in combat, and a curved dagger. Nothing special, standard army issue, he assumed, but no piece of iron that would smite an enemy could be disregarded.

Now it came to the most crucial part of his plan so far. The boy seemed to sense his intention. Or maybe it was just pure instinct of conservation on his part. He sank to his knees in front of Hephaistion and with a gesture that completely threw the man, he embraced his legs with his arms, pressing his face against Hephaistion's thighs.

By the Gods, he thinks I am going to kill him too.

With too little time to spare a thought for his own feelings, Hephaistion gently grasped the boy's shoulders and raised him to his feet.

'I am not going to kill you,' he said kindly. 'I would never do that. But you have to tell me something.'

He searched the boy's eyes that in the dark were no more than two twinkles in dark pools of dread.

'Alexander,' Hephaistion spoke the name slowly for the boy to understand. 'Where is his camp?'

Surely the boy must have heard the name of the Persians' greatest enemy. More than that, having lived in this camp for some weeks, he must know which way the enemy was facing.

All he needed was to be pointed in the right direction. Alexander's camp could not be all that far.

The boy moved to the tent exit, to where light was kinder, and to his utter surprise, Hephaistion saw that the fearful eyes he had expected were in fact full of determination, and even anger.

When the boy made a move to turn around and start walking, Hephaistion stopped him. He had planned to knock the boy out cold and make it look like he'd attacked him as well. That way, the repercussions on the youngster would be minimal.

It was inconceivable to him that the Persian would want to actually show him the way out himself. That would spell betrayal by anyone's standards. This gentle boy's life was not something he cared to waste, if he could help it.

'No,' he whispered, shaking his head slowly. 'You nursed me back to health and I owe you my life. I will not have your death on my head.'

The boy's gaze gave nothing away to show that he had understood. Neither did he move to point Hephaistion in the right direction. Instead he held Hephaistion's gaze, his determination never wavering.

Hephaistion nodded slowly and beckoned the boy ahead. Whatever the boy's reasons for helping him were, he had to honour them. Not that the thought of being led straight into a trap had not occurred to Hephaistion. It was just that this boy, who could any day have been his younger brother, spoke volumes with his eyes. And those eyes told of horrors that Hephaistion had no wish to unearth. He prayed that his assessment was right and that the boy did not turn out to be a skilled performer who delivered him back into the hands of his captors.

Trying not to attract attention, the two walked at a steady pace, not more hurried than that of two wearied soldiers who wished to get out of the piercing wind. The camp was well-lit and soldiers had bunched around more sheltered areas, against the dry breeze that forced sand into their eyes and noses. Hephaistion thanked the gods for the chance to cover his face and not look conspicuous. The boy, although not tall enough for a soldier, had wrapped himself in a cloak and in the sand-sweeping wind, he was almost as non-descript as any other auxiliary camp staff.

Finally, they reached a cluster of horses guarded by two soldiers. Aware that the prolonged effort would take a toll on his strength, Hephaistion had indicated to the boy that he needed a horse. Walking even short distances proved exhausting and he'd already had to lean onto the boy's shoulder several times. He needed all his strength to take on the horse guards and not cause uproar.

The guards stood on opposing sides of the horse enclosure. Hephaistion looked around carefully and made sure - for the hundredth time - that the dust swept by the wind made for adequate cover before he slunk behind the first soldier. This time, he had no compunction about the boy having to witness him ramming the dagger in the guard's ribs while his hand clamped over the mouth to stifle the dying scream.

Hephaistion's strength waned briefly when he gently lowered the corpse to the ground and he crumpled to one knee. Allowing himself a moment to catch his breath and settle his spinning head, Hephaistion checked that no one was around and that the other guard was busy trying to calm the anxious whiny of the horses smelling the fresh blood.

He slipped into the second guard's line of sight and was upon him before the man had time to react. However, the guard shifted position reflexively at the last moment and Hephaistion lost his balance, crashing his shoulder into the other man's chest and stabbing blindly forward. The blade barely grazed the man's corselet and he let out a bellow of frustration more than pain. Both men hurtled to the ground, the guard's hands groping blindly for Hephaistion's neck, who regained his balance enough to slap the arms away and slash across the Persian's neck. The man's next scream was reduced to a gurgle as Hephaistion was drenched in the blood spraying from the man's hacked jugular.

The warm liquid on his face and lips gave Hephaistion a jolt and he controlled his urge to retch and instead looked around dismally, half-waiting to already be surrounded by whoever the guards' scream had alerted.

Movement in the corner of his eye made him spin his upper torso, blade at the ready to receive an attacker, but he was too weak to jump to his feet and remained astride the Persian's corpse. Instead, half-blinded by dust and blood, he discerned the boy's figure, who stopped out of arm reach, making sure he would not be run through with Hephaistion's blade. He held out his hand and Hephaistion took it.

'I couldn't do this without you,' Hephaistion rasped, hoisting himself up. He was beyond caring how much the boy could understand and instead vowed to himself that if their escape succeeded, he would see this boy rewarded far beyond his wildest dreams. But first, he decided, they would find the boy a name.

With shaking hands, Hephaistion untied the nearest horse, soothing it in a low murmuring tone, until the beast was settled enough to allow him to mount. With the boy's help, he heaved himself up painfully and the boy swiftly climbed behind him.

There was no time, nor did he have the strength to explain to the boy that the bodies had to be concealed. It bothered him to leave something to chance, but he felt his strength deserting him fast and he hoped to be able to make it out of the camp before he lost it altogether.

He paced the horse to a brisk canter, knowing that the little hope he'd had in secrecy would soon be dashed and that the more distance he managed to put between himself and the his captors – the better.

His head hurt like never before, his vision swimming in and out of focus but, using all his determination to sit up straight, he drove the horse to the direction in which the boy had pointed, sailing amongst the tents and determinedly keeping his eyes ahead. Once or twice, he looked behind him to see if the alarm had been raised but he was not able to discern anything. The boy had wrapped his arms around his waist and Hephaistion felt him parting his hair and the warmth of the boy's breath on the back of his neck. Briefly, the throbbing in his head lessened and he felt strangely soothed.

Then he saw it. Only a short distance away the tents became sparse and gave way to a darker, poorly lit area. The outer edges of the camp would be heavily guarded, especially the side that faced Alexander's camp. For that purpose, he had drawn a crude map in the dirt outside his own tent pinpointing their location then drawing a circle to where Alexander's camp was supposed to be, the direction pointed out by the boy. To make a break right across would be rash and suicidal so Hephaistion had explained - by drawing arrows into the sand - that their escape route would have to take them to the east or to the west of the camp, where the guards would be likely to be less vigilant. Time did not afford them to take the easiest route through the back of the camp, where most likely they could lose their trail by disappearing amongst the supply caravans.

They dismounted and Hephaistion left the boy and the horse behind and limped off to scout the area. He counted the guards and timed the time lapsed between their patrols. Each time the slightest noise cracked the silence, his back muscles knotted painfully, in anticipation of a strike.

Above the wind and the noises of the sleeping camp, he expected that the alarm had already been raised at the site where they had stolen the horse. But none such noises came and the part of Hephaistion's mind that was ever calculating found that fact more than intriguing.

Hephaistion had timed that it was entirely possible to exit the camp unnoticed by the guard and disappear out of their line of vision before the next guard would walk past. He cursed his lack of knowledge of the terrain. If the ground was booby-trapped, or if the enemy had secret units out there, it would be for him to find out the hard way.

But there was nothing for it. He returned to the horse and once again, they mounted the tall beast. This time, as they neared the edge of the camp perimeter and prepared to launch into the darkness, Hephaistion allowed himself to relish the exhilaration coursing through his body, almost to the point of numbing out the pain. He felt the boy's heart beat faster against his back and he could tell that, as he spurred the horse on, the Persian felt it too.

Hephaistion did not look back as they rode on. They would take a turn west as soon as they had ridden for one hour. The chances of encountering Persian scout units would have greatly diminished by then and, by a great detour, they could reach Alexander's camp by daybreak.

It was barely a few minutes into the race when it happened: Hephaistion heard the unmistakeable hiss of arrows slice through the air even before the horse slid to an abrupt halt, scared out of its mind by the sound. It was unlikely that Alexander's scouts would draw so close to the Persian camp.

But Hephaistion refused to give up hope and he spurred the horse on regardless. It was too soon to make a judgement and only one way to find out. A sound of men and horses carried on the wind. But not behind them. Ahead of them.

Torches were lit out of nowhere and Hephaistion stopped short of the glistening tips of many spears that were pointed at them, blocking their advance. Dismayed, Hephaistion recognized the soldiers' attire, their long spears and well-groomed horses. It was the only memory of soldiers he had, for his only recent memory was that of the Persian army.

A band of about thirty Persian soldiers closed in on them, their spear tips forming a tight ring around them.

Hephaistion's blood boiled. If this was to be the end, he wasn't prepared to give up his life lightly. He spared a brief thought for the boy riding behind him, whose arms had wound around him so tight as if not even death could part them. He made a move to draw his sword but three spears were instantly thrust against his throat. From the ground, unseen hands reached up and rid him of his other weapons. In all this time, not a word had been was spoken.

He was pulled off the horse, the spear tips still close, and his hands were tied roughly behind his back. For a moment, Hephaistion wished to hurl himself at the spears and end it there and then. But he heard the muffled sound of the mute boy's pain as he was kicked to the ground and booted savagely. A worse fate awaited his young friend.

If Hephaistion could repay his debt and help the boy in any way, perhaps it was worth staying alive a little longer.

TBC