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wondrous mystery. And why? Because he was a coward, seeking always to hang back from the battle itself, keeping himself out of harm’s way. None of them could see it. Blind fools!
    Attalus drew his dagger, enjoying the silver gleam of moonlight on the blade. “One day,” he whispered, “this will kill you, Spartan.”

THE TEMPLE, ASIA MINOR, SUMMER
    Derae was weary almost to the point of exhaustion when the last supplicant was carried into the room of healing. The two men laid the child on the altar bed and stepped back, respectfully keeping their eyes from the face of the blind healer. Derae took a deep breath, calming herself, then laid her hands on the child’s brow, her spirit swimming into the girl’s bloodstream, flowing with it, feeling the heartbeat weak and fluttering. The injury was at the base of the spine—the vertebrae cracked, nerve endings crushed, muscles wasting.
    With infinite care Derae healed the bone, eliminating adhesions, relieving the pressure on the swollen nerve points, forcing blood to flow over the injured tissue.
    Drawing herself back into her body, the priestess sighed and swayed. Instantly a man leapt forward to assist her, his hand brushing against her arm.
    “Leave me be!” she snapped, pulling away from him.
    “I am sorry, lady,” he whispered. Waving her hand, she smiled in his direction.
    “Forgive me, Laertes. I am tired.”
    “How did you know my name?” the man asked, his voice hushed. Derae laughed then.
    “I heal the blind, and no one questions my gift. The lame walk, and people say, ‘Ah, but she is a healer.’ But so simple a matter as knowing an unspoken name, and there is awe. You touched me, Laertes. And in touching me gave up all your secrets.But fear not, you are a good man. Your daughter was kicked by a horse, yes?”
    “Yes, lady.”
    “The blow injured the bones of her back. I have taken away the pain, and tomorrow, when I have rested, I will heal her. You may stay here this evening. My servants will bring you food.”
    “Thank you,” he said. “I have money …” Waving him to silence, Derae walked away, her step sure. Two female servants pulled open the altar room doors as she approached, a third taking her arm in the corridor beyond and leading the blind healer to her room.
    Once inside, Derae sipped cool water and lay down on the narrow pallet bed. So many sick, so many injured … each day the lines beyond the temple grew. At times there were fights, and many of those who finally reached her had been forced to bribe their way to the altar room. Often during the last few years Derae had tried to put a stop to the practice. But even with her powers, she could not fight human nature. The people beyond the temple walls had a need only she could satisfy. And where there was need, there was profit to be made. Now a Greek mercenary called Pallas had thirty men camped before the temple. And he organized the lines, selling tokens of admission to the supplicants, establishing some order to the chaos.
    Unable to thwart him fully, Derae had demanded he allow five poor people a day to be led to her, against ten of the richer. He had tried to trick her on the first day, and she had refused to see anyone. Now the system worked. Pallas hired servants, cooks, maids, gardeners to tend to Derae’s needs. But even this irritated her, for she knew he merely wanted her time spent earning him money by healing the sick and not engaged in
useless
pursuits like gardening, which she loved, or cooking or cleaning. And yet despite the motive, it did mean that more people were being cured. Should I be grateful to him? she wondered. No. Greed was his inspiration, gold his joy.
    She pushed all thoughts of him from her mind. Closing herblind eyes, Derae floated clear of her body. There was freedom here, with the flight of spirit; there was even joy in the form of a transient happiness free of care. While her body rested, Derae flew across the Thermaic Gulf, high above the