Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [57]
Then, quite suddenly, there came a dull booming sound from the distance, like the faraway sound of surf. Nearer and nearer it came until the night opened to brightness, a strange golden light which seemed to break through the blackness, splintering it into fragments.
The winged creatures were caught in the glare, wheeled about uncertainly, shrieking and keening.
They were gone.
The light faded.
Simon rode on. And still he insisted to himself that what he had witnessed was hallucination. Something done to his weary brain by the potion the Magi had given him.
The rest of the night was full of nauseous sound, glimpses of things which flew or wriggled. But, convinced that he dreamed, horrified yet keeping close hold on sanity, Simon pushed the steed onwards towards Pela.
Horse and man rested for only a few hours at a time. The journey took days until, at length, eyes sunken in his head from tiredness, face grey and gaunt and mind numb he arrived at the Macedonian capital and sought out the Magi in the clay-built slums of the city.
Massiva, head of the secret order in Pela, was a tall, handsome Numidian. He greeted Simon warmly.
“We were informed of your coming and did our best, when you came close enough, to ward off the dangers which Alexander’s minions sent against you.”
Simon did not reply to this. Silently, he handed over the scroll.
Massiva opened it, read it, frowning.
“This we did not know,” he said. “Olympias has sent aid to Alexander in Babylon.”
The priest offered no explanation, so Simon did not ask for one.
Massiva shook his head wearily. “I do not understand how one human can endure so much,” he said, “but then she has other aid than human…”
“What are these stories about her?” Simon asked, thinking that he might at last find some truth where before he had heard nothing but rumour and hints.
“The simple facts concerning her activities are common knowledge here,” Massiva told him. “She is an ardent initiate of a number of mystery cults, all worshipping the dark forces. The usual unpleasant rites, secret initiations, orgiastic celebrations. Three of the main ones, supposedly having no communication with one another, are the cults of Orpheus, Dionysius and Demeter. It’s hinted that Alexander was conceived at one of these rites. In a way that is the truth—for Olympias was selected by the Dark One when she was a girl participating in the rites of a similar cult.”
Simon shook his head impatiently at this. “I asked you for facts—not speculation.”
Massiva looked surprised. “I indulged in no speculation, my friend. Why, the whole city lives in fear of Olympias and her friends and servants. Evil is so thick here that ordinary folk can hardly breathe for its stink.”
Simon said shortly: “Well, I hope the information is useful to you. I’ve paid my debt, at least. Now, can you recommend a tavern where I can stay?”
“I can recommend none well, in this cursed city. You might try the Tower of Cimbri. It’s comfortable, so I’ve heard. But be wary, take iron to bed with you.”
“I’d do that in any event,” Simon grinned, “with Alexander after my blood and me staying in his home city.”
“You’re courageous, Thracian—do not be foolish.”
“Don’t worry, friend.” Simon left the house, remounted his horse and rode it towards the tavern quarter, eventually locating the Tower of Cimbri.
He was about to enter when he heard the sound of running from an alley which ran along the side of the building. Then a girl screamed. Drawing his sword he ran into the alley and, because he had become so hardened to sights of horror, hardly noticed the misshapen creatures menacing a frightened girl, save that they were armed and evidently powerful. The girl’s eyes were round with fear and she was half-fainting. One of the twisted men put out a blunt paw to seize her, but wailed out its pain as Simon’s sword caught it in the shoulder blades.
The others turned, reaching