Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [59]
For thirteen years had the forces of Light and Darkness warred in poor Alexander’s soul and body, unbeknownst to the proud, grandiose and arrogant world-conqueror. But now the stars proclaimed that a certain time had come.
And Alexander suffered…
Riders galloped towards the corners of the world. Bright banners whipped in the wind as armies sped across the lands around the Mediterranean. Ships groaned with the weight of armoured soldiers. Blood flowed like wine and wine like water. Corpses roasted in guttering castles and the earth shook to the coming of Alexander’s cavalry.
And now messengers rode to the camps of his captains, recalling them. They were needed. The final conquest was to be made. But it would not be Alexander’s triumph. The triumph would belong to a greater conqueror. Some called him Ahriman.
Hastily now Alexander’s captains mounted their chariots and headed towards Babylon. Many had to cross oceans, continents.
Every oracle prophesied doom—some said for Alexander, some said for the world. Never, they said, had evil clouded the world as much as now.
Ahriman had prepared the world through Alexander.
Soon the powers of Light would be destroyed for ever and, though it might take many more centuries of completion, Ahriman could begin his plans of conquest and, finally, destruction.
There were more vehicles for his plans.
CHAPTER FOUR
Simon lazed back on a bench and ran his hand over Camilla’s warm shoulders.
“Do not the heroes of legend always claim such reward from the maidens they rescue?” he asked mockingly.
She smiled at him affectionately.
“The Camilla of legend, if you remember, had nought to do with men. I’ve a mind to emulate her.”
“A sad waste.”
“For you, perhaps, but not for me…”
Simon pretended to sigh. “Very well,” he said, “I can see I shall have to wait until you eventually succumb to my undoubted attraction.”
Again she smiled. “You have been here a week and I have not fallen yet.”
“It was good of your father to give me the position of Captain of his Bodyguard, particularly since he is risking arrest if Olympias should ever discover that I slew her servants.”
“Merates is a good and wise man,” Camilla said seriously, “one of the few left in Pela, these days. He was close to Philip and admired him greatly. But Philip’s son would have nothing to do with his father’s councilors so now Merates lives in quiet retirement.”
Simon had already learned that Camilla was the foster daughter of Merates, that she had been born to a loved and trusted Paeonian slave who had died when she was a child.
He had grown to respect the old nobleman and planned, though it was dangerous for him, to stay in Pela and probably settle there. He had already fallen in love with Camilla.
And so he courted her and although she gave him no reason to cease this courtship, on the other hand she did not encourage him overmuch. She knew him for a soldier-of-fortune and a wanderer. Perhaps she wanted to be certain of him.
But they were dark times and Simon, rationalist though he was, could not be unaware of them. He sensed the gathering storm and was restless.
One day as he was instructing a group of slaves in the art of using the shield, Merates came hurrying into the courtyard.
“Simon—a word with you.”
The Thracian propped a sword against the wall and went with Merates into the house.
There were tears in Merates’s eyes when he spoke.
“Camilla is gone. She had to go on an errand in the market—a regular monthly visit to settle our score with the merchants with whom we trade. She has been gone four hours—she is normally gone one…”
Simon’s body grew taut. “Olympias? Do you think…?”
Merates nodded.
Simon turned, went swiftly to his quarters where he buckled on his leather belt bearing the scabbarded sword the Magi had given him.
He flung a blanket over his horse’s back, rode it from the stable, ducking his head beneath the door beam, through the gates of the house and down the