Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [63]
They caught glimpses of their pursuers—things of legend. Offspring of Cerberus, the three-headed dog which guarded the gates of Hades—dogs with the tails of serpents and with snakes twining round their necks, great, flat, hideous-eyed heads and huge teeth.
The huntsmen rode on the progeny of Pegasus, winged horses which skimmed over the ground, white and beautiful, fast as the North Wind.
And on the backs of the horses—the huntsmen. The grinning shades of dead villains, spewed from Hades to do Ahriman’s work. Beside them loped the leopard-women, the Maenades, worshippers of Bacchus.
Behind all these came a screaming multitude of ghouls, demons and were-beasts, released from the depths of Hell.
For two weeks they had been thus pursued and Simon and Camilla were well aware that they could have been caught many times. Ahriman—as he had threatened—was sporting with them.
But still they pushed their horses onwards until they had reached the Bosphorus, hired a boat and were on the open sea.
Then came the new phantoms to haunt them. Sea-shapes, rearing reptilian monsters, things with blazing eyes which swam just beneath the surface and occasionally put clawed hands on the sides of the boat.
Simon realized at last that all this was calculated to torment them and drive them mad, to give in to Ahriman’s evil will.
Camilla, Simon could see, was already beginning to weaken. But he kept tight hold of sanity—and his purpose. Whether the Fates wished it or not, he knew what he must do, had taken upon himself a mission. He refused to attend to anything but that—and his strength aided Camilla.
Soon, Simon knew, the Evil One would realize that he could not break his spirit—then they would be doomed for Ahriman had the power to snuff them out. He prayed to Ormuzd, in whom he now believed with a fervour stemming from his deep need of something to which he could cling, and prayed that he might have a little more time—time to get to Babylon and do what he had taken upon himself to do.
Over the barren plains of Asia Minor they rode and all the nights of their journey the wild huntsmen screamed in their wake until Simon at least could turn sometimes and laugh at them, taunting them with words which were half-mad ravings.
He had little time, he knew.
One night, while great clouds loomed across the sky, they lost their way.
Simon had planned to follow the Euphrates on the banks of which was built Babylon, but in the confusion of the shrieking night he lost his way and it was not until the following morning that they sighted a river.
With relief, they rode towards it. The days were theirs—no phantoms came to torment them in the sunlight. Soon, Simon knew with a feeling of elation, they would be in Babylon with Abaris and the Magi to aid them against the hordes of Ahriman.
All day they rode, keeping to the cracked bed of the river, dried in the heat of the searing sun. When dusk came, Simon calculated, they should reach the outskirts of Babylon. Which was well, for their horses were by now gaunt skeletons, plodding and tripping in the river bed, and Camilla was swaying, pale and fainting, in the saddle.
The sun began to go down lividly on the horizon as they urged the weary horses forward and already in their ears they heard the faint howling of the Maenades, the insane howlings of Cerberus’s spawn. The nightmare of the nights was soon to begin again.
“Pray to Ormuzd that we reach the city in time,” Simon said wearily.
“Another such night and I fear my sanity will give way,” Camilla replied.
The howling, insensate cries of the Bacchae grew louder in their ears and, turning in the saddle, Simon saw behind him the dim shapes of their pursuers—shapes which grew stronger with the deepening darkness.
They turned the bend in the river and the shape of a city loomed ahead.
But then, as they drew closer, Simon’s heart fell.
This desolate, jagged ruin, this vast and deserted place was not Babylon! This city was dead—a place where a man, also, might die.
Now the armies