I. PERSEPOLIS

The young man stood on the steps of the ruined palace and gazed westward to the distant mountains. Toward those gray, snow-clad peaks the sun was descending, a gleam of white gold embedded in a sky of cloudless azure. A cold wind gusted momentarily, causing the man's black locks to whip about his face, and he drew his dark star-emblazoned robe more closely about his slender form.

"Helen . . ." he muttered, staring into the sunset.

"Fear not, Simon --- you will have word of her soon."

The man whirled to face the white-bearded oldster who had stolen upon him unawares. The newcomer wore a robe similar to that of the young man's and carried a long wooden staff in his left hand; his eyes twinkled as he noted that the man he had called Simon gripped the hilt of a half-drawn blade.

"Dositheus! Don't creep up on me like that --- !"

The old man chuckled amicably."The reflexes you learned in gladiator school are good, Simon. Yet, you came here to learn more subtle things. Had your mind and body been one, I could not have come upon you unawares."

Simon sheathed his sharp-bladed sica, then looked again to the declining sun, brushing bangs of straight black hair from his eyes. "Your dark familiar is long overdue, O Mentor."

"Only by two days or so. Much can delay the flight of a raven over the enormous distance that lies between here and Rome. Fear not. Carbo is clever; neither storm nor eagle nor the snares of man shall hinder him --- so my divinations tell me. If he comes not this very evening, he shall come tomorrow --- and then I shall have news from Senator Junius, and you from your Helen." Simon, his countenance still grave, nodded briefly; then turned and strode down the wide stairway. He did not want to talk to his mentor Dositheus nor to anyone else at this time.

Circling to the north of the great ruined palace-complex, he began to climb the first of the eastward hills. His athletic limbs carried him easily up the brown slopes where dried bunch-grasses bent and trembled before the chill November wind. Gaining the first low crest of the range, he turned and regarded the sunset once more. Below him sprawled the magnificent columned ruins of Persepolis, once the palaces and temples of Persian kings, now the abode only of the mysterious hermit-mage Daramos and those he instructed in arcane arts and knowledge. Westward the sun had sunk into ahaze over the distant mountains --- had become a crimson eye whose heatless rays bathed the wide plain of the Araxes as if with blood. Far to the north rose enormous snowy peaks, red-tinged in the waning light, like cold thrones of the minions of Angra Mainyu, Lord of Night. . . .

Simon shuddered, then shook his head violently as if to fling off the dark mood. He had been having more and more of these heavy flashes of --- premonition? --- these last few days, and he did not like them. Seating himself in the lee of a boulder, he reached under his robe and brought forth several small scraps of parchment, then bent to read the Greek writing on them in the waning light.

"Helen," he muttered again.

For they were messages from her --- the strange, almost supernaturally fascinating young woman he had left in Rome just over four years ago. Woman? No, only a girl of fifteen then, and he a lad going on nineteen --- about the age she would be now. A girl, yet with the shadow of eternal mystery in her dark hair and eyes. . . .

The letters were necessarily short, borne as they had been on the wings of a raven across a distance equal to half of the known world. He reread the first one as he had countless times before.

Helen, of the household of Junius in Antium, to Simon of Gitta in Persepolis, greeting. Let my love fly to you on swift wings! The months since you fled Rome have seemed long, Simon, even though I am very happy here in my new home serving my new mistress. I am treated more like a daughter than a servant.

Would that the rest of our time apart might pass as swiftly as the few weeks we spent together in Antium! Those weeks were the happiest of my life. . . .

Simon looked up briefly, memories erasing the lines of concern from his face. He scanned the second note, which had reached him some months after the first one.

Happy news, Simon! My younger sister, Ilione, has been rescued from our father's house in Ephesos and brought here, even as was I. My mistress, knowing my unhappiness, prevailed upon Senator Junius to buy her, and when that failed he hired men to steal her away. Ilione's joy knows no bounds, for our father had planned the same dark fate for her that he had earlier for me. . . .

The scowl of concern crept back into Simon's face. What fate could that be? And what sort of father was it whose daughters had lived in fear of him and rejoiced at escaping from his house forever? Helen had spoken little enough about her life in Ephesos, but Simon knew that her father, Prodikos, had had lustful and unlawful intentions toward her. Also, he was reputedly one of the richest men in Ionia, and there were those who claimed that he had used dark magic to help him gain his wealth.

Simon skipped over the two or three other brief missives to the most recent one, which had arrived over four months ago.

. . . Senator Junius is worried. He tries to hide it, Simon, but gossip among the servants has it that he fears Sejanus, who was supposedly an ally of those who wish to restore the Republic. Junius fears that Sejanus, whom Tiberius has put in nearly complete charge of the empire, is actually conspiring to be emperor himself and may even be using dark magic to attain that end. . . .

There it was --- "darkmagic" again. Too much of his life of late, Simon mused, had been involved with "dark magic". Of course, having grown up in his native Samaria, he had always known of such things. But not until his mentor, Dositheus, had rescued him from a Roman gladiator school had he known of them first hand. . . .

Scowling in thought, he rose and thrust the parchments back into his belt-pouch, then strode down the windswept slope toward the ruins in the darkening twilight.

Beneath the pale light of the stars and a waxing crescent moon Simon returned to the deserted ruins and wandered to the few intact rooms that remained of what had centuries ago been the palace of Darius the King. Here Daramos the Mage lived in austere simplicity, and so were his few pupils forced to live also, supplied with necessities from the nearby village by pious worshippers of the Great Lord Mazda and the fire-god Atar. A strange place to live, Simon reflected --- not for the first time. And yet, the years he had spent here and in other parts of Parthia had been anything but dull.

"Simon --- is that you?"

He turned to face the torch-bearing figure approaching him. It was Dositheus's young apprentice --- a lad perhaps fifteen years of age, wearing the symbol-emblazoned robe common to all who studied under the tutelage of Daramos.

"Aye, Menander? What . . . is it?"

"The Master would speak with you, Simon. He waits even now in his chamber."

Simon scowled in puzzlement. It was not Daramos's habit to seek conversation after the lessons of the day, when he was wont to retire to the solitude of his room or take to the hills in lonely wanderings. "Did he say what he wanted?"

Menander shook his head; his dark eyes seemed to glow with curiosity in the light of the torch.

Simon turned and strode down a long corridor whose roof was largely open to the sky. Near its end he came to a curtained doorway and groped his way inside. The room he entered was large but unfurnished save for a very low table and a sleeping pallet. A single torch gleamed upon the far wall beside the wide, open casement, and in the center of the floor stood the mage Daramos, facing him.

No matter how often Simon had seen the Master, he had never quite become used to him. Daramos was the strangest man he had ever seen --- scarcely four feet tall, extremely stocky in build and possessing a curiously wide and flattened head large in proportion to his size. His mouth was wide and lipless, his nose flat, his outsized ears slightly pointed. His skin, usually grayish in the daylight, seemed to possess a slight greenish cast in the flickering light of the torch. Despite his strange, even grotesque appearance, his large almond-shaped eyes shone from the crinkles of his face with an expression of calm wisdom and quiet humor that set Simon immediately at ease.

"Sit down, Simon." The Master's voice was deep, possessing an almost nonhuman timbre, yet strangely soft.

The young man obeyed, sitting cross-legged facing the low table. Daramos sat opposite him, hunching down into the folds of his cloak in a peculiarly boneless way. Simon wondered, as he had often before, if this strange mentor of his were fully human. He had heard a rumor that one of Daramos's ancestors had come up from the depths of the Persian Gulf to mate with a woman of Elarn.

"You wished to see me, O Master?"

"Aye, Simon. It is the time. Tomorrow you must begin your long journey back to Rome."

Simon started. "Rome? But, why --- ?"

"Because there are dark things stirring --- things that I have sensed of late. I think you have sensed them, too, Simon. Forces are growing that threaten all mankind, and their center is currently in Rome. Now is the time for you to begin to employ all that you were taught here. You must gather your possessions together tonight and depart in the morning. Carbo will tell you why."

"Carbo? But, he hasn't yet returned from Rome."

"He will return with the dawn."

Simon felt an excitement. He thought of Helen --- lovely Helen, with tresses like the night, skin like alabaster, eyes like dark pools reflecting the stars of the universe and shining with the promise of more than earthly joys. Had the years made her a dream, or was she truly as he remembered her? Soon he would know!

The eyes of Daramos became lidded, then slowly reopened. "Yes, your Helen," he said. "One day you will see her again."

Simon felt a chill. "How did you know --- ?"

"It is not hard to sense thoughts of such intensity. You will see her, but much time must pass."

"Yes, of course. It's a long journey to Rome --- months . . ." Simon bent forward, his deep-set eyes glowing more intently in the torchlight. "I have sensed dark fears of late, O Master, like the formless fears of nightmare. What are they? Sometimes I feel them like a black wall standing between Helen and me, and wonder if I shall truly see her again. In such moods I fear losing her as I would fear death."

Daramos said: "One can lose only that which one clings to."

"Aye, so you have told me often. Yet, Dositheus has warned me that it may be many more years before the time is right for Helen and me to meet again. It was his magic that first brought us together --- prematurely, he claims ---"

"And so you fear losing her. Listen, Simon of Gitta; you and Helen can no more lose one another than the night can lose the day. Has not Dositheus told you many times of your true nature?"

"Aye --- that Helen and I are True Spirits, destined for one another beyond time and materiality. More, I seemed to feel this very truth when I was with Helen --- even though I know also that we are only human. Yet, Dositheus believes I must lose her --- that our reunion would be dangerous somehow. . . ."

"List not to Dositheus. He has seen less than seventy summers --- fewer years than I have seen of decades. You cannot lose your Helen, and your reunion with her will be when it is fated, no earlier or later. As for danger --- without it the world would lose much savor in the eyes of the God and Goddess for whom it was made. More, you are the One who makes this world, Simon --- you, and I, and many another. We are only the transient forms in which One abides. And we create this world for her, complete with danger, because that is what pleases her --- and us."

"And what of pain and horror?"

"Aye, that too."

Simon rose impatiently, shaking his head. He had heard all this before --- concepts hauntingly familiar at times, yet surely insane.

"I shall leave for Rome tomorrow, O Daramos. Hopefully the Romans have forgotten by now the part I played in the destruction of their arena at Fidenae and the burning of the Caelian Hill --- though I doubt it."

"It matters not, Simon. If you practice the arts I have taught you, you shall not be recognized."

"What are my instructions, then?"

"You need none. You shall go to Rome with a purpose that is your own."

Puzzled, Simon bowed slightly, then left the room and strode back down the dark hall to his own chamber to pack his few belongings.

There was a stirring of fear in the heavy, formless stillness --- the awareness of an ancient menace reawakening in the shadows of old Night.

He seemed to stand upon a dark plain. Above him the cold stars gleamed down, and the slim horns of a crescent moon. Then, somehow the stars were the mirrored gleam of lovely dark eyes, celestial and eternal, and the moon was a diadem set upon tresses black as the night, and as vast. He felt terror and ecstasy strangely commingled in his soul.

We meet and we part forever, Simon of Gitta.

He held his breath in the eternal stillness, straining to hear that soft yet cosmic voice within his mind --- that voice, so familiar and yet so unlike any voice of Earth. . . .

We part, yet never can we lose one another, for in the fullness of the aeons we shall meet again. Eternal is the promise, and the promise is the fulfillment, forever and through endless changings. . . .

The darkness lifted somewhat, and he saw that he stood by the pool within the peristyle of Senator Junius mansion in Antium. Yet the stillness hung as heavily as before, and strange shadows and fears seemed to cling closely about him.

Then he saw her, reclining on a couch near the side of the dark pool opposite him. She was as lovely as he had remembered her, yet there was a fainting langour in her posture, and the filmy white garment she wore suggested something of the pallor of the grave. Her whiteness contrasted sharply with the surrounding shadows --- shadows that seemed to close evermore closely about her, rustling like monstrous wings. A horror swept through him, and he cried out:

"Helen!"

His voice was muffled, as though he stood within a narrow tomb. The woman's dark eyes were open now, staring sadly up into the descending shadows whose pinions were swiftly enfolding her.

"Helen!"

His own cry awakened him. Simon found himself sitting upright on his pallet within his small chamber. The air was still, and the first light of dawn was filtering in through the open casement. An air of nightmare still clung about him --- he still seemed to hear the fluttering of dark wings. . . .

He did hear it! Turning, he beheld the form of a large black bird flapping to rest upon the wide, window-sill.

"Carbo!" Simon exclaimed. "You have come back!"

Quickly he rose in the chilly air, donned his dark tunic and belt, then lit an oil-lamp. The raven hopped inward and fluttered down beside it on the rough wooden table. Simon saw that the bird did not carry the usual small scroll-pouch about its neck. He suddenly felt a prickling of apprehension.

"Dark bird, why do you bear no messages?" Then, in a lower, more intense tone: "Carbo --- what of Helen? Speak!"

The raven seemed to hesitate, its right eye regarding Simon like a glittering bead of jet. Then, distinctly, it croaked:

"Mortal"

"Dead? . . . No! No!"

Simon whipped out his gladiatorial knife and slashed furiously at the bird, and only its uncanny quickness saved it. With a deep squawk of terror it flapped frantically back out the window into the gray dawn.

"No!" screamed Simon again, hurling his futile blade after the swiftly vanishing raven. Then, whirling, he suddenly confronted the squat, robed form of Daramos standing just within the curtained doorway.

"It is true," said the mage quietly.

Hate and fury twisted Simon's tear-streaked face. His hands clenched and unclenched and he strode forward a pace, fully intending to tear Daramos limb from limb --- but then, looking into the Master's eyes, so calm and wise and sad, he knew he could not. His anger fled, leaving only the icy anguish of mounting grief and despair.

"Now you must go to Rome," said Oaramos, "for now your purpose in going is plain to you."

II. ANTIUM

Ambronius the caretaker rose stealthily from his bed and uncovered the small oil-lamp that he always kept burning at night. Outside the deserted mansion he could hear the rains of late spring pattering on the flagstones, while muted thunder growled in the distance.

Cautiously the lean old man stole from his chamber into the atrium, the light from his lamp causing highlights to gleam upon his balding head and within his darting eyes. He lit a wall-bracketed torch and peered tensely around the large, columned space. Something was wrong. Though he had heard no sound, Ambronius had spent enough years in this house to sense when something was amiss.

Suddenly, with a tingle of apprehension, he realized what it was: the sound of rain on the tiles was louder than it should be because the door to the peristyle was slightly ajar. . . .

"Ambronius, do not cry out --- it's me, Simon of Gitta."

The old man whirled with a start of terror to see that a dark-cloaked man had emerged from the shadows only a few feet from him. The hood of the damp cloak was thrown back, revealing a youthful but angular face in which deep-set eyes glowed intently.

"Simon! What --- how? . . ."

"I have returned from Parthia, to learn of what befell Helen."

"But --- how did you gain entrance? There is a guard at each door."

"To stop me, they would have had to see me. The one at the back gate dozed; I whispered in his ear and made his sleep deeper. He will awaken at dawn, remembering nothing."

Thunder muttered again, and Ambronius shuddered. Evidently Simon had learned strange things in Parthia.

"Come," he said, taking the torch from its bracket. "There are no windows in my room --- we can talk there."

Inside, Simon looked around the rather large chamber while Ambronius closed the door and bracketed the torch. "This was your master's sleeping room," he commented.

"Aye, but he will be using it no more. Senator Junius was exiled to Lesbos on a trumped-up charge after his involvement in Sejanus's plot against the emperor became suspected; his household chose to share exile with him. Now Tiberius has confiscated all his property and I, as Junius's chief steward, remain here at Antium only until this mansion is sold."

"The senator was lucky," said Simon. "I have heard in Rome that most of those implicated in that plot were imprisoned or executed."

Ambronius nodded and set his lamp on a table, then seated himself. "I am so sorry about Helen, Simon," he said, laying a hand on the young man's arm. "All of us knew how close you two had become here."

Simon took a chair opposite the old steward. There was no sadness in his eyes, only a grim hardness. "Tell me all," he said.

Ambronius took a deep breath. "You know that Junius kept no secrets from me," he began. "I was with him on some of the occasions when he and a few other prominent Romans met with Sejanus in his mansion on the Palatine Hill. Of course you knew, Simon, of my master's devotion to the cause of overthrowing the cruel reign of the Augustans and restoring the Republic."

Simon nodded. "He spoke of it often to my mentor, Dositheus."

"I remember. Dositheus was even in on the plot once ---"

"You should remember, for his tampering with dark magic resulted in the destruction of the Caelian section of Rome by fire and necessitated my flight with him to Antium and eventually Parthia. But I came here to learn of Helen. Spare me none of the details."

Ambronius sighed. "Dark magic --- it runs like a venom-steeped thread through all our destinies, it seems! For Sejanus, too, came finally to employ the black arts in his conspiracy against Tiberius."

"What! Sejanus --- ?"

"Aye. My master was disturbed to learn of it --- for you will remember how he opposed Dositheus for the same thing. Moreover, he had slowly come to suspect that Sejanus was not interested in reestablishing the Republic at all, but only in setting himself up as emperor in Tiberius' stead.

"It seems that the former empress, Livia, had delved heavily into sorcery and had amassed a considerable library of ancient books on the subject. According to Sejanas, she had employed this dark knowledge to slay certain enemies of her son Tiberius and so pave his way to power. Tiberius, as suspicious and vindictive as Livia herself, repaid her by depriving her of all power of her own and finally confining her to house arrest. Such was typical of his reaction to friend and foe alike. Ironically, he trusted Sejanus alone, delegating to him more and more power and authority, and when at last the mad emperor's growing fears drove him to seek seclusion upon the isle of Capri it was Sejanus who was left to handle matters in Rome.

"Sejanus boasted that it was his own use of sorcery that had fired Tiberius's fears and driven him to seek seclusion and safety far from Rome --- for after Livia's confinement, he claimed he had discovered her collection of arcane books and set himself to master the sinister arts they explicated. More, he turned them against Livia her self, claiming not only to have caused her terminal illness but also to have trapped her soul in the body of a weasel which he now employed as his familiar. I myself heard Sejanus expound these things to Senator Junius, and at the time considered the man to have become as mad as Tiberius himself.

"It was three years ago that Livia died, and after that Sejanus's power grew by leaps and bounds. His power in Rome was absolute, his spies everywhere, and a word in the Senate was enough to send any of his enemies to doom, no matter how rich or powerful they might be. More and more his audacious ambition to be emperor became plain, and often I pointed it out to my master; but so deep was the senator's hope to restore the Republic that he continued to delude himself that it was Sejanus's hope also.

"But then, less than a year ago, Sejanus's boastful and confident manner began to change slowly to one of nervous taciturnity. He became more and more suspicious and irritable. Then one day, when my master and I and a number of others were gathered in Sejanus's house, a feeling of gloom and tension suddenly fell upon us, as tangible as a cold mist. I felt terrified, as if some monstrous evil being had come unseen among us, and I know all the others felt that way also. The room seemed to vibrate slightly, so that lamps and statues rattled and swayed --- and suddenly a large couch on which several people were seated broke apart and sent them all sprawling to the floor.

"Immediately the tension vanished, and some even laughed as if it were all a great joke; but Sejanus was white as a ghost and soon found pretext to adjourn our meeting. As he was ushering us out of the house, a large gray weasel suddenly darted through our midst uttering sounds like high-pitched laughter. Sejanus became so pale I thought he would faint, and I could not help but remember what he had said concerning Livia.

"We saw less of Sejanus after that, but on a later occasion Senator Junius confided to me his fear that the man might indeed be going mad. It seems that after a dinner party subsequent to the eerie events at his house, Sejanus spoke privately to my master about them. He claimed, with pronounced nervousness informing his every word and gesture, that Tiberius had become suspicious of a plot against him and had hired a powerful sorcerer to discover its nature and combat it. It was that sorcerer's presence which we had all felt in the room before the couch collapsed; moreover, that sorcerer had freed Livia's soul from Sejanus's control and made the weasel his own familiar. And now, Sejanus said, the vindictive empress was working against him, prowling and spying about his mansion at night, scuttling and tittering and giving him no peace."

"All this is interesting," Simon interrupted, "but what has it to do with Helen?"

"I am coming to that. Sejanus told my master that he sent a spy to Capri and thereby learned of the sorcerer Tiberius had recently hired. Actually, the man had come to the emperor and offered his services. He was from Ephesos, a city as full of dark magic as Egypt is of grain, and his name was Prodikos."

"Prodikos!" Simon exclaimed. "That was the name of --- Helen's father? . . ."

"Aye. They are one and the same."

Simon scowled in thought. "Helen once mentioned to me that he had dabbled in magic, but --- a sorcerer?"

"The most powerful in Ephesos, according to what Junius was told. Sejanus was deathly afraid of the man --- and with good reason, judging from what ensued.

"My master heard less and less of this matter, for as time passed Sejanus became more taciturn and reclusive. I learned, however, from one of his trusted servants, that Sejanus was performing elaborate magical rites in order to protect himself from dark forces he supposed were being brought against him.

"One day early last October, so my informant said, Sejanus was sacrificing before a statue of himself when suddenly a burst of dark smoke issued from the image. He hastily ordered the head removed, whereupon a huge black serpent darted forth from the hollow interior. It was killed barely in time, and proved to be an extremely poisonous snake of African origin. On another occasion the same statue was found with a strangler's cord knotted about the neck. Evidently someone was entering the house unseen and performing these tricks in order to terrorize Sejanus --- and they were accomplishing their goal extremely well.

"Sejanus finally attempted a great feat of magic in an effort to defend himself. Somewhere he had procured an ancient statue of Fortuna that had been made centuries ago in the reign of Servius Tullius, King of Rome, and to this image he performed a dark sacrifice designed to thwart and destroy his enemies."

"Aye --- the Tempting of Fortune," muttered Simon, "--- an extremely powerful and dangerous ritual, and only to be performed by the most skilled adepts."

Ambronius regarded him narrowly. "That may well be, for something evidently went wrong. The statue spoke to Sejanus in a hollow voice, announcing his impending doom, then turned away from him on its pedestal and faced the wall.

"Sejanus was terrified. The very next day he journeyed to Antium and presented the statue to my master as a gift, hoping thereby to avert the doom from himself. Of course we did not know his motive at the time --- he described the thing as a family heirloom and expressed the desire that Senator Junius would accept it as a token of his high esteem. It was not till several days later that I was told of Sejanus's monstrous ritual, and by then he was dead. His subterfuge had not kept him from his doom.

"That doom came very suddenly, in the form of a letter of denunciation from Tiberius to the Senate. Without warning Sejanus was hauled off to prison and before evening he had been executed. His corpse was hurled down the Gemonian stairway and allowed to lie in the streets for three days, abused by the mob, before being thrown into the Tiber.

"Swift as was Sejanus's demise, it seems that Tiberius and his hired sorcerer had planned it for some time, befuddling his mind with sorcery and terror while gradually removing his friends from positions of power. And now Tiberius began a vindictive purge of his enemies that was even more terrible than the one that Sejanus had instituted. Scores who had known Sejanus only casually had their property confiscated and sold, dozens suspected of involvement in his plot against the emperor were slain, scores more were imprisoned or banished. Sejanus's entire family was executed, his young daughter first being raped by the executioner because it was not legally permissible to put a virgin to death. And in the midst of all this mad and bloody turmoil, Helen's father Prodikos came one evening with several Praetorian guardsmen to this very mansion, demanding that we turn Helen and her sister Ilione over to him."

Simon gripped the edge of the table. "Why? How did he know --- ?"

"Evidently the return of his daughters was the payment he demanded of Tiberius for forestalling Sejanus's plot. Many of Sejanus's friends had been here and knew of the two sisters --- perhaps one of these people talked. Or, perhaps Prodikos discovered their presence here by means of his own magic. I think he may have been capable of it --- I sensed an aura of dark menace about him."

"And --- and then? . . ."

"They forced their way in; we could not stop them, and in any case they had written permission from the emperor. Helen and Ilione were in the peristyle and were taken unawares; I will never forget the look of shock in their faces. Ilione sank to her knee in terror, poor girl! --- but Helen, after her first shock, rose and faced her father with a proud anger and cried out: "Monster, you shall not have your way!" Then, before anyone could move she snatched up a sharp stylus with which she had been writing and plunged it into her heart."

Simon shuddered and gripped his face in both hands. When at last he .looked up again there was a grim fire gleaming within his deep-set eyes.

"Tell me the rest," he said, his voice tense yet even.

"Prodikos took Ilione --- two of the guards carried her away fainting between them. And he left with scarcely a glance at Helen, who lay dead beside the peristyle pool."

"She shall be avenged," Simon muttered. ''Tell me, what do you know about this Prodikos?"

"I know nothing more, save that he is said to have returned to Ephesos with his surviving daughter. Simon, what kind of a father could --- ?"

Simon rose abruptly. "I thank you, Ambronius. There is yet one thing more that you can do for me if you will."

The old servant rose also, sadness in his eyes. "I will do anything I can for you."

"Good. Show me the statue of Fortuna which Sejanus gave to your master."

Ambronius regarded the young man silently for a moment, then took up the lamp and beckoned him to follow.

They traversed the wide atrium and ascended a stairway to the upper floor of the house. At the end of a corridor Ambronius paused to unlock a door, then ushered Simon into a small, cluttered room. For a moment the old servant rummaged amid a dusty jumble of furniture and trinkets near the back wall.

"Here it is," he said after a moment, pointing.

Simon stepped forward and carefully picked up the thing. It was about two feet long --- a robed female figure of austere countenance carved of dark gray stone. He sensed an aura of antique mystery about it --- mystery, and perhaps even a touch of menace? . . .

Simon grinned tautly, almost fiercely, as he gazed down into the face of the image. Dark Fortune. It was fitting. He would go to Ephesos, bearing dark fortune with him.

"Thank you, Ambronius," he muttered, a grim vibrancy in his voice. "I came to Rome seeking a purpose, and now I think I have found it."

"Simon --- " The old man seemed hesitant. "Simon, there is hate in your soul. I remember that you once swore, after the destruction of the arena and the Caelian Hill, that you would never again have aught to do with true sorcery . . ."

"That was before." Simon's eyes were shadowed, absent, as if he gazed into distant pits of darkness. "That was before . . ."

III. EPHESOS

The white walls and columns of the city were tinged with the red of sunset as the ship's oars moved it slowly up the narrow harbor toward the piers. Simon, leaning on the rail near the bow, gazed fixedly ahead. A warm ocean breeze gently whipped his black locks and the folds of his dark tunic.

Ephesos, its walls tinged red as if with blood --- and beyond it, massively grand even in great distance, the multicolumned temple of the great Earth Mother the Greeks called Artemis. . . .

But his thoughts were not on architectural wonders. This was the city of his enemy, the sorcerer Prodikos, father of Helen. Her memory rested more easily on his soul now, after the many long months of travel from Parthia to Italy and finally here, yet he knew another feeling that would never rest until vengeance should be accomplished.

Helen --- she seemed almost unreal now, distant enough to be remembered calmly. He wondered what his life would have been like had they been reunited --- and found that he could not picture it. What, after all, had he wanted with her? Marriage? Children? No, none of these meaningless things that made up the dismal, eternal whirl of countless human lives generation after generation. His love for Helen had nothing to do with all that. When he had been with her, that had been a perfection unto itself, beyond dreams and goals --- and yet, it had at the same time somehow contained a promise beyond earthly things. Where it might have led he would never know. . . .

His musings were interrupted by the hull coming to rest against the stone pier. Without waiting for the sailors to secure the ship or put out the gangway, Simon grabbed his small bundle of possessions, climbed easily over the rail and dropped the short distance to the quay, then began to stride rapidly away through the wharfside crowd.

"Simon!"

He whirled, and was astonished to recognize Menander hurrying toward him. The lad was clad in a plain Grecian tunic, and close behind him was white-bearded Dositheus with the raven Carbo perched upon his shoulder.

"Baal!" Simon swore. "How . . . what are you doing here?"

"Daramos told us you would be arriving today," said Dositheus.

"By the gods! And how did he know?"

"Need you ask, Simon? Daramos knows much. And now, he wishes to speak with you. Follow us."

"You mean he's here?"

"Yes --- in a way. Please, come quickly."

Simon shook his head. "I have no wish to see Daramos --- ever again."

"He says it is of great importance."

"Not as important as what I have to do."

Dositheus looked narrowly into his former pupil's grim visage. "Then at least come with Menander and me. We must talk."

Simon nodded curtly, shouldered his bundle and followed the pair up the broad colonnaded avenue that led from the harbor into the heart of the teeming city. Before long they came to an inn that looked reasonably large and comfortable. A servant led them into a curtained back room containing a rough wooden table and several stools.

"Sit down, Simon. We have much to tell you."

Serving-girls entered and began to set bowls of fruit, meat and lentil soup on the table. Simon realized he was hungry; he took a seat and broke a bread roll without further ado. The others joined him, the raven hopping down from old Dositheus shoulder to strut and peck among the edibles.

"I know why you came," said Dositheus when the servants had left. "Daramos has divined it. There is great danger in what you intend to do, Simon."

"Daramos lied to me. He said I would see Helen again."

The old adept's eyes narrowed as he bent forward. "You will, Simon. When it is the time, she will come again to you."

Simon snorted impatiently. "Bring wine!" he called out to the servants. Then: "I will tell you what I learned in Rome, Dositheus. But don't expect to talk me into going back to Parthia with you. I have much to do here."

"I think I know what you learned. Tiberius's purge of his enemies is no secret, and Carbo recently brought me another message from Senator Junius, who has been recalled from exile in Lesbos to house-arrest in Rome. The senator told me about Prodikos and his daughters, and I have learned much more here in Ephesos."

Simon stopped eating. "What have you learned of Prodikos?"

"Much, Simon, but mainly that in this city renowned for its sorcerers, he is the most powerful and feared of them all."

A serving-girl entered with an amphora of wine, and Dositheus ceased speaking. When she had gone Simon filled his goblet. "Go on," he said.

"Prodikos had several children by various slave-women, but all were sons save Helen and Ilione. These sons he long ago sold into slavery, but his daughters he kept --- for an evil purpose, as it turns out. Simon, it is no mere incestuous lust that drives Prodikos. He means to force Ilione to join with him in a monstrous ritual that shall release forces this world has not seen since it emerged from the last great darkness of the All-Night."

Simon drained his goblet, set it down and refilled it. "How do you know all this?"

"Daramos divined much of it after you left Persepolis. Believe it, Simon! This was the fate Helen's father planned for her; she escaped in the only way she could, and well for her that she did! But now Ilione faces the same monstrous fate."

Simon resumed eating. "Which is --- ?"

"The rite of the Impregnation and the Slaying --- an act of sympathetic magic that shall cause the seed of the Star-god to unite with the Great Mother, thereby generating a horrendous spawn that will overwhelm this world."

Simon gripped his goblet tensely. His scalp tingled as he recalled reading of just such a black ritual in the Sapientia Magorum of the ancient Persian magus Ostanes. "Gods of Hades! How could the girl's own father even think of such perverse madness --- ?"

Dositheus drew a deep breath. ''He may no longer be her true father, Simon. Have you not read of Sakkuth, King of Night, and his evil Master?"

Simon felt the tingling extend down his spine. Sakkuth the King, servitor of Kaiwan the Star-god --- both evil beings cursed by the ancient prophets yet still furtively worshipped by Sorcerers in his own native Samaria. . . .

"The wizards of Acheron and Stygia and even older civilization cycles knew them by other names," Dosi-theus went on. "To the nations of primal Attluma they were Kossuth and Assatur. It is said that every thousand years Sakkuth attempts to destroy civilization, and that he succeeds unless powerful magic is used to stop him. It was he who plunged the world into the All-Night after the Atlantean and Hyborian cataclysms. And to initiate such times, his master Kaiwan, who dwells amid the stars near the Eye of Taurus; sends to earth his seed to unite with the Great Mother, thereby enabling her to spawn the Thousand Abominations that will overwhelm the world."

"But --- what has all this to do with --- ?"

"With Prodikos? Listen, Simon: fifteen years ago Prodikos went to Sardis to partake in the festival to Cybele. He was there when the great earthquake struck, killing tens of thousands in the city and the surrounding towns. You were but a child then."

Simon nodded. "I remember. I was eight. There was much talk of it even in Samaria."

"Daramos divined some years later that the event had signified the return of Sakkuth to this world --- and not long after you left Persepolis, Simon, his divinations revealed to him that Sakkuth's dark spirit had entered the body of none other than Prodikos of Ionia.

"I have talked with many here who remember the man's change of personality after his return from Sardis. It was then that he sold his sons into slavery. Also, he sacrificed more and more often at the great temple of Artemis --- who is, after all, only an avatar of Cybele, the Great Mother --- and his fortune began to increase mightily, till in a few years he was the richest man in all Ionia. And finally he became high priest of Artemis's very temple --- perhaps the most exalted position Ephesos has to offer. So now, Simon, you see the sort of foe we are up against."

"Not 'we', Dositheus. Prodikos is mine alone."

"Don't be rash! This is a peril the like of which the world has not faced for at least a thousand years. Listen, and I will tell you the rest of what Daramos has learned.

"Ages ago, before the destruction of Hyborios, there fell to earth in the wilds of what is now Sarmatia a fire-stone called Ajar-Alazwat --- a seed of the Star-god. For many years it was worshipped in a temple built for it by wizards, its baleful power blighting the surrounding lands, till at last benign sorcery managed to destroy its temple and send it back to the stars.

"There was a remnant, however, which was salvaged from the ruins centuries later by Stygian wizards and taken south to a temple atop what is now known as Saru Yeri --- Star Mountain --- in Pontus. And there, during the many-thousand-year Ail-Night that followed the destruction of the Hyborian nations, it was worshipped by dark adepts and savages and demons.

"Then, over a thousand years ago, Hittite wizards again managed to prevent the return of Sakkuth to this world. The dark adepts, fleeing Star Mountain, brought the Ajar-Alazwat with them and established it in a shrine to the Earth Mother in the land of the Amazons near what is now Ephesos. The land prospered, and when King Croesus rebuilt the shrine as a huge temple, his fortunes prospered enormously also. Nearly four hundred years ago a man named Herostratus burned it to the ground, sensing its evil nature. The priests called him mad, claiming that he had done it only in order that his name might be remembered forever; but the book of Ostanes records the man's true and benign motive.

"The Ephesians rebuilt the temple, more enormous than ever, and within it erected a colossal image of many-breasted Artemis, in the crown of which was concealed the Ajar-Alazwat --- and there it rests to this day, unwittingly worshipped by thousands."

Simon scowled thoughtfully. "I have heard the legend that the first image of Ephesian Artemis descended from the sky. Yet it is also said that it came from Jupiter, not the face of the Bull. . . ."

"And is not the Bull an avatar of Jupiter? Believe it, Simon --- the thing that fell to earth long ago is the seed of Kaiwan the Star-god."

"But, this is madness! What has the great Earth Mother to do with a star-being?"

"This: that she, too, is originally from the starry voids --- from the dark planet Iadit which circles the Goat-star. She and black Kaiwan have been mates for countless aeons, with Sakkuth as their servitor. Long before mankind arose, She came to this world and founded the city of Harag-Kolath in vast caverns far beneath the southern deserts of Arabia --- and there She waits to this day, served by her countless demon-spawn and waiting to spawn again."

Simon pushed the food and wine from him. He was no longer hungry.

"This ritual that will unite the star-seed with the Great Mother --- when does Prodikos mean to perform it?"

"This very night, Simon. Three hours before dawn, when the Eye of Taurus and the Goat Star are rising, he will open the Gate to Harag-Kolath and perform the Abominable Rite."

"Then I have work to do." Simon stood up, reached into his bundle and pulled forth a large, oblong object wrapped in cloth. "Keep my possessions, Menander; if I do not return, they are yours."

"Simon, wait ---" cried the lad.

But before he or Dositheus could say more the young man had dashed through the curtained doorway and out of the inn, vanishing into the dark.

Simon strode hurriedly up the wide avenue in the deepening twilight. The crowds had thinned, and many torches were gleaming along the endless colonnades. Nearly a mile farther on, the avenue ended at a huge half-bowl of a theatre carved from a hillside. Not far from here, after asking directions, Simon found a small library open to the public and went inside.

"We are about to close," a scholarly-looking Greek in a long tunic informed him.

Simon handed the man a few coins. "This won't take long. I wish to consult the Sapientia Magorum. Is there a copy here?"

The man nodded and walked away, returning shortly with a bulky yellowed scroll. Simon took it to a table and unrolled it, wondering a bit at the ease with which he had achieved his goal. The ancient book of Ostanes was rare and in many places forbidden. To find it would have been nearly impossible in Italy, and difficult even in Simon's native Samaria, but here in this wizard-riddled Ephesos it was easily available even at a public library.

Quickly Simon found the formula dealing with the Tempting of Fortune and copied it out on a scrap of parchment. Then, handing back the scroll to the watchful librarian, he asked: "How do I find the house of Prodikos?"

The Greek nervously made a sign in the air before him. "His villa is just northwest of the city, on the road to the great temple of Artemis. But why, on this night of all nights, would you go there?"

"Is this night special?"

"Midsummer? Of course. And tonight Prodikos will not be home, for at midnight he is to conduct the first rite of the Great Ripening."

"Perhaps I plan to attend."

"Such is not possible. It has been announced that only a small number of chosen priestesses will attend the ceremony. The public will not be admitted until tomorrow."

Simon thanked the man, handed him another coin and hurried out into the night. The streets were dark now, but the light of a waxing half-moon enabled him to see well enough.

In less than an hour he had exited the city's western gate and in a few more minutes saw the dark bulk of Prodikos's mansion hulking before him. There were no lights burning within as far as he could see, but then the wall surrounding the place hid the lower windows.

Carefully he stole along this wall, keeping within the shadows of trees and shrubbery as much as he was able, until he came to the front gate. There, just within the archway, he spied two dark-robed guardsmen lounging.

Softly as a leopard he crept to within a few feet of them, until he could hear their muttered jests and low laughter. Their spears leaned against the wall of the arch, and there was a faint smell of wine on the air.

Simon waited a few moments to make sure no other guards were around. Then one of the men leaned across and handed a wineskin to the other --- and in that instant, Simon darted in and grabbed them both from behind, crooking his arms about their throats.

An instant of pressure --- and then they went limp without even a chance to cry out.

Hurriedly Simon dragged them within the gate and concealed their unconscious forms in the shrubbery, reflecting that sometimes his gladiator training was more useful even than the arts his mentors had taught him in Persia. Then he stripped one of the guards of his cloak and iron helmet and quickly donned them --- when suddenly there was a soft footfall within the gate.

Simon whirled, snatching out his sharp-bladed sica. A slender form, clad in a dark tunic similar to his own, was approaching.

"Simon, don't --- it's me!"

"Baal!" Simon hissed, recognizing Dositheus's young apprentice and the black blot of Carbo perched upon his shoulder. "Menander, are you trying to get yourself killed --- ?"

"No. I want to help you."

"And did Dositheus send you? No need to answer --- I see his dark familiar is keeping you company."

"But I do want to help! May I?"

"Well," said Simon grudgingly, "I see you've learned some of your skills well --- otherwise you could not have followed me undetected all this way. Hurry, put on this other guard's cape and helmet, then take one of those spears and watch the gate. And get Carbo out of sight. I'm going to try to penetrate the mansion."

No sooner had the lad complied, however, than the double doors of the house swung suddenly open and the light of many torches streamed out. The sound of low chanting was heard as a procession of robed figures began to file from the mansion.

"Too late to run," hissed Simon. "Stand at attention --- and hope that these helmets hide our faces sufficiently!"

IV. HARAG-KOLATH

Six black-robed guardsmen bearing spears and torches marched slowly out, two abreast, and Simon tensed as he saw the tall, imposing figure that followed them. The man was slender, yet there was great power in his stride, a kingliness in his mein. He wore a dark robe emblazoned with what Simon recognized as Egyptian and Stygian symbols. His features were lean and dark, his head shaven, his short-trimmed beard jet black --- and his deep yellow eyes burned with an eerie light of their own, like dying suns. In his right hand he carried a black staff shaped like a snake, and upon his left shoulder crouched what appeared to be a large gray weasel with eyes as yellow as his own.

Instantly Simon knew this was Prodikos --- for even in those sinister ascetic features he saw a touch of resemblance to Helen's own. For an instant he thought of springing forward and driving his spear through the sorcerer's black heart --- but something held him back. There was an aura of menace about the man, and Simon sensed that he might be guarded by powers greater than the mere weapons of his soldiers. Besides, he dared not risk Menander.

In that moment of hesitation Prodikos passed through the archway, and behind him came more torch-bearing guards, perhaps a score of them, marching in double file. In their midst walked a slender young woman, obviously a captive. Somewhat shorter than Helen, and blonde rather than dark-haired, Simon yet noted in her features also a slight resemblance to Helen's. She wore naught but silvery high-strapped sandals and a brief tunic, white and diaphanous. Her arms were bound behind her with white cords and her long hair hung down over her bare shoulders in a single golden wave. She walked with a dreamy sedateness, as if under a spell.

"That must be Ilione," whispered Menander. "Gods, she's beautifull Simon, we can't let them hurt her --- "

"Quiet! We'll do what we can. Fall in behind the last of these guards as they file out the gate."

Menander nodded. Just as the last soldier exited, the lad turned and uttered a soft bird-call, then followed Simon's order. As they joined the end of the column unnoticed, Simon heard a fluttering atop the wall and knew that the raven would be following them in the night.

The road upon which they slowly marched northward under the moon was as straight as an arrow, and as they proceeded the black-robed soldiers chanted in cadence to their steps, over and over:

lä, Assatur! lä, Shupnikkurat! Kumat Karakossa ut Arag-Kolat!

Simon suppressed a shudder as he recognized the chant as one he had once read on an ancient Elamite clay tablet --- part of a Mesopotamian ritual calling upon the Star-god and the Great Mother to come forth from their dark abodes.

After perhaps a mile they came upon many more black-robed guardsmen flanking the roadway, and presently passed through a gate in a high wall. Inside was an enormous enclosure surrounding the temple of Artemis, and Simon gasped to see that temple's columned bulk soaring colossally upward into the night. Even seen indistinctly in the dim light of the red westering moon, its grandeur was overwhelming.

In a few moments more they were filing up the wide steps of the platform, nearly twice the height of a man, upon which the temple rested. The chant of the soldiers echoed as they marched between great columns and through the enormous high doorway --- and then Simon gasped again at what he saw. Ahead, beyond another huge quadrangle of columns upon many of which bracketed torches blazed, there stretched a great marble-floored space partly open to the sky --- the inner temple, or cella --- and within the roofed portion of it a grim and terrible statue towered nearly to the ceiling.

Simon gaped at the thing, incredulous. Never had he seen anything so overpowering, so --- evil.

It was only partly human in form. The face, terrible in its classic Grecian calm, seemed to stare directly down upon the beholder; its arms, half-extended, seemed to threaten an awful embrace. Up these arms strange graven creatures seemed to crawl, and the tapering lower limbs appeared strangely enclosed as if within a symbol-carved Egyptian mummy-case. Strangest of all, a cluster of enormous breasts or half-eggs covered the being's entire front. Atop its head rested a great cylindrical crown, and just above its feet was carved a huge bee --- symbol of all things that spawn and swarm. In the flickering light of myriad torches the dark towering eidolon almost seemed to pulsate as if with life, and Simon knew that he looked upon the world's most imposing representation of the Great Mother, Mistress of Earth and mate of Kaiwan the Star-god.

The two lines of guards were separating as they marched out beyond the columns onto the vast floor, arranging themselves along the edge of the space and facing the looming idol. Quickly Simon gripped Menander's arm and pulled him back into the shadows.

"Simon, what are we going to --- ?"

"Wait," Simon whispered back. "Let's see what they're doing."

Most of the guardsmen were taking up positions in front of the columns surrounding the great cella, while Prodikos advanced straight across the wide marble floor, followed by Ilione and the two guards who flanked her. Simon noticed that the weasel was no longer on the sorcerer's shoulder, and hoped it was not prowling in the nearby shadows.

The four stopped not far from the front of the lofty idol, beside a black-draped altar that stood between a pair of flaming braziers. Prodikos gestured. Ilione at once sat on the edge of the altar, then lay back and arranged herself full-length upon it, all seemingly voluntarily. The two guards quickly lashed her ankles with more white cord to rings set in the altar's sides, then withdrew to join their companions near the columns.

Prodikos faced the towering statue, raising his serpent-staff, and began to chant in what Simon recognized as the ancient Elamite tongue. Obviously, despite what the librarian had said, Prodikos had seen to it that there would be none of the usual virgin priestesses here tonight. Now Simon knew why the public was being kept away --- for this was no ordinary ritual, and if Ostanes had written truly it was one that the world had not seen for at least a thousand years.

"Follow me," Simon whispered; then, when they stood in the deep-shadowed southwestern corner far from the guards: "Now, Menander, stay here at the foot of the stair and watch. If anyone comes, hide and send Carbo up to warn me."

"But --- where is Carbo?"

Simon looked around in exasperation. "Damn it, if you don't know, I surely don't! I guess you'll just have to creep up and warn me yourself, if it becomes necessary." So saying, he turned and began to hurry quietly up the spiral stairway.

In a moment he reached the top and moved cautiously forward through the shadows of more columns, till he reached the balustrade whence he could look out and down into the great central space. The high floor upon which he stood was a wide ledge that circled the entire temple, but high as it was the half-open roof was far loftier yet, and the head of Astarte's colossal image still seemed to stare down at him from a vast height.

For a moment Simon judged the distance to the chanting form of Prodikos while fingering the shaft of his spear, but finally decided against trying a cast. It was too far, especially in this uncertain light, and he could even hit the girl by mistake. Besides, he again had that uneasy feeling that the sorcerer might somehow be protected by spells from physical weapons.

Carefully he knelt and laid down his spear, then untied the cord that held his long cloth-wrapped bundle to his knife-belt. Unwrapping the cloth, he took forth the ancient statue of Fortuna and gazed at it. It seemed ordinary now, a mere lump of rock in his hands. He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank, the way Daramos had taught him to do --- and in a moment felt again that vague aura of mystery and menace that he had sensed upon seeing it for the first time in Antium. It had been used in an attempt to conjure ill fortune upon Prodikos, and though the dark sorcerer had managed to turn Sejanus's own spell back upon him, some of the force of that spell still lingered.

Slowly, keeping in the shadow of a column as much as possible, Simon stood the image atop the balustrade so that it faced toward Prodikos and the idol that towered beyond him. Then, drawing from his belt-pouch the scrap of parchment upon which he had copied Ostanes's ritual, he silently reread it in the dim light. It must now be read audibly, yet not loud enough to be heard by those below. More, every syllable of the archaic Latin must be pronounced correctly, and the final word of the formula --- the name of the goddess Fortuna --- must be intoned at exactly the right moment.

Simon drew a deep breath. Most of the things he had learned in Persia were mere arts of illusion, and never before had he tried to perform a powerful and dangerous work of true magic such as this. Yet, the attempt had to be made. . . .

But then, before he could utter even the first word of the rite, something flew up at him from the torchlit space below --- some thing long and black that buzzed harshly as it came darting directly at his face.

Menander waited restlessly in the darkness for many long minutes listening to the sound of Prodikos chanting, remembering what old Dositheus had said about this ritual and growing more and more uneasy about Ilione's fate. Finally, deciding that it would do no harm to leave the stair unguarded for but a moment, he crept slowly forward through the rows of columns until he could see clearly into the torchlit central space. Silently he crouched in the shadows, hardly daring to breathe, for the nearest guardsmen were now only a few feet away, just beyond the final row of columns.

Ilione lay motionless, white against the altar's black drapery and the shadows beyond. Prodikos was facing away from her, toward the towering idol, serpent-staff upraised as he chanted loudly, and Menander shuddered as he recalled the little he had heard of this abominable rite: the impregnation of a virgin daughter by her father's seed, followed by the sacrifice that would open the Gate and allow the mating of the Earth Mother and the Star-god. . . .

Suddenly he realized that the great idol of Astarte was undergoing a slight change. The crown above its lofty brow --- the crown wherein was housed the ancient star-stone --- was glowing slightly. Also, there was a peculiar glow of a different sort forming just in front of the idol's pedestal --- a swirling grayish luminescence that expanded slowly.

"Open the Gate to thy world, Great Mother," Prodikos was chanting in Greek. "Come forth from Harag-Kolath, thy caverned city, and witness this rite to thy glory. I ask it in thy many names: Cybele, Magna Mater, Astarte, Ashtoreth, Artemis, Ishtar, Nintu, Shupnikkurat. . . ."

The glow at the idol's base had expanded greatly, and now Menander's spine tingled as he realized that it was a hole in space, a Gate to other realms. He seemed to be looking into a vast cavernous space filled with a dim fungoid luminosity, and glimpsed afar off within it what seemed to be lines and angles of strange architecture. Gods! --- was this indeed Harag-Kolath, the fabled underground city where dwelt the Great Mother and her swarming brood? . . .

Then a black object emerged from the glow --- a flying object about the length of a man's hand and forearm that buzzed deeply as it circled about the altar. Another emerged and yet another, and in a moment several of them were filling the cella with their harsh buzzings. In the dim light Menander thought they resembled giant wasps. Then --- did he glimpse something terrific and dark rising slowly from the distant alien architecture beyond the Gate --- ?

And Prodikos --- surely he, too, was changing! His tall form was seeming to shorten and broaden somewhat, his shoulders to hunch, his ears --- 

"To thee also do I call, O Star-god," the sorcerer was intoning. "Hear thy servant, even him thou hast appointed king over this planet. Transform me now from thy Dark Servitor into the Golden King, even as thou hast promised. O Nameless One, O Unknown God, I ask it by the Names thou hast made known to thy worshippers: Kaiwan! Assatur!"

Instantly, incredibly, Prodikos's dark robe brightened until it became a glowing yellow that outshone the torches. Menander gasped at the sight --- then almost cried aloud in horror as the sorcerer threw open his cloak and whirled about to face the altar. Though still recognizable, Prodikos had become a frightening parody of himself --- a hairy, swarthy satyr-like being with pointed ears, horns and fangs, and obviously in the heat of lust.

He advanced to Ilione's side and with one clawed hand ripped away her gauzy tunic. In the same instant Menander rose and drew back his spear for a cast. He could not let this happen --- 

And in that instant a sharp pain lanced his right ankle. He bit his tongue, half strangling to keep from crying out, and whirled to see the thing that had bitten him --- a large gray weasel --- darting away. The creature paused for an instant and turned to glare back at him with its evil yellow eyes; then, with a high titter that was eerily human, it scurried away between the columns.

Prodikos's familiar! Menander felt weak at the realization that the thing had discovered him. And now it was hurrying out between the guards and across the wide marble floor, straight toward its transfigured master, squeaking shrilly.

Simon whipped out his sica and struck, all in one motion, at the buzzing thing that darted at his face. His blade sliced through something like a hard-crusted fruit and he felt a few fluid droplets spatter on his flesh. The buzzing ceased and the thing dropped with a muted dry clatter upon the tiles.

He crouched and glared at it, knife ready --- but though the thing still moved its several legs, its body was cut nearly in two and it was obviously dying. Peering closer, Simon realized that it was an enormous black bee, as long as his hand and forearm. Its many-faceted eyes glittered dully in the faint light, and its finger-length stinger thrust itself out in repeated spasmodic jerks from the end of its fat abdomen, as if still seeking to inflict death.

Simon cursed softly. The thing was not supernatural but an actual physical being. That must mean that Prodikos was already opening the Gate to Harag-Kolath and some of the Great Mother's swarming servitors were entering the temple. Rising and cautiously peering down into the spacious cella, he saw that it was so; there was a swirling glow forming at the base of the huge idol, and several more giant bees were circling the altar to which Ilione was bound. Fortunately only one of them had detected him so far.

Ignoring the sound of Prodikos's chanting, Simon crouched again in the shadow of the column and made his mind a blank. When he felt sufficiently calm, he found the parchment and held it out in the light, scanned it one last time, then slowly and carefully began to read its archaic words aloud. He knew he could not afford even one slip. . . .

In a few moments he was done, save only for the final pronouncing of the goddess's name in Greek and in Latin. Prodikos's loud chanting had drowned out his own. He glanced up at the statue perched upon the stone railing; it seemed to be glowing slightly. He drew a deep breath. Now was the time --- 

No, Simon --- not yet!

He whirled and faced the shadows. The words had not been spoken aloud, yet they were definitely no part of his own imagining. And now, to his astonishment, he seemed to see dimly before him the squat, glowing form of Daramos the Mage.

"You!" he hissed. "How did you get in --- ?"

I am here only in my astral shape. Dositheus waits outside, guiding me. Speak not the name yet, Simon, or you will be destroyed even as was Sejanus. Prodikos's guarding spells still surround him.

"Then, when shall I --- ?"

In a moment the sorcerer will be distracted. Quickly, go look over the balustrade!

Simon did so, taking care not to approach the glowing image of Fortuna too closely. Below he saw the yellow-cloaked Prodikos in the act of ripping away Ilione's white shift. The sorcerer had undergone a ghastly transformation, and now his taloned hands were clutching at her --- 

Suddenly a gray creature came scuttling across the tiles beneath --- Prodikos's weasel, Simon realized. It paused near the sorcerer and sat up on its haunches, squeaking and pointing with one forepaw back in the direction from which it had come. Prodikos straightened and turned --- and in that instant a black feathered shape swooped down from the shadows and struck the weasel from behind, sending it tumbling and squealing.

"Carbo!" Simon exclaimed involuntarily.

The raven flapped rapidly upward, cawing loudly. Simon saw it climb past him with frantic wingbeats and finally vanish upward into the starry sky. Several of the black bees zoomed up in hot pursuit, but then buzzed down toward the altar again, evidently unwilling to leave the temple.

Now, Simon --- speak the names of the goddess!

But in that instant he heard a youthful voice below him cry out: "Sorcerer, you shall not have her!" And instantly the figure of a black-cloaked guardsman came dashing across the wide floor toward Prodikos, spear leveled. No, not a guardsman, but Menander --- with many true guards behind him in pursuit.

Speak the names, Simon. Hurry!

Simon opened his mouth and cried out: "Tyche! Fortuna!" Then he snatched up his spear and hurled it down into the cella, snarling with satisfaction to see it transfix one of Menander's pursuers. In the same instant he was astonished to see the statue of Fortuna turning slowly on its pedestal. In another moment it had stopped, facing directly toward him and away from Prodikos.

It is done! said Daramos. Now leave the temple --- quickly!

Simon dashed back through the columns and down the stairs as fast as he could in the semi-darkness. He could hear a rising hubbub of cursing voices, and then a woman's scream of terror. In another moment he had reached the foot of the stairway, but instead of obeying Daramos he turned and dashed through the lower tier of columns and into the torchlit cella.

"Menander!" he yelled. "I'm coming!"

Then he glimpsed the lad at the center of the converging soldiers, lunging at Prodikos. The sorcerer grabbed the spear-shaft with one hand and wrenched, sending Menander sprawling. The guards closed in, hiding them both from sight.

Simon hurtled into the knot of soldiers full tilt, yelling and slashing. Three of them were down gashed and dying before they knew what hit them. Another turned and thrust but, missing Simon, drove the spear through one of his fellows. Then Simon was in the thick of them, slashing and slaying madly, knowing that he and Menander were doomed against such odds. Above, he heard the menacing drone of the giant bees closing in.

Incredibly, the death-blow did not come. Simon's foes seemed strangely clumsy, lurching and stumbling and swearing as they struck at him, smiting one another with uncanny frequency in their bumbling attempts. Then one of them screamed as a giant bee settled upon his helmet and thrust its stinger into his face.

Simon avoided a sword-stroke, slashed a foeman's throat and broke through the circle of guards. More of them were screaming now as the bees attacked them, and most of the rest were beginning to scatter toward the columns, howling in terror. Then Simon saw Menander avoid a clumsily-attacking guardsman and run him through with a spear. In the next instant the lad had snatched up a fallen sword and was rushing toward the altar where Ilione, now fully awake, was screaming and struggling madly.

"Get out of here, Menander!" yelled Simon. "I'll free her --- !"

But the youth was already sawing at one of the cords that bound the girl to the altar --- and the satyrish form of Prodikos was clattering toward him on cloven hooves, serpent-rod extended. With a roar Simon sprang forward, sica upraised. The sorcerer spun and faced him, yellow eyes glaring, and then with a thunderous laugh flung down his rod upon the marble tiles. Simon leaped aside barely in time --- for instantly the staff had become a living black serpent that coiled and struck out at him with venomous fangs.

The snake whipped about and again struck at him, but this time Simon's knife met it and sent its head flying. Whirling, he faced Prodikos a second time. The sorcerer's eyes blazed with supernatural power; Simon, trying to advance, found that he could not. There was a hypnotic force behind those evil yellow eyes.

"Fool!" howled Prodikos, an unnatural booming quality in his voice. "Though you have turned Fortune against me, you shall die!"

He advanced, and the giant bees came down and circled more closely about him. High above, the crown of the monstrous idol was glowing more brightly. Simon strained frantically, unable to move an inch under his foe's hypnotic glare, knowing he was doomed this time indeed. More of the giant bees were swarming in through the Gate, and far beyond them something was humping up higher amid the alien architecture --- something like a pulsating black hill upon which a thousand fires gleamed and flickered. . . .

But then, to Simon's amazement, the bees began to settle upon Prodikos. The sorcerer screamed as they thrust their black stingers again and again into his flesh.

"No! No! I am Sakkuth!" he shrieked madly. "I serve Kaiwan, your Mistress's mate --- !"

Instantly Simon was free to move. He dashed to the altar, where Menander had just finished freeing Ilione and casting his cloak over her trembling form.

"Run!" he yelled.

Together they half-dragged the terrified girl toward the columns, while behind them the sorcerer's howls rose to a frenzy of agony. Glancing up, Simon glimpsed upon the high balustrade the statue of Fortuna, its glow fading as it faced the shadows. Then the three of them were racing down the main aisle between the columns to the open portal.

As they reached the threshold they paused to glance back --- and gasped to see a huge buzzing knot of the bees hovering above the altar. Though no part of his form or even his glowing cloak was visible, the sorcerer's howls still rang out madly from that buzzing knot: "No! I am Sakkuth --- !"

Then the droning black bundle drifted slowly toward the colossal idol and through the open Gate, into the gray luminosity where waited the distant black monstrosity that pulsed and gleamed like a living hill with a thousand eyes. After it flew two final bees bearing between them a writhing bundle of fur that struggled and squealed --- the gray weasel. The screams of the sorcerer and the squeals of his familiar grew fainter --- then ceased entirely as the Gate abruptly seemed to collapse in upon itself and vanish.

"Baal! The very demon-spawn he invoked have taken him," Simon muttered. "Hurry, both of you --- away from this mad fane!"

The moon was down, and the vast courtyard they raced across seemed to be deserted. Evidently the surviving guards had fled the place. But as they neared the outer gate Simon saw a dark-robed figure standing there, and gripped his sica more tightly ---

"Simon --- Menander --- fear not! I'm here to aid you!"

He recognized the man's voice, saw the black silhouette of Carbo perched on his shoulder. "Dositheus! How did you get by the guards?"

The old wizard pointed down the wide road that stretched away whitely under the stars. "They have fled. Some came bursting forth from the temple like a dragon was at their heels, and the rest followed them. I admit l cast a modest panic-spell to hurry them on their way. . . ."

Ilione suddenly faced back toward the towering fane, clutching her face in her pale hands. "Gods! My father!" she sobbed. "What happened to him? What had he be come --- ?"

"He was not your father," said Dositheus gently. "Your father died fifteen years ago, when the dark soul of Sakkuth returned to this world and took up abode in his body. But you are safe now. Come, we will take you to Ephesos ---"

At that instant Simon sensed a gleam of light high over the temple. Looking up, he saw a glowing object rise swiftly into the night sky, then suddenly veer and go streaking away toward the southeast.

"Baal! More devils --- ?"

"No," said Dositheus. "It is the seed of the Star-god. Released by Sakkuth'e spell, it now seeks the Great Mother in order that it may unite with her."

"Then we've failed!" Simon exclaimed. "The thing will spawn again, and its new brood will bring down the All-Night upon the world ---"

"Do not fear. The Gate has closed. The seed in its blind seeking will find only the sands of the Arabian desert, which it cannot penetrate, and so will expend its energies futilely."

"It will die, then?" asked Menander.

"Alas, no --- the Ajar-Alazwat cannot die. But it will remain dormant for at least a thousand years, until Sakkuth again returns to incite men to its worship. The world is safe from it until then. Come, now, all of you --- we must return to Ephesos."

V. EPILOG: AURORA NOVATRIX

"So Daramos was never here with you in Ephesos at all?" Simon queried.

"No." Dositheus took another sip from his wine cup, set it down on the rough table. "Not in the flesh, at any rate. His body remains in Parthia, but on occasion he goes into a self-induced trance and appears to us. He says that no one of his advanced years should be leaving his homeland to voyage halfway across the known world."

"I see. And what about the clumsiness of the guards that attacked Menander and me, and then the attack of the bees on them and Prodikos --- Sakkuth --- and his familiar? Was all that due to spells cast by you and Daramos?"

"No, Simon, it was due solely to your spell. For, once Fortune had been induced to turn her back on Sakkuth and those who aided him, nothing could thenceforth go right for them. Nor --- thank the gods! --- can Sakkuth try his luck again for a thousand years."

They were once more in the back room of the inn in Ephesos, five of them this time, enjoying wine and fruit and bread, Simon and Dositheus seated at the table with Carbo between them pecking at a pomegranate. Simon looked over to where Menander and Ilione sat on a low divan near the far wall, apparently deep in conversation. The girl now wore a white blue-trimmed kirtle Dositheus had bought from one of the serving-wenches; she looked quite beautiful in the lamplight, though still somewhat tired and haggard from her recent ordeal. Simon sympathized with her. He and all the others were weary, too, but though the night was well spent none of them had yet begun to feel sleepy. That would come later, after wine had sufficiently relaxed them.

"Ilione may have lost a father," said Dositheus, smiling, "but I think that in our young Menander she has found a friend."

"Perhaps more than that. You are taking her with you, then, when you and Menander return to the East?"

Dositheus nodded. "Where else would she go?" Then, after considering Simon's words: "Does that mean that you are not returning with us?"

"I have learned much, O Mentor, studying under you and Daramos, but now I feel I must go my own way." He took a final swallow from his wine-cup and rose. "I must wander."

Dositheus rose also. "Tonight? But, surely ---"

"No, not tonight." Simon smiled. "I'll stay with you here in Ephesos, maybe even take ship with you as far as Antioch. But after that, I must go my own way. I have much to do."

"I see." Dositheus's eyes were grave. "You will go to Samaria and get your revenge upon the Romans who slew your parents seven years ago. Well, I can understand that, though I shall hate to lose your company, even if only for a time. Good luck to you, Simon."

"Thank you. And now, I'm off to bed."

He bade Menander and Carbo good night also, took Ilione's hand and wished her well, then left the room and climbed the stairway to the upper floor. Instead of stopping at his chamber, however, he continued on up another flight and presently emerged upon the flat roof of the inn. The torches of Ephesos were extinguished; the whole city slept peacefully under the stars. The moon was long gone, the Bull's face and the Goat-star were ascending toward the purple zenith, while in the east the sky was beginning to brighten before the advancing dawn.

"I will wander," he said quietly to himself.

He recalled Ilione's face and the touch of her hand, and a pang went through him. She reminded him slightly of Helen, yet could never replace her in his soul --- that he well knew. Yet he would wander, hoping that Daramos's prophecy would come true and that somehow, somewhere he would again meet Helen in the fullness of time. And surely, if that hope was not just an idle dream, his wanderings would increase the chances of that meeting occurring sooner than it would otherwise. . . .

No, Simon, the day cannot be hastened --- but it will come.

He turned and saw, almost without surprise, the dwarfish glowing form of Daramos standing near him.

"Tell me, O Master of the Arcane, when will that day be?"

In its own time. It can neither be hastened nor stayed. It will come upon you when you least expect it. Until then, Simon Of Gitta, live your life as you wish. Wander far, seek arcane knowledge, slay many Romans if you will --- but seek not for Helen. You will find her when it is the time, for you and she are not such as can ever in truth be parted. One day you will know whereof I speak.

The form of Daramos dimmed and vanished, and Simon, alone under the stars once more, felt his soul lighten somewhat in spite of the sadness that still clung to it. And suddenly he knew again that strange unity with the cosmos that he had often felt before in Helen's presence, and as he turned his eyes eastward he seemed for a moment to see her eyes and the outlines of her face in the expanding dawn.