The Scorpion King by Max Allan Collins

Author:Max Allan Collins [Collins, Max Allan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Movie novels, Fantasy fiction, Horror, Fiction, Fantasy, Historical, Media Tie-In
ISBN: 9780425185834
Publisher: Berkley Boulevard Books
Published: 2002-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

Touch of Magic

As sunset painted the rocky landscape around the great city of Gomorrah a vivid orange, as if the earth itself had caught fire, a falcon flew over the fortified walls and to its familiar perch within the turreted palace of Memnon. The marketplace was closing down—excluding the dens of sin, of course—and soon all but the most dedicated lechers would have retired behind walls of stone, for time with friends and family, for food and rest.

Lord Memnon, however, did not rest—he had assembled his generals in the great throne room, where maps were spread out over a large table. Most pressing, of course, was Ur—the only unconquered land—and the warlord was sharing his latest strategies with his battle chiefs. As usual, his generals paid rapt attention; but one of them—Toran— seemed strangely quiet, even preoccupied. And this troubled the Great Teacher, who preferred his pupils hang on his every word.

Takmet, the heir to the empty throne of Ur, was present, but he too seemed to have his mind elsewhere, and did not crowd around the map table with the rest. Of course, Memnon had already informed Takmet of these strategies; even so, the man’s nervous pacing was a distraction.

And of this assembly, of course, only Takmet knew the why of Cassandra’s absence . . . that the Akkadian had stolen her away.

A falconer entered, with the regal, recently arrived bird on his arm. Approaching the warlord, then half bowing, he said, “A message from Thorak.”

“Finally,” Memnon said, with a sigh of satisfaction. “The Akkadian is dead. . . .”

But the warlord soon realized he was looking at Thorak’s insignia – his blood-spattered insignia – and nothing else. Rage and even a kind of sadness rose in him – the scarred warrior had been at his right hand for many years, and now the Akkadian had slain him, and sent this taunting message.

Crushing the bloody amulet in a powerful hand, Memnon stood lost in thought for long moments, before General Toran stepped forward.

“My lord,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

The warlord banished the emotions from himself, and glanced impassively at his generals; he even summoned a small smile. “No – quite the opposite. All is in order.”

The generals exchanged glances.

"And I think, gentlemen," Memnon said, "this meeting is at an end."

The generals half bowed and were making their way across the throne room, toward the doors, when Toran stopped and turned, the other men halting as well, though their expressions were tentative.

With a boldness none of them had ever before dared, General Toran said, "My lord, it is customary for the seer to attend these meetings. We all know how valuable her council has been."

Takmet paused in his pacing to look tellingly Memnon's way.

"Why," the general was brazenly asking, "is the sorceress not with us tonight?"

Around him, the other generals were nodding their heads.

Memnon, hiding his anger at this affront, said only, "She is indisposed."

The generals again exchanged anxious glances, and Toran asked, the suspicion obvious in his voice, "Nothing .

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