A Coven of Vampires

FOREWORD (2)

KISS OF THE LAMIA
Bully boys out of Chlangi they were, desperadoes riding forth from that shunned city of yeggs and sharpers, on the lookout for quick profits in the narrow strip twixl Lohmi's peaks and the Desert of Sheb. And the lone Hrossak with his team of camels easy meat where they caught him in ambush, by the light of blind old Gleetli. god of the moon. Or at least, he should have been easy meat.
But the master and sole member of that tiniest of caravans was Tarra Khash, and meat were rarely so tough. For all his prowess, however (which one day would be legendary in all of Theem'hdra), the brawny bronze steppe-man was, on this occasion, caught short. With only the stump of a jewelled, ceremonial scimitar to defend himself, and nodding in the saddle as he let his mount pick out the way through badland rockpiles and gulleys. Tarra was hardly prepared for the three where they saw him coming and set their snare for him.
Indeed the first he knew of it was when a sighing arrow plunked through the polished leather of the scabbard across his back, sank an inch into his shoulder and near knocked him out of his saddle. Then, as a second feathered shaft whistled by his ear, he was off the camel and tumbling in dust and grit, his hand automatically grasping the jewelled hilt of his useless sword. In the darkness all was a chaos of shock and spurting blood and adrenalin; where wide awake now Tarra heard the terrified snorting and coughing of his beasts, huddled to avoid their kicking hooves as they ran off; where the moonlight silvered the stony bones of some ruined, long-deserted pile, and where the dust of Hrossak's fall was still settling as stealthy shadows crept in upon him.
Out of the leering dark they came, eyes greenly ablaze in greed and blood-lust, darting in the shadows, and fleet as the moonbeams themselves where the way was lit by Gleeth's cold light and by the blue sheen of far stars. Men of the night they were, as all such are, as one with the darkness and silhouetted dunes.
Tarra lay still, his head down, eyes slitted and peering; and in a little while a booted foot appeared silently before his face, and he heard a hoarse voice calling: 'Ho! He's finished - feathered, too! 'Twas my arrow nailed him! Come on, you two!'
Your arrow, hey, dog? Tana silently snarled, coming from huddle to crouch, straightening and striking all in the same movement. The stump of his not-so-useless sword was a silver blur where it arced under a bearded jackal's chin, tearing out his taut throat even as he screamed: 'He's al - ach-ach-achr Close behind the Hrossak, someone cursed and gripped the arrow in his back, twisting it sharply.
He cried out his agony - cut off as a mountain crashed down on the back of his skull - and without further protest crumpled to the earth.
Tarra was not dead, not even unconscious, though very nearly so. Stunned he lay there, aware only of motion about him in the night, and of voices gruff as grit, coming it seemed from far, far away:
'Gumbat Chud was ever a great fool. "My arrow!" he yells, "my arrow!" And this fellow meanwhile slitting his throat nice as that!'
And a different voice: Ts he dead?'
'Gumbat? Aye. See, he now has two mouths - and one of 'em scarlet!'
'Not him, no - the stranger.'
'Him too, I fancy, I gave him such a clout. I think it almost a shame, since he's done us such a favour. Why. with Gumbat gone there's just the two of us now to share the spoils! So waste no time on this one. If arrow and clout both haven't done for him, the badlands surely will. Come on, let's get after his beasts and see what goods he hauled.'
The other voice was harder, colder: 'Best finish him. Hylar. Why spoil a good night's work by leaving this one, perchance to tell the tale?'
'To whom? But ... I suppose you're right, Thull. We have had a good night, haven't we? First that girl, alone in the desert, wandering under the stars. Can you believe it?"
A coarse chuckle. 'Oh, I believe it. all right. I was first with her, remember?'
'You were last with her, too - pig!' spat the first voice. 'Well, get on with it. then. If you want this fellow dead, get it done. We've beasts to chase and miles to cover back to Chlangi. Pull out the arrow, that'll do for him. His life - if any's left - will leak out red as wine!'
Thull did as Hylar suggested, and shuddering as fresh waves of agony dragged him under, the Hrossak's mind shrank down into pits of the very blackest jet . . .
Tarra Khash, the Hrossak, inveterate wanderer and adventurer, had a lust for life which drove him ever on where other men would fail. And it was that bright spark, that tenacious insistence upon life, which now roused him up before he could bleed to death. That and the wet, frothy ministrations of his camel, kneeling beside him in starlit ruins, where it washed his face and grunted its camel queries. This was the animal Tarra had used as mount, which, over the two hundred miles now lying in their wake, had grown inordinately fond of him. Eluding its pursuers, it had returned to its master much as a dog might do, and for the past half-hour had licked his face, kneed him in the ribs, and generally done whatever a camel might for a man.
Finally coming awake, Tarra gave its nose an admonitory slap and propped himself up into a seated position. He was cold but his back felt warm, stiff and sticky; aye, and he could feel a trickle of fresh blood where his movements had cracked open a half-formed scab. In the dirt close at hand lay the man he'd killed, Gumbat Chud, and between them a bloody arrow where it had been wrenched from his back and thrown down. Tarra's scabbard lay within reach, empty of its broken sword.
They'd taken it for its jewels, of course.
Staring at the arrow, his blood dry on its point, Tarra remembered the conversation he'd heard before he blacked out. He especially remembered the names of the two who had stood over him: Hylar and Thull, Gumbat Chud's bandit brothers. Rogues out of Chlangi, aye - and dead ones when he caught up with them!
But for now . . . the Hrossak was fortunate and he knew it. Only a most unlikely set of circumstances had spared him. The ambushers might easily have slit his throat, but they hadn't wanted to waste time. Indeed, Chud's arrow might have missed the scabbard and hit his heart, which would have ended things at once! Also, the reavers could have caught instead his camel - this one, which carried food, water, blankets, all those things necessary for the maintenance of life - and probably had caught the three pack animals, which were far more heavily laden.
Heavily laden indeed!
Tarra thought about all the gold and jewels those animals carried: twelve full saddle bags! And wouldn't those bad-land marauders lose their eyeballs when they turned them on that lot! What a haul! Tarra almost wished he was one of his ambushers - except that wasn't his line of work. Ah, well: easy come, easy go - for now. Until he caught up with those two. Anyway, it was his own fault. Only a damn fool would have tried to take a king's ransom through a den of thieves and out the other side. And he'd known well enough Chlangi's reputation.
Tomb-loot - hah! Ill-gotten gains. And hadn't his father always warned him that anything you didn't work hard for wasn't worth having? Trouble was, he'd never heeded his father anyway. Also, he had worked hard for it. Damned hard! He thought of the subterranean sarcophagi of ancient, alien kings whose tombs were a source of loot - and of his narrow escape from that place - and shuddered. And again: tomb-loot, hah!
Tarra's head argued with his back as to which of them hurt worst. Climbing groggily to his feet, he gently shrugged his blanket robe from his shoulders, wincing a little where it had adhered to drying scab of blood, then washed the wound as best he could with clean water from a skin in the camel's packs. The arrow had not gone deep; his broken sword's leather scabbard had saved him. Now he wrapped that scabbard in a soft cloth and re-strapped it tight in former position across his back, thus staunching the flow of blood. Then ... a kerchief soaked in water round his head, and a bite of dried meat and gulp of sour wine, and Tarra was ready to take up the chase. It wasn't a wise pursuit, he knew - indeed it might well be the last thing he ever did -but that's the way it was with Tarra Khash. Hylar and Thull, whoever they were, had hurt him deliberately and for no good reason, and now he would hurt them. Or die trying . . .
The night was still young, not long past the midnight hour, when he struggled up into his mount's ridgy saddle and goaded the beast once more in the direction of Chlangi, cursing low under his breath as each smallest jolt set his head to ringing and his back to dull, angry throbbing. And so, at a pace only a little faster than walking, Tarra Khash, the Hrossak journeyed again under moon and stars.
He went wary now, his eyes tuned to the night, but for a mile or two there was nothing. Then-Tarra was not aware what it was exactly which drew his eyes to the cross lying silvered on the side of a dune; in other circumstances (were his senses not so alert for strange smells, sights or sounds) then he might have passed it by. It could have been a figure of white stone, or a scattering of bones, or simply the bleached roots of an olive or carob tree long drowned in the desert's ergs and sandpapered to a reflective whiteness; but whichever, he turned his camel's head that way.
And as he drew closer . . . what he saw then brought him down from the back of his beast in a blur of painful motion, tossing his blanket over the naked, ravaged figure of a girl pegged down on the gentle slope of the dune. A moment more and he pressed water-soaked kerchief to cracked, puffed lips, then breathed a sigh of relief as the girl's throat convulsed in a choke, and breathed more deeply as she first shook her head and finally sucked at the cloth where he held it to her mouth.
Then she gazed at Tarra through eyes bruised as fallen fruit and dusted with fine sand, wriggled a little way back from him, affrightedly, and tried to ask;
'Who-?'
But he cut her off with, 'Shh! Be still. I'll not harm you.'
Even as she continued to cringe from him, he tore up the long pegs and ties which bound her to the earth and broke them, then wiped her fevered face with damp rag and wrapped her in the blanket. A moment later and she lay across the camel's saddle, face down, while he swiftly led the beast from this brutal place in search of some rude shelter.
In a little while he found low, broken walls with sand drifted against them, and to one of these pegged a sheet of tentage to form a refuge. Therein he lay the unprotesting girl and propped up her head so that she could watch him while he built a fire in the lee of the wall just outside the tent. Over the fire he boiled up soup from a pouch of herbs and dried vegetables, and likewise fried several near-rancid strips of bacon in their own fat on a flat stone until they were crisp and sweet. These he offered to the girl, but having merely tasted the soup and sniffed at the bacon she then refused both, offering a little shake of her head.
'Well, I'm sorry, lass,' Tarra told her, squatting down and satisfying his own hunger, 'but this is the best I can do. If you're used to finer fare I'm sure I don't know where I'll find it for you in these parts!' He went to the camel and brought her the last of his wine, and this she accepted, draining the skin to the last drop. Then, while Tarra finished his food she watched him closely, so that he was ever aware of her eyes upon him. For his own part, however obliquely, he watched her, too.
He little doubted that this was the girl those curs out of Chlangi had laughed about, which in itself would form a bond between them, who had both suffered at the hands of those dogs; but just as the bandits had done before him. he too marvelled at the mystery of it: a girl like this, wandering alone beneath the stars in so desolate a place. She seemed to read his thoughts, and said:
T make ... a pilgrimage. It is a requirement of my . . . order, that once in a five-year I go to a secret place in the Nameless Desert, there to renew my . . . vows.'
Tarra nodded. 'Who is your god?' he asked, thinking: for he's let you down sorely this night, and no mistake!
'His name is ... secret,' she answered in a moment. "I may not divulge it.'
'Myself,' said Tarra, Tm partial to Old Gleeth, blind god of the moon. He's out tonight in all his glory - do you see?"
And he lifted up the skirt of the tent, so that moonbeams fell within. The girl shrank back into shadow.
The light,' she said. 'So silvery . . . bright.'
Tarra let fall the flap, sat staring at her through eyes narrowed just a fraction. 'Also,' he said, Til not have anything said against Ahorra Izz, god of-' '-scarlet scorpions,' she finished it for him, the hint of a hiss in her voice.
Slowly Tarra nodded. 'He's a rare one,' he said, 'Ahorra Izz. I wouldn't have thought many would know of him. Least of all a young sister of-'
'In my studies,' she whispered, cutting him off, 'I have concerned myself with all the gods, ancient and modern, of all the peoples of Theem'hdra. A god is a god, black or white - or scarlet.
For how may one conceive of Good if one has no knowledge of Evil?'
And vice versa, thought Tarra, but he answered: 'How indeed? Truth to tell, I didn't find Ahorra Izz at all evil. In fact I'm in his debt!'
Before he could say more or frame another question, she asked: 'Who are you?'
'Tarra Khash,' he answered at once, in manner typically open. 'A Hrossak. I was set upon by the same pack of hairies who . . . happened your way. They robbed me. Aye, and they put an arrow in my back, too. Hence my stiffness. I was tracking them back to Chlangi when I found you. Which makes you a complication. Now I have your skin to consider as well as my own. Mine's not worth a lot to anyone, but yours . . . ?' He shrugged.
She sat up, more stiffly than Tarra, and the blanket fell away from her. Under the bruises she was incredibly lovely. Her beauty was . . . unearthly.
'Come,' she held out a marble arm. 'Let me see your back.'
'What can you do?' he asked. 'It's a hole, that's all.' But he went to her anyway. On hands and knees he looked at her, close up, then turned his back and sat down. He unfastened the straps holding his empty scabbard in place, and her hands were so gentle he didn't even feel her take the scabbard away.
And anyway - what could she do? She had no unguents or salves, not even a vinegar-soaked pad.
And yet... Tarra relaxed, sighed, felt the pain going out of his shoulder as easy as the air went out of his lungs. Well, now he knew what she could do. Ointments, balms? - hah! She had fingers, didn't she? And now Tarra believed he knew her order: she was a healer, a very special sort of physician, a layer on of hands. He'd heard of such but never seen one at work, never really believed. But seeing - or rather, feeling - was believing!
'A pity you can't do this for yourself,' he told her.
'Oh, I shall heal, Tarra Khash,' she answered, her voice sibilant. 'Out there in the desert, under the full moon, I was helpless, taken by surprise no less than you. Now I grow stronger. Your strength has become mine. For this I thank you.'
Tarra's voice was gruff now. 'Huh! If you'd take some food you'd grow stronger faster!'
'There is food and food, Tarra Khash,' she answered, her voice hypnotic in its caress. 'For all you have offered, I am grateful.'
Tarra's senses were suddenly awash in warm, languid currents. Her hands had moved from his shoulder to his neck, where now they drew out every last trace of tension. Her head on his shoulder, she cradled his back with her naked breasts. He slumped - and at once jerked his head erect, or tried to. What had she been saying? Grateful for what he'd offered? 'You're welcome to whatever I have,' he mumbled, scarcely aware of her sharp intake of breath. 'Not that there's much. . .'
'Oh, but there is! There is!' she whispered. 'Much more than I need, and though I'm hungry I shall take very little. Sleep now, sleep little mortal, and when you wake seek out those men and take your vengeance - while yet you may. For if I find them first there'll be precious little left for you!'
Sweet sister of mercy? A healer? Layer on of hands? Nay, none of these. Even sinking into uneasy slumbers, Tarra tried to turn his drowsy head and look at her, and failed. But he did force out one final question: ' Who . . . are you?'
She lifted her mouth from his neck and his blood was fresh on her pale lips. 'My name is Orbiquita!' she said -which was the last thing he heard before the darkness rolled over him. The last thing he felt was her hot, salty kiss . . .
'Lamia!' snapped Arenith Han, seer and rune-caster to the robber-king, Fregg, of doomed Chlangi.
'She was a lamia, a man-lusting demon of the desert. You two are lucky to be alive!'
It was Fregg's dawn court, held in the open courtyard of his 'palace', once a splendid place but now a sagging pile in keeping with most of Chlangi's buildings. Only the massive outer walls of the city itself were undecayed, for Fregg insisted that they at least be kept in good order. To this end he used 'felons' from his court sessions, on those rare occasions when such escaped his 'justice' with their lives intact.
Chlangi's monarch was one Fregg Unst, a failed con man long, long ago hounded out of Kluhn on the coast for his frauds and fakeries. His subjects - in no wise nicer persons than Fregg himself - were a rabble of yeggs, sharpers, scabby whores and their pimps, unscrupulous taverners and other degenerates and riff-raff blown here on the winds of chance, or else fled from justice to Chlangi's doubtful refuge. And doubtful it was.
Chlangi the Doomed - or the Shunned City, as it is elsewhere known - well deserved these doleful titles. For of all places of ill-repute, this were perhaps the most notorious in all the Primal Land. And yet it had not always been this way.
In its heyday the city had been opulent, its streets and markets bustling with merchants, its honest taverners selling vintages renowned throughout the land for their clean sweetness. With lofty domes and spires all gilded over, walls high and white, and roofs red with tiles baked in the ovens of Chlangi's busy builders, the city had been the veriest jewel of Theem'hdra's cities.
Aye, and its magistrates had had little time for members of the limited criminal element.
Now ... all good and honest men shunned the place, and had done so since first the lamia Orbiquita builded her castle in the Desert of Sheb. Now the gold had been stripped from all the rich roofs, the grapevines had returned to the wild, producing only small, sour grapes and flattening their rotten trellises, arches and walls had toppled into disrepair, and the scummy water of a many-fractured aqueduct was suspect indeed. Only the rabble horde and their robber-king now lived here, and outside the walls a handful of hungry, outcast beggars.
Now, too, Fregg kept the land around well scouted, where day and night men of his were out patrolling in the badlands and along the fringe of the desert, intent upon thievery and murder.
Occasionally there were caravans out of Eyphra or Kluhn; or more rarely parties of prospectors out of Kliihn headed for the Mountains of Lohmi, or returning therefrom; and exceeding rare indeed lone wanderers and adventurers who had simply strayed this way. Which must surely elevate the occurrences of last night almost to the fabulous. Fabulous in Fregg's eyes, anyway, which was one of the reasons he had brought his scouts of yester-eve to morning court.
Their tale had been so full of fantastic incident that Fregg could only consider it a fabrication, and the tale wasn't all he found suspect.
Now the court was packed; battle-scarred brigands rubbed shoulders with nimble thieves and cutthroats, and Fregg's own lieutenants formed a surly jury whose only concern was to 'get the thing over, the accused hanged, and on with the day's gaming, scheming and back-stabbing.' Which did not bode well for transgressors against Fregg's laws!
Actually, those laws were simple in the extreme:
Monies and goods within the city would circulate according to barter and business, with each man taking his risks and living, subsisting or existing in accordance with his acumen. Monies and so on. from without would be divided half to Fregg and his heirs, one third to the reaver or reavers clever enough to capture and bring it in, and the remaining one sixth part to the city in general, to circulate as it might. More a code than a written law proper. There was only one real law and it was this: Fregg's subjects could rob, cheat, even kill each other; they could sell their swords, souls or bodies; they could bully, booze and brawl all they liked and then some . . . except where it would be to annoy, inconvenience, pre-empt or otherwise interfere with, or displease, Fregg. Simple.
Which meant that on this occasion, in some way as yet unexplained, last night's far-scavenging scouts had indeed displeased Fregg; a very strange circumstance, considering the fantastic haul they'd brought back for him!
Now they were here, dragged before Fregg's 'courtiers' and 'council' and 'jury' for whatever form of inquisition he had in mind, and Arenith Han - a half-breed wizard of doubtful dexterity, one time necromancer and failed alchemist in black Yhem, now Fregg's right-hand man - had opened the proceedings with his startling revelation.
'What say you?' Burly, bearded Fregg turned a little on his wooden stool of office behind a squat wooden table, to peer at his wizard with raised eyebrows. 'Lamia? This girl they ravaged was a lamia? Where's your evidence?'
Central in the courtyard, where they were obliged to stand facing into a sun not long risen, Hylar Arf and Thull Drinnis shuffled and grimaced, surly at Fregg's treatment of them. But no use to protest, not at this stage; they were here and so must face up to whatever charge Fregg brought against them. The fallen wizard's examination of their spoils, and his deductions concerning the same and the nature of at least one of their previous owners, that was simply for openers, all part of the game.
Sharing space in the central area were two camels, a pair of white yaks and, upon the ground, blankets bearing various items. Upon one: tatters of sorely dishevelled female apparel; upon the other, eight saddle bags, their contents emptied out in a pile of gleam and glitter and golden, glancing fire. Treasure enough to satisfy even the most avaricious heart - almost. Probably.
Possibly.
'Observe!' Arenith Han, a spidery, shrivelled person in a worn, rune-embellished cloak scuttled about, prodding the yaks and examining their gear. 'Observe the rig of these beasts - especially this one. Have you ever seen the like? A houdah fixed upon the back of a yak? A houdahl Now, some tiny princess of sophisticate kingdom might well ride such gentle, canopied beast through the gardens of her father's palace - for her pleasure, under close scrutiny of eunuchs and guards - and the tasselled shade to protect her precious skin from sun's bright ray. But here, in the desert, the badlands, the merest trajectory of a good hard spit away from Chlangi's walls?
Unlikely! And yet so it would appear to be . . .'
He turned and squinted at the uncomfortable ruffians. 'Just such a princess, our friends here avow, was out riding in the desert last night. She rode upon this yak, beneath this shade, while the other beast carried her toiletries and trinkets, her prettiest things, which is in the nature of princesses when they go abroad: frivolously to take small items of comfort with them. Ah! - but I have examined the beasts' packs. Behold!'
He scattered what was contained in the packs on to the dust and cracked flags of the courtyard - contents proving to be, with one exception, ample handfuls of loamy soil -stooped to pick up the single extraneous item, and held it up. 'A book,' he said. 'A leather-bound rune-book. A book of spells!'
Oohs! and Aahs! went up from the assemblage, but Han held up a finger for silence. 'And such spells!' he continued. 'They are runes of transformation, whose purpose I recognize e'en though I cannot read the glyphs in which they're couched - for of course they're writ in the lamia tongue!
As to their function: they permit the user to alter her form at will, becoming a bat, a dragon, a serpent, a hag, a wolf, a toad - even a beautiful girl!'
Hylar Arf, a hulking Northman with mane of blue-black hair bristling the length of his spine, had heard enough. Usually jovial - especially when in a killing mood - his laughter now welled up in a great booming eruption of sound. One-handed, he picked the skinny sorcerer up by the neck and dangled him before the court. 'This old twig's a charlatan!' he derided. 'Can't you all see that?
Why! - here's Thull Drinnis and me alive and kicking, no harm befallen us - and this fool says the girl was lamia? Bah! We took her yaks and we took her, too - all three of us, before Gumbat Chud, great fool, got himself slain - and you can believe me when I tell you it was gir/-flesh we had, sweet and juicy. Indeed, because he's a pig, Thull here had her twice! He was both first and last with her; and does he look any the worse for wear?'
'We're not pleased!' Fregg came to his feet, huge and round as a boulder. 'Put down our trusted sorcerer at once!' Hylar Arf spat in the dust but did as Fregg commanded, setting Arenith Han upon his feet to stagger to and fro, clutching at his throat.
'Continue,' Fregg nodded his approval.
The wizard got well away from the two accused and found the fluted stone stump of an old column to sit on. Still massaging his throat, he once more took up the thread - or attempted to:
'About . . . lamias,' he choked. And: 'Wine, wine!' A court attendant took him a skin, from which he drank deeply. And in a little while, but hurriedly now and eager to be done with it:
'About lamias. They are desert demons, female, daughters of the pit. Spawned of unnatural union betwixt, ahem, say a sorcerer and a succubus - or perhaps a witch and incubus - the lamia is half-caste. Well, I myself am a "breed" and see little harm in that; but in the case of a lamia things are very much different. The woman in her lusts after men for satisfaction, the demon part for other reasons. Men who have bedded lamias and survived are singularly rare - but not fabulous, not unheard of! Mylakhrion himself is said to have had several.'
Fregg was fascinated. Having seated himself again following Hylar Arfs outburst, he now leaned forward. 'All very interesting,' he said. 'We would know more. We would know, for example, just exactly how these two escaped with their lives from lamia's clutches. For whereas the near-immortal Mylakhrion was - some might say "is" - a legended magician, these men are merely-' (he sniffed) '-men. And pretty scabby specimens of men at that!'
'Majesty,' said Arenith Han, 'I am in complete agreement with your assessment of this pair. Aye, and Gumbat Chud was cut, I fear, of much the same cloth. But first let me say a little more on the nature of lamias, when all should become quite clear.'
'Say on,' Fregg nodded.
'Very well.' Han stood up from column seat, commenced to pace, kept well away from the hulking barbarian and his thin, grim-faced colleague. 'Even lamias, monstrous creatures that they are, have their weaknesses; one of which, as stated, is that they lust after men. Another is this: that once in a five-year their powers wane, when they must needs take them off to a secret place deep in the desert, genius loci of lamias, and there perform rites of renewal. During such periods, being M"-natural creatures, all things of nature are a bane, a veritable poison to them. At the very best of times they cannot abide the sun's clean light - in which abhorrence they are akin to ghouls and vampires - but at the height of the five-year cycle the sun is not merely loathed but lethal in the extreme! Hence they must needs travel by night. And because the moon is also a thing of nature, Old Gleeth in his full is likewise a torment to them, whose cold silvery light will scorch and blister them even as the sun burns men!'
'Ah!' Fregg came once more erect in his seat. He leaned forward, great knuckles supporting him where he planted them firmly on the table before him. 'The houdah on the yak!' And he nodded,
'Yes, yes - I see!'
'Certainly,' Arenith Han smiled. 'It is a shade against the moon - which was full last night, as you know well enow.'
Fregg sat down with a thump, banged upon the table with heavy hand, said: 'Good, Han, good! And what else do you divine?'
'Two more things, Majesty,' answered the mage, his voice low now. 'First, observe the contents of her saddle bags: largely, soil! And does not the lamia, like the vampire, carry her native earth with her for bed? Aye, for she likes to lie down in the same charnel earth which her own vileness has cursed . . .'
'And finally?' Fregg grunted.
'Finally - observe the motif graven in the leather of the saddle bags, and embroidered into the canopy of yon houdah, and blazoned upon binding of rune-book. And . . .' Han narrowed his eyes, '- carved in the jade inset which Thull Drinnis even now wears in the ring of gold on the smallest finger of his left hand! Is it not indeed the skull and serpent crest of the Lamia Orbiquita herself?''
Thull Drinnis, a weaselish ex-Kliihnite, at once thrust his left hand deep into the pocket of his baggy breeks, but not before everyone had seen the ring of which the wizard made mention. In the stony silence which ensued, Drinnis realized his error - his admittance of guilt of sorts - and knew that was not the way to go. So now he drew his hand into view and held it up so that the sun flashed from burnished gold.
'A trinket!' he cried. 'I took it from her and I claim it as a portion of my share. What's wrong with that? Now enough of this folly. Why are we here, Hylar and me? Last night we brought more wealth into this place than was ever dreamed of. Chlangi's share alone will make each man and dog of you rich!'
'He's right!' Hylar Arf took up the cry. 'All of you rich -or else-' he turned accusingly to Fregg, '-or else our noble king would take it all for himself!'
And again the stony silence, but this time directed at Fregg where he sat upon his stool of office at his table of judgement. But Fregg was wily, more than a match for two such as Arf and Drinnis, and he was playing this game with loaded dice. Now he decided the time was ripe to let those dice roll. He once again came to his feet.
'People of Chlangi,' he said. 'Loyal subjects. It appears to me that there are three things here to be taken into consideration. Three, er - shall we say "discrepancies"? - upon which, when they are resolved, Hylar and Thull's guilt or innocence shall be seen to hang.
Now, since my own interest in these matters has been brought into question, I shall merely present the facts as we know them, and you -all of you - shall decide the outcome. A strange day indeed, but nevertheless I now put aside my jury, my wizard, even my own perhaps self-serving opinions in this matter, and let you make the decision.' He paused.
'Very well, these are the facts:
'For long and long the laws of Chlangi have stood, and they have served us moderately well. One of these laws states that all -1 repeat all - goods of value stolen without and fetched within these walls are to be divided in predetermined fashion: half to me, Chlangi's rightful king, one third to them responsible for the catch, the remainder to the city. And so to the first discrepancy.
Thull Drinnis here has seen fit to apportion himself a little more than his proper share, namely the ring upon his finger.'
'A trinket, as he himself pointed out!' someone at the back of the crowd cried.
'But a trinket of value,' answered Fregg, 'whose worth would feed a man for a six-month! Let me say on:
'The second "discrepancy" - and one upon which the livelihoods and likely the very lives of each and every one of us depends - is this: that if what we have heard is true, good Hylar and clever Thull here have rid these parts forever of a terrible bane, namely the Lamia Orbiquita.'
'Well done, lads!' the cry went up. And: 'What's that for a discrepancy?' While someone else shouted, 'The monster's dead at last!'
'Hold? Fregg bellowed. 'We do not know that she is dead - and it were better for all if she is not! Wizard,' he turned to Arenith Han, 'what say you? They beat her, ravished her, pegged her out under the moon. Would she survive all that?'
'The beating and raping, aye,' answered Han. 'Very likely she would. The staking out 'neath a full bright Gleeth: that would be sore painful, would surely weaken her nigh unto death. And by now-' he squinted at the sun riding up out of the east. 'Now in the searing rays of the sun - now she is surely dead!'
'Hoorah!' several in the crowd shouted.
When there was silence Fregg stared all around. And sadly he shook his head. 'Hoorah, is it? And how long before word of this reaches the outside world, eh? How long before the tale finds its way to Kluhn and Eyphra, Yhem and Khrissa and all the villages and settlements between? Have you forgotten? Chlangi the Shunned - this very Chlangi the Doomed - was once Chlangi the bright, Chlangi the beautiful! Oh, all very well to let a handful of outcast criminals run the place now, where no right-minded decent citizen would be found dead; but with Orbiquita gone, her sphere of evil ensorcelment removed forever, how long before some great monarch and his generals decide it were time to bring back Chlangi within the fold, to make her an honest city again? Not long, you may rely upon it! And what of your livelihoods then? And what of your lives? Why, there's a price on the head of every last one of you!'
No cries of 'bravo' now from the spectators but only the hushed whispers of dawning realization, and at last a sullen silence which acknowledged the ring of truth in Fregg's words.
And in the midst of this silence:
'We killed a lamia!' Hylar Arf blustered. 'Why, all of Theem'hdra stands in our debt!'
Theem'hdra, aye,' answered Fregg, his voice doomful. 'But not Chlangi, and certainly not her present citizens.'
'But-' Thull Drinnis would have taken up the argument.
'But we come now to the third and perhaps greatest discrepancy,' Fregg cut him off. 'Good Thull and Hylar returned last night with vast treasure, all loaded on these camels here and now displayed upon the blanket for all to see. And then they took themselves off to Dilquay Noth's brothel and drank and whored the night away, and talked of how, with their share, they'd get off to Thandopolis and set up in legitimate business, and live out their lives in luxury undreamed . . .
'But being a suspicious man, and having had news of this fine scheme of theirs brought back to me, I thought: 'What? And are they so displeased with Chlangi, then, that they must be off at once and gone from us? Or is there something I do not yet know? And I sent out trackers into the badlands to find what they could find.'
(Thull and Hylar, until this moment showing only a little disquietude, now became greatly agitated, fingering their swords and peering this way and that. Fregg saw this and smiled, however grimly, before continuing.)
'And lo! - at a small oasis known only to a few of us, what should my trackers find there but a third beast, the very brother of these two here - and four more saddle bags packed with choicest items!' He clapped his great hands and the crowd gave way to let through a pair of dusty mountain men, leading into view the beast in question.
'We are all rich, all of us!' cried Fregg over the crowd's rising hum of excitement and outrage.
'Aye, and after the share has been made, now we can all leave Chlangi for lands of our choice.
That is to say, all save these two . . .'
Thull Drinnis and Hylar Arf waited no longer. The game was up. They were done for. They knew it.
As a man they went for Fregg, swords singing from scabbards, lips drawn back in snarls from clenched teeth. And up on to his table they leaped, their blades raised on high - but before they could strike there came a great sighing of arrows which stopped them dead in their tracks. From above and behind Fregg on the courtyard
walls, a party of crossbowmen had opened up, and their massed bolts not only transfixed the cheating pair but knocked them down from the table like swatted flies. They were dead before they hit the ground.
And again there was silence, broken at last by Fregg's voice shouting: 'So let all treacherous dogs die; so let them all pay the price!'
And someone in the crowd: 'The fools! Why did they come back at all?'
'Good question!' answered Fregg. 'But they had to come back. They knew that I am a caring king, and that if they failed to return I would worry about them and send out others to discover their fate. And they knew also that with beasts so loaded down with gold and gems, their pace would be slow and my riders would surely catch them. Moreover, they would need provisions for their long trek overland, and extra beasts, and how to purchase such without displaying at least a portion of their loot? And finally they knew that my intelligence is good, that I am rarely lacking in advance knowledge in respect of travellers and caravans in these parts. What if I expected them to return with loot galore? And so they brought two-thirds of it back and left the rest in the desert, to be collected later on their way to Thandopolis . . .
As he fell smugly silent a new voice arose, a voice hitherto unknown in Chlangi, which said:
'Bravo, lord Fregg! Bravo! An object lesson in deduction. How well you understand the criminal mind, sir.'
All eyes turned to Tarra Khash where he now threw off his blanket robe and draped it over the back of the camel he led; to him, and to the beast itself, which trotted straight to other three and greeted them with great affection. Plainly the four were or had been a team; and since this burly bronze clout-clad Hrossak was their master . . . what did that make him but previous owner of treasure and all? Possibly.
Tarra was flanked by a pair of hulking thugs from the guardroom in the west gate, who seemed uncertain exactly what to do with him. Fregg could have told them; but now that he'd met the Hrossak, so to speak, he found himself somewhat curious. 'You're a bold one,' he told Tarra, coming forward to look him up and down.
'Bold as brass!' one of the guards ventured. 'He came right up to the gate and hailed us, and said he sought audience with the king or chief or whoever was boss here.'
'I'm boss here,' said Fregg, thumbing his chest. 'King Fregg Unst the First - and likely the last.
Who are you?'
'Tarra Khash,' said Tarra. 'Adventurer by profession, wanderer by inclination . . .' And he paused to look at the dead men where their bodies lay sprawled in the dust of the courtyard. 'Excuse me, but would these two be called, er, Hylar and Thull?'
'Those were their names, aye,' Fregg nodded. 'Did you have business with them?'
'Some,' said Tarra, 'but it appears I'm too late.'
The session was breaking up now and the crowd thinning as people went off about their business. A half-dozen of Fregg's men, his personal bodyguards, stayed back, keeping a sharp eye on Tarra Khash. Others began to bundle up the treasure in the blankets.
'Walk with me a little way,' said Fregg, 'and tell me more. I like your cut, Tarra Khash. We seldom have visitors here; at least, not of their own free will!' He chuckled, paused, turned and said to his men: 'That ring on Drinnis' finger -1 want it. Make sure it's with the rest of the stuff and bring it to me in the tower.'
'Hold!' said Tarra. 'A moment, King Fregg.' He stepped to blanket and stooped, came erect holding the jewelled hilt of his scimitar. 'I've a special affection for this piece,' he said. 'It belongs in the scabbard across my back. I hope you don't mind.'
Fregg gently took it from him. 'But I do mind, Tarra Khash!'
'But-'
'Wait, lad, hear me out. See, I've nothing against you, but you simply don't understand our laws.
You see, upon the instant loot is brought into the city, said loot belongs to me, its finders, and to the city itself. And no law at all, I'm afraid, to cover its retrieval by rightful owner. Not even the smallest part of it. Also, I perceive these stones set in the hilt to be valuable, a small treasure in themselves.' He shrugged almost apologetically, adding: 'No, I'm sorry, lad, but at least two men - and likely a good many more - have died for this little lot. And so-' And he tossed the jewelled hilt back with the other gems.
'Actually,' Tarra chewed his lip, eyed the swords and crossbows of Fregg's bodyguards, 'actually it's the hilt I treasure more than the stones. Before it was broken there were times that sword saved my miserable life!'
'Ah!' said Fregg. 'It has sentimental value, has it? Why didn't you say so? You shall have it back, of course! Only come to me tonight, in my counting room atop the tower, and after I've prised out the stones, then the broken blade is yours. It seems the least I can do. And my thanks, for in your way you've already answered a riddle I'd have asked of you.'
'Oh?' Tarra raised an eyebrow.
'Indeed. For if you were rightful owner of this hoard in the first place, why surely you'd agonize more over the bulk of the stuff than the mere stump of a sword, not so?'
Tarra shrugged, grinned, winked, and tapped the side of his nose with forefinger. 'No wonder you're king here, Fregg. Aye, and again you've gauged your man aright, I fear.'
Fregg roared with laughter. 'Good, good!' he chortled. 'Very good. So you're a reaver, too, eh?
Well, and what's a reaver if not an adventurer, which is what you said you were? You took this lot from a caravan, I suppose? No mean feat for a lone wanderer, even a brave and brawny Hrossak.'
'You flatter me,' Tarra protested, and lied: 'No, there were ten of us. The men of the caravan fought hard and died well, and I was left with treasure.'
'Well then,' said Fregg. 'In that case you'll not take it so badly. It seems you're better off to the extent of one camel. As for the treasure: it was someone else's, became yours, and now has become mine - er, Chlangi's.'
Tarra sucked his teeth. 'So it would seem,' he said.
'Aye,' Fregg nodded. 'So count your blessings and go on your way. Chlangi welcomes you if you choose to stay, will not detain you should you decide to move on. The choice is yours.'
'Your hospitality overwhelms me,' said Tarra. If I had the change I'd celebrate our meeting with a meal and a drink.'
'Pauper, are you?' said Fregg, seeming surprised. And: "What, penniless, an enterprising lad like you? Anyway, I'd warn you off Chlangi's taverns. Me, I kill my own meat and brew my own wine! But if you're desperately short you can always sell your blanket. Your camel will keep you warm nights
. . .' And off he strode, laughing.
Which seemed to be an end to that.
Almost . . .
Tarra was one of the last to pass out through the courtyard's gates, which were closed at once on his heels. On his way he'd given the place a narrow-eyed once-over, especially the tumbledown main building and its central tower. So that standing there outside the iron-banded gates, staring up thoughtfully at the high walls, he was startled when a voice barked in his ear:
'Hrossak, I overheard your conversation with Fregg. Quickly now, tell me, d'you want a meal and a wineskin? And then maybe a safe place to rest your head until tonight? For if you're thinking of leaving, it would be sheerest folly to try it in broad daylight, despite what Fregg says!'
The speaker was a tiny man, old and gnarly, with an eye-patch over his left eye and a stump for right hand. The latter told a tale in itself: he was a failed thief, probably turned con man. But
. . . Tarra shrugged. 'Any port in a storm,' he said. 'Lead on.'
And when they were away from Fregg's sorry palace and into the old streets of the city proper:
'Now what's all this about not leaving in daylight? I came in daylight, after all.'
I'm Stumpy Adz,' the old-timer told him. 'And if it's to be known, Stumpy knows it. Odds are you're watched even now. You're a defenceless stranger and you own blanket, saddle, camel and gear, and leather scabbard. That's quite a bit of property for a lad with no friends here, save me.'
Twear loincloth and sandals, too,' Tarra pointed out. 'Are they also lusted after?'
'Likely,' Stumpy Adz nodded. 'This is Chlangi, lad. not Kliihn. Anyway, I've pillow for your head, cabbage tops and shade for the beast, food and drink for your belly. Deal?'
'What'll I pay?'
'Blanket'11 do. It's cold here nights. And as Fregg pointed out: you've your camel to keep you warm.'
Tarra sighed but nodded. 'Deal. Anyway, I wasn't planning on leaving till tonight. Fregg's invited me to call on him in his tower counting house. I have to get my sword back - what's left of it.'
'Heard that, too,' said Stumpy. "Huh"
He led the way into a shady alley and from there through a heavy oak door into a tiny high-walled yard, planked over for roof with a vine bearing grapes and casting cool shade.
'Tether your beast there,' said Stumpy. 'Will he do his business?'
'Likely,' said Tarra. 'He doesn't much care where he does it.'
'Good! A treat for the grapevine . . .'
Tarra looked about. Half-way up one wall was a wooden platform, doubtless Stumpy's bed (Tarra's for the rest of the day), and behind the yard a low, tiled hovel built between the walls as if on afterthought. It might one time have been a smithy; cooking smells now drifted out of open door.
'Gulla,' Stumpy called. 'A meal for two - and a skin, if you please. Quick, lass, we've a visitor.'
Tarra's ears pricked up. 'Lass'? If not the old lad's wife, then surely his daughter. The latter proved to be the case, but Tarra's interest rapidly waned. Gulla Adz was comely enough about the face but built like a fortress. Tarra could feel his ribs creaking just looking at her. Looking at him, as she dished out steamy stew in cracked plates atop a tiny table, she made eyes and licked her lips in a manner that made him glad his bed was high off the ground.
Stumpy chased her off, however, and as they ate Tarra asked:
'Why the "huh!", eh? Don't you think Fregg'll give me back my sword, then?'
'His own, more likely - between your ribs! No, lad, when Fregg takes something it stays took.
Also, I fancy he makes his own plans for leaving, and sooner rather than later. I'd make book we're kingless within a week. And there'll be no share out, that's for sure! No, this is just what Fregg's been waiting for. Him and his bullies'll take the lot - and then he'll find a way to ditch them, too.'
'Why should he want to leave?' asked Tarra Khash, innocently. 'It seems to me he's well set up here.'
'He was, he was,' said Stumpy. 'But-' and he told Tarra about the Lamia Orbiquita and her assumed demise.
Hearing all, Tarra said nothing - but he fingered twin sores on his neck, like the tiny weeping craters of mosquito bites. Aye, and if what this old lad said about lamias were true, then he must consider himself one very fortunate Hrossak. Fortunate indeed!
'That treasure,' he said when Stumpy was done, 'was mine. I'll not leave without a handful at least. And I want that sword-hilt, with or without its jewels! Can I buy your help, Stumpy, for a nugget of gold? Or perhaps a ruby big enough to fit the socket behind your eye-patch?'
'Depends what you want,' said Stumpy carefully.
'Not much,' Tarra answered. 'A good thin rope and grapple, knowledge of the weakest part of the city's wall, details of Fregg's palace guards - how many of them, and so forth - and a plan of quickest route from palace, through city, to outer wall. Well?'
'Sounds reasonable,' the oldster nodded, his good eye twinkling.
'Lastly,' said Tarra, I'll want a sharp knife, six-inch blade and well balanced.'
'Ah! That'll cost you an extra nugget.'
'Done! - if I make it. If not. . . you can keep the camel.' They shook on it left-handed, and each felt he'd met a man to be trusted - within limits.
Following which the Hrossak climbed rickety ladder to shady platform, tossed awhile making his plans, and finally fell asleep . . .
Tarra slept until dusk, during which time Stumpy Adz was busy. When the Hrossak awoke Stumpy gave him a throwing knife and sat down with him, by light of oil lamp and floating wick, to study several parchment sketches. There was meat sizzling over charcoal, too, and a little weak wine in a stone jar beaded with cold moisture. Stumpy lived pretty well, Tarra decided.
As for the Hrossak: he was clear-headed; the stiffness was still in his shoulder but fading fast; the two-pronged bite on his neck had scabbed over and lost its sting. What had been taken out of him was replacing itself, and all seemed in working order.
He took leave of Stumpy's place at the hour when all cats turn grey and headed for the south gate.
At about which time, some three hundred and more miles away in the heart of the Nameless Desert .. .
Deep, deep below the furnace sands, cooling now that the sun was caught once more in Cthon's net and drawn down, and while the last kites of evening fanned the air on high - in a crimson cavern with a lava lake, where red imps danced nimbly from island to island in the reek and splash of molten rock - there the Lamia Orbiquita came awake at last and stretched her leathery wings and breathed gratefully of the hot brimstone atmosphere.
She lay cradled in smoking ashes in the middle of a smouldering island which itself lay central in the lava lake; and over her warty, leathery, loathsome form hunched a mighty black lava lump glowing with a red internal life of its own and moulded in perfect likeness of - what else but another lamia? And seeing that infernally fossilized thing crouching over her she knew where she was and remembered how she got here.
The whole thing had been a folly, a farce. First: that she failed to make adequate preparation for her journey when she knew full well that the five-year cycle was nearing its peak, when her powers would wane even as the hated moon waxed. Next: that having allowed the time to creep too close, and most of her powers fled, still she had not used the last of them to call up those serfs of the desert, the djinn, to transport her here; for she scorned all imps - even bottle imps, and even the biggest of them - and hated the thought of being in their debt. Finally: that as her choice of guise
under which to travel she had chosen that of beautiful human female, for once the change was made she'd been stuck with that shape and all the hazards that went with it. The choice, however, had not been completely arbitrary; she could take comfort in that, at least. The human female form was small and less cumbersome than that of a dragon; and where girls sometimes got molested and raped, dragons were usually slain! She could have been a lizard, but lizards making a beeline across the desert are easy prey for hawks and such, and anyway she hated crawling on her belly. Flying creature such as harpy or bat were out of the question; since they must needs flit, they could not shade themselves against sun and moon. Her true lamia form was likewise problematic: impossible to shade in flight and cumbersome afoot. And so she had chosen the shape of a beautiful human girl.
Anyway, it was her favourite and had served her well for more than a century. The victims she had lured with it were without number. Moreover, yaks and camels did not shy from it.
Ah, well, a lesson learned - but learned so expensively. A veritable string of errors never to be repeated. The ravishment had been bad enough and the beating worse, but the loss of her rune-book and ring were disasters of the first magnitude. Orbiquita's memory was not the best and the runes of metamorphosis were anything but easy. As for the ring: that had been gifted to her by her father, Mylakhrion of Tharamoon. She could not bear to be without it. Indeed, of the entire episode the one thing she did not regret was the Hrossak. Odd, that ...
Stretching again and yawning hideously, she might perhaps have lingered longer over thoughts of Tarra Khash, but that was a luxury not to be permitted. No, for she was in serious trouble and she knew it, and now must prepare whatever excuses she could for her lateness and unseemly mode of arrival here in this unholy place.
Aye, for the eyes in the lava lamia's head had cracked open and now glared sulphurously, and from the smoking jaws came the voice of inquisitor, demanding to be told all and truthfully:
'What have you to say for yourself, Orbiquita, borne here by djinn and weary nigh unto death, and late by a day so that all your sisters have come and gone, all making sport over the idleness or foolhardiness of the hated Orbiquita? You know, of course, the penalty?'
'I hate my sisters equally well!' answered Orbiquita unabashed. 'Let them take solace from that.
As to your charges, I cannot deny them. Idle and foolhardy I have been. And aye, I know well enough the price to pay.' Then she told the whole, miserable tale.
When she reached the part concerning Tarra Khash, however, the lava lamia stopped her in something approaching astonishment: 'What? And you took not this Hrossak's life? But this is without precedence!'
'I had my reasons!' Orbiquita protested.
'Then out with them at once,' ordered the lava lamia, 'or sit here in stony silence for five long years - which is, in any case, your fate. Of what "reasons" do you speak?'
'One,' said Orbiquita, 'he saved me from Gleeth's scorching beams.'
'What is that? He is a man!'
'My father was a man, and likely yours too.'
'Hah! Do not remind me! Say on, Orbiquita.'
Two, though I suspect he guessed my nature - or at least that I was more than I appeared - still he offered no offence, no harm, but would have fed and protected me.'
'Greater fool he!' the lava lamia answered.
'And three,' (Orbiquita would not be browbeaten) T sensed, by precognition, that in fact I would meet this one again, and that he would be of further service to me.'
And, 'Hah!' said lava lamia more vehemently yet. 'Be sure it will not happen for a five-year at least, Orbiquita! "Precognition", indeed! You should have gorged on him, and wrapped yourself in his skin to protect your own from the moon, and so proceeded here without let and indebted to no one. Instead you chose merely to sip, summoning only sufficient strength to call up detested desert djinn to your aid. All in all, most foolish. And are you ready now to take my place, waiting out your five years until some equally silly sister's deed release you?'
'No,' said Orbiquita.
'It is the law!' the other howled. 'Apart from which, I'm impatient of this place.'
'And the law shall be obeyed - and you released, as is only right - eventually . . . But first a boon.'
'What? You presume to-'
'Mylakhrion's ring!' cried Orbiquita. 'Stolen from me. My rune-book, too. Would you deny me time to right this great wrong? Must I wait a five-year to wipe clean this smear on all lamias? Would you suffer the scorn of all your sisters - and not least mine - for the sake of a few hours, you who have centuries before you?'
After long moments, calmer now but yet bubbling lava from every pore, the keeper of this place asked, 'What is it you wish?'
'My powers returned to me - fully!' said Orbiquita at once. 'And I'll laugh in Gleeth's face and fly to Chlangi, and find Mylakhrion's ring and take back my rune-book. Following which-'
'You'll return here?'
'Or be outcast forever from the sisterhood, aye,' Orbiquita bowed her warty head. 'And is it likely I'll renege, to live only five more years instead of five thousand?'
'So be it,' said the lava lamia, her voice a hiss of escaping steam. 'You are renewed, Orbiquita.
Now get you hence
and remember your vow, and return to me here before Cthon releases the sun to rise again over Theem'hdra. On behalf of all lamias, I have spoken.'
The sulphur pits which were her eyes lidded themselves with lava crusts, but Orbiquita did not see. She was no longer there . . .
Tarra Khash left Chlangi by the south gate, two hours after the sun's setting. By then, dull lights glowed in the city's streets in spasmodic pattern, flickering smokily in the taverns, brothels, and a few of the larger houses and dens - and (importantly) in Fregg's palace, particularly his apartments in the tower. It was a good time to be away, before night's thieves and cutthroats crawled out of their holes and began to work up an interest in a man.
Out of the gate the Hrossak turned east for Kluhn, heading for the pass through the Great Eastern Peaks more than two hundred miles away. Beyond the pass and fording the Lohr, he would cross a hundred more miles of grassland before the spires and turrets of coastal Kluhn came into view.
Except that first, of course, he'd be returning - however briefly, and hopefully painlessly - to Chlangi.
Jogging comfortably east for a mile or more, the Hrossak never once looked back - despite the fact that he knew he was followed. Two of them, on ponies (rare beasts in Theem'hdra), and keeping their distance for the nonce. Tarra could well imagine what was on their minds: they wondered about the contents of his saddle bags, and of course the camel itself was not without value. Also they knew - or thought they knew - that he was without weapon. Well, as long as he kept more than arrow or bolt's flight distance between he was safe, but it made his back itch for all that.
Then he spied ahead the tumbled ruins of some ghost town or other on the plain, and urged his mount to a trot. It was quite dark now, for Gleeth sailed low as yet, so it might be some little time before his pursuers twigged that he'd quickened his pace. That was all to the good. He passed along the ghost town's single skeletal street, dismounted and tethered his beast by a heap of stones, then fleet-footed it back to the other end and flattened himself to the treacherous bricks of an arch where it spanned the narrow street. And waited.
And waited . . .
Could they have guessed his next move? Did they suspect his ambush? The plan had been simple: hurl knife into the back of one as they passed beneath, and leap on the back of the other; but what now?
Ah! - no sooner the question than an answer. Faint sounds in the night growing louder. Noise of their coming at last. But hoof beats, a beast at gallop? What was this? No muffled, furtive approach this, but frenzied flight! A pony, snorting its fear, fleeing riderless across the plain; and over there, silhouetted against crest of low hill, another. Now what in-?
Tarra slid down from the arch, held his breath, stared back hard the way he had come, toward Chlangi. and listened. But nothing, only the fading sounds of drumming hooves and a faint whinny in the dark.
Now instinct told the Hrossak he should count his blessings, forget whatever had happened here, return at once to his camel and so back to Chlangi by circuitous route as previously planned; but his personal demon, named Curiosity, deemed it otherwise. On foot, moving like a shadow among shadows, his bronze skin aiding him considerably in the dark, he loped easily back along his own route until-It was the smell stopped him, a smell he knew at once from its too familiar reek. Fresh blood!
More cautiously now, nerves taut as a bowstring, almost in a crouch, Tarra moved forward again; and his grip on the haft of his knife never so tight, and his eyes never so large where they strained to penetrate night's canopy of dark. Then he was almost stumbling over them, and just as smartly drawing back, his breath hissing out through clenched teeth.
Dead, and not merely dead but gutted! Chlangi riff-raff by their looks, unpretty as the end they'd met. Aye, and a butcher couldn't have done a better job. Their entrails still steamed in the cool night air.
The biters bit: Tarra's trackers snared in advance of his own planned ambush; and what of the unseen, unheard killers themselves? Once more the Hrossak melted into shadow, froze, listened, stared. Perhaps they had gone in pursuit of the ponies. Well, Tarra wouldn't wait to find out. But as he turned to speed back to his camel-Another smell in the night air? A sulphur reek, strangely laced with cloying musk? And where had he smelled that dubious perfume before? A nerve jumped in his neck, and twin scabs throbbed dully as if in mute answer.
To hell with it! They were all questions that could wait. . .
Half a mile from Chlangi Tarra dismounted and tethered his camel out of sight in a shallow gulley, then proceeded on foot and as fast as he could go to where the east wall was cracked as by some mighty tremor of the earth. Here boulders and stones had been tumbled uncemented into the gap, so that where the rest of the wall was smooth, offering little of handholds and making for a difficult climb, here it was rough and easily scaleable. Fregg knew this too, of course, for which reason there was normally a guard positioned atop the wall somewhere in this area. Since Chlangi was hardly a place people would want to break into, however, chances were the guard would have his belly wrapped around the contents of a wineskin by now, snoring in some secret niche.
The wall was high at this point, maybe ten man-lengths, but Old Gleeth was kind enough to cast his rays from a different angle, leaving the east wall in shadow. All should be well. Nevertheless-Before commencing his climb Tarra peered right and left, stared long and hard back into the night toward the east, listened carefully to see if he could detect the slightest sound. But . . . nothing. There were bats about tonight, though - and big ones, whole roosts of them -judging from the frequent flappings he'd heard overhead.
Satisfied at last that there were no prying eyes, finally the Hrossak set fingers and toes to wall and scaled it like a lizard, speeding his ascent where the crack widened and the boulders were less tightly packed. Two-thirds of the way up he rested briefly, where a boulder had long since settled and left a man-sized gap, taking time to get his breath and peer out and down all along the wall and over the scraggy plain, and generally checking that all was well.
And again the stirring of unseen wings and a whipping of the air as something passed briefly across the starry vault. Bats, yes, but a veritable cloud of them! Tarra shivered his disgust: he had little time for night creatures of any sort. He levered himself out of his hole, began to climb again - and paused.
A sound from on high, atop the wall? The scrape of heel against stone? The shuffle of bored or disconsolate feet? It came again, this time accompanied by wheezy grunt!
Tarra flattened himself to wall, clung tight, was suddenly aware of his vulnerability. At which precise moment he felt the coil of rope over his shoulder slip a little and heard his hook clang against the wall down by his waist. Quickly he trapped the thing, froze once more. Had it been heard?
'Huh?' came gruff inquiry from above. And: 'Huh?' Then, in the next moment, a cough, a whirring sound diminishing, a gurgle - and at last silence once more.
For five long minutes Tarra waited, his nerves jumping and the feeling going out of his fingers and toes, before he dared continue his upward creep. By then he believed he had it figured out - or hoped so, anyway. The guard was, as he had suspected might be the case, asleep. The grapple's clang had merely caused him to start and snort into the night, before settling himself down again more comfortably. And perhaps the incident had been for the best at that; at least Tarra knew now that he was there.
With infinite care the Hrossak proceeded, and at last his fingertips went up over the sill of an embrasure. Now, more slow and silent yet, he drew up his body until-Seated in the deep embrasure with his back to one wall and his knees against the other, a bearded guardsman grinned down on Tarra's upturned face and aimed a crossbow direct into the astonished
'O' of his gaping mouth!
Tarra might simply have recoiled, released his grip upon the rim and fallen. He might have (as some men doubtless would) fainted. He might have closed his eyes tight shut and pleaded loud and desperate, promising anything. He did none of these but gulped, grinned and said:
'Ho! No fool you, friend! Fregg chooses his guards well. He sent me here to catch you asleep - to test the city's security, d'you see? - but here you are wide awake and watchful, obviously a man who knows his duty. So be it; help me up from here and I'll go straight to our good king and make report how all's . . . well?'
For now the Hrossak saw that all was indeed well - for him if not for the guard. That smell was back, of fresh blood, and a dark pool of it was forming and sliming the stone where Tarra's fingers clung. It dripped from beneath the guard's chin - where his throat was slit from ear to ear!
Aye, for the gleam in his eyes was merely glaze, and his fixed grin was a rictus of horror! Also, the crossbow's groove was empty, its bolt shot; and now Tarra remembered the whirring sound, the cough, the gurgle . . .
Adrenalin flooded the Hrossak's veins as a flash flood fills dry river beds. He was up and into the embrasure and across the sprawling corpse in a trice, his flesh ice as he stared all about, panting in the darkness. He had a friend here for sure, but who or what he dared not think. And now, coming to him across the reek of spilled blood . . . again that sulphurous musk, that fascinating yet strangely fearful perfume.
Then, from the deeper shadows of a shattered turret:
'Have you forgotten me then, Tarra Khash, whose life you saved in the badlands? And is not the debt I owed you repaid?'
And oh the Hrossak knew that sibilant, whispering voice, knew only too well whose hand - or claw - had kept him safe this night. Aye, and he further knew now that Chlangi's bats were no bigger than the bats of any other city; knew exactly why those ponies had fled like the wind across the plain; knew, shockingly, how close he must have come last night to death's sharp edge! The wonder was that he was still alive to know these things, and now he must ensure no rapid deterioration of that happy circumstance.
I've not forgotten,' he forced the words from a throat dry as the desert itself. 'Your perfume gives you away, Orbiquita - and your kiss shall burn on my neck and in my memory forever!' He took a step toward the turret.
'Hold!' she hissed from the shadows, where now a greater darkness moved uncertainly, its agitation accompanied by scraping as of many knives on stone. 'Come no closer, Hrossak. It's no clean-limbed, soft-breasted girl stands here now.'
'I know that well enough,' Tarra croaked. 'What do you want with me?'
'With you - nothing. But with that pair who put me to such trial in the desert-'
'They are dead,' Tarra stopped her.
'What?' (Again the clashing of knives.) 'Dead? That were a pleasure I had promised myself!'
'Then blame your disappointment on some other, Orbiquita,' Tarra spoke into darkness. Though certainly I would have killed them, if Fregg hadn't beaten me to it.'
'Fregg, is it?' she hissed. 'Scum murders scum. Well, King Fregg has robbed me, it seems.'
'Both of us,' Tarra told her. 'You of your revenge, me of more worldly pleasures - a good many of them. Right now I'm on my way to take a few back.'
The blackness in the turret stirred, moved closer to the door. Her voice was harsher now, the words coming more quickly, causing Tarra to draw back from brimstone breath. 'What of my rune-book?'
'Arenith Han, Fregg's sorcerer, will have that,' the Hrossak answered.
'And where is he?'
'He lives in Fregg's palace, beneath his master's tower.'
'Good! Show me this place.' She inched forward again and for a moment the moonlight gleamed on something unbearable. Gasping, Tarra averted his eyes, pointed a trembling hand out over the city.
'There,' he said, his voice breaking a little. 'That high tower there with the light. That's where Fregg and his mage dwell, well guarded and central within the palace walls.'
'What are guards and walls to me?' she said, and he heard the scrape of her clawed feet and felt the heat of her breath on the back of his neck. 'What say you we visit this pair together?'
Rooted to the spot, not daring to look back, Tarra answered: Tm all for companionship, Orbiquita, but-'
'So be it!' she was closer still. 'And since you can't bear to look at me, close your eyes. Also, put away that knife - it would not scratch my scales.'
Gritting his teeth, Tarra did both things - and at once felt himself grasped, lifted up, crushed to a hot, stinking, scaly body. Wings of leather creaked open in the night; wind rushed all about; all was dizzy, soaring, whirling motion. Then-Tarra felt his feet touch down and was released. He staggered, sprawled, opened his eyes and sprang erect. Again he stood upon a parapet; on one hand a low balcony wall, overlooking the city, and on the other an arabesqued archway issuing warm, yellow light. Behind him, stone steps winding down, where even now something dark descended on scythe feet! Orbiquita, going in search of her rune-book.
'Who's there?' came sharp voice of inquiry from beyond the arched entrance. 'Is that you, Arenith?
And didn't I say not to disturb me at my sorting and counting?'
It was Fregg - Fregg all alone, with no bully boys to protect him now - which would make for a meeting much more to Tarra's liking. And after all, he'd been invited, hadn't he?
Invited or not, the shock on Fregg's face as Tarra entered showed all too clearly how the robber-king had thought never to see him again. Indeed, it was as if Fregg gazed upon a ghost, which might say something about the errand of the two who'd followed Tarra across the plain; an errand unfulfilled, as Fregg now saw. He half came to his feet, then slumped down again with hands atop the huge oak table that stood between.
'Good evening, Majesty,' said Tarra Khash, no hint of malice in his voice. 'I've come for my broken sword, remember?' He looked all about the circular, dome-ceilinged room, where lamps on shelves gave plenty of light. And now the Hrossak saw what a magpie this jowly bandit really was.
Why, 'twere a wonder the many shelves had room for Fregg's lamps at all - for they were each and every one stacked high with stolen valuables of every sort and description! Here were jade idols and goblets, and more jade in chunks unworked. Here were silver statuettes, plates, chains and trinkets galore. Here were sacklets of very precious gems, and larger sacks of semi-precious stones. Here was gold and scrolls of gold-leaf, bangles of the stuff hanging from nails like so many hoops on pegs, and brooches, and medallions on golden chains, and trays of rings all burning yellow. But inches deep on the great table, and as yet unsorted, there lay Fregg's greatest treasure -which, oh so recently, had belonged to Tarra Khash.
'Your sword?' Fregg forced a smile more a grimace on to his face, fingered his beard, continued to stare at his visitor as if hypnotized. But at last animation: he stood up, slapped his thigh, roared with laughter and said, 'Why of course, your broken sword!' Then he sobered. 'It's here somewhere, I'm sure. But alas, I've not yet had time to remove the gems.' His eyes rapidly swept the table, narrowing as they more slowly returned to the Hrossak's face.
Tarra came closer, watching the other as a cat watches a mouse, attuned to every breath, to each slightest movement. 'Nor will there be time, I fancy,' he said.
'Eh?' said Fregg; and then, in imitation of Tarra's doomful tone: 'Is that to be the way of it?
Well, before we decide upon all that - first tell me, Hrossak, how it is you've managed to come here, to this one place in all Chlangi which I had thought impregnable?'
Before Tarra could answer there came from below a shrill, wavering cry borne first of shock, then disbelief, finally terror - cut off most definitely at zenith. Skin prickling, knowing that indeed Orbiquita had found Arenith Han, Tarra commenced an involuntary turn - and knew his mistake on the instant. Already he had noted, upon a shelf close to where Fregg sat a small silver crossbow, with silver bolt loaded in groove and string ready-nocked. Turning back to robber-king he fell to one knee, his right hand and arm a blur of motion. Tarra's knife thrummed like a harp where its blade was fixed inches deep in soft wood, pinning Fregg's fat hand there even as it reached for weapon. And upon that pinned hand, glinting on the smallest finger, a ring of gold inset with jade cut in a skull and serpent crest.
Blood spurted and Fregg slumped against the shelves -but not so heavily that his weight put stress on the knife. 'M-mercy!' he croaked, but saw little of mercy in the hulking steppe-man's eyes.
Gasping his pain, he reached trembling free-hand toward the knife transfixing the other.
In a scattering of gems and baubles Tarra vaulted the table, his heels slamming into Fregg's face.
The bandit was hurled aside, his hand split neatly between second and third fingers by the keen blade! Screaming Fregg fell, all thought of fighting back relinquished now to agony most intense from riven paw. Gibbering he sprawled upon the floor amidst scattering gems and nuggets, while Tarra stood spread-legged and filled the scabbard at his back, then topped his loot with hilt of shattered sword.
Until, 'Enough!' he said. 'I've got what I came for.'
'But I have not!' came Orbiquita's monstrous hiss from the archway.
Tarra turned, saw her, went weak at the knees. Now he looked full upon a lamia, and knew all the horror of countless others gone before him. And yet he found the strength to answer her as were she his sister: 'You did not find your rune-book?'
'The book, aye,' her breath was sulphur. 'Mylakhrion's ring, no. Have you seen it, Tarra Khash? A ring of gold with skull and serpent crest?'
Edging past her, Tarra gulped and nodded in Fregg's direction where he sat, eyes bugging, his quivering back to laden shelves. 'Of that matter, best speak to miserable monarch there,' he told her.
Orbiquita's claws flexed and sank deep into the stone floor as she hunched toward the now drooling, keening robber-king.
'Farewell,' said Tarra, leaping out under the archway and to the parapet wall, and fixing his grapnel there.
From below came hoarse shouts, cries of outrage, the clatter of many feet ascending the tower's corkscrew stairs. 'Farewell,' came Orbiquita's hiss as Tarra swung himself out and down into the night. 'Go swiftly, Hrossak, and fear no hand at your back. I shall attend to that.'
After that-
All was a chaos of flight, of hideous screams fading into distance behind, of climbing, falling, of running and riding, until Chlangi was a blot, then less than a blot, then vanished altogether into distance behind him. Somewhere along the way Stumpy Adz dragged him to a gasping, breathless halt, however brief, gawped at a handful of gems, disappeared dancing into shadows; and somewhere else Tarra cracked a head when unknown assailant leaped on him from hiding; other than which he remembered very little.
And through all of that wild panic flight, only once did Tarra Khash look back - of which he wished he likewise had no recall.
For then ... he had thought to see against the face of the moon a dark shape flying, whose outlines he knew well. And dangling beneath, a fat flopping shape whose silhouette seemed likewise familiar. And he thought the dangling thing screamed faintly in the thin, chill air of higher space, and he thought he saw its fitful kicking. Which made him pray it was only his imagination, or a dark cloud fleeing west.
And after that he put it firmly out of his mind.
As for Orbiquita:
She hated being in anyone's debt. This should square the matter. Fregg would make hearty breakfast for a hungry sister waking up from five long years of stony vigil . . .