A Coven of Vampires by Brian Lumley Page B

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: “I’m 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 onto 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