Warrl leaped on the right-hand man; tore at his thigh and brought him down, then ripped out his gut. Tarma's final opponent was the first that showed any real ability or forethought; he was crouching where Warrl couldn't come at him from the rear, with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. His posture showed he was no stranger to the blade. She knew after a feint or two that he was very good, which was probably why he'd survived his other companions. Now she had a problem. There was no one to get in his way, and the unfamiliar feel of her transformed body was a distraction and a handicap. Then she saw his eyes narrow as she moved her new sword slightly -- and knew she had a psychological weapon to use against him. This was his blade she held, and he wanted it back. Very badly.
She made her plan, and moved.
She pretended to make a short rush, then pretended to stumble, dropping the sword. When he grabbed for it, dropping his own blade, Tarma snatched a torch from the wall beside her and thrust it at his face, and when he winced away from it, grabbed a dagger from the litter of weapons on the floor and flung it straight for his throat, knowing that marksmanship was not a thing that depended on weight and balance, but on the coordination of hand and eye -- things that wouldn't change even though her body had shifted form considerably. As he went down, gurgling and choking, to drown in his own blood like one of the men Warrl had taken out, she saw that Kethry was being forced to take the offensive -- and saw the look of smug satisfaction on the demon's face as she did so.
And she realized with a sudden flash of insight that they had played right into his hands.
'Why do you do nothing?' the little priest asked in pure confusion.
'Because this is a test, human,' the demon replied, watching with legs stretched out comfortably along the platform. 'I have planned for this, though I shall admit candidly to you that I did not expect this moment to come quite so soon, nor did I expect that the beast should regain its life and the swordswoman her mind. But these are minor flaws in my plan; however it comes out, I shall win. As you may have guessed, it is the sorceress' spirit that inhabits my servant's body; should he slay her, I shall be well rid of her, and my servant in possession of a mage- Talented form. Should the swordswoman die, I shall be equally well rid of her; should she live, I shall simply deal with her as I did before. Should my servant die, I shall still have the sorceress, and her geas-blade will blast her for harming a woman, even though she does not hold it in her hand -- for she has been soul-bonded to it. And that will render her useful to me. Or should it kill her, she may well be damned to my realm, for the breaking of the oaths she swore. So you see, no matter the outcome, I win -- and I am in no danger, for only my own magics could touch me in any way.'
'I... see,' the priest replied, staring at the bloody combat before them, mesmerized by the sight.
Tarma realized that they were once again playing right into the demon's hands. For if Kethry killed the one wearing her form, she would damn herself irrevocably, once by committing a kind of suicide, and twice by breaking the geas and the vow her bond with Need had set upon her -- never to raise her hand against a woman -- three times by breaking her oath to her she'enedra.
And by such a betrayal she would probably die, for surely Thalhkarsh had warded his creature against magics. Or Need would blast her into death or mindlessness. Should she die, she could damn herself forever to Thalhkarsh's particular corner of the Abyssal Plane, putting herself eternally in his power. It was a good bet he had planned that she must slay the bandit by magic, since Need would not serve against a woman -- and certainly he had woven a spell that would backlash all her unleashed power on the caster. Kethry would be worse than dead -- for she would be his for the rest of time, to wreak revenge on until even he should grow weary of it.
Unless Tarma could stop her before she committed such self-damnation. And with time running out, there was only one way to save her.
With an aching heart she cried out in her mind to Warrl, and Warrl responded with the lightning-fast reactions of the kyree kind, born in magic and bred of it.
He leapt upon the unsuspecting Kethry from the rear, and with one crunch of his jaws, broke her neck and collapsed her windpipe.
Both Kethry and the bandit collapsed --
Tarma scrambled after the discarded mage-blade, conscious now only of a dim urge to keep Kethry's treasured weapon out of profane hands, and to use the thing against the creature that had forced her to kill the only human she cared for. Need had hurt the demon before --
But she had forgotten one thing.
She wasn't a mage, so Need's other gift came into play; the gift that protected a woman warrior from magic, no matter how powerful. No magic not cast with the consent of the bearer could survive Need entering its field.
The spell binding Tarma was broken, and she found herself in a body that had regained its normal proportions.
This was just such a moment that the priest had been praying for. The spell-energy binding Kethry into Lastel's body was released explosively with the death-blow. The priest took full control of that energy, and snatched her spirit before death had truly occurred. Using the potent energies released, he sent Lastel's spirit and Kethry's
