that stood over him. It had shrunk to the size of a very tall human and its -- his -- eyes glowed from within, a rich ruby color reminiscent of wine catching sunlight. He was -- wonderful.
He was the very image of everything the mage had ever dreamed of in a lover. The face was that of a fallen angel, the nude body that of a god. The ruby eyes promised and beckoned, and were filled with an overwhelming and terribly masculine power.
The magician's shields did not include those meant to ward off beglamoring. He threw every pitiful protection he'd erected to the four winds in an onslaught of delirious devotion. The demon laughed, and took him into his arms.
When he was finished amusing himself, he tore the whimpering creature that remained to shreds... slowly.
It was only then, only after he'd destroyed the mage past any hope of resurrection, and when he was sated with the emanations of the mage's torment and death, that he paused to think -- and, thinking, to regret his hasty action.
There had been opportunity there, opportunity to be free forever of the Abyssal Planes, and more, a potential for an unlimited supply of those delights he'd just indulged in. If only he'd thought before he'd acted!
But even as he was mentally cursing his own impulsiveness, his attention was caught by a hint of movement in the far corner.
He grew to his full size, and reached out lazily with one bloodsmeared claw to pull the shivering, wretched creature that cowered there into the torchlight. It had soiled itself with fear, but by the torque around its throat and the cabalistic signs on its shabby robe, this pitiful thing must have been the departed mage's apprentice.
Thalhkarsh chuckled, and the apprentice tried to shrink into insignificance. All was not yet lost. In fact, this terror-stricken youth was an even better candidate for what he had in mind than his master would have been.
Thalhkarsh bent his will upon the boy's mind; it was easy to read. The defenses his master had placed about him were few and weak, and fading with the master's death. Satisfied by what he read there, the demon assumed his most attractive aspect and spoke.
'Boy, would you live? More, would you prosper?'
The apprentice trembled and nodded slightly, his eyes glazed with horror, a fear that was rapidly being subsumed by the power the demon was exerting on his mind.
'See you this?' the demon hefted the imp-bottle that had been in the diagram with him. Plain, reddish glass before, it now glowed from within like the demon's eyes. 'Do you know what it is?'
'The -- imp-bottle,' the boy whispered, after two attempts to get words out that failed. 'The one Leland meant to -- to -- '
'To confine me in -- or rather, the imp he meant to call. It is a worthless bottle no more; thanks to having been within the magic confines of the diagram when I was summoned instead of the imp, it has become my focus. Did your master tell you what a demonic focus is?'
'It -- ' the boy stared in petrified fascination at the bottle in the demon's hand, 'it lets you keep yourself here of your own will. If you have enough power.'
The demon smiled. 'But I want more than freedom, boy. I want more than power. I have greater ambitions. And if you want to live, you'll help me achieve them.'
It was plain from the boy's eyes that he was more than willing to do just about anything to ensure his continued survival. 'How -- what do you want?'
Thalhkarsh laughed, and his eyes narrowed. 'Never mind, child. I have plans -- and if you succeed in what I set out for you, you will have a life privileged beyond anything you can now imagine. You will become great -- and I, I will become -- greater than your poor mind can dream. For now, child, this is how you can serve me....'
* * *
'Here?' Tarma asked her mage-partner. 'You're sure?'
The sunset bathed her in a blood-red glow as they approached the trade-gate of the city of Delton, and a warm spring breeze stirred a lock of coarse black hair that had escaped the confines of her short braids; her hair had grown almost magically the past few months, as if it had resented being shorn. The last light dyed her brown leather tunic and breeches a red that was nearly black.
Kethry's softly attractive face wore lines of strain, and there was worry in her emerald eyes. 'I'm sure. It's here -- and it's bad, whatever it is. This is the worst Need's ever pulled on me that I can remember. It's worse than that business with Lady Myria, even.' She pushed the hood of her traveling robe back from an aching forehead and rubbed her temples a little.
