His mind flared with sudden alarm.
He stepped forward once --
He was given no time to act on his suspicions. Tarma saw his alerted glance, and whistled shrilly for Warrl.
From the crowd to the left of her came shouts -- then screeches, and the sound of panic. Warrl was covering the distance between himself and Tarma with huge leaps, and was slashing out with his teeth as he did so. The worshipers scrambled to get out of the way of those awful jaws, clearing the last few feet for him. He skidded to a halt beside her; with one hand she snatched Need from her sheath and tossed her to Kethry, with the other she unsheathed her own blade, turning the operation into an expert stroke that took out the two men nearest her. Warrl took his stand, guarding Tarma's back.
Need had sailed sweetly into Kethry's hand, hilt first; she turned her catch into a slash that mirrored Tarma's and cleared space for herself. Then she found herself forced to defend against two sorts of attack; the physical, by the temple guards, and the magical, by the High Priest.
While the demon unaccountably watched, but did nothing, the priest forced Kethry back against the wall. As bolts of force crashed against the shield she'd hastily thrown up, Kethry had firsthand proof that his magics had been augmented by the demon. Even so, she was the more powerful magician -- but she was being forced to divide her attentions.
Warrl solved the problem; the priest-mage was not expecting a physical attack. Warrl's charge from the side brought him down, and in moments the kyree had torn out his throat. That left Kethry free to erect a magical barrier between themselves and reinforcements for the guards they were cutting down. She breathed a prayer of thanks to whatever power might be listening as she did so -- thanks that the past few months had required so little of her talents that her arcane armaments and energy reserves were at their height.
Tarma grinned maliciously as a wall of fire sprang up at Kethry's command, cutting them off from the rest of the temple. Now there were only two acolytes, the remaining handful of guards, and the oddly inactive demon to face.
'Hold.'
The voice was quiet, yet stirred uneasiness in Tarma's stomach. She tried to move -- and found that she couldn't. The guards were utterly motionless, as lifeless as statues. Only the acolytes were able to move, and all their attention was on the demon.
His gaze was bent on Kethry.
Tarma heard a rumbling snarl from behind the altar. Before she could try to prevent him, Warrl leaped from the body of the high priest in a suicidal attack on the demon.
Thalhkarsh did not even glance in the kyree's direction; he intercepted Warrl's attack with a seemingly negligent backhanded slap. The kyree yelped as the hand caught him and sent him crashing into the wall behind Tarma, limp and silent.
'Woman, I could use you.' The demon's voice was low and persuasive. 'Your knowledge is great, the power you command formidable, and you have infinitely more sense than that poor fool your familiar killed. I could make you a queen among magicians. I would make you my consort.'
Tarma fumed in impotence as the demon reached for her oathkin.
Kethry's mind bent beneath the weight of the demon's attentions. It was incredibly difficult to think clearly; all her thoughts seemed washed out in the red glare of his gaze. Her enchantments to counter beguilement seemed as thin as silk veils, and about as protective.
'You think me cruel, evil. Yet what ever have I done save to give each of these people what he wants? The women have but to see me to desire me; the men lust for what women I do not care to take -- all my worshipers want power. All these things I have given in exchange for worship. Surely that is fair, is it not? It would be cruelty to withhold these things, not cruelty to bestow them.'
His voice was reasoned and persuasive. Kethry found herself wavering from what she had until now thought to be the truth.
'Is it the bonds with that scrap of steel that trouble you? Fear not -- it would be the work of a single thought to break them. And think of the knowledge that would be yours in the place at my side! Think of the power...'
His eyes glowed yet more brightly and seductively, and they filled her vision.
'Think of the pleasure...'
Pain lancing across her thoughts woke her from the dreams called up by those eyes. She looked down at the blood trickling along her right hand -- she'd clenched it around the bare blade of her sword with enough force to cut her palm. And with the pain came the return of independent thought. Even if everything he said were true, and not the usual truth-twisting demons found so easy, she was not free to follow her own will.
