“Khamwas!” the caravan master shouted, because the demon was al- ready in the air and perhaps Khamwas could get up the ladder while the Cirdonian occupied the creature with the process of being slaugh- tered . . .
The demon halted in midair, its left foot above the concrete and its right leg, spindly and terrible as that of a giant spider, lifting to deliver a kick that would disembowel Samlor. Dust settled and the urchin of light rolled jerkily forward, one spine at a time, but the creature hung frozen like an idol of ravening destruction.
Its eyes were as bright as tunnels to hell.
Samlor started another cut at the demon. Light reflecting from the triple scratch on his blade reminded him how useless that would be. so he turned instead to Khamwas.
Who had not moved since last Samlor had leisure to glance at him.
Khamwas hunched slightly forward, his left forearm crossing the top of his staff and his eyes fixed on the demon with a reptile’s intensity. Tjainufi still perched on his shoulder.
The Napatan’s lips had been moving soundlessly, but now he said in a cracked whisper, “Go on … quickly.”
The demon was not quite frozen. The movements the creature began before Khamwas’s spell took effect were still going on. The leg that stretched toward Samlor at a glacial pace quickened noticeably when the Napatan spoke, and the demon’s mouth gaped slowly to display arrays of interlocked teeth like needles in the upper and lower jaws.
“But how can you-” the caravan master began as he slipped a step back, beyond the present arc of the claws. The demon bent at its girl-slim waist as it leaped, because otherwise its flat skull would have banged the ten-foot ceiling.