She paused, and the feeling of dark sin and horror that radiated from her wound round Haral—enveloping, all-pervasive. He swayed, caught up in the surging power of it as by bonds of steel.
Her words came, dim and distant:
"Grant me only one favor, blue man ... only one, and all shall be yours!"
Haral did not speak.
"Give me the woman, warrior! Give me the Shamon priestess to do with as I will, to prove that you are truly mine!"
The horror was no longer nameless. The evil took form in words of fire.
Haral choked. "No! Not Kyla—!"
"Sit here beside me as my lover, while my children feast upon her body—" Xaymar's gesture took in the whole blank-eyed, slithering, lusting beetle horde. "Bind yourself to me with this one sacrifice of passion—"
"No!" screamed Haral. "No, no—!"
The words came from his throat, but it was not his voice. The world rocked. His body shook, and he could not stop it.