A pylon: the crumbling, truncated pyramid burned into Haral's brain like a beacon. The very sight of it sent recklessness surging through him.
To Kyla, below, he cried, "Come round the wall, priestess! Come round! Quick!"
Then, cat-like, he twisted, swinging his legs up and through the gap in the masonry. His body arched—catapulting out into space, hurtling groundward along the towering shaft's other face.
But as he plunged, he shifted the light-lance. Bracing it against his body, he gripped its head between his feet and triggered it on, full strength. Its broad force beam blazed forth, straight at the ground below.
Like a flexible, compressing shaft of radiant energy, it slowed his plunge. Balancing skillfully, he rode the beam on down.
The force of the landing made him wince. But at least, for the moment, he was free of the coleoptera, though even now he could hear the scurrying of their hairy feet in the dirt as they raced to head him off.
Whirling, he ran along the base of the shaft.
As he reached the corner, Kyla came stumbling toward him from the other side of the shaft, scrambling over the ruins, debris, in desperate haste. Two huge beetles, hot for the kill, bore down upon her from behind, closing the gap that separated them from her with every slithering step.
Haral drew back and whipped up the light-lance.