The eye was closer now.
It grew massive, transparent. In its redness, the redness of the hair of flaming Flaith beckoned. Her white body swayed and danced, and her throaty voice summoned him.
The McCanahan's arms shook as he put them out, trying to pull himself forward with handfulls of hot, desert air.
Now the Eye of Lirflane was before him, and all he could see was Flaith moving toward him, her arms wide and beckoning—
One step he moved, and another.
His hand went out, toward the gleaming red side of the monstrous jewel.
Come to me, Kael McCanahan! Come to the peace and the forgetfulness you have earned. Take me in your arms. Drink kisses from my lips!
The McCanahan sobbed.
He shook in torture more vivid than the agony in his feet and muscles.
"Not Flaith!" he cried. "Not Flaith! You—woman of the jewel! Witchwoman of Lirflane! Not Flaith!"