He whispered a word of power and whisked himself through space. Now that he was outside the clot of shadow, it was opaque to him as well, though he could hear Mari flailing around inside.
He picked up his robe. It was on fire from collar to hem, but not yet so badly burned that it would disintegrate if he tried to put it on, and he lifted it to do so. His hands would find his spell triggers far more easily if his pockets were hanging in their accustomed places about his body.
Mari sprang from the cloud of darkness. Obviously, she'd figured out Aznar was no longer inside. If only she could have stayed fooled for one more heartbeat! Then everything would have been all right.
She snatched, caught the robe in her claws, and for an instant, the two of them pulled on it like children playing tug of war. Alas, she was the stronger, and when the burning, weakened cloth ripped in two, the piece in her talons was by far the larger. Laughing, she shredded it, and crystals, medallions, and vials tumbled to the floor. Then she reached for Aznar, who, backing up until his shoulders banged against a wall, perceived that his paltry piece of the robe possessed at least a few pockets, though which ones, he couldn't tell. He stuck his hand in one at random and brought out a folded paper packet of powdered ruby.
It made him want to laugh, but there was scarcely time for that. He jabbered a rhyme and lashed the particles of red glittering dust through the air to explode into tiny sparks.
A cube with transparent crimson walls sprang into existence around the onrushing Mari. She slammed into the side of it and rebounded.
She'd charged so close to Aznar that when it popped into existence, the magical cage nearly trapped him as well by pinning him between itself and the wall behind him, but he sucked in his breath and managed to sidle free. Meanwhile, Mari attacked the enclosure with the frenzy of a rabid animal, repeatedly breaking and regrowing her talons.
"Strike at it all you like," Aznar Thrul panted. "It will hold. It will hold for days." Plenty of time for him to decide how best to chastise her and solve the puzzle of her metamorphosis.
For now, he required the aid of a healer to take away the sick feeling her claws had slashed into his flesh and strong drink to quiet his jangled nerves. He snapped his fingers to extinguish all the various fires then turned and exited the cell.
He was several paces down the corridor when four strong hands gripped him by the shoulders and forearms. He just had time to realize that, like many a true tanar'ri, Mari must also possess the ability to translate herself through space, then she yanked him close and plunged her fangs into his neck.
Tsagoth had tried to finagle a guard station close to Mari Agneh's hidden cell, so he'd have some hope of knowing when Aznar Thrul went to torture her. Unfortunately, though, he'd been unsuccessful, and when screams started echoing from that general direction, he had no idea whether they meant the former tharchion had struck at her captor at last or portended something else entirely.
He dissolved his body and reshaped it into the guise of a gigantic bat. Flight was often a faster, more reliable means of travel than blinking through space when he didn't know precisely where he was going. Wings beating, he raced through imposing chambers and hallways, over the heads of humans, orcs, and other folk who were, in many cases, either running toward or away from the source of the noise.
He rounded another corner, and free of her prison at last, Mari Agneh came into view. Tsagoth felt a strange, unexpected stirring of pride at the marvel he'd created. Painted with fragrant human gore-Aznar Thrul's, no doubt-from mouth to navel, she was a pitiful runt compared to any true blood fiend, but in every other respect, he'd succeeded in transforming a feeble, insignificant mortal into an entity like himself.
She was confronting four warriors, a trio of spearmen, and one swordsman clad in the more ornate trappings and superior armor of an officer. Dissolving his bat guise, Tsagoth started the shift to his more customary form. Generally speaking, it was more useful for combat.
Before he could enter the fray, Mari sprang and raked the guts out of a spearman. In so doing, she perforce turned her back on some of his allies, and another warrior drove his lance deep into her back. She scarcely seemed to notice. She whirled with such force that she jerked the weapon from his hands, grabbed hold of his head, and slammed him to the floor. Part of his face came away in her talons, and he didn't move thereafter.
The remaining spearman dropped his weapon and bolted. The officer, however, raised his sword to cut at Mari's head, and Tsagoth sensed potent enchantment seething in the gleaming gray blade. Perhaps Mari did too, for though she'd essentially ignored the spears, she now retreated and lifted a hand to ward herself.
The officer instantly spun his sword lower, extended the point, and exploded into a running attack. The move was all offense and no defense, arguably reckless in any situation and certainly so against an opponent as formidable as Mari, but it caught her by surprise, and the enchanted sword punched all the way through her torso.
Shouting, the warrior jerked his weapon free and raised it to cut. As it streaked down, she caught it in her two upper hands. The keen edge cut deep enough to sever one of her thumbs, but at least she kept it from cleaving her skull and brain.
She shifted closer to the swordsman and used her two remaining hands to gather him in. Then she plunged her fangs into his throat and sucked at the gushing wound.
All this, before Tsagoth could even complete his transformation and come to her aid. It made him feel even more gratified. He started toward her, and the mark on his brow gave him another twinge. He clawed it from existence, and his hide tickled as it immediately started to heal.
"I assume Aznar Thrul is dead," he said.
To his surprise, she failed to reply or acknowledge him in any fashion. She just kept guzzling blood. The prey in her grasp trembled, and his extremities twitched.
"Other people are coming," he said. "We can escape, but we should go now." She still didn't answer, so he laid his hand on her shoulder.
Snarling, she turned and knocked his arm away, and when he gazed into her glaring crimson eyes, he saw nothing of reason or comprehension there. It was as if she were a famished dog and he a stranger trying to drag her away from a side of beef.
As he'd warned her, humans were frail vessels to receive the power of a blood fiend, and her metamorphosis had driven her crazy. The only question was whether the insanity was permanent or temporary. If the latter, it might be worthwhile to try and see her safely through it.
Or not. When he heard shrill, excited voices and looked around, he saw a veritable phalanx of foes approaching, with men-at-arms around the edges of the formation and scarlet-robed wizards in the center.
It was possible that two blood fiends could defeat such a band, but Tsagoth saw little reason to make the experiment. His bemused interest in the odd hybrid entity he'd created and his casual notion that perhaps he ought to school her as his sire had mentored him lost their cogency when his own well-being was at issue. Now he only cared about extricating himself from this situation as expeditiously as possible.
The spear still embedded in her back, Mari helped him by whisking herself through space and ripping into the warriors in the front of the formation. The imminent threat riveted every foe's attention on her, and Tsagoth had no difficulty translating himself in a different direction without any of the warlocks casting a charm to hinder him.
He didn't shift as far as prudence alone might have dictated. At the last possible instant, he decided that, even if he was unwilling to stand with the savage, demented creature he'd created, he was curious to see how she would fare, so he contented himself with a doorway some distance away.