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troops back outside to find their way around to the entrances the traitors had used and attack them from the rear。 Not a bad idea； but Pharaun thought the warriors had a good chance of getting lost instead
Whirling loose lengths of chain； eight kytons； each a match for a dozen ordinary fighters； leaped down off the stage to meet the oning foe。 The rogues remained on the platform with Syrzan； where they started renotloading their crossbows with the obvious intention of shooting down into the melee。
Pharaun decided he wouldn't allow that。 He levitated above his notrades； thus obtaining a clear shot at the dais。
He felt a twinge in the center of his forehead； but only for a second。 As he'd expected； Syrzan had attacked first with a psionic thrust； not realizing its foe had warded himself against such effects with apposite talismans and spells。
This time； the Mizzrym thought； you'll have to fight me charm to charm and spell to spell。
To his surprise； he received an answer； a telepathic voice grating and buzzing inside his mind。
So be it； mammal； the alhoon said。 Either way； I'll have revenge on the wretch who condemned me to exile yet again。
Even as he attended to Syrzan's threat； Pharaun was murmuring an innotcantation and manipulating a little steel tube。 A bright pellet of flame hurtled from the open end； expanding into a skull…sized orb as it flew。 It smashed into one of the renegades on the dais； rebounded； and struck annotother。 It bounced and slashed back and forth across the platform； sowing a zigzag trail of sparks and afterimage in its wake； striking everyone。 Before it winked out of existence； it killed a good many of the rogues or turned them into reeling； flailing living torches； whom their own allies had to slay lest they ignite them as well。 Syrzan； however； was unaffected。
Below his feet； Pharaun glimpsed the clash of stabbing； cutting blades and spinning chains。 As they flailed at their adversaries； the kytons； who resembled oozing； festering corpses within their coiled armor of chains； alnottered their features。 The devils had the capacity to take on the appearance of a deceased intimate from an enemy's past。 Supposedly svirfneblin and their ilk found this deeply distressing； but it was only slightly disfiting to representatives of a race that did not love。
Ryld was at the forefront of the fighting； sweeping Splitter about with all his accustomed strength and skill。 Pharaun was glad to see that his friend was only striking at the demons。
Mouth tentacles writhing； bulbous eyes glaring； Syrzan lifted its three…fingered hands to conjure。 Around it； many of the rogues who still surnotvived jumped off the dais。 Evidently they'd rather fight the Freth warriors on the floor than stand near the alhoon while Pharaun threw spells at it。
The Master of Sorcere was surprised that so few of the traitors simply tried to run away。 Certainly loyalty…that alien conceit…didn't hold them there。 They must have known that with their schemes thwarted； their connotspiracy revealed； they were outlaws； outcast from all they coveted and chernotished。 Perhaps their plight filled them with such rage that they prized vengeance above survival。
As Syrzan wove magic； its dark elf counterpart was hastily doing the same。 The lich finished first。 A blaze of lightning； kin to those still twistnoting and forking through the open air outside； leaped from its parched； scaling hand； crackled entirely through Pharaun's torso； and burned a black spot on the ceiling。
Pharaun's muscles clenched； and his hair lifted away from his head； but his protections averted any real harm。 Indeed；