Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [84]
Leaping to his feet, he was dimly aware of water streaming from his hair and the sodden fabric of his dress clinging to his breasts and thighs. But the vast majority of his awareness-which had lessened, thanks to that last blast of energy, which had stripped away several layers of his painstakingly constructed self-control-was focused on his attack. Summoning energy up from his muladhara, he formed it into a long, thin, deadly whip of thought and sent this lashing out at his opponent.
He heard a low thrumming noise-a sound like an enormous, low-timbral drum still vibrating long after it has been struck-and cursed, knowing his master had raised a defense just in time. Arvin’s mental whip struck harmlessly against a barrier then vanished.
His master, standing several paces away, his bare feet hidden by the flowering bush he’d stumbled into, shook his bald head. His face was deeply lined, almost haggard looking. He’d aged-greatly-during the years in which he’d served as Arvin’s tutor.
In one dark hand he held two thumb-sized crystals, bound together with silver wire, his capacitor. The golden glow that once blazed brightly in it was dimmer than it had been a moment ago, almost gone.
“Enough!” the master cried. “You’ve proved your point. You surpass me.”
Arvin hissed with satisfaction, but sweet as his master’s admission of defeat was, there was something more Arvin wanted. His tongue flickered out of his mouth, tasting defeat in the wind.
Then power surged, coiling and furious, into the spot at the base of his skull. Arvin lashed out with it, wrapping it tightly around his master’s will. But in that same instant, his master’s eyes flared, emitting a bright green light as pale as a new-grown leaf. One final blast of energy crashed into Arvin, shredding his confidence like a once-proud flag frayed by the wind. A shred of his mental fabric, however, held. Control, Arvin told himself, repeating the favorite motto of his master-this human who had been foolish enough to share his secrets.
His psychic crush held.
Arvin squeezed with it-and his master crumpled. First his face, which sagged into a look of utter despair, then his shoulders and his torso. His legs buckled under him and he folded to the ground. The crystal capacitor, drained by his last, feeble attempt at defense, fell to the ground beside him, darkened, drained of energy.
Swiftly, Arvin manifested one of his favorite powers-one that locked away the victim’s higher mind, leaving him paralyzed and unable to react. As the flash of silver light died away from Arvin’s vision, he saw that his manifestation had been successful. From the crown of his bald head to the pink soles of his feet, his master was covered in a thin sheen of ectoplasmic slime.
As the human lay there, unable to move, Arvin strode across the garden. He bent low over his defeated opponent and tasted the sweat on the man’s brow. “Surpassing you wasn’t enough,” he whispered in his master’s ear. “But this will be.”
He reared back, opening his mouth wide, and sank his teeth into the old man’s throat…
Arvin gasped and sat up, heart pounding, horrified by what he’d just done. He’d just killed a man. By biting him. And the taste of the old man’s blood had been so sweet.
For several moments all he could do was look wildly around. Where was he? Still in the garden of his family compound?
With an effort, he shook off the dream-memory. He saw that he was inside one of the crude huts in the ancient quarry. Early-morning sunlight was streaming in through its open doorway. He stared at it for several moments before realizing that the blanket that had served as its door was gone.
Tanju! Had the psion crept away in the night?
Leaping to his feet, Arvin scrambled outside, only to nearly run into the psion as he was coming