He didn't even bother with the door. He ran right through it, sending shards of wood flying in every direction as he plowed through the obstacle. He trampled some faceless person without even realizing, running the robed figure down without losing a single step. He felt the Weave reaching its crescendo as he reached the stairs, flying up them six and seven at a time, frantic to reach his daughter before she reached the moment of truth, to tell her what to do, to keep her from destroying herself. He abandoned running in circles and bounded up them in huge leaps, using the walls as springboards, taking entire floors in two vaults off the circular walls.

He reached their floor! He barrelled down the hallway madly, seeing the dead bodies of human servants lining the sides of the passage, trails of blood. Someone had attacked his family! He turned a corner and saw, to his horror, the door of Jesmind's apartment smashed in, with debris laying on the floor beyond the open doorway from what he could see. Where were Jesmind and Mist?

Jasana was infused as far as she could possibly be infused with the power of the Weave, far beyond the power he himself could hold. Even in his frenzy, in his terror at what was happening, he was awed by the absolute power contained within his daughter's tiny body. Such and incredible power! Almost there, almost there! If he thought it would do any good, he would have shouted, but he knew she wouldn't hear him. He was too late! Just a second too late! Jasana was already at the climax. If she didn't Transmute herself and do it now, she wasn't going to make it!

Think! he cast his thought frantically towards her. You've touched me, cub! Make yourself like what you've felt in me!

And she did. The power raging into her simply stopped, and then the power she contained turned inwards on her, sweeping through her as she Transmuted herself, altered her body so that it could withstand the destructive forces the magic brought to bear against her tiny body. Just like that, in the span of a second, it was over. She had used up all the power within her, and now she was isolated from the Weave until she learned once more how to come into touch with her powers.

For her, it was over. The Weave shuddered at Jasana's Transmutation, and then the entire thing seemed to thicken. It was the only explanation he could rationalize. The strands around them became thicker, stronger, if only by a negligible amount, every strand becoming a tiny bit more conducive to holding and transmitting magical power. The Goddess said that the Weave benefitted every time a Sorcerer crossed over; that had to be the effect.

But there was no relief in his daughter's survival. He reached the doorway and slid to a stop inside, certian that something dreadful had happened.

What graced his eyes was something that he would never, ever forget, ranking as the most horrid memory he would ever confront. The room had been destroyed in a savage fight, debris and pieces of furniture laying everywhere, and sprawled on the floor with the debris, laying in pools of their own blood, were Jesmind and Mist. Both had been slashed by some kind of edged weapon, and both were unnaturally pale, their breathing shallow and faltering. Across the room, holding both of his children in its arms, was a creature he had seen before. It was a Demon, a Demon with the upper body of a woman, the lower body of a snake, and six arms. He recognized this one; he knew her personally. This was the same Demon he had banished during the Battle of Suld. In her left arms, she held a limp, pallid Jasana, knocked out by her ordeal. In her right arms she held Eron, who was thrashing, hissing, spitting, gouging in vain at her ensnaring arms with his tiny claws, even biting at her. And in the left hand not holding Jasana, she held Jegojah's magical wounding sword.

In horror, he realized that she had broken in and used it on Jesmind and Mist. They would have ignored a weapon, and she used that against them to deal them incapacitating blows immediately. Tarrin had felt the pain-amplifying bite of that deadly weapon. And even now, the magic of the sword was keeping his mate and friend from regenerating, spilling their lifeblood out onto the floor.

I told you I'd repay you, her thought reached him. It was ecstatic, triumphant. She held up his two children and raised the sword when he took a step towards her, his ears laying back and his eyes igniting from within with the uholy greenish radiance that marked his anger. Internally, he had to crush the Cat in a vice-like grip to keep his powerful protective instincts from making him fling himself at the Demon. As long as she held that deadly blade to his children, he could not attack her. And she knew it, smiling viciously at him as her dead eyes burned with evil delight.

My Master wants the Firestaff, and you will deliver it to him, her thought touched him. You will do it to recover one of your children. This one, I think, she said, hefting Jasana. The other you can have now, as insurance you don't try to follow me.

Then, with deliberate slowness, her eyes boring into him with evil pleasure, she deliberately raised the sword and drew it across Eron's exposed neck, cutting his throat. The blood boiled from the ghastly wound, and Eron gurgled feebly as the Demon brutally tossed his body aside, where it crumpled to the floor with a quickly and horrifically expanding pool of blood forming around his head.

The enraged bellow that tore from him could not define the fury, the rage, the incredible pain and injury she had dealt to him with that one act. His claws came out and he coiled up to fall on her and tear her to tiny pieces, but the sword raised again and touched Jasana's neck. That made him freeze instantly, fear for his daughter preventing his rage from taking control of him.

You can chase me or try to save them, her thought echoed in his mind trimphantly. If you're fast enough, you may even save the boy-child's life, but I rather doubt it. Choose, Were-cat. Save one life or three. I leave it to you.

Then, her coils doubling over on themselves, she slithered backwards towards the balcony door. For an awful moment, Tarrin's rage nearly made him launch himself at her unprotected back as she turned around, but an image of Faalken's tomb stayed him instantly. He would not let his mate and son and Mist die over his need to kill that Demonic bitch for what she'd done! They had to keep Jasana alive, or they couldn't get the Firestaff from him! Save what he could, and leave recovering Jasana for after the others were saved!

Though it killed him, he made no move towards the marilith as she slithered out onto the balcony and then somehow went over the side. His lunge was instead to Eron, rolling him over and putting desperate hands on his neck, trying to stem the horrific flow of blood pouring out of the grisly wound. He was spent, utterly spent, and even as he desperately reached out to try to command his power of Sorcery, he knew that it was going to fail. Even as his son's skin turned chalky and the flow of blood pouring from the dreadful wound began to wane. Never before had he felt so powerless, not known what to do, not had someone to help him. He gave a strangling cry as he redoubled his efforts, terror and panic starting to overwhelm his rational attempts to exert his spent will against the Weave.

Calm down! the voice of the Goddess touched him, though her own voice was frantic. I can't do anything unless you calm down, kitten! Open yourself to me, quickly! There's no time!

Trying to calm down, trying to reign in the firestorm of emotion roaring through his mind, he put his paws on Eron's shoulders and tried to center himself. He knew he had to reach out to the Goddess as she reached out to him, and in their meeting he would become her instrument, but his eyes could only look at the deadly wound in his son's neck and the blood that was saturating the knees of his trousers.