Stone of Tears

He glanced to Weber, who didn’t look back. He licked his lips. His dark eyes came back to her.

“You heard him. He chooses to die. If he wants to die, let him. I choose to live. I will give the Keeper my oath.”

“Your soul.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes flashing fierce determination. “My soul.”

“Well then”—she smiled—“it seems you two friends have come to an agreement. Everyone is happy. So be it. I am pleased, Neville, that it is to be you with us. You have made me proud.”

“Do I have to be here?” Ranson asked. “do I have to see it?”

“See it?” She raised an eyebrow. “You have to do it.”

He swallowed, but the hard look stayed in his eyes. She had always known it would be him. Oh, not that there hadn’t been doubts, but she had known. She had taught him well. She had spent a great deal of time on him, bending him to her way.

“May I be granted one request?” Weber whispered. “May I have the collar off before I die?”

“So that you may make Wizard’s Life Fire and take your own life before we have a chance to take it from you? Do you think I am stupid? A stupid, soft woman?” She shook her head. “denied.”

She released both Rada’Han from the wall. Weber sank to his knees, his head hanging. He was alone in the room, and knew it.

Ranson stood and straightened his shoulders. He pointed at the bloody wound down his chest. “What about this?”

She turned her gaze to Weber. “sam. Stand up.” Weber stood, his eyes staying to the ground. “Your good friend has an injury. Heal him.”

Without a word, Weber finally turned and put his hands on Ranson’s chest, and began healing. Ranson stood tall, waiting for the pain to be taken away. She walked to the door and leaned her back against it, watching Weber do his work. His last work.

When he finished, he didn’t look at either her or Ranson, but went to the far wall and slid his back down it until he sat on the floor. He buried his head between his knees and folded his arms around them.

The healed but still naked wizard strode up to her and stopped, waiting. “What is it I am to do?”

She flicked her wrist, bringing the knife to her hand once more. She gave it a quick, sharp toss in the air, catching it by the blade. She held the handle out to him.

“You are to skin him. Alive.”

She pushed the handle against him until his hand came up and took it.

Ranson’s eyes left her steady gaze. He stared at the knife in his hand. “Alive,” he repeated.

She reached into a pocket and pulled out the small item she had brought: a pewter figure of a man on one knee, holding a crystal over his head. His tiny bearded face was turned up to it in wonder. The crystal was slightly elongated, coming to faceted points. Inclusions floated frozen inside, like a sky of constellations. She wiped the dust off it with the corner of her light cloak and held the small statue out to Ranson.

“This is magic, and a receptacle of magic. The crystal is called quillion. It will absorb the magic as it bleeds from your friend, after he is skinned. When, and only when, all his magic has bled into the quillion, it will give off an orange glow. You will bring the crystal to me to prove you have done the job.”

Ranson swallowed. “Yes, Sister.”

“Before I leave tonight, you will give the oath.” She pushed the figure with the crystal toward him until he took it. “This will be your first task after giving the oath. Fail it, or fail any of the tasks to follow, and you will wish you could trade places with your friend. You will wish it for all eternity.”

He stood gripping the knife in one hand and the small figure in the other. “Yes, Sister.” He stole a quick glance over his shoulder at the man crouched on the floor against the wall. He lowered his voice. “sister, could you… could you still his tongue. I don’t know if I could bear him talking while I do it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You have a knife, Neville. If his words bother you, cut out his tongue.”

He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. They came open. “What if he dies before the magic is all bled away?”

“With the quillion present, he will live as long as there is any significant trace of it in him. After it’s all in the crystal, it will begin to glow. In that way you will know it is finished. After that, I don’t care what you do with him. If you want, you may finish him quickly.”

“What if he tries to prevent what I do?” He leaned a little closer. “With his magic.”

She smiled indulgently. “That I will still, with his collar. He will not be able to stop you. After he’s dead, there will be no life force to hold the Rada’Han on him. It will open. Bring it with you and give it to me when you bring the crystal.”

“And what about the body?”

She gave him a hard look. “You know how to wield the Subtractive. I have spent a good deal of time teaching you, as have others.” She darted a glance at Weber. “Use it. Get rid of the body with Subtractive Magic. Every last scrap of it. Every last drop of blood.”

Ranson straightened a little and nodded. “All right.”