As the two were held helpless, she moved to Weber first. Putting the knife tip against his upper chest, she drew it slowly down, carefully cutting through the skin and no more. Sweat poured from Weber’s face as he gritted his teeth. His jowls shook. After she had made a cut, about a forearm long, she went back to where she had begun and made another next to it, so the two cuts were about a finger’s width apart. Small, high-pitched sounds escaped from the man’s throat as she drew the knife along. The ends of the lines drew together to a point. Small trickles of blood ran down his chest. She worked the knifepoint under the top, between the cuts, separating the skin from him until there was a generous flap of it hanging down.

She moved over to Ranson and made the same twin cuts, with a flap of skin hanging away at the top. Tears ran down his face with the sweat, but he said nothing. He knew better. When finished, she straightened and inspected her work. They looked the same. Good. She tucked the knife back up her sleeve.

“One of you two is going to have the Rada’Han taken off tomorrow, and be free to go. As far as the Sisters of the Light are concerned, anyway. Not as far as I, or more importantly, the Keeper, are concerned. It will be the beginning of your service to him. If you serve well, you will be rewarded when he is free of the veil. If you fail in your tasks… well, you wouldn’t want to know what would happen to you if you should fail him.”

“Sister,” Ranson asked in a shaky voice, “why only one of us? We could both give the oath. We could both serve.”

Weber’s sudden glare shifted to his friend. He didn’t like being spoken for. He always had been obstinate.

“The oath is a blood oath. One of you will have to pass my test to earn the privilege of taking it. The other is going to lose the gift tonight, lose his magic. Do you know how a wizard loses the gift?”

They both shook their heads.

“When they are skinned, the magic bleeds from them.” She said it as if she were discussing peeling a pear. “Bleeds away until it’s all gone.”

Weber stared at her, his face gone white. Ranson closed his dark eyes and shook.

At the same time, she wrapped the flap of skin on each man around her first fingers. “I’m going to ask for a volunteer. This is just a little demonstration of what is in store for the one who volunteers. I don’t want either of you to think dying is going to be the easy way out.” She gave them a warm smile. “You have my permission to scream, boys. I believe this is going to hurt.”

She yanked the strips of skin off their chests. She waited patiently for the screams to stop, and even a little while longer while they sobbed. It was always good to let a lesson sink in.

“Please, Sister, we serve the Creator, as the Sisters have taught us,” Weber cried. “We serve the Creator, not the Keeper.”

She regarded him coolly. “since you are so loyal to the Creator, Sam, I will give you first choice. Do you want to be the one to live, or to die tonight?”

“Why him?” Ranson demanded. “Why does he get to choose first?”

“Keep your tongue still, Neville. You will speak when spoken to.” She slid her gaze back to Weber. She lifted his chin with a finger. “Well, Sam? Who dies, you or your best friend?” She folded her arms across her breasts.

He looked up at her with hollow eyes. His skin was ashen. He didn’t look over at his friend. His voice came in a flat whisper.

“Me. Kill me. Let Neville live. I won’t give an oath to the Keeper. I would rather die.”

She looked back into his empty eyes a moment and then turned to Ranson. “And what have you to say, Neville? Who lives? Who dies? You, or your best friend in the world. Who gives the Keeper their oath?”

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.”