“How do you, Lady Nyctasia?” Kastenid asked worriedly, holding a skin of water to her lips. “Can you rise?”
Nyctasia gingerly touched her sore jaw and winced. “I trust you enjoyed doing that,” she said to Corson.
“Oh, I did. It was a great pleasure.”
“She’s been wanting to hit me for a long time,” Nyctasia said, turning to Kastenid, “but I do not see what you hope to gain from this. I have answered you for the last time. If you cannot stand against him, you must fall!”
Kastenid was silent, shaken by Nyctasia’s unlooked-for scorn. Wearily, he passed his hand over his face and sighed, “At every turn you elude me, lady.”
“I’ll not be bait to lure him from his stronghold.” She went to the doorway of the hut, only pausing to say, “And if you’re wise, you’ll be gone from here before he takes up your challenge.”
“Shall I hit her again?” Corson suggested.
Kastenid looked blindly after Nyctasia. “You were right,” he said finally, “she is dead.”
But a moment later they heard Nyctasia’s high, clear laughter outside. “No, it was my own fault,” she said. “Come away.”
“Shiastred! You’ll deal with me first!” Kastenid shouted. Corson reluctantly followed him outside.
“Just as you will,” said Erystalben ar’n Shiastred, smiling. “I should have dealt with you long ago.” He was perfectly confident and at his ease.
“’Ben, there’s no need for this,” Nyctasia urged. “He can be no threat to us now.”
“It is not I who insist upon it. I’ve spared you once before, Kastenid. I shall do so again if you let me.”
Kastenid, too, smiled. “I’ll not find you so far from your lair again.”
Shiastred gestured in resignation. “Speak to him, ’Tasia. Perhaps he’ll listen to you.”
“Come to your senses, Kastenid. You seek your own destruction.”
He barely glanced at her. “If you will not stand with me, stand aside.”
“Enough!” said Shiastred, and suddenly they were surrounded by an intense silence. Corson could not tell when the conflict had begun. Neither man moved-they still stood facing one another across the stony ground, but they no longer smiled. No leaf stirred and the air grew still and heavy. But Corson remembered how Shiastred had struck her down on the road without a blow, and nothing could have made her walk between the two magicians.
Nyctasia was white and rigid with tension. She never took her eyes from Shiastred, and when he reached out to her she went to his side at once. Kastenid staggered suddenly and fell back a pace.
“Nyc, don’t!” Corson gasped, hardly knowing what she meant. Nyctasia turned to her, and Corson was certain that for a moment her grey eyes were a vivid blue.
“Don’t interfere in this, Corson. I have no quarrel with you.” She raised her hand in warning, and Corson suddenly saw what had been before her eyes all the time. Seizing Nyctasia’s outstretched hand, she wrenched off the golden wedding band and flung it from her with all her strength.
Nyctasia cried out like a lost child. At the same time, Shiastred whirled to face Corson, and the full force of his fury struck her before she had time to think. The sky seemed to wheel, and she was crushed to the ground by an agonizing weight. Pain seared her to the bone, but she could not even draw breath to scream. She knew she was dying.
“Kastenid, help me!” Nyctasia called. She stood over Corson, her face like a white-hot flame. Vhar Kastenid walked slowly towards them, his gaze fixed on his enemy, and came to stand at Nyctasia’s side.
But Shiastred took no heed of him. Stunned by Nyctasia’s betrayal, he stared at her in disbelief and sorrow, but Nyctasia did not waver.
He turned away, then, like a man wounded, walked aimlessly for a few paces, then stopped and pulled off his cloak, holding it out before him. As he tore it across, the air was rent with a shaft of gleaming darkness that blinded the eye.
When sight returned to them, the three who remained found nothing but the sundered cloak where Lord Erystalben had stood, Nyctasia walked slowly over to it and picked it up. “It is always carelessness that defeats one,” she said softly.
Vhar Kastenid helped Corson to her feet. “I owe you my life, my friend. I’ll not forget your courage. But how did you know?”
“She doesn’t wear gold.” Corson said brusquely. To her amazement she found herself uninjured. Only minutes before, she had thought that her bones must be crushed to dust. But she felt weak and shaken still. “Let me alone. Look to Her Ladyship.”
“I’m sorry,” he said gently.
Nyctasia was kneeling on the hard ground, holding the riven cloak tightly against her, her head bowed, her slender frame racked with sobs.
Vhar Kastenid touched her shoulder. “Come home, Lady Nyctasia.”
“I have no home!” The tears denied by years of discipline coursed down her face unchecked. “Only now do I know what it is to be an exile, I left everything without regret, but now I have lost myself!”
“What is truly yours cannot be lost or taken,” Kastenid said gravely. “Though the heedless may throw it away.”