Dyan warned the Magister. “I could cut you down where you stand.” “Then I’ll sit,” Zarah said. “If I am to die, I’d like to do it comfortably.” She settled carefully onto an arm of the same ridge of stone against which Dyan leaned. “I could yell,” Dyan told her, “and warn the others.” “So could I,” Zarah agreed. “And if we are to tell of all the tragic and terrible things we might do, for that matter, I could have simply killed you in the darkness before you noticed me.” Dyan hesitated. Zarah didn’t sound like she’d come to arrest Dyan. “How can you talk about tragic and terrible things so lightly?” she asked. “Do you know what happened to Wayland?” “He was cut in half,” she said instantly. “I was almost caught in the same trap myself, only Deek noticed the whip. Very clever.” Dyan was silent, remembering the sudden weight of Wayland’s torso slamming into her body and the smell of his blood. “If Cheela is to be believed, it was your doing.”
