And still the shadows moved inward.

Logic said it was impossible, that the light from the lamps, however subdued, hadn't changed since he entered the room. Logic demanded he challenge that perception for the mental aberration it had to be.

He reached toward the shadow 8 8 8.

Deymorin stepped through the door, cried out, and col- lapsed as if hamstrung.

"Deymio!" Kiyrstin called out, and was at his side only a stride behind Raulind.

Deymorin stared through them. "Khyel," he whispered, then shouted, "Khyel!" And he was on his feet, racing down the hallway.

Kiyrstin exchanged a startled glance with Raulind, then lifted her skirts and chased after him, Raulind at her heels.

Down the hall, down the wide spiral staircase "Dammit, Khyel, snap out of it!" Deymorin's voice reached them first. Kiyrstin rounded the curve, and saw him struggling with Mikhyel before the door to the Tower lift.

"She lied!" Mikhyel's face was dark with anger. "Anhel- iaa's not only awake, she's in the Tower and damned active."

Kiyrstin stopped, still several steps above the brothers.

Raulind stopped beside her, a worried, pained expression on his face.

"Rings, Khyel, how do you know?" Deymorin was ask- ing, and his hands were on Mikhyel's shoulders, struggling to prevent his much smaller brother from calling the lift.

"Are you, blind?" Mikhyel shouted, and held out his hand. "Look at it! There. And there. And there!" He pointed to seemingly random spots about the room, then shook that hand in front of Deymorin. "Don't you feel her?"

"Oh, my poor Khy," Raulind whispered, and the agony in his voice, Kiyrstin knew after the past two hours, was not contrived.

"Khyel, I see noth" Deymorin said, and broke off as Mikhyel caught his hand. His eyes widened, tracing the path Mikhyel had indicated.

"Rings. All right, Khyel, all right." He shook Mikhyel lightly, and Mikhyel relaxed visibly as silent messages passed between the two of them.

A quick intake of breath beside her indicated Raulind had registered that silent shift of attitude, and recognized in it the truth of what she'd told him regarding the broth- ers' new ability.

Kiyrstin took the final steps, judging it time to disrupt their silent tete-a-tete.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

Deymorin biinked at her, then dropped his hands from Mikhyel's shoulders. Mikhyel looked past her to Raulind, and the tension drained from his face.

"Welcome home. Master Khyel," Raulind said easily.

And Mikhyel answered in a similar tone, "Thank you, Raul. It's good to be home."

"Been under some strain, sir?"

"A bit."

"Better after a good night's sleep."

"Undoubtedly. But I must see my aunt first."

"As you will, sir. I'll go make the bath ready."

"Thank you, Raul. I'll be there shortly."

"And will you be wanting a rubdown, sir?"

"About a week without stopping, Raul."

"I understand, sir. Afraid my hands won't last that long.

Shall I call in reinforcements?"

Mikhyel laughed. "No, Raul. I'll be lucky if I don't fall asleep and drown. Your hands will have ample time to recuperate."

"Very good, sir. I'll be upstairs."

"I" Mikhyel's face sobered, and his eyes again drifted toward his hand, then flickered back to Raulind. "I won't be long," he finished firmly.

Raulind nodded and left.

"You're going up to see Anheliaa?" Kiyrstin asked, and Deymorin nodded. "Would I learn anything if I ask why?"

Deymorin shook his head.

"Then I won't bother."

"Good."

"But I will go with you."

"Shepherdess, I don't think"

With a hiss of venting steam, the lift arrived with Nikki and Lidye aboard.

"Mikhyel!" Lidye exclaimed, and she stepped free before the grill had fully opened, hand extended.

His face stone blank, Mikhyel reached to meet it.

Lidye fell back, eyes wide and startledand focused on Mikhyel's hand.

"Lidye, what's wrong?" Nikki asked, still half-inside the lift.

Deymorin brushed past Lidye, and pushed Nikki back inside. "We're all going to go see Aunt Anheliaa, Nikki."

"What? Deymorin, why? I just came from there. She's nine-tenths dead."

"Then she can't do anything, can she?" Deymorin said, and followed Nikki into the lift.

Mikhyel followed; Lidye shied back from him, keeping even her dress from contact with him.

Mikhyel stepped into the lift And cried out. He swayed. Deymorin grabbed for him, Nikki did, and Mikhyel's arms shot out, flailing wildly even as his feet staggered without rational direction.

The next instant he collapsed into a twisted heap on the floor, his eyes wide open and staring, his limbs twitching.

8 8 ~.

That which had been Mikhyel dunMheric stared out through that which had been his eyes and saw shapes, blurred images without meaning. His ears collected equally meaningless noises.

He felt nothing.

His arms were no longer his own. His legs were not. Not even his heart beat for itself, and for its own reasons, but because Deymorin's beat. And because Nikki's heart had not stopped.

Deymorin. Nikki. Names. As Mikhyel was a Name. His name.

Mikhyel held on to that one truth, as the images tilled and swayed. His arms twitched, his legs did. He was walk- ing, carrying a body that babbled meaningless words and writhed uncontrollably.

No, not him. Someone Else was carrying the body.

Deymorin, was the name supplied, for one or the other.

And still he carried the awkward bundle upward.

Stairs. Endless stairs. And the bundle twitched, thrashed about, and sent him to his knees. He thudded down two steps, and held the bundle close, protecting its head.

And he said something to it, though he didn't know what, and he sent his mind into the whirling maelstrom of the bundle's mind, and he stilled those turbulent waters. He embraced them with godlike scope, contained them.

Contained. Protected those waters from brothers and black malignancy alike.

And slowly, as the malignancy retreated, feeling returned to his limbs.

His name was Mikhyel. He lay draped across Deymorin's lap on the staircase halfway between the first and second floors of Rhomandi House.

"Very good," Deymorin said, and he realized he'd spo- ken aloud. "And two plus two equals?"

"Ask me in the morning." He groaned and pulled him- self upright and onto the stair beside Deymorin. "What happened?"

"I'd assumed you could tell me."

Kiyrstin was on the step beneath them. Otherwise, the staircase was empty. "Where's Nikki?" he asked, then real- ized he should have known.

"He's gone with Lidye up to the Tower."

He didn't feel Deymorin, except in the old, normal way.

He touched Deymorin's hand, and wondered, if somehow, some crisis point had been reached and "Sorry, brother," Deymorin said, and his voice was strained. "It's not gone. I . . ."

He understood, then, what the images meant. He looked at his hand, free, now, of the black stain, though the shad- ows still crept in the corners. Deymorin's doing, that free- dom of his mind from Anheliaaand everything else. And Deymorin was turning green beneath his tan from the effort.

"Let it go, Deymorin."

"Khyel, you don't understand. You'll"

"Be fine. I'm ready for her now."

Deymorin held out his hand. After a moment, Mikhyel took it. Only then, when he had that solid contact, did Deymorin begin to ease his hold on Mikhyel's mind.

It felt as if Deymorin took down a wall, stone by stone. A wall around Mikhyel. Not stacked stones, but solid granite between himself and the rest of that underneath world.

At one point, Mikhyel felt Anheliaa surge, that presence that sought to consume him, and the wall was back. An- other drop, another surge, and Deymorin's anger swelled, violent red that flared between Mikhyel and Anheliaa, and the blackness curled in on itself with a near-palpable scream.

This time, when the wall came down, it was only Dey- morin's mind waiting to touch him.

Thyerri closed the door and shot the bolt behind the last customer. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed into the nearest chair and buried his head in his arms, ready to fall asleep right then and there.

"Thy?" Sakhithe's voice roused him. "You all right?"

He nodded, the barest movement of his head, since any- thing more made the room spin. "Tired."

She moved behind him and began to rub his shoulders and neck. "Shouldn't have come out."

"Couldn't sleep. You needed the help."

"Can't deny that. Thank you."

"My" He yawned widely, and let his head fall again.

"pleasure."

"Is that what you call it?" She chuckled, and continued rubbing. Thyerri's neck relaxed, and his head began to sway with the motion of her hands.

"So, this is our young warrior, eh?" Zeiin's voice jarred him awake.

The barkeeper fell into a neighboring chair and swept a towel across his face. The towel left a damp sheen in its wake. Zeiin wiped his hands next, then tossed the towel into the middle of the round table.

"Sakhi said she talked to you about what happened,"

Zeiin said.

Thyerri shrugged, embarrassed.

"She said you might want it not to happen again."

The bar towel remained in the center of the table. Thy- erri laid a claim and buried his head in a pillow formed of its cool damp folds. He was ready to sleep, not at all con- cerned about tomorrow.

"Thyerri, behave!" Sakhithe grabbed a fistful of his hair and hauled his head up.

"Sakhi, I'm not a fighter!" Thyerri groaned in protest, and tried unsuccessfully to pull free.