He smoothed another dollop over the wounds. "We had help."

"Help?" For once, he seemed to be getting more from Mikhyel than Mikhyel from him; and Mikhyel was confused byor resistingthe images pressing for acknowledgment within his own mind.

"Nothing we had would have saved you. Truth, brother.

You were dying. An old woman came out of the forest. An old woman whose eyes burned with a green fire. She saved you"

"With parnicci salve," Mikhyel interrupted firmly, as if determined to prove he remembered.

"No, Khyel. Not parnicci. And she wasn't just any old woman." He finished smearing the last cut and turned to wipe his hands off, before meeting Mikhyel's gaze squarely.

"Laugh at me, brother, and I will break your nose. She was Tamshi."

Mikhyel, who should have been outraged at Deymorin's apparent soft-headedness when so much relied on them, nodded slowly, his face devoid of emotion.

"Less than an hour earlier," Deymorin continued, "Ben had hailed me from the forest."

"Ben was dead." Mikhyel's voice was flat, as barren as his expression.

Deymorin nodded, a single dip of his chin. "That Ben's eyes also glowedwith green fire."

"Shapeshifter?" Coldly stated, as if the ancient myth were a common occurrence.

"Or illusionist," Deymorin temporized.

"Somehow, I don't think so."

"Says the man who always insists there's a rational expla- nation for such things."

"I still believe that. If this . . . Tamshi can appear in various forms, there's a logical reason. It's just a matter of knowing all the facts." Mikhyel's brow tightened and his mouth pressed to a thin line. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

"She said not to. I thought it was for your sake. I thought your sanity had been pressed so hard already, that this might send you over the edge."

"And now?"

"I suspect sheor something like heris behind these nightmare appearances of yours."

"And so might have had other reasons for keeping me ignorant."

"I just don't know, brother. She'd saved your life. I did what I thought bestfor all of us."

"She." Mikhyel repeated, then looked away. "Anhe the thing said, 'he' didn't want it . . . her . . . Anheliaa.

That 'he' wanted . . . me."

And from Mikhyel's mind came flashes of the Rhomandi hypogeum, of the lure cast only to Mikhyel.

Deymorin asked, "What really happened to you?"

A gray-green flicker, quickly hidden beneath dark lashes.

A noncommittal shrug. "I was tired. The pool seemed an attractive option to thinking, I suppose."

"It called to you, brother. Loud and clear. I heard it, but it wasn't the least bit interested in my humble self. And it actively rejected Nikki's wanton advances."

Another shrug. Denial permeated the room, thick and heavy. But curiosity was there as well, about Deymorin's revelations, about the creature's words and a beard-stub- ble's mysterious reappearance.

"Don't you dare go down there alone, Khyel. Do you hear me?"

Mikhyel's silence, inside and out, terrified Deymorin.

"Dammit, brother, promise me!"

A level gaze held his. "What if that really is Anheliaa?"

"Khyel"

"Think about it. Think about that . . . feeling down in the hypogeum. That wasn't Anheliaa, I'll swear to it.

This . . . felt like her."

"So she can sink back into the ooze where she belongs.

Mikhyel, don't give heror it, or whatever a foothold in your head!"

"Foothold in my head? Why do you put it that way?"

"I1 just . . ." Except he had no answer. The impression had just come to him.

"But that's what she wanted! She wanted in. She said, together we, she and I, could be the greatest of all time."

"The greatest what? Ringmaster?"

"I . . . I don't know. We're on the verge of learning something here, Deymorin. More about the ley than has ever been known. More than Darius brought out of Mauri- tum. More than our very expensive researchers have come up with in three hundred years."

"At what cost, brother? That . . . thing invading your mind? I think not."

To which Mikhyel said nothing.

"Dammit, Khyel," Deymorin said slowly, "I'll kill you first. And to hell with the web, the Syndicate and Rhoma- tum! There's got to be another way."

And still, the uncertain oscillations in Mikhyel's mind swung wildly.

"Need I remind you, it's not your mind alone it would be in?"

Relief. A deciding factor to tip Mikhyel's mental scale.

"Thank you, Deymorin."

He grinned. "Does this mean I let you live?"

"For a time, at least."

"Good. I'd hate to have to explain myself to the Syndi- cate." He replaced the lid on the ointment jar, and held out his hand. "All right, brat, time for bed."

Mikhyel's mouth twitched into a reluctant grin, and he limped slowly into the bedroom. Deymorin followed, mak- ing an elaborate show of tucking Mikhyel in like a child, deliberate nonsense that soon had Mikhyel cursing him roundly.

Deymorin laughed and nodded toward the couch on the far side of the room. "Just for the record. I'm sleeping right over there for the rest of the night."

Mikhyel grunted his disgust. "Which half of you gets the floor? Go to your own bed, Deymorin."

"Do I really need to list the arguments, Mikhyel? I'd like to keep you sane and in one piece at least until you get on the road."

Mikhyel lay quietly, his emotions masked behind thought. "And if I let you stay now? Where will it end, Deymorin? You worried about me in the Crypt. You're worried about me now. Will you insist on coming along on the tour? Will you sleep at my feet in Shatum? In Giephae- tum? Khoratum? What about Barsitum? Are the brothers there suspect as well? I've got work to do, brother. Work * do well and you detest. Politics, Deymprin. Remember?"

"Point made. Barrister." Deymorin z)t on the edge of the bed and stared at his clasped hands. "Still, I could wish you weren't going alone."

"Alone? I've eleven men to account for. Raulind. Three secretaries. Coachmen, grooms"

" To account for' being the significant phrase, brother."

"I've fifteen guards to watch over us twelve fools. What else do I need?"

"The guardsmen you've chosen are good men. I'd trust Ori with my own life. They'll be sufficient against the obvi- ous emergencies on the road. It's the not-so-obvious I'm concerned about. A true back-man who understands the streets. Who can read the wind and know of attempts on your well-being before they happen."

"Someone without scruples, who can get to the places I can't."

"That's not what I mean."

"No? But it's what I want. Thank you for the suggestion, Deymio; I'll find someone."

"You don't know anyone!"

Mikhyel's mouth twitched, and his mind was solidly blocked to Deymorin. "Go to bed, Deymorin. Not on the couch. Your own bed. With Kiyrstin. I promise you, I fear her wrath far more than that of some insubstantial ghost."

"She wasn't insubstantial!"

"I'll be all right. Anheliaa's . . . gone for the night."

"How the hell do you know?"

"Dammit, brother. Get out of my bedroom!"

"All right!" He pressed Mikhyel's shoulder, sending him the love and concern that boiled within him, the knowledge that he was a heartbeat away, and left the room. Nonethe- less, he waited, just outside the door, until that inner sense indicated peaceful slumber, before, still against his better judgment, he returned to Kiyrstin's ready arms.

Chapter Six.

This time, he was waiting.

"Hello, Anheliaa."

"Aha, the child's awake."

Mikhyel pushed his back into the pillows and drew a knee up to prop an elbow. Anheliaa was seated in an arm- chair, lounging actually, as if the arthritis that had plagued her since puberty was nonexistent. And, indeed, the hand she waved through the air was not the least misshapen.

But then, he supposed a ghost had no bones.

"You lied to your brother, you naughty child."

She stated only the truth. He'd known she'd return; he'd planted the lie of slumber into Deymorin's head so that he'd leave, had surprised himself when the ploy worked.

He was gaining all manner of talents these days.

But Deymorin's revelations had suggested a path to him, an answer to the weakest link in his planned tour. He'd been prepared to approach the satellite node ringmasters with vague theories and untested strategies. Anheliaa or Deymorin's Tamshi, this creature was linked in some man- ner to the ley, and might well be capable of answering all his questions.

"What are you doing here, Anheliaa?" he asked. "You are Anheliaa, aren't you?"

"Of course, I'm Anheliaa. I'm bored, darling. I want company."

"Company? You're dead!"

"Well, there is that, I suppose. It's not at all what I expected."

"Expec" Mikhyel's throat constricted with unexpected laughter. "Tell me, aunt, whatexactlydid you expect?"

"Why, to become one with the ley, naturally, boy." Her ethereal hand fanned through the air. "My spirit joined with the ancestors. Don't you remember your catechism?"

"I remember you told me to learn it and reject it."

"Yes, well, experience changes us all, I suppose ...I nearly got you, you know, the day that you and your broth- ers returned to Rhomatum. I sent the lightning at you, but you got inside the City too fast. Perhaps, if you had- not, perhaps if you had preceded me into the ley, I might have released my hold on life sooner. Who knows?"

"You tried to kill us?"

"Of course. Silly, I suppose. Petty. But I was angry. Par- ticularly at you, my darling. I'd expected problems from that bull-headed brother of yours, but you . . . you were mine, formed to my specifications. When you turned on me, you had to be punishedpreferably eliminated. I'd hoped Bro would take care of you . . . after. But I didn't realize your potential. And that Shatumin whore proved more clever than I supposed. Poor Bro . . . Ah, well, he was an ass. They killed me, you know."

"Killed you?" Mikhyel struggled to sort the disjointed fragments to hold them for later analysis. "Who?

Brolucci?"

Always assuming he had a "later."