Mikhyel fought back a surge of hope. As he'd suspected, the answers to their dilemma were here, if only he could . . .

"The web," he murmured, and gazed up into eyes that had no discernible pupils, but only color glittering from beneath half-cast lids.

{Yes, child? You're concerned. Fear. You shouldn't be.

Time . . . time will heal.) Mirym's words echoed in his mind. But they didn't have time. The Syndicate didn't.

"Is it Khoratum . . . sir? My lord of Rhomatum? Is that the source of the problem?"

"My . . . lord." Gentle laughter. "Call me . . . call me Father, son of Darius. Perhaps my silly bud had the right of it. . . . Khoratum? Yessss. How did you . . ." Fingers brushed his mind, and his fears about the web, the plans for the trip rose and bubbled to the forefront of his mind.

"Ah, how clever you are, child."

And in his mind, Anheliaa's purple essence flared: {Yes, by all means, go to the fools, make them work as one, my golden-tongued love. Promise them anything, but get them to repair Khoratum, and then force Persitum back into the web. And then, my darling, come back to me and} The creature of Rhomatum snarled and Anheliaa's pres- ence shattered like crystal against stone. And the shards of her essence pierced Mikhyel's mind like tiny needles.

He cried out, protesting. The next moment, the creature's mind brushed his and the pain vanished.

{Forgive, son of Darius. I forgot the fragile nature of your mind.} This time the creature's presence filled him, exploring, curious. Invasive. Mikhyel tried to push it out, tried to raise protections such as he built against his brothers, but to no avail.

"Damn you, get out!"

Light flared all around him, and he was alone again. Fac- eted eyes widened with interest.

{Darius you most definitely are not, child.} "I never claimed to be. And I'm not your child! Is it Khoratum? If the masters unite, can they repair the damage?"

Fangs glittered as the smile ceased to mimic his own.

{Do I answer, oh, wise one? Or leave you to your fate?} "And if I judge incorrectly? If it destroys you?"

{Destruction. I wonder . . . is that possible? Curious . . .} "If it is, you won't be left with much time to ponder the sensation, now will you?"

Laughter. {Oh, I know the answer well enough, child of the surface world. But you . . . I think, perhaps . . .} And an image filled him, of the web and the strands permeating the landscape, the taproots leading to each sat- ellite, the damage, like a collapsed tunnel in the area of Boreton, on the Khoratum line. Not a bleeding wound.

A . . . clogged pipe.

Laughter came. A sense of acknowledgment.

{Together, child, they could tunnel through with ease. Give them the picture, tell them to blow as one, and your problem is no longer.) And abandoning that thought, the creature exuded an overwhelming curiosity. About him. And the creature's de- sire for him to stay, a need to teach, to impart the knowl- edge of the ages into a receptive mind. An answering passion surged within himself, but: (I can't. I'm . . . I'm sorry. I can't stay.) And his mind was filled with all he had to do, uniting the nodes, raising the armies, providing for the children. . . .

{Children. Yes. Children.} But that which his mind interpreted as child did not carry , a sense of a mother's womb, but rather an image of buds, strands of personal substance oozing between cracks in the stone, sending tendrils deep into the earth. Growing.

{Growing old. Growing away. Go to the children. Tell them their source remembers them. Then come back to me, Darius.) "I'm not . . ." Mikhyel's throat constricted on the admis- sion. The creature had known Darius. Wanted . . . Darius, not Darius' inadequate several generations removed grandson.

{No . . . not Darius. Son of Darius' son. Father of Darius'

son. Child of the Mother who is a child.} The words made no sense. The images echoing behind them were equally disjointed. The creature's awareness was shattering, shimmering as was its form, both, Mikhyel real- ized, taken for his sake, for his limited ability to understand.

{Come back to me, child. We'll find the answers together....} Mikhyel grasped the boneless hand, knew despair when it turned to liquid and seeped between his fingers.

(I'll be back} But the creature was beyond hearing, and as the glow surrounded him, Mikhyel bent his head into his arms, not wanting to see the cavern disappear.

Anheliaa's body, partially decomposed, was waiting for him in his room.

~ ~ 9.

Mikhyel's disappearance had left Deymorin with an ach- ing head and a feeling of utter helplessness, feelings only partially alleviated when Nikki's mental arrival allowed them to reach into that cavern and free Mikhyel's mind from the ley's enticing web.

But they'd achieved only a temporary freedom. Through Mikhyel's eyes, he and Nikki had seen the creature rise from the ley, had heard its advice. And within Mikhyel's mind, he'd sensed the fascination, the trust the creature engendered.

He'd called to Mikhyel, but Mikhyel hadn't heardor Mikhyel had ignored him. When the creature had tapped Mikhyel's insatiable curiosity, nothing he or Nikki could do had been able to shatter the barrier that supernatural prom- ise had imposed between them and Mikhyel.

They could only wait, hoping, until first Mikhyel's mind and then Mikhyel himself returned, cloaked in an iridescent shimmer, reconciled, possibly even content.

But not happy.

"Get out," Mikhyel said aloud as soon as he was able, and he shied away from Deymorin's hand. "I said, out"'

And a different sort of barrier formed between them.

"And take that with you!"

With a jut of his stubbled chin, Mikhyel indicated the lump that had materialized with him, a reeking corpse that matched the reeking arm he'd thrown out the window nearly an hour ago.

"Just a damn minute," Deymorin hissed, and cornered Mikhyel, grabbing his arm, forcing the inner communication.

Bitterness. Anger. Frustration. All those came through.

Not directed at Deymorin, not at Nikki, but at life. At circumstances that forced Mikhyel dunMheric once again from taking a preferred route toward personal fulfillment.

"I'm sorry, Khyel. I'm sorry our mother died and left you with Nikki and Mheric. I'm sorry Anheliaa used you.

I'm sorry I left you with the Syndicate. I'm sorry the web is down and the Syndicate needs you now. But the web is down and we do need you and damned if I'd let you incar- cerate yourself in the ground with a talking rock even if we didn't. As for your stinking corpse" He waved at what remained of Anheliaa dunMoren. "We got rid of it once.

What are we supposed to do with it now? Eat it?"

Mikhyel's eyes narrowed to angry slits, the greenish tint flashing in a stray beam of light. Then, for no apparent reason, the anger faded, his brows lifted, and the narrow shoulders beneath Deymorin's hands shook with silent laughter.

"I'm . . . not quite certain. If we eat her, it comes out the other end, doesn't it? And that goes into the ley as well, and if he doesn't want her in the one form, I doubt he wants her in the other, and I don't think we want that lining the halls of Rhomandi." He met Deymorin's open- mouthed disbelief and laughed aloud. "Try breathing, Dey- mio. It's . . . salubrious. 1 think we're supposed to bury her, someplace beyond the web. He doesn't want her . . .

polluting his node."

The tension that had sustained him for the past hour slid away, and Deymorin grinned back. "Can't blame him for that. What then, brother? What do we do now?"

"Sleep. I think, I want to . . ." Mikhyel's eyes closed, standing upright as he was, and he slumped, limp as death.

But it was sleep, not death, Deymorin knew that before he caught him and eased him onto the waiting bed. Sound, deep sleep as he'd not had for weeks, possibly even for years.

Chapter 5even.

"Deymorin says you're leaving early," Nikki said, breaking the silence that had filled the room since Mikhyel let him in.

Mikhyel nodded, and continued sorting through the items on his vanity. Needless fussing, Nikki could tell. Excuse not to talk to him.

Nikki swallowed hard. "Is it . . . is it because of yester- day morning?"

"What do you think?" Mikhyel shoved back from the vanity, rose, and went to get a cravat from his dresser.

"Khyel, I'm sorry. I"

"Sorry? You don't know the meaning of the word."

This interview was going as badly as Nikki had feared.

Worse, if possible. He tried desperately to regroup.

"Khyel, it's not . . . I am sorry. It's just . . . you didn't apologize to her. And then I saw you kissing her and"

"I didn't apologize because I don't damn well regret it!

Any of it!"

Nikki shook his head, confused. "Any of what, Mikhyel?"

"It's not just yesterday. It's not just Mirym, don't you see that? You're a hypocrite, Nikaenor. You make allow- ances for Lidye, for yourself, even for Deymorin and Kiyr- stin, but somehow, Mirym is my doing. What happened in the hypogeum . . . what happened last night is all my doing.

And somehow, in doing I'm cheating you."

Mikhyel turned to face the mirror, struggled for a mo- ment with his cravat, but his visibly trembling fingers fouled even the simplest folds, and with a curse, he ripped it off and threw it to join two others on the rumpled bed.

Then he leaned on the vanity, hands flat, elbows locked, his eyes pressed shut. When he continued, it was with greater control. "I don't regret what happened, and I thank every god we supposedly do not believe in that Mirym ap- parently does not regret it either. But if you recall, I was in there with Lidye's claws, not you."

"It's my body that bears the scars!"

"And my mind. I'll trade you the distinction any time, brother. You were making love to Mirym"

"It was your seed planted in her! Your child she car- ries now."

Mikhyel's jaw clenched, he turned back to the mirror and another cravat. "Get out, Nikki."

"But"

"Get out, before we say things we really prefer to leave unsaid."

Nikki caught his breath, recognizing, almost too late, the anger shattering his own thoughts as bleedover from Mi- khyel. Or perhaps not. Perhaps they'd both entered into this conversation with a little anger, a little fear, and their small concerns had fed each other until now, they were somehow near blows all over again.

Agreement and remorse. That was Mikhyel. Clearly.

He met Mikhyel's eyes in the mirror. Eyes in a face that looked increasingly like the old Mikhyel: dark-haired, cool- eyed, a bit mysterious, even to those who knew him best.

Part of it was the return of his beardnearly full-grown already and lacking the gray it had acquired in recent months, a near-miraculous return that only added to his mystery.

The heard was part of it, but the hard set to jaw and eyes was another part.

"I'm sorry, Mikhyel. I did want to apologize for yester- day. I dtdn't want you leaving without"

"You came, Nikaenor, for absolution. I don't know why, I can't read that behind the muddled emotions you radiate constantly. If I were hopelessly cynical. I'd say it was be- cause you're hoping I'll be able to take you down into that cavern I was in last night. Well, you won't get absolution from me. Not today. Perhaps never. Despite all your pro- testations to the contrary, you have special feelings for Mirym. Anheliaa's influence notwithstanding, the simple fact is that on your wedding night, * lay with the woman you really wanted, because you wanted her, and I, fool that I am, hadn't the moral fortitude to deny that need. Or my own need, for that matter. Now, in the inevitable aftermath, you choose to take exception to that fact, you choose to blame me, personally. I don't appreciate that. I don't ap- preciate your laying me out cold because I happened to be talking to the young woman"

"You weren't talking!"

"who bears the child of my body," Mikhyel completed without a pause. "No, I wasn't. And I'll tell you something else, Nikaenor dunMheric, I was enjoying it! For the first time in my life, I felt the urge to kiss a pretty woman. I'm twenty-six years old, little brother. Only weeks short of twenty-seven. How many times have you had that urge and acted on it, you who treated yourself to a brothel on your seventeenth birthday?"

"Khyel, I'm sorry! I didn't mean"

"I know what you meant."

"Of course," Nikki said, feeling the bitter resentment that was a constant in his life now rising. "You always have, haven't you?"

Mikhyel said nothing.

"I was just Dammit, Khyel, it's as if you know what I'm thinking before I even think it and I don't like that.

You know everything. It's not fair. I can't hear you. How can * know what you were doing with her? I'm just trying to sort things out, and then you and Deymorin make me feel"

"You're right, Nikki, I can. If you think I want it that way, you're out of your mind. I know you're trying to" sort feelings every seventeen-year-old would prefer to $eep pri- vate, and you feel as if they're exposed to the world. Ring- fire, boy, I know what you're thinking and feeling even as we speak! I can hardly sort your thoughts from my own. I have to ask what you're wanting to talk about, and then try to answer based on what we've said to each other, not all the other scattered bits I've picked up from you."

"Why bother?" Nikki asked bitterly.

"Because, dammit, I respect you. I respect your need and desire to be understood and to sort out your own feelings.

But I'm tired, boy. Tired of understanding and making ex- cuses, for you, for Anheliaa, even for myself. I'm tired of trying to hold my thoughts clear of yours and of Deymor- in's. Thanks to this cursed link, there's not a moment in the day that I don't question my judgment." Mikhyel's voice was shaking, beyond his control, and that last control, more than his words and that underneath sense, shook Nikki.

"I meant, Nikki, that events have opened my eyes these past few days. And I'm not about to close them again. I love you, Nikki. Deymorin loves you. But nothing we say or do will convince you of that. Ever. If you would hear . . .

but you won't."

"Can't," he protested weakly.

"You hear well enough when you want to hear. But I'm not talking about that inner voice. I'm talking about a life- time of commitmentmine and Deymorin'sto you. At the moment, harsh as it sounds, you're reveling in being misunderstood. That happens at seventeen. I trust you'll get over it. Most of us do. But I can't wait for that."

"What do you mean?" Nikki asked, fearful of Mikhyel's unequivocal language.