Mikhyel cursed at the surgeon, who cursed backsome- thing about crazy has-beens who shouldn't be let near the rings and she was lucky an arm was all she'd broken. He ignored the surgeon, and ran after Temorii. By the time he reached the tunnel, she'd disappeared.

8 8 8.

"Physician Nodio claims dunMheric was crazed with fear for the creature." Rhyys pulled deeply on the ocarshi pipe, held the breath until he had to let it go, then inhaled again, quickly, as if afraid some of the narcotic might escape him.

Thyerri looked away from the sight, hiding his nose within the folds of the cloak's hood, trying to filter the noxious smoke.

"He also claimed her arm was broken," Scarface said, from his shadowed corner. "Well, Thyerri? Can Temorii dance with less than two days' recuperation?"

Thyerri nodded within the hood, without looking up, and he pulled the cloak tighter, fighting the chill that seemed to come so easily these days.

"Obviously, then, the dear surgeon's powers of observa- tion are lacking."

"I saw it myself!" Rhyys cried. "He's obsessed. And he will remain obsessed until he has relieved himself of it within the object of his fascination!"

"And you would know."

"All too well." Rhyys waved his hand through the air.

"It's the inaccessibility that holds his interest. Once that impediment is passed, there's nothing to sustain the excitement."

"You are disgusting," Scarface said, as if commenting on the recent lack of rain. "Well, Thyerri, would you agree with that? Will dunMheric, once he's had Temorii, lose all interest? Will he depart Khoratum as if she never existed?

Able to continue life without her?"

Thyerri shrugged, still watching his feet. "It doesn't mat- ter. To bed with him is to risk the dance. She won't do that."

"You seem very certain."

"I am."

"She wants the rings, doesn't she? What if I were to say, if she beds dunMheric, she'll win the contest?"

"And die in the winning."

"I think she'll choose the risk, don't you?"

It was the control over dunMheric that Scarface had wanted from the start. If the Rhomatumin truly loved Tem- orii, she would become his weakness, if he did not, the simple fact he'd bedded a Khoratumin dancer before the competition would be an indiscretion a man who was trying to unify the web would not want known. If she died in the competition, it would simply increase the value of the scandal.

"I think she will win whether you control the vote or not," Thyerri said at last.

"Silly child, any vote that can be high-balanced one way can as easily be high-balanced another. I promise you. Per- haps that balance could favor . . . well, we wouldn't want to make you self-conscious, now would we?"

"No!" Rhyys swayed upright. "I tell you, I'll not allow you to make that promise. We don't need proof to arrest dunMheric. The people hate him already. Rumor alone will inspire them to murder. If Mauritum fails to control"

Rhyys reeled as if he'd been struck. When he swayed back up, his mouth was bleeding. Thyerri, who had felt that blow at a distance himself, knew precisely who was responsible and looked back at his feet, which seemed the safest spot in the room.

"I think, of course," Scarface said mildly, "that your ring- master raves from the ocarshi. Such a sad affliction."

Thyerri met Scarface's gaze at last. "And I think, sir, that if Temorii beds dunMheric, it will be because she wishes to bed him, not for your threats, not for your promises.

She never asked for guarantees, only for a fair chance. I suspect, that once the competition is over, if you stack your vote against her, you might well cause an inquiry not even Rhyys dunTarec can cover up."

"And I can say, murdering arsonist, that if Temorii is still a virgin the morning of the competition, you will spend the day of the competition in chains, and the morning after will be your last."

Thyerri stood up, chin high, looking Scarface squarely in the eye. "May I go now?'

Scarface laughed, and jerked his head toward the door.

The man-mountain was waiting in the shadows. Thyerri knew who he was now, and no longer ran.

"Well?" The mountain's gravelly voice implied a cruelty Thyerri knew better than to believe. Ganfrion had inter- cepted him several times since that first meeting, and Thy- erri knew his only concern was for dunMheric's well-being.

In that, they had a shared interest.

Thyerri melted into Ganfrion's corner and said, in a low voice: "They are planning it for after the competition."

"Mauritum?"

"Garetti is definitely involved."

"The South?"

"I don't know."

"DunMheric?"

"I'm afraid for him."

"Why?"

"Arrest. Riots. They want him incarcerated. Perhaps dead."

"And yourself?"

Thyerri shook his head. "I'm to compete."

"You don't sound very excited."

"I was a dancer, Ganfrion. I thought I could be one again. Instead, I find myself fighting for a life I don't care to live. Rhyys was bad for Khoratum, anyone of sense knew that. But so were the rings bad. Khoratum itself was from the start. All I cared about was the Dance. At least, that's what I thought."

"But that's changed?"

"Thyerri nodded. "With this Mauritumin man in there"

"Your scarface? Still no name?"

Thyerri shook his head. "But with Mauritum lending him credibility, Rhyys seems to be gaining the support of people who should know better. I don't understand what's happen- ing in the rest of the Syndicate. I don't know why strangers are infesting Khoratum, but I want Rhyys out!" He paused, staring into the night. "And I want dunMheric safe. If se- curing those two ends means my death, I will consider my life well-spent."

"DunMheric will have to be told."

"Enough to get him to leave."

"He deserves to know everything."

"Temorii will do whatever it takes to get him to leave."

"Before the competition?"

"Temorii would wish otherwise."

"Even after today's accident?"

"Temorii will discuss that with him tomorrow night."

"What's wrong with tonight?"

"Temorii needs time to think. And to rest. Away from dunMheric."

"And will she tell him everything?"

Thyerri shrugged. "That's up to her. And dunMheric.

The competition is meaningless. Temorii will win. Rhyys will see to that. It will keep Mikhyel there, keep him close, and somehow, by the end of the competition, Mikhyel will be in custody and by the next day, Rhyys said it wouldn't matter whether he was guilty or not. 'They' would be ready to blame anything on him. Murder was mentioned."

A curse, deep and heartfelt.

"One more thing," Thyerri said, his throat tight with fear.

"Yes?"

"Scarface . . . he wears a ring . . . like Khyel's."

"The Rhomandi ring?"

Thyerri ducked his head.

"Scarface is not gorMikhyel . . . or any other Rho- mandi's man."

"Anheliaa's?" Thyerri suggested hesitantly.

Another spate of cursing that consigned Anheliaa's soul to frightening areas of the hereafter.

Then: "I'll see what I can find out."

"You'll tell him? You'll tell KdunMheric about the ring and Scarface?"

"Yes, Rakshi-child, I'll tell him." For the first time, the mountain's rasping voice was almost gentle. "And don't worry. We'll get him out. Will you leave with us?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I have to dance."

"For whafl"

"For the mountain. For Khoratum. For Bharlo. For Sakhithe . . ." Thyerri shrugged. "And for others."

"For Thyerri?"

"Those things, those people . . . they are Thyerri."

Chapter Thirteer.

The precompetition banquet was winding to a close. At least, it was as far as Mikhyel dunMheric was concerned.

One more side-whiff of Rhyys' gods-be-damned lung pol- lutant and he'd be too sick to make it to his room alone.

Besides, he wanted to get back. He hadn't seen Temorii for almost two days. The word was she'd broken her arm and wasn't going to compete. But no one had seen her including Ganfrionand on Ganfrion's inability to- track her, he was basing all his hope.

She was with Mother. She had to be. Mother wouldn't let her be hurt. Not again.

And whenever he thought that, a feather-touch of reas- surance convinced him Mother was aware of the thought, and telling him all was well.

He hoped. That feather could equally well be Mikhyel dunMheric's profoundly active imagination.

"Ah-h-h." Rhyys, seated at the center of the main table, let out a sound that was either a sigh or a wheeze of defla- tion. "Let us have the parade of dancers, eh?"

Mikhyel let out a sigh of his own. The parade first, then a dissolution of formal tables. They'd begin to mill about, and he'd be free to leave.

There were nine huge tables arranged in a horseshoe shape around the enormous and elaborately decorated room: one (theoretically) for each contestant. The tickets for spaces at those tables were, he understood, quite precious.

He would have given his away for dinner in his room and word from Temorii.

He'd been placed at Rhyys' table, though fortunately not immediately beside Rhyys himself, who preferred buxom females about him, as he'd loudly announced at the begin- ning of the evening, to the mortification of the two well- bred women forced to sit beside him by their well-bred husbands, who were currying favors with Rhyys.

Somehow, the subtle maneuverings Mikhyel had ob- served and participated in all his life took on the look of petty, here in Khoratum.

The musicians began a standard, unobtrusive ballroom piece with a clear and regular tempo, and the parade of contestants began.