"Taeauna," he began slowly, starting to turn around again. And swallowing.

He wanted to see Falconfar for himself more than he'd ever wanted anything before.

And he was suddenly afraid this was a dream, and he'd turn and find his bedroom dark and empty, with no blood and no Taeauna. And he'd still be alone.

As alone as he'd been for so many years now, with his family and close friends all dead, losing himself in his writing, laughter and companionship something glimpsed only in books and romantic movies.

Green eyes caught and held his, and snared his breath as well.

Almost angrily he looked away from her, at the bed. Still swimming in blood. Christ, he'd be in trouble if anyone got in here and saw that.

So much blood. He shook his head and peered more closely at Taeauna. Her severed wings, of course, were still missing. "You're sure you're healed? Completely?"

She shrugged, and it was the easy movement of one who feels no great pain. "I feel well enough, lord. Your blood is pure power."

Rod smiled incredulously. "Will it work on me, too?"

"In Falconfar, any wounds that befall you will swiftly heal," the Aumrarr replied, leaning forward with her eyes shining in sudden hope, "but in this world, the swords of the Dark Helms can slay you easily."

As if her words had been a signal, there came a deafening clash of cymbals.

Rod was staggering dazedly back before he realized that the ringing shriek had been made by his bedroom window, bursting into the room in a shattering spray of shards, driven by a thrusting black-bladed sword!

Taeauna ducked under its point as swiftly as a striking snake, to snatch her dagger from the bed.

Rod shouted wordless fear as more windows broke somewhere down the hall. Black-helmed knights were hacking at his window frame, trying to chop the muntins aside so they would have room enough to climb in.