"As do we all, lady," he replied heavily, as they went back down the dark and curving stair that had brought them to the map chamber. "As do we all."

As they passed the last lantern hanging above the stair, Taeauna turned as swiftly as a striking hawk, laid a warning finger to her lips, then mimed slumber by bending her cheek onto the back of her angled hand, and then repeated the warning finger.

Rod kept his face carefully blank, because the warsword had reached the bottom step and was already turning to watch them.

"This is a good place," he told Lhauntur slowly, trying to sound vague. "I remember a keep like this, but not this one."

The warsword's reply was a noncommittal grunt. He turned away again, and Taeauna flashed Rod another warning look.

This time, he gave her a grim nod.

He was still nodding in the gloom as they went through a half-open door and along a passage hung with old swords and ancient, rusting shields. He was smiling, too.

Oh, yes. I am enjoying myself. The Lord Archwizard of Falconfar has come home. Tremble, dragons! Echo, castles! Die, Dark Helms!

In front of him, Taeauna stiffened as if he'd slapped her across the back. The severed stubs of her wings actually quivered.

And suddenly, Rod Everlar didn't feel like exulting at all. Yes, this was real. Too real.

Taeauna, can you hear my thoughts?

The Aumrarr was walking normally again, and if she could hear what Rod was thinking, she gave no further sign of it.

Oh, damn. What have I gotten myself into?

Into my dreams, of course. But what if they turn into nightmares? What then, over-clever thriller writer?

He traveled the entire length of the next passage, and the next, without coming up with any sort of answer.