He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sent himself into the deepest trance he’d ever managed, trying to send out his love, calling with his heart, trying to use his need of her as a shining beacon to draw her back through the darkness. And somewhere “behind” him Rolan and Ahrodie remained, a double anchor to the real world.

How long he called, he had no way of knowing; there was no time in the currents through which he dove. Certainly the candle on the table had burned down considerably when the faint movement of the hand he held broke his trance and caused his eyes to fly open in startlement.

He could see color coming back into her face. She moved a little, winced, and moaned softly in protest. Her free hand reached for her temple; her eyes opened, focused, and saw him.

“You . . . called me.”

It was the faintest of whispers.

He nodded, unable to speak through a throat choked with conflicting joy and doubt.

“Where—I’m home? But how—” Then intelligence and urgency flooded into her eyes. And fear; terrible fear. “Orthatten—oh, my God—Orthatten!”

She began struggling to rise, whimpering involuntarily in pain, but driven beyond caring for herself by some knowledge only she possessed.

“Devan!” Dirk could see she had something obsessively important to impart. He knew better than to try and thwart her if the need was that urgent—and her evident fear coupled with that name could mean worse trouble than anyone but she knew. So instead of trying to prevent her, he gave her the support of his arms, and called for help. “Devan!”

Devan nearly broke in the door in his haste to respond to Dirk’s call. As he stared at Talia, dumbfounded, she demanded to know who was in authority. Devan saw she would heed nothing he told her until he gave her what she wanted, and recited the all-too-brief list.

“I want—Elspeth,” she said breathlessly, “And Kyril—the Seneschal—and Alberich. Now, Devan.” And would not be gainsaid.

When Devan sent messengers for the four she had demanded, she finally gave in to his insistent urgings to lie quietly.

Dirk remained in the room, wishing passionately that he could take some of the burden of pain from her, for her face was lined and white with it.

The four she had sent for arrived at a run, and within a few moments of one another. From the despair on their faces, it was evident they had expected to find Talia at least at Death’s door, if not already gone. But their joy at seeing her once again awake and aware was quickly turned to shock and dismay by what she had to tell them.