It felt like he’d only just fallen asleep when a hand on his wing’s wrist-joint shook him awake. Another hand pressed down atop his snout, urging silence, even as he drew breath to mumble a query. That got his attention, sleep swept from his mind by a sudden surge of adrenaline.

He looked up; Srin bent down, whispering into his ear, “Enemies. Be ready.”

How he knew these were enemies, he didn’t say. Mulin didn’t ask – there were plenty of valid answers. He just tried to nod against Srin’s hand; he didn’t move, but the point got across. The Nightkin drew back and let him sit up.

The tent flap was open; even as Mulin was gingerly pulling the blanket off of himself, Srin’s image wavered, grew faint, and faded to a barely-perceptible outline of his former self; even the knife in his hand was obscured.

Mulin had seen Nightkin – Srin and others – fade before, but never so quickly. He remembered Srin’s shock on first learning that Kralin – and Mulin – could see him at all; nobody else could, except by cues like footprints or other dislodged objects. It wasn’t nearly so effective in rain or snow, but none such shone in the moonlight outside as Srin eased through the gap.

A useful trick, that. Mulin didn’t have a Nightkin’s training in stealth, but being unseen would be a great start – especially since a scuffle had broken out outside. These mystery assailants ought to be too distracted to watch for such details as a stray footprint here or there.

Could he pull it off? He’d been close enough this time to get a good look; light had just.. . bent around the Nightkin; it had changed course to pass him by, then gone on its way as though nothing were there at all. Only the faintest scattering of it had actually touched him.

Mulin grabbed his spear and concentrated on that. Like a smooth rock in a stream, the water parting around it but continuing its course… The strange absence of mana made his own reserve of it feel so much more powerful, like he could do anything.

And in this case, he could. The world went dark.

He nearly panicked, worried that he’d done something backwards – but as he thought about it, he realized he should have expected it. Of course, if light was ignoring him, he wouldn’t have much to see by; there was still a little, still enough that he could see after a moment to adjust, but everything was just shadows on shadows.

He could hardly see his hand or the spear he held in it. He’d have to hope that meant all was working right.

With utmost care, he eased past the tent flap.

He’d never paid so much notice to the rocks under his feet. Now they were all he wanted to step on – the bigger, the better. He couldn’t see what was going on; most of the fighting seemed to be beyond the camp. Srin was already nowhere to be seen, but given how little Mulin could see as it was, detecting the Nightkin might well have become truly impossible. He did see a flicker of motion by another tent, though, and crept closer to investigate.

He was very nearly knocked down as a massive form charged out from it.

Sachi, definitely, and bigger than Sharliss by a significant margin; hard edges supplanted the softer outline of fur in most places, suggesting that this one was wearing armour of some kind; there was no ring of metal, though – leather, probably. It had one forelimb wrapped around a struggling Vhark; the other held a long knife that was halfway to being a sword.

“Be… still,” it growled. There was a strange, stilted quality to its voice, as though every word took great effort. “You see… we have his tent. Struggle, and… he dies.”

Mulin turned, gazing through the murky shadow, all the while taking care not to stumble against the tent just behind him. Another Sachi was now crouched by the flap of the tent he’d just left, holding a large, curved sword; a third nudged the flap aside with a spear and flowed through.

As for the captive – his stomach wrenched. Liri.

“Call him,” her captor hissed. “If he… comes in peace… we leave.”

Memories clicked into place. The strange speech, the odd lurching quality he could see in their motions… they were not acting of their own will; another’s drove them.

At least these three, and probably all the others present, were being guided by a distant mind. Just as Sharliss had said, they were marionettes.

He didn’t know what a mentalist could do, but the attention needed to wield multiple separate bodies had to be mind-wracking. These poor beings had unnatural strength, through means he didn’t care to contemplate, but their reactions were slightly delayed.

Liri must’ve been caught still sleeping. They’d never have been able to get to her if she’d been in any condition to wield magic. And if she had a moment to concentrate, without the one who held her interfering, the other two ought not to be a problem. He might not have had her practise, but he did have some education in offencive magic as well.

He doubted he could use it without losing his invisibility, though, and it had taken him long enough to gain it in the first place that he didn’t want to drop it early. For now – he flipped his spear around, into a two-handed, plunging grip – for now, he’d deal with this physically.

He took a careful step closer, behind the Sachi’s upright front section. He didn’t quite know where the vulnerable portions on a Sachi body were…

But he could see the glimmer of mana chasing through it. It was very faint; somewhere without this unnatural drought of mana, he’d never have been able to see it. But here, it was enough. He could see the flow of it, could see where it radiated and converged. That central point – that had to be the heart; lower down the body than he’d have aimed otherwise. He could also see where the blood flowed less, marking the pattern of bone. He shifted his stance to suit, made ready to leap.

The Sachi was in the middle of hissing another threat when the impact jarred his arms. His spear threatened to wrench out of his grasp, but he held on, his full weight punching the sharpened metal head through leather and hide and flesh. It glanced off a rib, but only slightly; for the most part his strike was true.

The sound it made was awful; the choked noise from the stricken Sachi’s throat, even more so. But its grip slackened; Liri tore away, tumbling to the ground. The guard at Mulin’s tent, and the puzzled one just emerging from within, looked over at the motion.

There was no flashy spell, no grand invocation; he saw the pulse of mana, felt the wash of cold from the air between her and them – and she froze needles in their blood.

Mana burned in Mulin’s arms; with the spear jammed into its target, he was suddenly trying to make the whole thing invisible with him, and it wasn’t working. He let go of the weapon and pushed off of the collapsing Sachi’s back, and the flow grew smoother again.

“And that’s all of them right here,” Liri growled. “Many thanks, Srin.”

Oh. Of course she hadn’t seen who’d done it. “It’s me, Liri,” he said, relaxing his focus and reaching down to help her up.

She gasped, twisting around and clutching at his arm – not to lean on it and rise, but to stare at it. Perplexed, so did he – and saw the source of her surprise.

As light bled back into the world, it took longer to return to his skin. If not for Liri’s reaction, he might have thought it just a delayed effect on his vision, but looking closely, he could see the world normally past his fingers. But they were pitch-black still; his usual whirl of colours was flowing down his arm like spilt paint.

“How did you do that?” Liri breathed, pulling herself upright at last. She didn’t hold her gaze on him; she kept looking around, alert for more danger. “You shouldn’t be able to do that. Nobody’s been able to duplicate a breed gift!”

He blinked. It hadn’t been easy, it had taken a great deal of concentration, but it hadn’t been that hard. “Nobody?”

“Well, nobody’s written of it. Even Archwizards of the Flame haven’t been able to heat something up without actually invoking fire, for instance. Oh, there’s Srin…” She relaxed. “It looks like we’re all clear, for now.”

“Oh. Good,” Mulin heard himself say.

The world bled away – not just light, but all sensation of it. All he knew was the memory of that impact, the wrench in his arms, the sickening tear.

Hunting hares and roe deer hadn’t prepared him for this. The fallen Sachi was, in comparison, huge – several times his own mass – and had taken a much stronger blow to fell. But even that paled in comparison to that last horrible gasp.

In that last moment, he felt terribly certain that the Sachi’s mind had finally been free.

And then, the next instant, there was nothing more.

He forced his eyes open. He was shaking, and hardly any of it was from the cold air. Liri curled a wing around him, murmuring reassurances. He’d done what he had to do; it was all right; it was safe now. All things he could tell himself, true, and yet –

All true things. He focused on that one thought, and took a breath.

“You’re right, of course,” he said – softly, but he didn’t think his voice was very unsteady. “If I hadn’t… never mind that. I don’t like that I needed to do it, but…” He looked into her eyes, her expression full of warmth and concern, and he couldn’t help but smile; he squeezed her shoulder. “If I actually think about it, I can’t regret it.”

They were swept apart for the next little bit as the others returned and notes were compared. Sharliss was visibly shaken; although he didn’t speak about it, his gaze kept drifting back to one of the fallen in particular. Someone he’d known… known well, probably been close to. He slipped away from the discussion for some solitude to clear his head.

Hark was grim. “They knew who we are,” he said. “Or at least, they were specifically watching for the Magekin – and they knew which tent to look in.”

“That’s the most disturbing thing in all this, yes,” Kisa sighed. “How could they have that much detail? I haven’t noticed anything unusual about the way my thoughts have been running – nobody’s been getting on my nerves or any such thing – so I think the Sachi’s tricks are working for us. It’s obvious the threat behind them is real; those other Sachi were not acting natural. So it’s not just that he was wrong, or any such thing.”

“It could still be that things aren’t as they were, though,” Vhish offered. “Perhaps the cause of this trouble has changed tactics.”

“Worth bearing in mind,” said Hark. “Once the city was empty, there probably wasn’t as much need to keep pushing any nearby people away.”

“Instead, this… other being might be focusing on the minions they already have,” was Kralin’s contribution. “Dominating their minds, having them bring more, um, ‘helpers’… or other prisoners in this case.”

“So he’s doing something other than sending dreams,” Hark agreed. “Now, he might still be doing that much… I don’t want to take that chance and try to have Sharliss concentrate on some other sort of threat.” He shuddered. “Fighting those… poor people was unnerving enough. I don’t want to risk becoming one.”

“We might be over-thinking things,” Srin mused, and pointed up along the mountainside. “It’s hard to see now, but there is another trail that runs up the mountain. A steep one – I wouldn’t want to try it – and it doesn’t seem to connect with ours. But there might have just been a lookout with a field glass. Once night fell, the attackers moved in – and they didn’t seem especially aware of where we were at any given moment.”

An air of relief settled over the group. All of them had been apprehensive from the first mention of that knowledge; if it had come from such mundane means as an observer higher up, it was ever so much more comfortable than the thought that their very thoughts were being observed.

“Which brings to mind another question,” Liri said. “How much does this… mystery being know about us and why we’re here? He must know we don’t mean well for whatever he’s doing, but how much does he know about the Magekin?”

“He’s got a Vhark working with him,” said Kisa. “An old one, at that.”

“True, but not all Vhark know much about the Magekin beyond legend. We don’t even know all of what they can do,” the elementalist replied, glancing at Mulin.

“You’re saying we might be a curiosity?” Kralin’s tail curled. “I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than being a known threat.”

“They wanted us alive,” Mulin said, recalling that hurried search. “But not at the expense of all else. If they couldn’t get us alive, they’d have settled for dead.”

“I’m not sure what more we can do different. We need to be more careful on watch, certainly,” Hark sighed. “I hadn’t taken into account just how well they can climb. And someone should be awake at all times who can deal with a threat from a distance. They can carry a whole brace of spears each, and if they’re above us, they’ll have the advantage in throwing; they can draw me, for one, away from the camp.”

“I’ll take watch for the rest of the night,” volunteered Kralin. “I don’t think I could rest anyway.”

“I’ll stay up with you.” Srin’s fangs flashed in the gloom. “Unnaturally strong and driven they may be, but these puppets aren’t good at watching for shadows.”

“Well, then. Let’s… try to get what rest we can, the rest of us,” said Hark, rising. “We all got through this, and we know to be better-prepared next time; we can do this yet.”

Murmured agreements, and the little gathering broke up.

Liri curled a wing around Mulin, fingers stroking his jaw. “Well, hero,” she murmured, and chuckled. “There aren’t many reasons greater than ‘you saved my life’ to fall swiftly in love with someone, are there?”

“I should hope that’s not the only good reason,” Mulin sighed, licking at her wrist. “Otherwise I’d feel quite silly for forgetting about when it had happened. Sometime before today, I mean.”

She laughed. “Oh, Mulin. I do wish we hadn’t been kept so busy on this journey. You deserve some proper appreciation, not just a quick coupling here and there during a meal break.”

“Not that those have been unwelcome.” Precious few, since on such breaks as they’d had since working the initial kinks out of their wings, one or the other of them had usually been busy; but there’d been a few over the past week. Certainly enough to keep him from feeling neglected. “And, well, we’re both awake now.”

She lifted an eye-ridge, her wing curling a little farther around him. “Yes, and with your fetching attire, I can see which way your thoughts were tending, as well.”

Oh. Right. He’d not grabbed anything but his spear when he left the tent. The taut membrane against his incipient arousal was a very clear reminder of that. He ducked his head, tail curling into a spiral. She’d had the presence of mind to grab a light cloak when they were cleaning up the camp; he’d spent that time in the grisly work of reclaiming and cleaning his spear.

“Come on, you,” the Frostkin laughed. “Let’s get that somewhere warm, shall we?”

“It’s strange you should say that,” he mused, starting toward his tent and feeling her fall into step with him. “Maybe it’s just because we’re not flying, and we were when we first got to Mar Drerrasett, but I actually don’t feel cold. Not,” he hurried to add, “that your idea is in any way a bad one.”

“I’d hope not,” Liri mock-growled.

They wiggled onto his bed together. It was late, and they both knew it; besides, with the need for action and even that for heavy thought now past, he was tired. Early awakenings were strangely exhausting. Theirs was no energetic bout of lust, not tonight; he pressed against her, and she drew him in, smooth and steady. And once his shaft was buried deep in her welcoming heat, there they stayed.

He hooked a fold of blanket with a wing-claw, furling it over her and bringing the blanket most of the way with it; enough that he could grab it with a hand and tug it over the rest of the way. Her hands splayed over his chest, a soft sigh wafting over the side of his neck, and their tails twisted together a few times.

And there they rested, in a bubble of warmth that was so much more than mere heat.

Her tongue trailed along his chin. “Do be careful, Mulin,” she whispered. “If our mystery enemy is going on the advice of a hundred-fifty-year-old spell-crafter, he might have all of an old wizard’s assumptions. If he doesn’t know you can use other breed gifts, that might be a telling advantage. Especially if… if…”

If Sharliss’s protections ever failed and the others were suborned. Right. He shivered. If he had to actually fight these people – his companions, his friends… his loved ones…

He’d seen one person’s pain over such things already. He didn’t know if he himself was strong enough to bear its like.

But if it came to that… maybe he wouldn’t have to fight. Maybe he could just… slip away, he and his twin continuing on their own as best they could. Hoping to see this ghastly business through.

“You’re right,” he breathed, squeezing her shoulders. “But let’s not think of anything so dark right now, love.”

Her wings stirred in the embrace of his own, her snout touching the base of his jaw. “You say that so naturally, Mulin,” she sighed. “It sounds so… so right. Say it again?”

He blinked, thought over what he’d said, and felt the tip of his tail trying to curl. “Oh! Right…” Well, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t meant it. “We can just relax for a while, love. We’ll be fine; we’ll make it to the peak, we’ll see what’s to be seen.”

She purred, shifting top him, with a subtle squeeze around his shaft; and she fell silent.

Love. Such a small, simple word; so different from what it stood for. What was love? And what was love supposed to be?

If the shaman’s words about destiny and fate were to be believed, he was supposed to love his brother. Not just as a brother, but… beyond that. As a full lover. Did it mean something was wrong, that he was instead feeling that for the woman atop him? Did this mean he’d refused his fate? Doomed them all?

No. He couldn’t believe that. He loved her; he loved Srin, too, and he most definitely loved his twin. He wasn’t quite sure yet what he felt for Hark; affection and lust, certainly, but he wasn’t sure they were in the harmony he’d call love, and he had no idea yet what the older male felt in turn. But he could love Hark, and all the others too. He had love enough for that.

Wasn’t that the point of all this? He wasn’t in this for the recognition, the fame, the prestige. He wasn’t risking his life and all those with him because he wanted attention, nor even because he thought it was his destiny, or something he ought to do.

When all else was stripped away, he was doing this for the sake of love. His, his parents’, everyone else’s freedom to love as they wished.

And love didn’t need a limit.

Or a conclusion. He drifted off to sleep, still rigid inside her; orgasm could only have cheapened the moment.