There it lay before them – undeniable evidence that they were on the right track.

“I haven’t often wished I had mage-sight,” Hark rumbled. “But for the looks on your faces, I gather this would be an exception.”

“It’s…” Mulin tried to find a word that would convey some notion of the scope of this thing, without also suggesting admiration; he failed. “I don’t even know how to say it.”

It was their fourth day on the mountain, now. Another attack had come, the second night; they had repulsed it swiftly and without incident. Snow blanketed the ground now, and they walked with spear-butts probing the way, but they’d found no greater hazard than the occasional patch of ice that had made them thankful for their cleats. Though the thickening snow did make for a harder climb, it had been balanced by the pass largely levelling out.

Now the sun was well behind them, low enough that they were on the watch for a good campsite, and they’d crested this ridge.

On a normal day, they’d have missed it. Maybe, if they were specifically looking for it, they’d have seen it; but even that would have been dubious. The natural flow of mana in the world kept magesight from being useful beyond a short distance; everything got lost in the haze beyond that. Here, though, the flow of mana was so scant as to be almost nonexistent.

Which meant that the great column of it pouring into the sky was left plain to see.

“I’ve never seen so much raw mana at once,” Liri breathed. “It’s just… shooting up and spreading all over. Our mana fonts can’t even manage close to this much mana, and here it’s not even doing anything.”

“Any reasonable doubt that this is the right place,” Kralin said, “just vanished.”

That it most certainly had. Nothing but a massive mana font could produce this much power.

“And it’s deep down, too,” Mulin said aloud. “Who knows how much power actually is getting used?”

“There’s no doubt as to who’d be doing that,” Sharliss cut in, his voice strained. “From the moment we came in sight of that peak, we have been assailed. I can keep the thoughts that our not ours away, for now – but let us not tarry overlong. We should be able to reach that cleft,” he pointed, “by midday tomorrow, and there a cavern opens into the mountain’s heart. That is the most likely way to the deep places you seek.”

Mulin drew a breath. The end in sight, then – or at least the door to it.

They pressed on in subdued silence. Sharliss was looking frayed by the time they found a likely bit of raised ground and cleared some snow away to make camp. Once his shelter was set up, he burrowed into it with palpable relief; “The work is not so hard,” he told them, “save for walking while I do it. Sleep is the most vulnerable time, but that is when I am strongest as well; do not fear. It is difficult, but I am capable.”

They didn’t have much choice but to take his word for it, after all; but his confidence was greatly reassuring. Mulin wished it had come a little earlier, and in that light, couldn’t help but wonder if the shaman was really so certain as he portrayed himself.

Dinner was a tense and silent affair, and barely worth the name; they didn’t even cook anything, they just made a meal of their cold, preserved rations. The dried meat wasn’t as bad as it could be, but tension made it sit heavily in his gut.

All of them expected something to happen – and they were right. Mulin was on watch with Kisa when a stirring under the snow alerted him; he had just enough time to shout a warning and grab his spear before the snow exploded into chaos.

There weren’t just Sachi, this time, though that was the greatest number and concern; a number of fur-clad humans joined the assault, and some assailants that were so thickly garbed Mulin couldn’t be sure if they were human or not. It was a brutal mêlée, more than once weapons came within a finger’s width of his hide before he could focus enough raw force to push them away. So close to the torrent of mana – yet it might as well have been across the world for all he could tap of it. He was left with only his own reserves, and many foes yet to fight.

On the other hand, what mana he did have, he could still apply with uncanny force.

On and on they fought, until muscles burned with fatigue just from the effort of dodging attacks, and still the foes came, fighting and dying in eerie silence. The air was thick with the stench of blood and gore, and still they came.

“Sharliss!” Vhish yelled. “They’ve got Sharliss!”

Mulin sent a snarling, axe-wielding Sachi tumbling and looked over. The shaman was disturbingly limp, but strangely, didn’t seem to be hurt; the only sign of injury as he was slung over the back of another burly Sachi was a small red-fletched dart.

Poison. Was he dead, or subdued? Either way, the shaman was the lynchpin in their efforts. There was no time to think; he gathered his wings and a deep lungful of chilly air, and he leapt upward.

He almost made it – almost caught up with the trio that was hustling Sharliss away, almost got near enough to knock them flat. But one of them rose up, galloping on four legs, twisting to throw something with the other. Metal gleamed in the moonlight; the air was too thin for him to get enough purchase to dodge up, and there wasn’t time to turn – he just let his wings relax and dropped. Tiny bits of metal passed through the space he would have gone through, jagged little four-cornered things; enough to tear his wings and bring him crashing down.

Even as it was, he had to scramble to control his descent; he thudded into the snow, and the runners were lost in the gloom before he could regain his feet.

And just like that, their attackers scattered, fleeing in all directions. Suddenly, there was no sound but their own breathing.

“No wonder they’ve left us alone these past few nights,” Hark groaned. “They were marshaling ahead of us.”

It was all Mulin could do to nod. Taking flight had been a risky gamble; he’d taken so much cold air into his lungs, so fast, that every breath burned. Vhish frowned, searching through her pouches, and produced a small bottle; she opened it under his snout and instructed him to breathe deep.

He tried, and rather wished he hadn’t. The vapours from that bottle would’ve been acrid at the best of times; the shock to his lungs made it agonizing. And yet it was a brief agony; as he shuddered, coughing, and her hand smoothed over her chest, the pain started to fade, even before he felt the tingle of healing magic.

That brought its own pain, but it was a dull ache, easier by far to bear. He clenched his teeth and suffered through it.

Rather harder to bear was the sting of failure.

He’d been so close – so close. If he’d at least tried, he might have been able to focus, to impede one of them. Running so close, that might have been enough to trip them all up – at least make them stumble enough that he could get closer.

But no. Now Sharliss was gone, and he had his own hesitation to blame.

The decision was quickly made that they would get an early start, not least because none of them wanted to be anywhere near the remains of that carnage. Mulin did his part to help strike camp, though every limb felt leaden.

They redistributed what they could of Sharliss’s pack, but the tent he’d used had to be abandoned. The fabric was rent by blades anyway; leaving behind a portion of the provisions was rather harder.

They roped together, and off they went.

They’d been plodding through the snow for a silent half-hour when Kisa squeezed his shoulder. “There was nothing you could do, Mulin.”

“Wasn’t there?” He’d never heard his own voice so bitter. “I waited too long – ”

“And you came near to scarring your lungs for it,” the Stormkin hissed, giving his shoulder a shake. “Could we have done something different? Perhaps. But right now, all we can do is go on. They wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of carrying him off if they were just going to kill him. We can only hope that we get to him before they do.”

“She’s right, Mulin,” urged Liri, from his other side. “I should’ve been the one to give chase – and I think they knew it; I couldn’t even see past all the bodies around me. It was all I could do to keep them out of reach without running dry.”

No, no. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t helping. At a time like this, it was more important than ever that he keep it together.

Though there was one judgement he was still concerned with.

He looked up, following the line of the rope as it stretched forward. Hark glanced over his shoulder, and paused when he saw Mulin looking his way; the Stonekin’s gaze softened, and he offered a small smile of reassurance.

It wasn’t the person he wanted to ask, but it would have to do – until he could ask that person again.

“Right.” He shifted his pack on his shoulders, and passed his spear to the other hand. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been unsteady lately; I know I need to do better with that. But,” he looked to either side, “thank you.”

Each one squeezed his shoulder; then Liri fell back, playing out the rope she’d coiled coming up to his side, and Kisa jogged forward in kind.

The going was much harder than it had been. Lower down, the trails had been visible; here, in a broad valley between two peaks, they were faced with a vast expanse of snow. Sharliss had guided them around some broken places before; now they had to find them the hard way, jabbing spears against the ground ahead of them. They spent two frustrating hours backtracking, finding a safe way around a great, snow-buried cleft in the rock.

At least they managed to clear the snow field before nightfall – but they didn’t make it up to the higher pass where Sharliss had said the deep caves began.

The night was tense. None of them knew just how much Sharliss had been doing to protect them; they didn’t know if the dreams that had maddened his people would take days or weeks to affect them, or if it would happen overnight. Hark suggested that they spend the night apart, save only to wake up the next watcher, and that whoever was on watch always keep a flare at hand.

The only ones who didn’t isolate themselves were the twins themselves. Their minds were safe from any interference, the shaman had said; they could trust each other.

He’d also said they should, in fact, though only Mulin had heard that. It was much on his mind as they bedded down. Blankets were scant; several had been used to construct a makeshift shelter for the odd one out, the twins left to their own. It wouldn’t be so bad for Liri – she was Frostkin, cold didn’t bother them. Any of the others, however, would need to bundle up that much more.

It wasn’t the time, Mulin decided, as he and Kralin curled together. Not with everyone so nervous. It wouldn’t be fair to them, and it wouldn’t be fair to Kralin, to push something like this on him while he was worrying.

Srin woke them in the dead of night, murmuring through the tent wall; he reported that all had been quiet. They shared the watch, and the demands of vigilance were actually somewhat relaxing – he was careful not to settle into a routine, careful to stay alert, but while he was watching for threats from outside, he didn’t need to worry so much about threats from within.

The hours crept by without another soul moving. Kisa and Hark took the last watch, and the twins took over the tent Hark had left.

This time, though, Kralin didn’t fall asleep; he was shaking, the tip of his tail twitching. When Mulin asked him what was wrong, he just stammered an apology and didn’t answer.

But the way he curled up… there was something about that, about the set of his spine and the tight curl of his wings around himself.

He looked alone, even though Mulin was in actual, physical contact with him.

Well, and no wonder they felt alone. They had no guarantee that they could trust anyone around them, now; any of their companions might be turned into a gruesome puppet.

But at least they could trust each other… couldn’t they?

Enough of this facade. It was hurting them both.

Kralin quivered anew when Mulin’s hand slid along his side, and whimpered at his twin’s warm breath on his neck. But the surprise was enough to get him to uncurl, at least. To twist around and gaze wide-eyed at his twin, a query – and a flush of orange – haunting his eyes.

He wanted to be closer. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Nobody needs to know,” Mulin breathed over his jaw.

They had no body oil, of course; their errand had been deemed too urgent for such luxuries. They would need to be careful. That was fine. Healing magic was versatile; applied just so, it could enhance the body’s own natural qualities, could make it produce a good deal of something that was normally scant, could make that something more slippery and more persistent than it usually was. They could make do.

But first, he had to make sure Kralin was ready.

He gently slid around, easing Kralin onto his back, straddling him. The blankets weren’t enough to contain them if they moved at all apart, but that was all right; he paused for only a moment, attuning himself to the cold as he had to shadow the other day. Not as much – inside the tent it was relatively mild. But enough for his hide to shift tone to where the blues predominated.

Curiosity overcame Kralin’s nervousness for a moment; he ran his fingers along Mulin’s upper arm, brow-ridges lowering in thought. Sluggishly at first, then a bit more rapidly, colours started to fade from his hide, until, like Mulin, he was mostly blue, with whirls of other tints.

But that quirk of their gift wasn’t what he wanted Kralin to focus on.

He touched his muzzle to his twin’s, the sharp intake of Kralin’s breath making him shiver in anticipation. He spread a hand over the other male’s chest, feeling the pounding of his heart under his ribs; trailed downward, claws scoring over tough, colour-tinged hide. When Mulin’s fingers passed over Kralin’s belly, the latter twin whimpered, eyes slipping shut, body tensing.

A bit of flesh was already rising from its home, unadulterated sapphire blue. He brushed it with his fingertips; Kralin shuddered, bucking up into his touch, tail lashing. His tongue darted forward and teased along Mulin’s jaw; one hand cupped behind his neck as he, in turn, lapped at Kralin’s throat, dancing fingers coaxing Kralin’s spire to rise to its full height.

He curled his fingers around it, and it felt… right. Nothing could feel this good and possibly be bad for them.

A few strokes from base to tip and back had Kralin squirming under him, whining, wings fluttering to either side; he brought his hand to a halt, cradling that flesh for a moment, holding it against his own very slippery length; and he bent down to brush his muzzle against Kralin’s. “Do you trust me, brother?” he whispered.

“Always,” came the hissed reply. “Four winds, Mulin… do it. Take me. Don’t let me go tonight, please…”

“I won’t,” he promised. He parted his fingers, held them cupped under Kralin’s length, and slid his own lower. His tip nudged the base of Kralin’s length, kissed the folds of the slit it jutted from, then slid lower still; Kralin trembled, toes sinking into the blankets as he pressed himself upward.

A throaty moan slipped past Kralin’s teeth as Mulin touched his vent and started leaning forward. His wings swept upward, curling around Mulin, wordlessly urging him on; and so, on he went. The lash of his tail made his hips sway a little, stirring his taper against the muscle of Kralin’s vent; little by little that muscle parted, allowing him in. Inch after inch he pressed forward – when he paused with just his head inside, panting from the intensity of it, Kralin clutched at his hips and pulled him in harder.

At last – at long last – they were together, body to body. Kralin’s legs wrapped around his hips, arms about his shoulders, and wings over them all, keeping him close and tight. Again their muzzles met, tongues dancing against each other; their tails twisted into a tight helix.

It was so wonderfully easy, it felt like their bodies had been made for this – rocking against each other, each catching snatches of the other’s breath, wings and toes and tail-tips fidgeting. About four inches was all the play he got, the other eleven staying quite snug under Kralin’s tail; that four inches was quite enough, though, every fraction of it utter bliss.

How much time they spent like that, churning against one another, he couldn’t say and didn’t bother to guess. Traces of pure mana coursed over their skin, making the subdued colours flow; it chased down to their groins, gathered in each one’s rigid arousal, awoke some tints of colour in the otherwise blue flesh. It crackled between them, muzzle to muzzle and down below, and for a few moments, it joined their hearts, and they beat as one.

And in those few moments, ecstasy such as he’d never felt coursed through him, pleasure so intense the very world receded from his senses. All there was was his twin, the union of their bodies, and the pleasure they shared, driving a gout of seed deep under Kralin’s tail, another in synchrony with it sending hot drops splattering their chests.

They stayed together a few moments after their climax had receded, staring into each other’s eyes as the crackling pulse of mana ebbed; then Mulin pushed up slightly, felt Kralin’s limbs disentangle, and gave himself enough room between them that he could duck his head, licking warm semen from his twin’s warmer hide.

He’d had enough encounters with Srin to grow rather fond of the taste of the stuff; with this, though… there was something more. Something electric, a sensual thrill all its own, in the very act of lapping up his twin’s seed.

The tittering, ticklish laugh it evoked from Kralin was somewhat at odds with it; but when he was done and Kralin flipped him onto his back to reciprocate, he quickly came to understand.

And there was something else, something wonderfully relaxing, about just giving in and laughing. Four Winds, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a serious laugh.

Well, an intense one, anyway. One that didn’t have a trace of the serious about it, more like.

They tugged the blankets around them again; this time they were face to face, Kralin on his back with his wings around Mulin… much as Liri had been on Mulin the other night, complete with his hands on Kralin’s chest and their tails lightly wound. There were certain particulars different, of course; their spent malehoods had retreated, and so they just rested together, slit against slit. It was a pleasant sort of contact itself, erotic but not overpoweringly so.

“You did find a good way to chase the worries away,” Kralin murmured over his jaw. “…Thank you. I’ve thought of doing that for the past week, but…”

“I understand,” Mulin breathed. “But who would we be fooling, brother, if we kept apart from each other tonight? Worse, keeping apart in the most important ways even when we have to shave blankets?” He shook his head, sighing. “Sharliss was right. There’s no point in denying what’s right in front of us, is there?”

“No,” Kralin whispered. “No, there’s not.” He squeezed around Kralin’s shoulders. “We’ll get him back, brother. We’ll get him back all right.”

“If we don’t, someone is going to have a great deal to answer for,” Mulin growled.

There was no more doubt, no more questioning. Their purpose was clear: this madness had to end. If the two of them had to do it on their own, then on their own they would do it.