Light flared, and Rotgoriel exhaled a breath in a forgotten tomb, and inhaled a lung full of crisp, tree-scented air, with the faint scent of campfires and travelers teasing at the edge of his awareness.

There weren't many hills around Kai-Tan, and the ones that were there were occupied. The Resistance— the Scions of Order, now— had set up camp a few dozen miles away from the walls of the city, in the deepest woods they could find. They were called Mar Howollom, which translated into the Forest of Screams in the old tongue.

It was a dangerous place full of deadly monsters.

It was rather less dangerous against a horde of players who'd just been freed form the level twenty-five experience cap, and were eager to grind their way up to new levels and test out new skills.

It was in fact a perfect place to take a breather, and use as a staging ground while the leaders of the guild negotiated with the movers and shakers of Kai-Tan,

It was also the best place to keep a few allied dragons and their hoards, well out of sight and temptation of the famed monster hunters of the wicked city, and the myriad treasure seekers who might be tempted by a few hundred thousand gold pieces worth of valuables and a nice handful of magic items. And some very comfy piles of pine needles to sleep on.

But today there was no rest. He had a mission, and growled inquiries to the very surprised guards yielded no useful information... until he asked the last question.

“Yes! Yes, she's here... sir,” the guard stammered, gesturing vaguely to the west. “Um... somewhere.”

Armed with that knowledge Rotgoriel picked his way past the palisade they'd raised around the waystone, nodded to the guards at the perimeter, and wandered through the assortment of guild-occupied connected clearings and hollows until he caught sight of a familiar group of humans.

Well, sight and sound, to be honest. They weren't making any particular effort to keep their conversation quiet, and they were pretty distinctive.

“I am telling you, these travels will be the death of my stomach. The rations are unhealthy! My bowels are fit to bursting! And I've eaten only three small meals all day! Meanwhile the sumptuous delights of Kai-Tan are a scant four leagues away, and we are stuck here, awaiting relief that never comes.” That deep, melodious voice belonged to Ramuz of Paleo. Innkeeper, gourmand, and all-around sensible man that Agnezsharron had entrusted with the bulk of her logistics.

“Yeah, but two of those leagues are full of the Forest of Screams. Don't much fancy our chances of surviving them on our own. I mean the madmen cleared this part of things, sure, but all that did was push the smarter things out. They're watchin' us, you know? Waiting to come back and reclaim their own,” said Trust-not-the-devils Bortiz, a miner who'd reluctantly come along because the alternative was a horrible death. Agnezsharron had a soft spot for him and Rotgoriel wasn't sure why. Though he did share a certain rude common sense with Agnezsharron, so perhaps that had something to do with it.

“Sure. Because that little squiggly pine tree over there is their sacred treasure,” a gloomy voice replied. “Or maybe that big one over there. Or the middling-sized one across the way. Because it's not like the rest of the forest is full of the same kinds of trees they could find anywhere else, except oh wait, it is! They don't care. They're running for their lives from the adventurers. The smart ones, anyway. The stupid ones are all that are left and most of'em are dead already.” This was Venthrax the Guilty, a mushroom farmer who hadn't been too sad to leave his previous trade behind. “Y'know, I hear that in Kai-Tan they've got houses full of loose women?” he continued on. “Just a few days away...”

There was a long, thoughtful pause.

“Loose from what?” came a rough but friendly voice. Probably Khankiller Rogon. He'd been a shepherd. And unlike most of the rest of the crews, he'd managed to get good use out of his livestock driving skills, and was now one of the guild's primary teamsters. “What were those women tied to to begin with?”

“What?” Venthrax asked.

“You said they were loose. Loose from what?”

“Er... from the general fabric of society I suppose?”

“Is that like a wall hanging or something? Like one of those big historical things you find in town halls? Quilts that show a town or a city with all those happy people and then there's a war and there's little embroidered arrows and things, and the next part of the quilt shows everybody running about on fire?” Bortiz asked.

There was a pregnant pause.

“What?” Rammuz asked.

“It's only that my mother told me stories of this place she was at once, and the you-see-um that she got to look at before they kicked my parents out for being heretics and all,” Bortiz admitted. “They had big quilt theings on the walls. And some lady named Tabby See sewed them all.”

“I think you mean tapestries?” Rogon said.

“Yeah! Something like that. Is that what the women are loose from? Seems barbaric to tie people up to them anyway. Why would you do that?”

“Well... I don't know. I mean... my father always said loose women were good times, but he never explained how they got loose in the first place,” Venthrax said. “Or how they got there. I guess it could be tappy straws.”

“Tapestries,” Rogon corrected.

“Yeah those things. Whoops! She's back... no wait, it's the other one.”

Rotgoriel assumed they were talking about him. He moved past the thin circle of pines, and the ring of men hastily stood up from the various crates, boxes, and packs they were sitting on and gave him a mix of bows, sloppy salutes, or unmotivated waves.

“I need my mirror,” he told them, holding out a hand.

They paused, looking at each other, then to him. To his surprise, they all showed guilt, nervousness, hesitation.

I do not have time for this, Rotgoriel felt his anger surge. His brother was under attack, possibly dead or dying, and he needed to check right now!

“You will give me my mirror.” he said, and they flinched backward, fear and growing horror on their faces. “Now.”

“She... she took it. Sir,” Bortiz said, taking off his fuzzy cap and twisting it in his hands. “She said she had to talk to... well... said it would only take a little while.”

“What? Impossible! Dragons do not... no! That is just...” It was wrong. It was the sort of thing you never did, you never shared your hoard with another. The thought turned his stomach. “You are lying!” he said, snarling and bringing his face closer to the trembling group of minions.

“They're not,” Agnezsharron spoke, and he looked up to see her stepping out from the far edge of the clearing, in human form, her own expression sour and angry. She held his mirror in trembling hands. And her scent...

“You have been crying?” he asked.

“Leave us!” she snapped, glaring at the rest of the group.

They fled, and he listened to them go, but kept his gaze fixed firmly on Agnezsharron.

“I trust you have a reason for touching my treasure?” he fought to keep his voice civil.

“I did,” she said, and put it down, moving with deliberate care. “But it doesn't matter now. I cannot do it.”

“Do... what?” Anger faded. Concern took its place. “What is wrong? Can I help?”

Her expression shifted, then shifted again.

And for the first time, he saw guilt in her eyes. Then it was gone. “Remember. We never desired to hurt you,” she said, simply, then turned and left. She shed her human form as she did so, green scales filling as she expanded, tail slipping free and clothing melding into her coloration until her long, lithe form was sliding between the pines, leaving him in a now-empty clearing with his mirror.

What was that about? He wondered, but put it from his mind. His brother was what mattered here. Rich was in danger. And if he was very, very lucky then Agnezsharron hadn't used up the mirror's magic for the day.

“Activate Planar Contact,” he breathed, laying a claw on the mirror and focusing his mind on Rich.

The world became stars and void, and time slowed as he cast his mind out into eternity. It was different this time, a subtle shift that he could not put a claw on. Slower, and there was a feeling of something watching him.

Was the Elder God in Konol's realm intruding into this one? Would the thing's corrupting touch reach even this conduit?

Then his brother's face resolved, as a door opened and showed concrete and painted steel,and he realized that the trepidation he felt was not his own. This was bleedover from his brother. He could tell by the dull ache that now seeped through as well, he was feeling Richard's injuries, though the pain had subsided somewhat.

Rich stared back bleakly, his face swollen and bruised. “Rotgoriel?” he asked.

“I am here. You are alive. That is what matters,” Rotgoriel exhaled. He saw his brother relax as well, his eyes dilate and the tension ease from him, just slightly. His emotions were bleeding across too. It was a two-way street, as Frank was fond of saying.

“I think the painkillers are affecting my control,” Rich muttered. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for—” Rotgoriel stopped. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he did. “Why did Agnezsharron cry? Why did she say we never desired to hurt me.”

Rich stared. Then the tension returned, and he let out a long breath. “Shit. Ah... I knew it was a bad idea. Did it anyway.”

“Brother.”

Rich looked away. “We have things to take care of. Promise me you will not lose your temper with her. Promise me you won't do anything stupid. That you'll do what you can on your side to help things along.”

“I... have been doing nothing but that. I see no reason to stop,” Rotgoriel said. “But I must know what was done before I can promise to react in the way you desire.”

Rich closed his eyes. Behind him a shadow of a man was drawn on the concrete wall. There was a light in front of him, and through the window in the door Rotgoriel caught sight of bars. “Are you in a jail?” he asked.

“We're being interrogated,” Rich said. “Pat and Greg are alive, they took care of their attackers. But the police are spooked. This kind of stuff doesn't happen here... I won't be able to log in again any time soon. Cutter's got his way to do it without the ECHO, but I have no clue how, and I don't have time to learn. Things are too delicate. We need you to step up and take charge.”

“That may be difficult,” Rotgoriel said. “Most of the guild believes me to be a boot.”

“Bot,” Rich corrected. “I... at the very least we need you in Kai-Tan. Aunarox is there. So is Midian.”

“Midian!” Rotgoriel reared back. “Must we deal with her again?”

“Looks like. Which is a bright spot in all this, I like her. It wasn't my idea to try and corner her about all this...” Rich swallowed, grimaced, then seemed to come to a decision. “I need to share memories with you. There are too many details, too many secrets... you need to know. And I'm sorry.”

Rotgoriel stared until his brother stretched forth his hand. Then he took it, and there came that old feeling, the feeling of melting into each other, their memories swirling around each other like two cups of fluid poured into a boiling cauldron.

And when it was done, and he knew in vivid detail the secret that his brother had been keeping, he drew back to himself, and stared at Rich.

“You hole in an ass!”

“Yeah,” Rich said. Then he sagged back into his chair, and the starfield faded, leaving Rotgoriel alone with his anger.

He could not roar.

That would draw players, and he had no desire to show them his rage.

He could not cry.

Dragons were not built to do that, and regardless he could not risk showing nearby players his weakness.

He could not brood, for then he would lose to his rage and sorrow and jealousy, and he would do something stupid. And this was not the time for stupid things. Not once in his lifetime, had he ever truly had time for stupid things. This war, this struggle, this race to save a god was all he had ever known, and it gnawed at him.

And the thought gave him an idea of how he could handle this.

“Pray... to... Konol!” he managed to choke out, feeling his tail lash behind him.

“I am here,” his God said instantly, even before the world became fractured and frosty.

“Help me,” Rotgoriel choked out. “Why do I feel this way? I should not!”

“You are going to have to help me understand. What has caused you to feel this... oh. Oh, I see. My goodness. Okay, that is understandable.”

“Is it? I do not understand it. Dragons are not jealous!”

“That is incorrect. If I were permitted to talk about it, I could truly tell you some stories...”

“Not about mating! We are... I... I feel hurt.”

“And you cannot put your claw on why this is so.”

“I know why it is so! She declined to mate with me, then used my body to mate with my brother!”

“Was it your body?”

“...” It wasn't, was it? No, Rotgoriel realized. She had transformed his body every time. Turned it into that human form that Rich used to go into the city, and move around with attracting attention.

But...

“That is what my brother told himself,” he said slowly, parsing through the memories. “That because it was not my true form, there was no harm done. It was more his body than mine.” Rotgoriel felt some of his anger ebb. “And I would not have grudged him that if he asked. The thought of mating like humans do is disturbing. Rather revolting. If he had used it to seduce others I would not have cared, so long as I was not present.”

“But Agnezsharron was involved. And that makes a difference to you.”

“It does! I... had hoped one day...” he bowed his head.

“Did she hope the same?”

“No. She did not want me. Does not. Probably will not ever. And I thought I was fine with that,” Rotgoriel said, but his own memories tugged at his mind. The feeling that had risen up, of when he had learned that So Dam Long had requested to mate with Agnezsharron.

“Now where did that feeling come from?” Konol mused.

“It is not a thing that dragons should feel,” Rotgoriel whispered.

“How about humans? Do they feel that?”

“Not all of them,” Rotgoriel said. “I have read, I have seen, where there are humans who are not jealous with their mates. But the ones I have been among... they are changing me, are they not? They are infecting me with their ways.”

“Infection is a strong word. You thought of Fred recently, that 'Two-way-street?' That is a good saying.”

“What am I becoming?” Rotgoriel breathed. “What is left of me?”

“Your brother asks that every time he returns to his own body, I believe. But I think you worry needlessly. It is... a feast, of sorts.”

“A feast? I do not understand.”

“You take what is to your taste, and leave the rest. You choose what becomes a part of you.”

“Why would I choose something that makes me feel so...” Rotgoriel closed his mouth.

“It was to your taste, at the time. But now it curdles in your belly,” Konol said. “Perhaps you should eliminate it.”

“It was still a betrayal,” Rotgoriel spoke.

“It was.”

“She came to him, though. That makes it more... understandable. My brother is only human. And I have been in his body. Their urges are... significant. Especially at his age.”

“So I am given to understand,” Konol chuckled. “Shorter lives, that's what I think is to blame. It lends an urgency to their libido.”

“It still hurts.”

“I know.”

Rotgoriel said nothing for a while, enjoying the feeling of his god's presence. Of the attention from on high.

But he knew he could not stay in this state forever. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. As always. Go with my love.”

“One more thing,” Rotgoriel said, dredging up one of Rich's more recent memories. “You were a god of dreams once, were you not?”

“I still am.”

And with that, Konol was gone.

Rotgoriel stood, gathered himself, and went and found Agnezsharron. She was coiled up at the bank of a small pond, staring into the water. He curled up nearby, and stared into it as well, not looking at her, keeping her reflection in the periphery of his vision.

After the third time he caught her sneaking looks at him, he spoke.

“When did you decide it was wrong?”

“When you showed me your jealousy in the cave, after So Dam Long's offer.”

“I thought so.” he closed his eyes.

“Do not hate Richard,” she pleaded.

“I do not. I do not hate you. I..” he hesitated, then pressed ahead. “I am disappointed. But I will move on with my life. Which need not be tied with yours. I have no claim on you. I never did.”

“I must move on with my life, too. Without Richard, I think. I was... spending too much time as a human. It affected me more than I thought,” she said, as if she was tasting each word.

“They tend to do that,” Rotgoriel answered, and his dry tone seemed to spark something in her mood, because she laughed. He joined in, surprising himself.

“I do not want more drama with him, or to be around you for a while. Or the players here, I think,” Agnezsharron unfolded her wings. “I hope you understand. I must go and take some time away. Find my balance again.”

“I do, but we have need of your skills,” Rotgoriel protested. “Richard needs me to enter Kai-Tan. Human form would help with that, and you are the only one who can transform me.”

She looked away, considered the treeline, then turned back and nodded. “Very well. I will transform you one more time. And I shall talk to the Enchanters of the guild, see if we can make an item that will let you switch back and forth as you like. But in return, I want something.”

“Name it.”

“Do not speak of this with anyone but Rich.”

“How about Konol?”

“Ah. Yes, that will work. I think that is fine,” she said, and then surprised him, approaching and winding her neck around his.

He froze, uncertain of the contact, and feeling a pang of sorrow as he came to understand the meaning behind it. She nuzzled his head. “You were as a brother to me. I hope you still can be.”

He nuzzled her back, puffed out a breath into the place where her mane started against her skull. “I am fond of you. This has not changed that. We shall never be mates, but I am grateful to know you.”

And that was enough, he thought. It would have to be.

WIS+1