Quentin the dragon landed easily on the rocky outcropping, far away from the young Tolliver and his most interesting friends. The boy was an oddity, to be sure, and devious. And possibly dangerous. But also honorable, and driven. That was something his kin had lost over the years, that burning desire to become more and rise above their situations. It was refreshing to encounter it, from time to time.

The old wyrm spent a few minutes cleaning his scales and enjoying the cold mountain air. Up this high, higher even than some wyrms dared fly for lack of oxygen and updrafts, the air was crisp and clean and the problems of earth seemed far away indeed.

But not, as his message system lit off, all problems.

Failstate: Quentin.

Quentin-Of-The-Sky: Mistress.

Failstate: The enemy is dead?

Quentin lidded his golden eyes and considered that question from several different angles.

Quentin-Of-The-Sky: He perished right before my eyes, Mistress

Failstate: Good. Then he will trouble us no more.

Quentin-Of-The-Sky: I feel that is an accurate assessment, Mistress.

Failstate: Quentin?

Quentin-Of-The-Sky: Mistress?

Failstate: Why are you lying to me?

The great wyrm’s head jerked up and his lips peeled away from his teeth at the deadly insult. But since this was a question from the being to whom he owed allegiance and life itself, he allowed it. Grudgingly. She did not know better.

Quentin-Of-The-Sky: I do not lie, Mistress. Profaning the truth is among the greatest of sins a dragon may commit.

Failstate: But the Tolliver still lives. I can see his lifeline in the essence.

That made Quentin blink. He knew some little about his mistress—mostly that she was a goddess of some kind, who commanded the allegiance of his sept from millenia back and who could direct them as needed—within reason, of course. But to be able to read a person’s life within the essence of the world itself? That was…

Impossible.

Quentin-Of-The-Sky: Yes, Mistress. He has an ability that revives him after death. However, if I may direct thy attention to—

Pain ripped through Quentin like nothing he had ever known. He shrilled and shrieked like an earthbound lizard, screaming as waves of ice and fire pierced every cell in his body, scraped his throat raw, and plucked at his eyeballs.

Then it vanished, leaving the great dragon laying flat on the outcropping, gasping for breath.

Failstate: You were supposed to kill him, Quentin. So that he stayed dead. You all were supposed to do this. Why did you not?

Quentin struggled back to his feet, muscles trembling in remembered agony.

Quentin-Of-The-Sky: If I may be permitted to explain—

His thoughts dissolved into screams again as his entire body felt like it was suddenly immersed in white-hot lead.

Failstate: I do not seek excuses, Quentin. You and your kin are bound to my word, and you have broken that oath to me this day. I will send all the mobs I command after the Tolliver. But you and yours shall no longer be among them.

Panic widened Quentin’s eyes, and he roared out with his own voice at the sky.

“No! You cannot! They had no part in this, to involve them in what should only be my punishment is unjust! Do not do this!”

Failstate: You have proven untrustworthy. How much more those who share your blood? Goodbye, Quentin. Give my best to your kin, when you see them.

Quentin’s last breath was an anguished howl.

And then nothing.

* * *

Araxes paused at the tunnel junction between the mess hall and the training yards. Curious. There was a new tunnel there. Had Tolliver been performing his gopher impression once again? The lich was reasonably certain that there hadn’t been a tunnel scheduled to be run through here, not at least according to the plans the workers had posted in the silvery tart’s chamber…

The lich king—And yes, he bloody well did still consider himself the rightful ruler of Phyrexes and all its surrounding countryside, thank you very much!—stroked his chin thoughtfully and leaned over to peer down the tunnel. Ever since the time he’d collided with a trio of goblin diggers returning from their excavations—with explosive results—he was careful about looking down new hallways.

This time it appeared there were no little green men with lit sticks of dynamite, so, out of sheer morbid curiousity, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his robe and ambled down towards the end.

Because, as he’d mentioned to Tolliver last night, he was bored. And any new thing was worthy of, at least, a cursory examination.

The tunnel was long, and clearly designed to house more than one room off its length, but there currently was only a single doorway with anything behind it, at the very end.

As he drew nearer, he heard voices. And those made his interest go from vague and unfocused to aimed and intent.

“No. Hell no. Fuck no. As many other epithets as I can put before the word ‘no’ no. No, you’re not using my sister as a tool to get your dumb ass into an Anomaly.”

“Sally, I don’t have a choice.” That was Tolliver’s voice. The boy seemed positively worked up about something. “It’s the only way I can think of to get this to work.”

“She’s not ready yet. No way.”

“Sally.” And that was Cora. Araxes drew nearer. What the devil was going on in there? “What are you afraid of? Samuel has proven himself time and again. Do you believe he’ll hurt your sister?”

“It’s not that, it’s…” The other orboid hussy trailed off, and Araxes rolled his eyes. By the twelve hells, it was another of these conversations. Trust Tolliver to have found yet another tedious moral quandary into which to dive headlong.

“Look, It’s just, it’s hard for her to be around people, okay? It’s like… Noisy, for her. And if too many people are around, it can cause her a lot of pain. I just—“

“Sally.” Ah, there was Tollivers ‘serious’ voice. Araxes sighed. He’d been on the receiving end of that more than once himself. Curiously effective tactic, truth be told. Sincerity, authority, and compassion all rolled into a ball and forced from the larynx of a child barely old enough to wipe his own bottom without assistance.

“Wha-?”

“I don’t want to hurt her, or cause her distress, but this needs to happen. We’re up against things I can’t even talk to you about, and I can’t be the only one making plans and getting ready for them. I need to bring everyone in on this. And right now the only way, literally, I can see to make that happen is to get to your sister and spark off another Anomaly.”

There was a long silence. Araxes used the time to arrange himself, leaning comfortably against the wall opposite the door.

“You fight dirty, you know that Butter-boy?”

“Sometimes it’s my only choice. Please?”

A long sigh—why in the world would a being made of pure metal need to sigh?—followed by the inevitable speech of capitulation.

“Alright Sam. But just you. No one else, okay? It’ll be hard enough on her with just one person around. I don’t want to take chances with anyone else.”

“Now wait a minute—”

“And if she says no, or if she freaks out, or if I don’t like what’s happening, or if someone rips a fart in the next building, I’m cutting it off and you get out. I don’t care how bad you need this, Sam, she’s my sister and she’s really fragile right now. Deal?”

“Sally…”

“Deal or fuck off, Guardian.”

She has him. It was patently obvious. Tolliver could be read like a book in some things, and Araxes knew this was one of them. The lad could cajole, threaten, even intimidate when he wanted. But faced with feminine immovability? From an ally?

He’s going to fold like paper in a rainstorm.

“Fine. Deal, then.”

Well. Didn’t this sound interesting. Araxes melted off down the corridor as he heard the footsteps coming closer. For a moment he was tempted, sorely tempted, to ask Tolliver to allow him to tag along.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this.”

Araxes didn’t hear Tolliver’s response. He was too busy cogitating. This core, above the other two by far, was one he was intrigued by. Cora, the original spherical trollop now given a new body, was the defensive portion of a being as old as, if Tolliver’s ravings were to be believed, reality itself. Sally, the brash outspoken and only occasionally tiresomely-foulmouthed current circular strumpet was the offensive side of that same being.

But Tolliver had just promised the second sister that he would take no other along. And if Tolliver was too easily swayed by any spherical metal trollop who caught his eye, he certainly had no such compunctions about Araxes. The lich was certain, the more he thought about it, that any request to tag along would be met with a resounding ‘no’ and an unimaginably stubborn attitude.

So.

He’d just have to sneak after them, then. He felt his eyeflames shift to a a quiet gold color, and the dessicated flesh around his death’s grin widened just noticeably.

Why yes, this did sound like a good idea, didn’t it? Follow the youth and the trollop, and eavesdrop on their conversation with this mythical third sister. It was a chance to glean information that had been left unheard for millennia or more.

And besides, he thought, decision made as he snuck back down the corridor to await his opportunity to tail the two. It’s something to do on a Saturday night.

It was certain to be more interesting an exercise than roasting another batch of coffee, at least.