Part 2 (1/2)

Mirko Vosk walked briskly, scanning the night for witnesses. When he arrived at the chosen intersection, the streets were abandoned. So he approached a brick wall and walked straight through it.

The wall softened into mist for a moment, allowing his pa.s.sage, and reverted to solid brick after he was through. The abandoned corridors of the undercity branched out before him. He descended a half-ruined staircase, pa.s.sed under a series of archways, and wove his way through unmarked side pa.s.sages. Even in the gloom, his eyes reflected like mirrors.

The corridor widened into a haphazard catacomb. Vosk was surrounded by a ring of crude stone shelves where the skeletal remains of forgotten Ravnicans were interred. He knew he had reached the right meeting place because his fangs descended involuntarily. He could feel his master's presence like a breath on his neck.

Vosk turned in a slow circle, addressing the air around him. ”I have news, Master.”

”Of Beleren ... Yes, I see,” came the voice-an omni-directional, croaking rasp that echoed throughout the pa.s.sages.

”He knows something-something that may be of value to the guild.”

”Yes,” said the voice. ”He may prove to be the instrument we require.”

Vosk turned, speaking to the walls all around him. ”Shall I drain him for you, Master?”

”Enlighten me on the other one, Vosk. What do your senses tell you about the Selesnya girl?”

”Trostani favors her, as you foresaw, Master. Her import grows. I can smell it on her.”

”And what does one call two paths that cross and become one?”

”Synchronicity?”

”Opportunity,” rasped the voice. ”By applying pressure in one place, we divert attention away from another, do we not?”

”Yes, Master.”

”And so we may achieve the elf by means of the Cult, and Beleren by means of the elf.”

”As you wish.”

”You are my most promising agent, Vosk.”

Vosk nodded solemnly. ”Thank you, Master.”

”But if you fail me,” said the voice, ”I shall have your ribs replaced with shards of wood, so that every breath you take threatens to pierce your heart.”

”I understand,” said Vosk.

There was no further response.

In a sacred grove in the Tenth District, Emmara bowed before Trostani, a being composed of three dryads merged into one. Each of Trostani's three upper bodies moved and spoke independently, each one a beautiful, foliage-haired woman, each one a powerful voice of the Selesnya Conclave. But their lower bodies converged into a single sinuous trunk, like a mighty tree. Trostani was the leader of the Selesnya, but Emmara knew she was more than that. Trostani was a living symbol of her guild's belief in unity, the embodiment of the power of the ma.s.ses bound into one.

”The wild beings of the world are open to you, Emmara Tandris,” said Trostani. As the guildmaster spoke, the three different dryads wove their speech together, not actually speaking in unison, but blending their words into a single voice. ”Your talents as a healer are great, but we desire to see you weave greater magic still. Call on the mighty elementals of nature. They still answer when we summon them, so long as we continue to believe in the world as a single ent.i.ty, as they do. You are their amba.s.sador now, and they are your guide.”

Emmara bowed again. ”My deepest thanks, Guildmaster.”

”Your grat.i.tude is well-meaning, but premature. The time of peril approaches. Gather together all that you hold dear, for the day nears that our unity shall be tested.”

Emmara thought of the Izzet's secretive project, and of the paranoia among the other guilds. ”Guildmaster, is there a way to preserve the guilds without the Guildpact?”

”Only if we become one,” said Trostani, the words flowing gracefully from the three dryads. ”The guilds are an expression of the beliefs of this world, and we cannot survive without them any more than we can survive without belief. But remember, the individual means nothing. Boundaries are an illusion. If you are to mend us, healer, you must dispel barriers. You must not allow the ten to splinter, or we shall all come to ruin.”

Emmara felt unworthy of this charge. She bowed to Trostani, and the three dryads bowed to her in turn, their trunk-body bending like a graceful willow. Emmara turned to leave the grove, and she knew who she had to convince to help her, whether he was willing to join her guild or not.

Before she had even left the Selesnya grove a courier ran up to her, clearly seeking her out. ”Emmara Tandris?” he asked. When she affirmed, he handed her a rolled-up letter. ”I'm told the sender was someone named Berrim.”

”Thank you.”

Berrim was the alias Jace had used when he and Emmara first met. She unfurled the letter and read it.

Emmara, I apologize. I understand now why you tried to convince me to join you in reaching out to the guilds. I understand now why the guilds feel afraid and hostile toward the Izzet, and why you and your guild are seeking all the help you can find for the times ahead. But I am afraid I cannot be the one to aid you.

My compatriot Kavin and I have discovered clues that led us to the source of the Izzet's plans. But unfortunately this must be the end of our investigation. I have brought grave danger upon us, and Kavin has convinced me that the best route for us is to abandon our research completely. In fact, I intend to go one step further: I will soon destroy our memories of ever having learned of these matters. If you ask me about any of this at any future meeting, I will not recall these events, including this letter, and I will not understand what you ask. This letter is to inform you of the reason for my future behavior, and to seek your pardon for my reluctance.

I am sorry. I know this will come as a disappointment to you. I hope in time you will understand my reasons. In the meantime, my friend, I hope you will consider your own safety, and consider abandoning your concerns with the actions of the Izzet.

Yours, Jace She crumpled the letter in her fist and whirled on the courier. ”When was this sent?”

”This morning, madam.”

”Can you call for transportation? I need the fastest thing you can find me.”

MIND SCULPTING.

Jace looked out the window of a cheap tower hostel, the Cobblestand Inn, just a block away from the unremarkable brick building that had been his sanctum. He had requested a room that was on one of the upper floors, in view of the sanctum building, and had led Kavin up the stairs, coaxed him into the room, and shut the door.

Kavin ran a hand over his smooth bald head. Kavin had the nearly hairless blue skin, blunted features, and lucid mind typical of his vedalken race, but little of their characteristic patience-for which Jace liked him all the more. ”Now you'll tell me what we're doing here?” he asked.

”You've brought no doc.u.ments with you, right?” asked Jace. ”No stashed notes? No diagrams or translations of the code?”

”What? No. I left them all in the sanctum, just as you requested.”

”Good,” said Jace.

With that, Jace delivered a mental command to the mercenary he had hired, a champion warrior of the Gruul-a guild of brutish, anarchic outcasts. Jace had chosen a two-headed ogre named Ruric Thar, the most belligerent-looking and least intellectually curious warrior he could find, to demolish the sanctum.

You may proceed, he thought to his hireling, and the only response he heard was a pair of wordless mental roars.

Outside, sounds of smas.h.i.+ng gla.s.s and splintering wood came from the sanctum building.

”What is going on?” asked Kavin.

”I've seen to it that all our research will be destroyed,” said Jace.

”I thought you and I would take care of that.”