Barrin sighed. "I think he's right-"
"I have a sense of humor," Urza interrupted testily.
"No, not about that," Barrin soothed. "I think he's right that he doesn't need us-"
"That's not what I said," Teferi broke in. "It's a simple spell, but a draining one. Eventually one of those ships will crash on Zhalfir and contaminate it. I need your help to shut down the portal."
"At last-reason!" fumed Urza Planeswalker.
"What do you suggest?" Barrin asked.
"It's a simple enough principle. We planeswalk into the portal-"
"Won't work," Urza growled. "Rath is warded against us."
"We don't planeswalk to Rath. We planeswalk into the portal and then back out again. We repeat the process until the spatial-temporal fluxes melt the thing down."
"The backlash will kill us," Urza said. "It'll kill us and everything in a hundred-mile radius."
"I've worked out a spell to draw off the energies. A most impressive spell. I can personally vouch for the safety of my people. Oh, and you'll survive too, Urza."
"I thought you said you needed me for this operation?" Barrin reminded him.
Teferi's smile was the brightest so far. "I need you to shame him into it."
Eyes blazing and face as red as a campfire, Urza barked, "Let's 'walk, pupil."
The two planeswalkers traded looks. Something of Urza's solemnity entered Teferi's features, and something of Teferi's cockiness infused Urza. Abruptly, they were both gone. Only the dry weeds remained. The pair flashed again into being, and simultaneously out. It was as though they were mere boys, racing for the water hole. A capricious light shone in their eyes when next they appeared.
Above, Barrin could see why. The portal seemed to be boiling. The energies in that black space crisscrossed and reversed, warring against each other. Surges of black energy tore into coils of red power. White sparks and blue-green shafts of force battled for predominance. Grinding teeth of magic chewed an emerging cruiser to shreds. It belched smoke downward and rained ruin up.
Faster they flashed, and faster. Their grins only deepened.
Barrin shook his head, smiling also.
A light awoke-a blinding thing. A new sun was born above Dominaria. It flashed, casting the fleet's shadows on the plains below. Whatever ship still labored in air ceased its struggles, plunging upward like ash on the heat of a fire.
Barrin winced back. The whole hillside and all Zhalfir could be consumed by that sudden blaze.
Then, it was done. Neither blinding fire nor black portal shone in the sky. Neither Phyrexian fleet nor phoenix flocks circled there. The sorcerers of the Zhalfir Mage Corps stood on the plain, eyes lifted heavenward and hands applauding. It was as though they had just watched a fireworks show.
"What happened?" Barrin wondered aloud.
"Come," said Teferi simply, appearing out of nowhere to grasp Barrin's arm and drag him away in a spontaneous planeswalk.
The world folded around Barrin, spinning into chaos. As quickly as Zhalfir had flashed away, it returned, though now a mile below. Barrin floated in blue skies beside Urza Planeswalker and Teferi of Zhalfir.
"Very impressive," Barrin rasped. "Very, very impressive."
"Where did you put the energy?" Urza asked suspiciously.
Teferi shrugged. "I put it away for another spell."
Urza cleared his throat-exactly the sound he had made as Teferi's headmaster. "Well, now that we have helped you save Zhalfir, you must help us save the world."
"Save Zhalfir?" the dark-skinned man echoed. "You think closing a single portal makes Zhalfir safe in this worldwide conflagration?"
"Safer than most places," Urza replied evenly, "but safety isn't the issue. Defeat of the Phyrexians is."
Teferi nodded. All the joking had gone from his face. "This is where you and I differ, Master. Safety is the issue. You've never wanted to save your people. You've only wanted to defeat your foes-Mishra, Gix, K'rrik, and now Yawgmoth himself. You would sacrifice us all if you knew it would doom him."
"I am willing to sacrifice myself to defeat Yawgmoth," Urza replied solemnly. "I have neither sympathy nor patience for others who are not."
The old, cocky Teferi had returned. "As I said, Master, this is where we differ."
"You can't save your people, not single-handed," Urza said.
"Oh, I do not do it single-handed. I've had the aid of thousands and the consent of millions. You yourself helped me harness the final measure of power to complete the spell. It is triggering even now below us."
Below, Zhalfir shuddered. Something passed over it- not over it, but through it. The same energies that had boiled through the doomed portal now shot through the land. Every rill was lined in scarlet ribbons of energy. Every field was sketched in shimmering white. The shorelines flashed waves of blue fire, and the veins of every woodland leaf glowed green. Then all was subsumed in a great colorless grid, as though the land and the plants, the animals and the people, were being caught in a vast blueprint.
"If spells can make ideas into reality, they can make reality into ideas," Teferi said quietly.
The transformation picked out every mote of Zhalfir. Lines fused. Grids merged. For one dazzling moment, all the colors combined into a blinding radiance. With a flash, Zhalfir was gone. Where it had been, only a red afterimage remained in Barrin's eyes. Then came a boom like a hundred thousand thunderbolts in synchrony.
Barrin blinked, struggling to see. Winds tore past him, but Teferi's magic held him in place. The red glow where Zhalfir had been faded to black-a black wound the size of the great land mass. It was bedrock. Teferi had taken the whole peninsula, a mile of air above it, and a mile of rock beneath.
The ocean stood for a moment in astonished walls all around. Then its green rim turned white. Water cascaded into the deep gash. The belly of the ocean slumped. The first gush smashed to bedrock and churned eagerly out across dry stone. The head of the flood was overtopped by new waves, which crowded the shoulders of the slumping water and poured into the cauldron.
Urza gazed in silent consternation at the churning sea.
Barrin gaped. "What did you do?"
"I saved my people. They dwell now in immutable ideas," explained Teferi.
"Y-you killed them!" Barrin stammered.
"No. They will return when the world is safe again. For them, not a moment will have passed."
"There will be tidal waves," Urza said darkly. "Thousands will die."
"Millions have been saved," Teferi replied. "This is how I save my people. This is how you and I differ."
"Yes," Urza replied. "This is how we differ."
Chapter 10
Heroes of the Same Stripe
Gerrard had deep misgivings about this plot. His Benalish commander's uniform fit poorly. He'd not donned the garb since leaving his division half a year ago. The quilted sleeves constricted his biceps. The maroon waistcoat and bandoleers bulged across his pectorals. The linchpin in this contraption of doom was the official orders being forged even then by a blind man.
The blind seer sat at Hanna's navigation desk. He pinned a hunk of parchment beneath one hand. His other clutched a quill.
With strong, jagged strokes, he wrote: By this writ, command of the Benalish Military Penal Colony shall be surrendered to Commander Gerrard Capashen.
"This isn't going to work," Gerrard groused, flinging his hands out. He turned to Sisay. "We'd better abort, Captain."
"Too late, Commander," Sisay replied placidly from the helm. "They've already seen us." She gestured beyond the bridge.
Silhouetted against the sunset, the Benalish Penal Colony seemed a dark diadem topping the Atrivak Hills. Tall walls of stone hemmed in the inner wards. Guard towers stood at the many corners. Crossbow nests bristled beneath the descending night. In the center of the yard, a gaunt wooden tower presided over it all, and from there an alarm bell sounded.
"We won't get a second chance at this," Gerrard muttered. He reached
down, snatching up the parchment. His eyes widened in amazement. The document looked convincing, well ordered and with an impressively embossed seal. Gerrard read aloud:
To: Captain Benbow, Warden of the Brig at Atrivak
From: Capashen Chief Raddeus
Greetings,
In the sudden peril that has swept across our nation, I require the fighting might of every warrior under my command. I have sent my ward, Commander Gerrard Capashen, recently returned from epic battles against our foes, to gather the prisoners in your charge and lead them into combat. Please provide him every assistance to liberate, arm, and provision the troops previously imprisoned in your facilities.
Blessings, Chief Raddeus
Gerrard nodded, mollified. "Perhaps we do have a chance." He peered down at the mysterious old man. "There's more to you than meets the eye."
"Yes," the blind seer said smoothly, "since nothing meets my eye." "Hand me that map tube," Gerrard said, reaching toward the desk.
From the map rack, Hanna snatched the tube. Gerrard pulled its cap and upended it. Out slid a detailed map of Benalia City. Not a single structure, so carefully rendered on the map, remained in reality.
Gritting his teeth grimly, Gerrard rolled the forged document, set a daub of candle wax on it, and printed the wax with his own Capashen ring. He slid the roll into the map tube and lifted his eyes toward the fore window of the bridge.
The sun seemed to blaze within the prison. Guard towers and needlelike palisades reached their clawing shadows up the deck of Weatherlight. Soon, the ship was swallowed in darkness. The silhouetted brig hovered spectrally above. Just beneath it lay a natural shelf of stone, covered by the western overlook of the mounds.
"We land there, where Weatherlight will be shielded from Phyrexian eyes and bombs. We don't want to be pinned down."
"Aye, Commander," replied Sisay. She eased the ship up toward the shelf.
"So far so good. Let's just hope Benbow falls for the forgery."
* * * * *
"Guards!" Captain Benbow shouted. The warden's voice echoed through the block-walled station house. He glowered at Gerrard and his command crew. Benbow's meaty hands clutched the forged letter, and his red brows bristled. "Guards!"
They flooded in. Guards were common enough in the Benalish Military Brig. In field plate with yellow tabards, the warriors surrounded Gerrard and his crew.
"Wait!" Gerrard objected. "You must believe us. Benalia needs every fighting arm! An invasion is underway!"
"Clap them in irons!" Benbow bellowed. The guards converged.
Gerrard had surrendered to Benalish forces once-and Benalia City was destroyed while he sat in the brig.
"Attack!" he shouted.
Tahngarth snorted his approval. He flung a wooden chair beneath the chin of the nearest guard. The man barked once and fell forward, landing atop the chair that had knocked him out.
Hanna was not as fortunate. A guard grabbed her from behind in a headlock. He breathed angrily in her ear. More a lover than a fighter, Hanna turned her head and intercepted his lips with hers. The warm contact produced a sudden weakness in the man's grip. Hanna pulled forward and lifted her heel in the angle often induced by a kiss. The guard went down, clutching himself.
Sisay hurled her opponent's tabard up about his face and spun him to attack one of his comrades. While he fought, she casually tripped a warrior who was about to grab Squee.
For his part, the goblin detained guard after guard by surrendering to them, allowing them to fit shackles to his too-slim arms, and then sliding out of them.
Gerrard was most pressed of all. He had drawn a sword and dagger from his belt. With the smaller blade, he caught and flung back shackles heading for his wrists. The chain bloodied the guard's nose.
The man reeled, sitting down beneath a canopy of clattering blades.
Gerrard's sword lashed out in a strike meant to intimidate. The blade sliced through the false writ and threatened the shaggy pate of Warden Benbow.
Benbow was a seasoned fighter, and his sword hung on the wall behind him. Dodging Gerrard's lunge, Benbow rolled rapidly out of his seat. He got his feet beneath him and, with a grace that belied his girth, snatched his sword from the wall.
Gerrard leaped up to the desktop. He brought the flat down in a braining blow.
Benbow blocked the strike. Metal clanged. He flung his foe's sword aside and spun. The warden's blade swept the desktop in a stroke that could have cut Gerrard's feet from beneath him. Gerrard jumped amid a flurry of prison records. He hurled his sword in a second flat attack. This one won through but weakly. It whapped Benbow's sunburned head. The warden reeled back, giving Gerrard a second chance to plead.
"You must believe me. They'll be here in hours-in moments."
"Who? Your next of kin?" Benbow growled, swinging his sword higher.
Gerrard hopped again, evading the knee-capping blow. "No, the Phyrexians!"
"Phyrexians?" Benbow shouted back incredulously, "Bogey men? Fairy-tale monsters?" His third swipe was aimed at cutting short a dearer appendage.
Gerrard blocked the attack, meanwhile kicking open the desk drawer.
It soared out on hidden bearings, as fast as a ramrod. The heavy drawer struck the warden. Benbow yelped in pain and doubled over.
Just before the man's bulk obscured the desk drawer, Gerrard spotted a large key ring lying within. His hand darted down.
Benbow guessed his foe's intention. Despite his agony, Benbow lunged forward to slam the drawer with his hips. Hidden bearings bore it inward. Just before wood closed on wood, Gerrard snatched the keys out.
Benbow was not as quick. He bellowed in agony.
Gerrard turned, spotting Tahngarth in the melee, and shouted, "Tahngarth, take these keys. Release the prisoners!" He flung the ring out over darting blades.
Swords jabbed up to intercept the keys. One blade flung them sideways. A second caught them, spinning, for a moment. The third was no blade at all, but a crook-ended cane. The ring of keys jangled down around the gnarled wood to clack in place in the blind seer's hand.
"I'll let them out," the old man vowed.
"Tahngarth, go with him!" Gerrard shouted.
The minotaur nodded. Decisively, he kicked aside a pair of blades and brought his fists down on the heads of the adjacent warriors.
"Me, too," Squee volunteered. He'd managed to get three guards chained together and bolted to the bars on one window. They cursed as he trooped happily to the minotaur and the blind man.
"I'm free," Sisay offered, glancing down at a warrior who lay prone at her feet. His legs were pinned beneath a chopped corner of the desk.
Hanna still battled. She was a fair enough fighter when roused to anger but typically had no stomach for it. Just now she wielded a tall brass coatrack against a single swordsman.
"Looks like I'll stay… unless-"
She charged the man suddenly, catching his armored collar in one hook of the rack. With an almighty heave, she set the stand upright. The soldier riled impotently, unable to bring his sword to bear.
Brushing her hands, Hanna retrieved her fallen blade and said, "I'm in."
"Excellent," Gerrard replied. The twenty-some guards had all been felled one way or another, none having suffered a worse setback than a concussion. Warden Benbow still lay on the desk top, struggling to free himself.
"I do hope you recover quickly, Warden. We could use you out there," Gerrard said, leaping down from the desk. He smiled, gesturing to his crew. "Let's go. We have an army to liberate."
Through the door they filed. Tahngarth led, a naked blade before him. He'd not used it in the battle so far and had no intention of killing with it, but a minotaur with a sword does wonders for inspiring the human sense of selfpreservation. Next in line was Squee, whose own sense of self-preservation attracted him to such a defender. Hanna was third, guiding the blind seer. Hanna's other hand twitched as though she wished she still had the coatrack. Gerrard brought up the rear. He dragged
a chair after him, closed the door to the stationhouse, and propped the chair beneath the doorknob.
"That ought to keep them."
"Gerrard," came Hanna's tremulous voice ahead. "Gerrard!"
He glanced up, seeing her pull a bloody hand away from her side. Gerrard rushed to her.
"One of those bastards get you?"
Turning toward him, she said, "No." She dragged the crimson tunic up from her side. "This is that wound. That one from the shrapnel in Rath."
Gerrard knelt beside her. "You said it was only a scratch!" Hanna blushed. "It was a little more. Orim cleaned it and dressed it on the way here. Healing magic didn't work…" She glanced beneath the blood-soaked bandage. The wound beneath was necrotic. Blood flowed from its center, but the skin and muscle around it were turning black. Fingers of corruption reached out from the spot.
"It is the Phyrexian plague," said the blind seer bleakly. "There is no cure."
Hanna's eyes darkened. She looked from the old man to Gerrard.
Giving a smile he did not feel, Gerrard said, "You may know a lot, old man, but you don't know Orim. She'll find a cure. In the meantime, let's stanch that blood flow." He knelt, ripping the sleeve from his commander's jacket. "Damned thing was too small anyway."
While he tended Hanna's wound, Tahngarth continued down the corridor to the first cell.
The inmate there had heard his approach and was cursing at what he expected to be another guard. When he caught sight of the massive bull-man and his keen sword, the inmate scrambled back from the bars.
He gabbled, "What in the Nine Spheres are you-?"
"Shut up," Tahngarth advised. The man complied. "If you vow to fight for us, we will release you from your cell."
"Wh-what if I want to stay here?" the man asked.
"You'll probably be killed when the prison is overrun."
"Overrun? By whom?"
"By Phyrexia."
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