This plague was the worst she had seen, faster, more virulent than other strains. No doubt this contagion had been developed in experimentation on countless Skyshroud elves. Takara herself had been a test subject for the human plague. These tiny motes of elf-virus prickled the large, gray infection across her back.
Yes, Takara was dying of the plague. She had been dying when Eladamri and Liin Sivi had rescued her from Rath. Her companions knew but no one else. They had treated the sore every night, sterilizing it with rye spirits and soothing its ache with aloe. Still, it had spread.
When the bomb hit, Takara's first impulse had been to flee downward with the others. But why? She was doomed one way or another. Up here, she could help a few people before she was eaten away to nothing. Takara wasn't being noble. She wasn't so much saving elves as choosing her own time to go.
Scrambling across the body-strewn floor, she caught up an elf child. The little girl, perhaps no more than two, stood just beyond the shouldering multitude. She screamed. Tears streaked her white cheeks. Takara lifted the girl in her arms and held her tight, whispering comforts into her ears. She did not know this dialect of Elvish but consolation sounded the same in any language.
How like this child she had been. Her father had been a grotesque little servant of evil. Her home had been redskied Rath. She had not been alive for even two decades before she was dying of plague-a child screaming in chaos all her life.
"Take her!" Takara demanded, grabbing an elf man who pushed among the throng. "Take her!"
He began to plead, his old eyes filled with mortal fear. This was an elder elf, perhaps a millennial elf, long beyond his century of child-rearing. Still, he reached out for the girl. He cooed, patting her sobbing back. With new purpose, the old elf shoved his way into the crowd.
Through her pain, Takara smiled. If this child was her miniature likeness-screaming in chaos all her life-then saving her was as close as Takara would ever come to saving herself.
She moved back out among the wounded. Any moment another bomb would hit. Then she and everybody left in the chamber would die.
Takara realized with surprise that she would miss Eladamri and Liin Sivi. The three had made a fair team. More surprising, still, she hoped they would miss her too.
* * * * *
Liin Sivi was too slow to deflect the fifth plague bomb. It plunged from the heart of the sun. She knew of it only by the whistle that became a whine and a shriek. The sun was blinding. The shadow of the bomb jittered across the sloped roof. Liin Sivi flung herself beneath that shadow and braced the shield over her head.
The plague bomb struck to one side. It tore through the thatch as if it were air. It smashed the king beam. The roof slumped massively beneath Liin Sivi's feet. A thunderous boom came below, with a brittle, crackling sound. The hiss of the plague spores was unmistakable. So were the shouts of the elves.
The plague hadn't time to kill them, though. One wall of the high court caved and fell inward. A hundred tons of wood toppled in giant killing sheets. Dagger-splinters stabbed down afterward.
The roof buckled and failed. It crashed like a bellying wave.
Liin Sivi rode the green tide. She could do nothing else. Timbers crashed to the floor. Giant knots fell in blood puddings that once had been elves. White, killing spores seeped smoky through every crack. Liin Sivi fell to her knees on the shuddering thatch and braced herself.
The far wall crumpled under the roof's plunging weight. Beams roared as they tumbled over each other. In four sections, the thatch crashed to the floor of the ruined high court.
A sudden quiet filled the air. No more crashing. No more screams. Before Liin Sivi stood the tall doorway where even now the last of the refugees fled. Behind her lay the silent wreck of the high court. Not a single moan came from the tumbled ruin. All the elves had been eaten by plague. There were no humans except-
There she lay, red hair tangled amid thatch. A cracked rafter had run her through, spearing the gray rot that filled her back.
Liin Sivi bowed her head. Takara had been a worthy companion. To die this way, twice killed, in the midst of strangers… She'd chosen her time.
"Good-bye, Takara," Liin Sivi said. "You will be missed."
Another whistling shriek mounted above.
Drawing a ragged breath, Liin Sivi strode to the giant doors and entered the resinous darkness within. They made not a sound as they closed over the bright world. Liin Sivi set the bolt and descended after the refugee crews. She descended after Eladamri.
* * * * *
Eladamri led the refugees down the royal passage. No king had been this deep in centuries. No lamps lit the way except those torn from walls higher up. The ragged stairs, carved from dead heart-wood, spiraled down around a vast emptiness. A fall would bring death by lance-long slivers on the way down. It was a certainty… proven many times over already.
Screaming began above. The refugees knew what that meant. They pressed up miserably against the walls and waited for the body to plunge past. It did, narrowly missing an elf woman and her son. Into the dark pit the man fell. His screams grew hollow. They were interrupted by glancing impacts and ended at last by death.
"Downward," Eladamri commanded softly, leading the way.
In time he reached a region where giant webs had caught a number of the bodies. Eladamri advanced, cutting the gruesome figures free, lest their presence bring hungry spiders.
"What am I doing here?" he wondered under his breath, holding a flickering lantern high to stare at one of the bloodied victims. "Why am I leading these people?"
More screams above interrupted his thoughts. He glared up, clutching the wall. Lanterns showed the spiraling ascent. They lifted to see what came down the shaft. Voices joined themselves to the rolling scream. Something pounded one wall, ricocheted off, descended across the emptiness, and impacted the opposite wall. It struck the folk there, seemed to stick a moment on pulverized bodies, and tumbled downward again.
"A plague bomb!" Eladamri hissed in dread realization.
Once it came to a stop, its panels would open and spew contagion. It would contaminate them all and even the caves below, where they had hoped to shelter. All was lost, unless the contagion could be contained…
Dropping his lantern to the stair, Eladamri swung his sword along the stairway. The blade cut through fat cobwebs. He gathered them in a net in his free hand. Once there were enough strands, he sheathed his sword and experimentally spread the web. His timing would have to be perfect.
If only he were the perfect man he was believed to be.
The plague pod bounded down, followed by a flurry of tumbling bodies.
Eladamri gritted his teeth and flung the net outward. It enveloped the globe. Its sticky bands wrapped around the spore panels in the side of it. The sphere tore past. Eladamri released it, though the clinging strands yanked jealously at his hand. He hunkered down to keep from getting hurled into the void. The racing ball almost ripped his hand off before the strands tore free. Beyond the edge of the stair, Eladamri glimpsed the ball as it plunged away through webs and darkness.
Perhaps the strands would hold. Perhaps the spores would not emerge. Eladamri had done all he could, and it would have to be enough.
Bodies fell past in a wet, conglomerate paste.
Eladamri snatched up his lantern and picked his way farther down the spiraling stair. "What am I doing here?"
* * * * *
Multani moved through Llanowar, awakening great tree spiders. Their webs would save the wood. Their webs and the ingenuity of this Eladamri. There was more to this elf than the man himself realized.
As Multani rushed from tree to tree, mustering the defenders of Llanowar, he felt new power surge into him. It was Molimo. In his reticent and reluctant way, the spirit of Llanowar lent his strength to this foreign spirit. Multani smiled with mushroom teeth. The forest needed champions, mortal and immortal, and it was making them-Eladamri and Multani both.
Chapter 19
/> Bombs for Phyrexia
"There it is, see?" said the blind seer somewhat absurdly. He jabbed a withered old finger beyond the prow rail. Wind tore at his white hair and old robes. "Llanowar." "Yes," Gerrard responded grimly. The vast forest spread in all directions beneath Weatherlight's bow. Llanowar's once-green crown was black with Phyrexian corruption. Spidery figures moved en masse through the great canopy. Above, in blue air and white cloud, huge black shapes clustered. From them dropped thousands of bombs. There were no aerial defenders here. With impunity, the monsters rained plague down on the forest.
Gerrard leaned to the prow speaking tube. "Battle stations, everyone. Signal the fleet. Prepare to engage those… whatever those ships are."
Turning to the blind seer, Gerrard said, "Thanks for the tip. With Benalia fallen, Llanowar especially will need our help."
"Help them, and help yourself," the old man said cryptically from the shadows of his broad hat.
Gerrard's brow furrowed. "We could have been here hours sooner if we'd been able to find you. Where were you?"
"I live half in truth, half in dream," the man replied evenly. "When I cannot be found in the one, I can be found in the other."
Gerrard sighed, shaking his head as he strode toward the port-side ray cannon. "You've wasted time."
The seer took a deep breath and murmured, "I never waste time."
Gerrard strapped himself into his gunner's harness. He powered up the machine and turned it through all three axes. Across the forecastle, Tahngarth did likewise. The two amidships gunners climbed into position. Crew scrambled across the decks and up into the bridge.
Turning in his traces, Gerrard glanced toward the bridge. He saw a familiar figure clamber into the navigator's seat.
"What the…!" he hissed, flipping open the speaking tube. "Hanna! What are you doing in there?"
"My job." Her response came curtly through the tube. "You've called battle stations, Commander."
"You can't navigate in your condition."
"Take us up, Sisay!" Hanna called suddenly. "Those aren't ships!"
Gerrard turned about, seeing the black, hovering mass in the clouds. No, they weren't ships. They were nothing at all, holes opening and closing in the sky.
Weatherlight pitched backward and rose. The clustered shapes shrank to a long, thin horizontal line. They seemed the surfaces of lakes, seen on edge for a moment as the ship emerged from below. Weatherlight soared higher. Beneath her, the line spread out into a cluster of shifting shapes.
"What are they?" Gerrard asked.
"Portals," Hanna shot back. "Small portals. Thousands of them. They are weak, not like the ones we've seen before. Each creates a mild spacio-temporal distortion. Together, the effect is massive."
Weatherlight vaulted up over the portals. From above, they did not seem so much holes in the fabric of reality as blurred areas, like the wavering of heat energy off gray coals. Beneath those shimmering spots, mechanical spheres hurtled down. They gave out long screams on their descent to the canopy. There, they crashed and spewed disease payloads.
Hanna's voice came again. "They each can transport perhaps a few hundred pounds of material before shutting down. Together, they'll destroy the forest with plague."
That word on her lips made Gerrard angry. He drew a breath and gritted his teeth. "Signal the fleet. Open fire!"
His own gun was the first to bark. Crimson energy burst from the steaming muzzle, as bright as heart-blood and as hot as lava. Gaseous plasma surged out to smash against the field of scintillating spheres. It engulfed a dozen of the small portals and ripped through the spaces between them.
Fire spoke also from Tahngarth's gun, the two cannons amidships, the belly gun, and Squee's artillery at the tail. Lines of power streamed down from Weatherlight, The surges were joined by the multifarious attacks of her armada. Hoppers sent orange fire, helionauts blue. Plasma bolts, lightning blasts, disruption fields-energy poured down on the portals.
Gerrard gave a whoop, unloading shot after shot. It felt good to be fighting again, blazing through the invaders.
"It's no good, Commander," shouted Hanna over the speaking tube. "The portals don't exist on this side. We can't destroy them from above. We'd have to fly below and risk plague contamination. Up here, we're just destroying the forest."
Standing in his traces, Gerrard peered down over the rail. The flack of their shot ate through the canopy, vaporizing wood and setting the forest ablaze.
"Cease fire!" Gerrard shouted. "Signal the fleet! Cease fire!"
As his cannon darkened, Gerrard's mood did likewise. How could he fight an enemy he could not shoot? These portals were too small to fly through, too numerous to shut down, too intermittent to predict, too deadly to fly beneath. The Phyrexians had learned how to defeat Gerrard. They had paid in glistening-oil for Benalia, but they had bought it. Now, they would buy Llanowar without shedding a drop.
His voice was heavy as he leaned toward the speaking tube.
"Suggestions?"
"Say again, Commander?" Sisay asked for them all.
"Suggestions. I want suggestions. How can we fight these portals?"
Only silence answered from the speaking tubes. Beneath Weatherlight, the glimmering sea of portals slid away. Only the mournful wind and the whine of the fleet's engines spoke in the hush.
"Shall we bring the fleet about for another pass?" Sisay asked quietly. "Or shall we ship for another battle, elsewhere?"
"I don't know," Gerrard replied. "I don't know."
* * * * *
Orim stood on the poop deck, gazing aft. She had clambered topside in hopes of dragging Hanna from her post. The impossibility of that quest was soon clear. The impossibility of this battle was clear as well.
"Bring us about," Gerrard's voice came sullenly through the tubes. "There must be something we're missing."
Orim shook her head in empathy. She had repeated those same words countless times as she stared at the rot that was killing Hanna. There must be something I'm missing.
It was Orim's own impossible battle. Without Hanna, how would the ship find her way? How would Orim and Sisay find their way? And Gerrard- he would be utterly lost.
Already, they were lost. The ship roared out above Llanowar, trailing its faithful fleet close behind. They cruised above the field of portals. Not a gun woke fire on those devices. They seemed to form a placid and illimitable sea.
Water. It triggered memories of a far-off place-of Cho-Manno, the Cho-Arrim, and their water magic. When she had left her beloved, she had sworn to take the power of the waters with her. Orim gazed at the shimmering portals. How could she find power in such black waters? If only she could meditate, could draw from the reservoirs within her, perhaps she could find a cure to this plague.
Orim gazed down in desolation on the portals.
Weatherlight stirred a strong, long wake in the portals.
Suddenly, Orim knew. It was a simple thing, the sort of thing Hanna and Sisay would understand implicitly.
Spinning on her heels, Orim rushed to the bridge door. She flung it back and descended.
The cramped room buzzed with activity. Gerrard had arrived on the bridge to consult with Sisay at the helm. Reports poured out the speaking tubes that blossomed here and there: The metallic voice of Karn asked for attack status; the signal officer relayed other ships' queries. Ensigns scrambled up through the lower hatch and back.
Hanna was busiest of all. She worked feverishly at her navigation console. The compass and stylus that walked across a chart of Llanowar dragged telltale lines of red in their wake. Her fingers were knotted in crimson where she clutched her belly wound.
Orim's breath caught at the sight. Blood did not bother her. Its implications did-especially these implications.
Rushing to Hanna's station, Orim knelt, grabbing her friend's arm.
"Hanna, you have to get below-"
"I can't," she snapped, her voice more exhausted than annoyed.
"Yo
u can, once we get rid of those portals."
"Get rid of-"
"We couldn't planeshift to Benalia because of the three portals over it. You said they caused spacio-temporal distortions that shunted us to the side."
"Yes, but what does all this-"
"Our own shift envelope is much stronger than any of these. Even at normal speeds, we leave a wake in the portals below. If we were to-"
"Yes," Hanna said. Despite the horrible pallor of her face, a brief and beautiful flush came to her cheeks. "Sisay! Captain! Take us up!"
Without question, Sisay drew back on the helm. Weatherlight responded as though the ship were her own body. Even Karn ceased his questions below, seeming to understand.
Only Gerrard was caught off-guard. He went to one knee and spilled against the bridge stanchions. His face smashed against the bulwark.
Jiggling his head, Gerrard growled out, "What is it? Danger?"
Hanna laughed dryly, "Only for the Phyrexians."
Standing placidly at the helm, Sisay shouted over her shoulder. "What's your plan, Hanna?"
"A nosedive," the navigator returned, "right through the portal sea. We'll see how many we can drag away in our slipstream."
A grin lit Sisay's face. "I like it! Gerrard, you'd better call off the fleet. Tell them to circle and wait for our return."
Clawing his way forward, Gerrard rubbed a lump under his beard. "Wait a minute. What are you three planning?"
"Just the salvation of Llanowar," Sisay said lightly. "More power, Karn." She steered the ship into a nearvertical climb. The air grew thin all around. Clouds dragged away from Weatherlight's raked airfoils. "You asked for suggestions."
With a rueful nod, Gerrard clutched the speaking tubes and barked, "Signal the fleet! Tell them to circle until further orders!"
"That's a dear," Sisay said. "Hanna, how's our position?"
Peering through the sight arrays that jutted above her navigation desk, Hanna replied, "Yaw four degrees port, and let the keel cut for another thousand feet, and we'll be ready for the dive."
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