Planar Chaos

by Timothy Sanders

  Venser is a builder, not a hero.

  He doesn’t want to save the world…

  Fear and dread shriveled like paper in fire as Venser’s outrage swelled. The Weaver King had erred in pushing him at this particular moment, for Venser had reached his limit. There were too many people making too many demands on him. Planeswalkers and archmages aside, Venser’s own sense of duty and the guilt from shirking that duty were more than enough to spur him to action. The Weaver King’s exhortations appealed to his weakness, that childish desire that told him to hide his head and wait for the danger to pass. It was a compelling notion no matter how irrational, but Venser would no longer be compelled. Windgrace would never succumb to such a ploy, nor Jodah, nor Radha, and Jhoira least of all.

  Venser gritted his teeth and stabbed his fingers in deliberate, measured motion. The ambulator whirred to life under his fingers. A film of yellow energy crawled up the dais and over the arms of the chair, slowly covering Venser in a gleaming skin of crackling light.

  Stay. Do not leave. I forbid it. Rest….

  “I will not rest,” Venser said, “until my work is done.”

  …but he’s the only one who can.

  Scott McGough ushers in new author Timothy Sanders, and together they continue the adventure first started in Time Spiral.

  Time Spiral Cycle, Book II

  PLANAR CHAOS

  ©2007 Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Wizards of the Coast, Magic: The Gathering, their respective logos, and all character names and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U. S.A. and other countries.

  Cover art by Daren Bader

  First Printing: January 2007

  eBook Publication: March 2018

  Original ISBN 9780786942497

  Ebook ISBN 9780786966462

  640-C5609000-001

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  v5.2

  a

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to

  Cathy, Erin, Jon, Barb, Gabrielle, and Jim,

  whose generosity in allowing me to crash in their homes made its

  successful completion not only possible, but enjoyable.

  Thanks again, my friends.

  —Scott McGough

  This is for Karin,

  who patiently supports all my mad schemes

  and listens to my crazy plots.

  —Timothy Sanders

  Acknowledgments

  Scott McGough would like to acknowledge the following individuals for their invaluable input:

  • Jeff Grubb, for his outstanding, inspiring, and bar-setting Magic fiction as well as his excellent advice on how to put the great character he created to good use

  • Susan Morris, whose steady hand and patience made the near-impossible slightly less painful and a great deal more manageable

  • Al, Dan, Johnny, Silas, Trixie, and the rest of the gang down at the Gem

  Timothy Sanders would like to acknowledge:

  • Susan J. Morris for being an awesome editor and for always having a patient explanation for a new author

  • Scott McGough for being a willing co-conspirator and providing the voice of experience as I slogged through the weeds of plot development

  • John Delaney for his many suggestions and improvements and for batting cleanup on all my loose threads

  • Brady Dommermuth for always having another suggestion that was slightly more evil than what we had already done to the poor characters

  • All the people involved in making Magic: The Gathering what it is today and especially those who decided to take a chance with a pair of new authors

  Venser stood on the acid-steaming sands of Shiv. He winced in the stinging wind as he faced the howling mass of goblins, orcs, slivers, and reptilian viashino raging toward him. The horde’s diverse membership was unified by a shared disposition—feral, desperate, and wild-eyed—and the shared purpose of tearing Venser and his party limb from limb. The marauders rolled across the sand like a great wave, closing the gap between them and their prey. Not for the first time, Venser decided his life had been far more manageable before he left Urborg.

  Not that things in his homeland were ever easy for him. Venser was an artificer, a maker of machines in a land where artifact-hating monsters scoured the swamps for machines to destroy. Venser had never wavered from his life’s work, designing, building, and testing his devices as often as he could. He scavenged raw materials from a toxic junkyard and learned to avoid the fen’s native dangers as well as the fanatical beasts who would kill him on sight for his endeavors. It was a dangerous way to live in one of the most dangerous places in the world.

  But life in Urborg seemed like a good night’s sleep compared to the past few days. Since Jhoira and Teferi had found him, Venser had been violently ripped from his home, hurled across wide expanses of space and time, and attacked by an ancient, godlike dragon. He had seen a magical tear in reality itself and watched as the wizard who created that tear healed it. He had witnessed two halves of a broken continent reassembled by planetary-scale magic, seen noble warriors come to ignoble ends, and been bullied by a lady barbarian. Now, in the face of an advancing horde on the seams of the restored land of Shiv, Venser struggled with the obvious fact that his troubles were only beginning.

  His party must have seemed easy pickings to the approaching mob, numbering four with only one warrior. Venser and Jhoira were artificers, and though both were young and strong, neither was especially well armed or battle-tested. The planeswalker Teferi had strong magic, but he was still dazed from his recent efforts and bleeding from a solid blow to the head. Only Corus, the huge viashino lizard-man, was trained and ready for close combat. Corus had already bested one of the mob’s leaders, but he could not fight a gang of fifty and protect his human charges all at once.

  The viashino warrior stood rigidly atop the sand, his eyes narrow and his sharp tongue slicing the air. Teferi had sunk to his knees nearby, his bald head and his dark, handsome features ma
rred by a stream of blood trickling down from his split scalp. The master wizard’s eyes were glassy and vacant, and his lips moved as he muttered, seemingly unaware of his current surroundings.

  Venser turned to Jhoira, as he had done so often during the past few days. She was a native of this harsh land, a Shivan from the nomadic Ghitu tribe. She was slight of build but wiry and strong, her body shaped and tempered by years of roaming the desert. Her people placed special significance on artifice, on forging metal and building tools. This shared interest made Jhoira the only like-minded person he had seen in weeks. Even when Venser put Jhoira’s kind nature and considerable beauty aside, her keen eye and insightful mind made her precious to him. She was the only stable thing he’d found among the chaos that surrounded them, a haven of clear, calm thinking.

  Venser’s eye was also drawn to the star-shaped gem Jhoira wore on a chain around her neck. The gem was a powerstone, a crystalline battery that contained vast amounts of raw, magical energy. Venser had two similar stones in his belt pack that had powered his creations for years, but he knew that even combined his were less potent than a single facet of Jhoira’s mana star.

  Jhoira noticed him watching her and slowly turned to face him, taking her stern gaze away from the clamoring mob. Venser felt the wave of dizzying vertigo that always hit him when Jhoira’s eyes found his. She seemed so young, at least a decade younger than Venser himself, but something in her was also old, vast, and wise. She carried herself and spoke with the confidence of a mature and experienced world traveler rather than the fresh-faced nineteen-year-old academic she appeared to be.

  Now Jhoira’s eyes were tired and profoundly sad. “I’m out of ideas, Venser.”

  Recent experience had taught Venser the value of thinking and speaking quickly. “I see two options, myself. Run or fight.”

  “Can’t run,” Jhoira said. “Corus could dive under the sand and swim rings around them, but he couldn’t carry us along. We’d be overwhelmed on the surface before we take twenty steps.”

  “Then we fight,” Venser said, without any of the confidence or conviction he knew such a statement required. He gestured at Teferi. “Can he create another barrier? Or transport us out of here?”

  Jhoira’s expression soured. “Possibly. But Teferi and his power are unreliable right now.”

  “We could try to bring him around—”

  “Unreliable,” Jhoira said, “in that I choose not to rely on them.”

  “Oh.” Venser paused. “What about Corus? Does he know any spells that might help?”

  “You could ask him yourself,” Corus said, “because he’s standing right here. And he’d answer, ‘no.’ I’m a frontline warrior, little builder, and we prefer to get our hands dirty.”

  Venser gulped slightly, but he eyed the mana star Corus wore and said, “What about that?”

  Corus puffed air through his nostrils. “I never needed it. The planeswalker insisted.”

  “How about you, Jhoira? You’ve got your mana star, plus you were born and raised here. You must know some survival spells.”

  “I do.” Jhoira smiled a little, perhaps charmed by his earnest faith in her. “But not on the scale we need to keep that lot at bay.” She pointed to the feral goblins, orcs, and viashino. They were close enough now to make out distinct figures—soon, they would be close enough to do far more. “The magic here is as dried up as it is everywhere else.”

  “Shiv is whole now,” Venser said. “And the part that came back is as fresh as it was three hundred years ago. Can’t you feel it? I’m not even from here. I’ve never cast a spell. But even I can tell there’s power here.” It was true—Venser felt he was standing on a mountain as the edge of a major thunderstorm rolled past. The air was humming, and it tingled on his skin.

  Jhoira’s eyes sparked to life. She regarded Venser intently. “No,” she said. “I don’t feel anything.” She turned to the viashino. “Corus?”

  The big lizard shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Jhoira turned back to Venser. “But you do. You feel it.”

  Venser hesitated, unnerved by Jhoira’s expression. Then he nodded.

  Teferi’s eyes cleared. He blinked, locked eyes with Venser, and said, “Venser’s right. It surges along the boundary line. Plenty of mana for the next…few…hours…as it balances back out….

  “Teferi,” Jhoira said. The wizard’s eyes rolled back up into his head, and his chin lowered once more, his jaw working as he mumbled silently.

  “Hear that?” Venser said. “There’s mana here. Teferi the planeswalker agrees with me.” He was beaming triumphantly, but Jhoira regarded him and Teferi both as if they were merely interesting specimens on display.

  “So he does. But I say again, Teferi is not reliable.” She extended her hands, one each to Venser and Corus. “I may be able to protect us in the short term, but I’ll need both of you to help.” She gestured. “Please take my hands.”

  Venser eagerly stepped forward and clasped his fingers around Jhoira’s palm. Corus hesitated for a moment and said, “What do you have in mind?”

  “The Ghitu glass storm,” Jhoira said. To Venser, she added, “A defensive spell, albeit a very aggressive one. It’ll bloody them and keep them at bay, but it won’t kill them.”

  “Unless they charge right through it,” Corus said.

  “In which case it will shred them,” Jhoira said. “At this point that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “Seconded,” Venser said. Corus hissed at him.

  “I don’t like Ghitu rituals,” the viashino said. “They tend to consume those who perform them.”

  Jhoira’s hand remained extended, as steady as a mountain. “I will take steps to avoid that. I mean to save us, not sacrifice us.”

  “And it’s not like you have a better option,” Venser said. “Burn up in the spell or get torn up by the mob.”

  Corus’s tongue flicked the air. “I can escape any time I like.”

  “Then do so,” Jhoira said, anger flaring across her elegant features, “or take my hand. But whichever you choose, do it now.”

  Corus hissed again, but he stepped forward and enveloped Jhoira’s hand in his own.

  “Should I take Teferi’s hand?” Venser asked.

  “Don’t bother,” Jhoira said. She turned her back to the wizard on the ground, forcing Venser and Corus to do the same. Jhoira raised her arms over her head, taking Venser’s and Corus’s hands with them, and began speaking in the throaty tones and clipped cadence of her native Ghitu tongue.

  A hot wind kicked up, peppering their faces with sand. Jhoira’s coarse, brown hair rose and writhed like an uncountable mass of snakes. Venser felt warmth building between his palm and Jhoira’s and an unsettling internal wrench as something vital flowed from his body into hers.

  Jhoira’s spell sounded more like a song, a haunting melody that could echo for miles across the desert wastes. Grit swirled above the surface of the sand, a rushing river of dust and air that cut a wide arcing swath between Jhoira and the leading edge of the ragged mob.

  Tiny needles of sand began to accrete inside the stream of air, each dart growing larger and longer as the wind hurled it back and forth. The stream expanded and settled into a cloud on the surface of the desert, and soon that cloud was full of long, sharp-edged diamonds of tightly packed sand. The diamonds flashed, glowing first red, then white as their fine silicate particles melted, fused, and flowed together. As these molten missiles cooled, they hardened and shattered, producing countless multifaceted shards of razor-sharp glass.

  Venser wondered if the frenzied goblins and viashino even saw the cloudbank in their path. He started to voice his concern when a searing galvanic shock shot up his arm and slammed into his spine, forcing him to clench his teeth so tightly he was sure he felt them crack.

  Venser’s entire body went rigid as he choked on the pain. The surge ran back down his arm to his palm. He saw Jhoira through a gauzy, white haze, her body also convulsed, and her fa
ce likewise contorted. Corus had been right, and now they were all doomed—the Ghitu glass storm had consumed them after all.

  Venser endured for a few moments. He registered the fact that he was still alive, and as the pain leveled off he also realized he was not going to die—at least not right now and not from Jhoira’s spell. He continued to view Jhoira herself and to feel her hand in his. He also saw her struggling to regain control of her body, straining to flex her rigid muscles. Though the near-blinding agony remained, Venser quickly adjusted to it, calmly thinking through the searing sensation pressing in on his body from all sides. He needed to break the circuit somehow, to interrupt the flow of magical energy that was fueling Jhoira’s spell.

  Something clicked and popped between their palms, then the Ghitu woman shouted as she tore her hand from Venser’s. Jhoira pulled free with such force that she staggered forward and fell. She swung toward Corus, who had not released her hand, toppling awkwardly. She barely managed to get her free arm under her in time to keep her face from hitting the sand.

  Smoke curled from Corus’s palm as he opened his grip. Jhoira fell heavily onto her side. She drew in a lungful of acrid air and sand, then fell into a violent fit of coughing.

  The huge viashino dropped to his knees. Corus craned his long neck up, peering through double-lidded eyes at the approaching mob. When he spoke, his voice was slow and heavy. “Ghitu,” he said, “what have you done?”

  Venser took a step toward Jhoira, but Corus was in the way. The viashino twisted his massive head, bared his fangs, and growled at Venser. “Leave her,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

  Venser stopped. With Corus on his knees, Venser had a clear view over the viashino’s massive shoulder. Jhoira crouched a mere step away from Corus, her knees curled under her as she tried to sit up. Venser looked past Jhoira, to the spot where her spell cloud and the Shivan horde had met.