Teferi blinked and scanned the cavern until he spotted his silent observer. The armored man had withdrawn to the west end of the mountain, half-concealed by a stalagmite. Teferi was loath to draw more attention to himself, but he could wait no longer. It was time to try his magic again.
Stripped of his planeswalker potential, Teferi had been forced to relearn the painstaking process of drawing mana as mortal wizards did: from the local surroundings and his memories of home. A thousand years of practice made this process familiar to him, but he likened it to swimming across an ocean. The fact that he could easily grasp the task at hand did nothing to make it easier.
As a godlike being, he knew mana was his for the taking. As a formerly godlike being he was continually frustrated by how long it took to marshal his strength. Zhalfir would still be out of his reach if he hadn’t spent more time there than anywhere else, both as mortal and planeswalker. Without his long-term residence in Zhalfir and its environs, and without the experience of channeling mana on a gigantic scale, he would have been lost. He suspected that he might still be without access to Zhalfirin mana if he hadn’t been the one who created the spells that removed it and used them to send his homeland into phase.
He was ready now. He had collected the mana and stored it in his staff, where he could access it more quickly. He could not planeswalk, but he could cast a simple levitation spell that would lift him out of the bowels of the mountain. There was a good chance Windgrace would pounce on him the moment the spell took shape, but Teferi had to take that chance. There was nothing for him to do and precious little more to learn here. He had to get out.
His hands tightened around his staff, and Teferi floated off the cavern floor. He rose only a few inches, but he was thrilled by this initial success and strived to keep his mind focused. Dropping several inches onto his backside would be embarrassing and painful. Falling from the middle of the mountain to the frozen swamps below would surely kill him, so he had every intention of being careful.
The armored man started when Teferi moved as if shaken from a restless sleep. His featureless, white eyes shone from under his helmet as he craned his head to track the wizard’s progress. Teferi pushed the observer from his mind, concentrating on keeping the flow of mana intact between his staff and his body.
The armored man stepped out from behind the rocks. His hand went to his belt, and he drew a thick, round spike. He expertly twirled it between his fingers and cocked his arm behind him, ready to throw.
Teferi dropped several inches but managed to stay aloft. He didn’t want to start over from the floor, but neither did he want to receive a sharp throwing weapon in midflight. The flight spell was simple and familiar, yet it took all of his concentration and all the magic he could assemble. Did he dare spend that mana on a defensive spell? Could he afford not to? And on a more practical level, what could he cast that was simpler and more familiar than this first-year-student’s trick?
The memories of his home crowded his brain, but now a different recollection rose above the others. He had been in a similar situation recently, seated and preoccupied as a dangerous opponent stalked ever closer. Corus had been consumed by rage and grief when he attacked, and Teferi had been helpless. Yet Corus was dead now, and Teferi was still here. If he could only remember how he bested the viashino, he could perhaps use the same strategy against the silent, armored scarecrow.
The warrior let his spike fly. Teferi watched it tumbling through the air toward him and resigned himself to abandoning his flight. There were simpler spells than levitation, spellcraft that was more familiar to him and easier to cast. For purely defensive measures, there was nothing cleaner or quicker than phasing.
He had invented this branch of blue magic himself, testing its use and drilling himself until it was second nature to him. At the peak of his powers Teferi could teach the lowliest apprentice to phase in less time than it took to eat lunch. It seemed grand and impressive to utterly remove a threat from existence with the wave of a hand, even if it was only for a short time. Decades of painstaking research made it deceptively easy in practice, especially once Teferi perfected the method.
He borrowed just a taste of mana from his flight spell and focused it on the incoming spike. He didn’t need to be faster than the darts or more accurate than their caster. He simply needed to be still.
The spike’s gleaming tip touched the edge of the spell bubble around Teferi. The spike disappeared in a minor puff of blue dust.
Teferi exhaled. He would be safe now. Anything that came close enough to touch him would simply cease to exist for a short time, and he had enough mana in his staff to power the shield for hours.
The armored man remained silent, but his posture betrayed his confusion. He didn’t seem anxious or frightened, nor even angry. He drew a spike in each hand and quickly cast them at Teferi, watching intently as they too vanished inches from their target.
“You can’t hurt me,” Teferi said. His voice echoed back and forth across the cavern.
The warrior remained unconvinced. He vanished from sight, reappearing at four different places around Teferi and hurling a dagger each time he flickered back in. Teferi smiled patiently through the barrage and waited for the white-eyed phantom to give up.
The armored figure faded into view ten yards directly in front of Teferi. His hand stole back to his belt, and his whole body stiffened. He clutched madly around his waist, searching the empty loops for something to throw. He glared at Teferi from under his helmet. Defiantly, he extended his empty hand and waited as if he expected it to fill itself.
A spike phased back, robbed of its momentum but still pointed toward Teferi. It hung in the air for a moment and fell noisily to the floor. The other spikes quickly followed, returning to the world in sequence as they filled the cavern with the sound of ghostly metal on stone.
To Teferi’s mild surprise, the warrior’s hand did fill itself—the first spike he’d thrown evaporated on the floor and reappeared in its master’s grip. Curious, the wizard thought. Whoever this warrior was, he must have worked very hard to become this dangerous. It must have taken inhuman discipline to master this sort of control over his shadow existence.
The armored phantom drew back his weapon once more. “Are you just going to keep trying to stab me all night and day?” Teferi said.
Dart tosser.
Teferi’s warming interest died in the cold dread of that disembodied voice. It was a sharp, brittle, jagged sound, full of joy and malice. He was too familiar with such voices and did not relish listening to another.
But the speaker wasn’t interested in Teferi, only the armored would-be killer. The white-eyed wraith had lowered his weapon when the voice first spoke and was standing almost at attention, a soldier awaiting orders.
The orders soon came. Stop wasting time with that afterthought, the voice said, and Teferi stifled a harrumph when he realized that meant him. Go out and find me the largest concentration of Phyrexians in Urborg. Keep them in sight and wait for my signal. The mad voice paused, then added, I’ll be back soon. Don’t tell Windgrace, though, as I want him to be surprised.
The warrior obeyed without hesitation, sheathing his spike and disappearing into the stone wall without so much as a glance for Teferi. Just as well, Teferi thought. He still had to get out from under this mountain, and he couldn’t do that if someone kept throwing sharp objects at him. There was ample mana left in his staff, and he was more than ready to fly again. He had almost certainly just met Windgrace’s Weaver King, and Teferi wanted to be well clear of here when that brittle-voiced madman next returned home.
He sat once more and touched his index fingers together in front of his nose. His staff glowed, and Teferi rose into the air once more.
Venser’s relief at finally catching up to Jhoira was quickly overwhelmed by Freyalise’s mounting anger. She stared fiercely at him as her face slowly turned crimson. Fear and regret mingled in his mind, and Venser despaired when he couldn’t decide which was
worse: the fact that he had ferried the Weaver King to Skyshroud and so deserved whatever ire Freyalise had, or the fact that he’d been totally unaware of the Weaver King’s presence and so deserved it more.
“I’m sorry,” he said, hating the feeble sound of his own voice and the negative effect it had on Freyalise’s mood.
“Yes, you are.” The planeswalker’s lips curled back, exposing her clenched teeth. “I expected Windgrace to have better control of his pets,” she said and half-closed her exposed eye to inspect Venser’s face, “though I see you are no longer affiliated with the gladehunters. How did you manage that?”
Venser did not answer, unsure of the truth and fearing her reaction to his best guess. Freyalise’s eye glowed, and heat rose around Venser, stalking him like a hungry wolf.
“I asked you a question,” Freyalise said.
“The Weaver King is a subtle creature,” Jodah said. He stepped forward and positioned himself between Venser and Freyalise. “Windgrace himself cleared both Venser and me after he drove the Weaver King from our minds. Or so he thought.”
Freyalise did not look at the archmage but remained focused on Venser. “So the fault is not yours,” she said, “even though you slipped out from under Windgrace’s protection by your own choosing.”
Venser moved so that he stood next to Jodah in full view of the planeswalker. “I escaped on my own,” he said. “But the mark was taken from me in transit.”
“Taken? By whom?”
Venser noticed Jodah and Jhoira both leaned forward to hear the answer.
“A planeswalker,” he said. “A man. He was big and silver.”
“You saw Karn?” Jhoira said. Jodah flinched when she spoke, and Venser shared his concern. Freyalise looked mad enough to incinerate them all without being interrupted.
“He never said his name,” Venser said. “But if Karn is powerfully built and made of metal, it was probably him.”
“Tall, broad, heavy. Speaks in a deliberate voice.” Heedless of Freyalise, Jhoira came toward Venser with her hands circling directly in front of her chest. “He has a golden symbol here, his name spelled out in the ancient language of the Thran.”
Venser nodded. “I don’t read Thran,” he said. “But that is exactly the creature I saw.”
Now Jhoira came forward, placing herself in front of the others. “This changes everything,” she said. “Karn has come because I called out to him.”
“And if I cared,” Freyalise said, “I would ask where he is, for I do not see him.”
“He is a traveler,” Jhoira said, “exploring the far edges of the multiverse for decades, perhaps centuries. It may take time for him to reach us, but the fact that he answered my call is the best news we could have.”
“I disagree.” Freyalise planted her gloved fists on her hips. “The best news I could have is to hear that thing”—she pointed to the ambulator—“can take you to Radha.”
Venser blinked. He opened his mouth but wisely shut it without voicing his objections as Jhoira and Freyalise fixed him with their own unique warning glances.
The planeswalker spoke, her voice rising as if she addressed multitudes. “Hear this, maker from Urborg. You can repair the damage you’ve already done by taking these two north and collecting my champion.”
“But I—”
“Else,” Freyalise’s color shifted to a deeper, dustier brick red, “you are useless to me. And there is nothing to prevent my exacting fair recompense for what you have already cost me.”
“Freyalise,” Jhoira said, “I must ask you to release me from my vow. Temporarily. Allow me to seek out Karn and guide him here. He can do ten times the good Radha can.”
The patron of Skyshroud’s face was as cold and still as a porcelain mask. “By what measure?”
“By all measures. He is a planeswalker. He has intimate knowledge of the multiverse’s structure, form, and function. And”—she locked eyes with the angry forest goddess—“he will help us willingly. He would not come this far otherwise.”
“But he has not come,” Freyalise said. “And now I cannot afford to wait.”
“Yes you can,” Jodah said. “The Weaver King said he would need time to master the slivers.”
“And you believe him?”
“I believe he is a braggart. He sometimes tells his victims the truth because he enjoys the fear it raises in them. He likes few things more than to make a threat and carry it out on his own terms.”
Now it was Freyalise who opened her mouth but reconsidered before she spoke. She seemed distracted by something behind her, deep in the forest. Her threatening color shifted back toward her normal, fair-skinned appearance, and the angry light faded from her eyes.
“Your Weaver King,” she said, “has just added the Phyrexians to his growing horde.”
Venser felt a new surge of regret, but Jhoira said, “All the more reason to bring Karn here as quickly as possible.”
Freyalise closed her eyes, the glittering gem on her eye patch growing dim. She stood silently for a few seconds, breathing deeply. “Go,” she said at last. “I will do what needs to be done, alone as always.”
“Not always,” Jodah said. “Listen to us, Freyalise. We can help you.”
“So you say, Archmage.” Freyalise opened her eyes, and her body began to fade behind a curtain of green and gold light. “But I have been disappointed too often of late. Radha, Windgrace, and now Jhoira…all of you failed me, abandoned me when I counted on you. I will protect my people as I always have done. I need no one else.”
“Wait,” Jodah said, but the planeswalker paid no heed. She vanished, leaving a cold wind that barely stirred the dead leaves on the ground.
As Jodah stared solemnly at the space Freyalise had just occupied, Venser and Jhoira turned to each other and spoke simultaneously.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Tell me about Karn,” she said.
Venser paused, realizing that Jhoira’s energy and interest had already answered his question. “He was distant,” he said.
“Physically or mentally?”
“Both.” Venser recalled his strange interlude in the Blind Eternities. “He seemed to recognize me. Said that ‘everything made sense now.’ He promised to return soon.”
“I see. Why did he remove Windgrace’s mark?”
“I’m not sure. He said I didn’t need it. Or the ambulator. Do you know what that means?”
Jhoira stiffened. “I have a theory.”
Venser didn’t like Jhoira’s evasive tone. “What did you mean when you said you called him?”
Jhoira shrugged. “I added an extra function to the ambulator,” she said. “Specifically, to the control rig. If the machine worked it sent a summons to Karn. A cry for help, really. It’s the same principle that we use when studying the weather. You have to take your instruments high above the clouds to avoid interference.”
Venser nodded, his throat tightening. “And you kept this a secret.” His mind raced, wondering how much Jhoira’s extra functionality had contributed to the ambulator’s unpredictability.
“I did.” Jhoira’s wise eyes grew sad. “I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you,” Venser said instantly, “though I would like to know what other secrets are built into this metal yoke.”
“It does what I told you,” she said. “It gives you precise control. It collects information from the chair and the chair’s surroundings, information that we can use to fine-tune the ambulator’s function.”
Venser waited for her to continue, certain there was more. “And?” he said.
“It collects information from you,” Jhoira said. Her eyes cleared, and her resolve returned. “Karn was right, Venser. You don’t need the ambulator. In fact, my theory is that your nascent powers are the main reason the chair never functions as you intend.”
A thousand thoughts collided on their way to Venser’s tongue. The only one that managed to emerge was, “What powers?”
“Y
ou can planeswalk,” she said. “Without the machine. I’m almost positive.”
Venser’s mind flashed once more to the godlike beings who kept taking an interest in him. To compare himself to them seemed laughable. “But I can’t do magic.”
“You’ve already teleported twice,” she said. “I’ve seen it.”
“I’m mortal,” Venser said. “I sleep and eat and bleed.”
Jhoira nodded. “I don’t have all the answers,” she said. “Perhaps I have none at all. My theory is incomplete but evolving.”
Venser went light-headed. He shuffled back a few steps and fell heavily into the ambulator’s seat. “I don’t understand any of this,” he said.
“You do,” Jhoira said. “You just can’t process it, can’t articulate it. Think of this as an unusual machine that you’ve happened across. You don’t know what it is, but you can make educated guesses. Function follows form, but in this case you already understand the function. All we have to do is puzzle out the form of your unique planeswalking spark.”
Venser bowed his head to collect his thoughts. “How do we do that?”
“We don’t. At least, not right now.” Jhoira stepped up onto the dais. “Give me the rig,” she said. “Karn is close. Calling him again will help him find us as quickly as possible.”
Venser lifted his face. “You can operate the ambulator?”
“I can,” she said. “Now that you have. Machines have memories, Venser, and over the years you taught yours how to teleport. It remembers those lessons, even in this new incarnation.
Planar Chaos Page 19
