That’s why Agnate’s army was being channeled to this swamp—so that it could be decimated in one stroke. In moments the Metathran would break through the wall of Phyrexians and rush to their doom.
It was a clever trap, but Agnate was a clever mouse. Signaling to his troops to remain where they were, Agnate climbed down the tree. The stench of the swamp grew more potent as he descended. At ground level it was nearly unbearable. He crept to the bank of the marsh and knelt. From his belt, he produced flint and steel. They were the only weapons he needed.
Leaning above the fetid waters, he struck the metal against the stone. A single spark leaped away. It twisted in a bright spiral down toward the water. The spark grew. It ignited the thick swamp gas. Blue fire swelled outward. In a moment, the whole swamp went up. From where Agnate stood to the far shore, it all erupted in azure flame. The heat flashed away his silver hair. The roar hurled him back against a tree. He struck it and fell, but as he did, he saw the three plague spreaders riling in agony. One of the amazing properties of glistening-oil was that, when heated to a sufficient degree, it became extremely volatile.
Three blinding flashes burst into being in the center of that blue flame. In the afterimage burned into Agnate’s mind, he saw the plague spreaders’ skeletons still standing, all blood, all flesh, all plague burned away.
Agnate rolled to his knees, catching his breath. His folk would break through any moment. He would need to be ready to lead them on. Standing, he drew his battle axe and whistled his warriors to him.
CHAPTER 6
The Dragons Primeval
As the overlay began, Rhammidarigaaz, lord of the dragon nations, roared a warning into the charnel skies of Koilos. Phyrexians were coming. His wings spread upon the hot winds. Powerful legs hurled him aloft. Muscles surged. The great serpent rose patiently skyward. Leathery skin caught the broiling air and flung it down in twin cyclones.
The rest of the dragon nations followed. The dragons of Shiv, Darigaaz’s own volcanic breed, were first to launch themselves in the wake of their lord. After them leaped the dragons of ancient Argive, alabaster creatures that were more at home among clouds than sand. Like predators after prey, the swamp dragons followed. Their black scales glimmered in the storm of dust, and their eyes gleamed blacker still. The serpents of the forest lunged upward next and spread their cobra cowls out to catch the wind. Last of all, the sea dragons, who languished in this desert heat, vaulted toward hints of blue.
It was an awesome spectacle. These thousand dragons were the greatest warriors of the wide-flung dragon nations. They spiraled into the sky above human and Metathran and elf allies, above Phyrexian foes.
On the horizon, Phyrexian dragon engines approached. They were merely glints of metal now but in moments would tear apart their fleshly kin.
Darigaaz and his folk would fight fiercely but would die today.
It is a shameful thing you have done, Rhammidarigaaz, said a voice that coiled through his head, shameful to bring the dragon nations to the desert to be slain.
Even as he labored higher, Darigaaz glimpsed who it was that spoke—a god among dragons. Tevash Szat. He lingered below in his jet-black titan suit. Of the nine engines, his was the most draconic, with a fangy head, scaly armor, and barbed tail. Urza had designed the suit especially for the reptilian planeswalker, but the longer Szat inhabited the machine, the more he mutated it.
Darigaaz returned the thought. You too have come here, Tevash Szat, to die in the desert.
I never go anywhere to die.
Neither did we, Darigaaz replied. We came to fight for our world.
Szat was snide. Your world? You do not fight for your world. You fight for a mortal world, a world of humans and elves and dwarfs and minotaurs. A sadness entered the planeswalker’s thoughts. Dominaria has not been our world for ages of ages.
I haven’t time for wordplay, Darigaaz thought as he reached the peak of his climb. I have a war to win.
I agree. Let us be done with word games and begin our war.
Bolts of black power emanated from the titan engine and ripped the air all about Darigaaz and his flying folk. The energy literally tore the sky open. Through rents in reality, an unreal world of chaos shapes and hissing forms appeared. The tears grew wider. They joined. Holes opened in the sky. Serpents banked to escape the shredding reality, but the disintegration was too rapid. The beasts flew into chaos.
Just before the last tatter of sky disappeared, Tevash Szat in his ebony engine leaped in among them.
Darigaaz knew this place. The Blind Eternities was Urza’s name for it. To Darigaaz it always had seemed the formless albumen of an egg, the seeming nothing out of which scale and claw, heart and brain would take shape.
I know your thoughts, Darigaaz, that these folk are your folk. I know your heart, Darigaaz, better than you know it yourself.
Why do you take us from battle?
I take you to a truer battle, to one you must win.
Suddenly, the Blind Eternities congealed into a coastal range of volcanic mountains. Lava pumped from dozens of cones. Steam and sulfur jetted into yellow clouds. Basalt channeled molten rock into the sea. Ash made false ground above boiling calderas. Obsidian glinted like glassy jewels in black hillsides.
The place had all the sights and smells of Darigaaz’s homeland, Shiv, but nowhere in Shiv were there sheer cliffs beside the sea. Nowhere did the ocean cut so long and perfect an arc into the land. It was as though a gigantic spoon had scooped out a precise hunk of land, letting the sea flow into the space.
The dragon nations circled in confusion above the strange spot.
Here is where you must begin your true war, Darigaaz. Battle for your home.
This is not my home, Darigaaz replied.
Look again. This is what is left of your home, of Shiv, after Teferi took what he wished.
Teferi, yes. Knowing of the coming invasion, the planeswalker Teferi had phased out most of the lands of Shiv—the mana rig, the tribal territories of the Ghitu, and even many of the dragon kingdoms. This was all that remained. Down there, among those sea-shorn mountains, was Darigaaz’s own aerie. This place was his home.
Teferi was wise, came the mind of Tevash Szat. His titan engine floated effortlessly in the midst of the circling beasts. A hundred thousand Phyrexians just now are shark food. Their portion of Rath overlaid not on land but in sea. But there are tens of thousands of others that ravage your homelands, Rhammidarigaaz. Will you let them destroy it, or will you fight for dragons as you have fought for mortals?
Only then did Darigaaz truly see. Figures marched across shoulders of pumice. They trooped like ants over crater rims and swarmed the boulder piles where goblins dwelt. They climbed cave walls to kill Viashino mystics. They marched up lava tubes to slaughter the dragon enclaves within.
Roaring again in command, Darigaaz led his folk in a long dive toward the land. The Shivan dragons soared with alacrity behind him. The others—this was not their home—hesitated. A glare from Szat sent them after their brethren.
Darigaaz angled down toward a column of Phyrexians. They marched across a narrow isthmus between two boiling seas of magma. At the far end of the land bridge lay a Viashino village. There Phyrexians slew lizard men with impunity. But not for long.
Darigaaz dived. His wings rattled with the searing wind. The pendants at his neck sparked scarlet energy. He gathered spells for the coming assault. In the elder dragon’s wake, a score more of his folk sliced the air. Wind whistled from their scales. Their mouths gaped in exertion. Between spiky teeth glowed the fires they stoked in their bellies.
The Phyrexian column turned to look upward. They saw. Some stood their ground. Others stumbled back and fell from the sides of the isthmus. They plunged into the magma seas and their blood ignited immediately. Blue flames lined the land bridge. The rest of the column bolted for the Viashino village.
They w
ouldn’t reach it.
Rhammidarigaaz swept low over their heads. From his mouth poured killing fire. It mantled the fleeing monsters. One by one, like corn popping, they burst into flame. More ignited in a chain of azure. Black shells split to gush white innards.
Nearing the domed huts of the Viashino village, Darigaaz spoke an incantation. Power coalesced in the pendants around his neck. It shot out to the cuffs of his wrists and into clawed fingertips. Crimson beams stabbed downward. With utter precision, they found their targets. A Phyrexian trooper was torn in half while the lizard man beside him was spared. A mogg goblin turned to ash that sifted harmlessly onto two Viashino hatch-lings. A slasher engine melted, its scythe arm unable to catch a fleeing elder.
Darigaaz came to ground at a run. He folded his wings and clutched up a scuta in each hand. They seemed only pill bugs, and then not even that. He flung the crumpled bodies away and thundered forward to where monsters ripped apart the village elders.
Lizard blood and hunks of skin bounded through the air. The Phyrexians snapped up what they could in greedy jaws, but most of the meat draped the stony dwellings. The monsters turned to find new victims.
Instead they found Darigaaz. He crushed two with his pounding feet and two more with his gory hands and another dozen with a powerful swipe of his tail.
Other Shivan dragons set to ground in the village and fought murderously. The rest of the dragon nations soared onward to defend a goblin village nearby.
Rhammidarigaaz had killed ten more Phyrexians before he heard Szat’s voice again in his mind. Don’t waste your fire on such lowly beasts. Your own folk languish.
Darigaaz lifted his head above the stone domes. Szat stood at the base of a distant volcano, beside a huge lava tube. A quick glance around the Viashino village told Darigaaz that most of the Phyrexians were dead. Those that remained could be dispatched by the lizard men. He roared once, summoning his folk, and leaped skyward.
Their wings cast huge shadows on the village as they ascended. Leathery skin barked in the air and then took hold. Darigaaz and seven other Shivan dragons shot above rumpled ground and glided down toward the lava tube where Tevash Szat waited.
This is no dragon nest, Darigaaz thought. There are no signs of claw marks, no wards against entry. Why do you bring us here? What is within?
Everything is within. I will lead the way. The titan engine turned toward the lava tube and climbed within. The cave was so huge that his horn-mantled head did not even scrape the ceiling.
Darigaaz landed on the cooled flow beneath the tube and ascended behind Szat. Seven other fire dragons followed.
Already, Szat fought. Rockets shot from the wrists of the suit and hissed into the dark. Spiraling trails of smoke followed them. One by one, they impacted the floor of the tube. Light flared, and bodies tumbled. The sudden glare reflected from countless scaly backs.
Phyrexians swarmed ahead. They seemed roaches clambering away.
Fireballs rolled from the titan engine. They ignited some beasts and baked others in their shells, but there were too many. Those that roasted fell away, revealing more monsters beneath.
Why are they so thick here? Darigaaz wondered.
You will see. Szat overtook the Phyrexians, trampling them down.
Those that escaped his claws remained for Darigaaz and the others. With flaming breath and stomping talons and crushing claws they massacred the beasts. The air reeked with the smell of burning flesh.
Szat reached the large chamber at the top of the tube. There a broad cavern opened. Within it, Szat unleashed his whole arsenal of destruction. Falcon engines shrieked from coops in his back and impacted and shredded Phyrexians. Ray cannons blasted from his wrists and scored the floors and walls of the chamber. Lightning spells leaped from the observation portals that served the engine as eyes. Hands hurled beasts against the walls, feet stomped them to the floor, tail swept them away.
When Darigaaz and his folk reached the chamber, they joined in the killing frenzy. In moments all the Phyrexians were dead. Smoke curled to the black vault. Bodies littered the filthy floor. The stench of burnt flesh was everywhere.
The fire dragons stood panting in the darkness. Only Szat moved. His titan engine shifted, settling on its joints. Suddenly, one more dragon appeared in the cave—Szat in his favored form.
He was a huge black beast, his skull crested with a forest of horns. At his neck those horns gave way to quills, which bristled down shoulders and wings and spine. On all fours, he paced. His nostrils billowed soot, and his claws raked furrows in the stone.
“Too late,” hissed the ebony serpent. “Too late.”
Darigaaz spoke for all of them. “Too late for what?”
Szat’s eyes blazed. His pupils were vertical slits. “Too late to raise the Primeval.” He flung a wing back behind him, drawing it away like a curtain from a stage.
There, upon one wall of the chamber hung a relief carving of a Shivan dragon. The figure was flattened unaesthetically, its details rudely rendered. To these original faults, the Phyrexians had added some of their own. Their claw marks covered the figure. Drills had riddled its head and breast with holes.
Darigaaz walked reverently toward the desecrated frieze. He gently touched it. “Why did they destroy it?”
Szat’s nostrils flared. “Before mortals had ruled the world, there had been the time of the immortals, of dragons. Dominaria was ours, divided equally among five great beasts. These rulers were the Primevals. Though separately powerful, in company their strength multiplied upon itself. Together the five Primevals were omnipotent, and their nations ruled the world.
“But the youngest of the Primevals—this very beast trapped here in the lava wall—thought to befriend mortal creatures. He was lured into an alliance with a human ruler, King Themeus. Themeus pretended at friendship, though he really meant only to destroy dragonkind. With his fire mages, Themeus tricked the Primeval to this spot and awakened the volcano to engulf him in stone.”
Staring at the figure entombed in the wall, Darigaaz murmured, “It is real? It is a trapped dragon?”
“Yes. After King Themeus imprisoned this beast, he sought and trapped the other four Primevals one by one. Each conquest weakened the remaining beasts. When all five had been trapped, Themeus roused his coalition of mortals—humans and dwarfs, Viashino and elves, goblins and minotaurs. They hunted our people and slew us and shattered our eggs. We fought back, yes, but these creatures were everywhere, just like the crawling vermin here. Without the five Primevals, the dragon nations splintered and dwindled. Mortals drove us into hiding. They stole the world from us.
“But the Primevals were not truly killed. If ever the dragon nations of Dominaria could be brought again into alliance, they could reawaken the Primevals. Should all five Primevals awaken, nothing—not Phyrexian or human or elf or dwarf—could stand against them. The time of the immortals would be upon us again.”
Darigaaz’s heart thundered in his ears. “Why have I never heard these tales?”
Szat sneered. “No dragon nation that is friendly to humans has heard these tales. The defiant ones were killed off. You did not know these stories, but clearly the Phyrexians did.” He gestured to the holes bored through the beast’s brain and heart and belly. “They knew that if these Primevals were to rise, the Phyrexian invasion would be doomed. Already the monsters have destroyed the first Primeval. They will seek to destroy the others as well.” The black dragon’s eyes glinted in the dark. “You must stop them.”
“We can never guard four tombs—” began Darigaaz, but he realized the implication even before Szat spoke it.
“You will not guard the Primevals. You will awaken them.”
CHAPTER 7
In Hateful Skies
Bold eyed, the Gaea figurehead peered from the prow of Weatherlight down toward Urborg.
As pestilential as the swamps h
ad been before the battle, they were worse now. Mosquitoes and vipers were better than Phyrexians and trench worms. Bloodstocks churned ancient marshes. Gargantuas ripped through thorn brakes. Glistening-oil burned atop every pool.
The Phyrexians weren’t Urborg’s only ravagers. Vodalian warriors undermined the coastal marshes, joining them to the sea. Metathran mounded dead bodies on the beaches. Serran angels ripped out the bellies of Phyrexian fliers. Helionauts and hoppers sent exploding quarrels into swarms of dragon engines.
Weatherlight was the greatest despoiler of all. She tore through clouds and outran sound. Ray fire ripped from her gunwales. The heavens belonged to Weatherlight, and she jealously attacked any creature that dared disagree.
Ahead were the latest offenders. A flight of dragon engines shot from a vent in the volcanic hillside. They seemed lava, so hungrily they ascended. Twenty pairs of wings raked out. The serpents coiled in a broad ribbon and drove toward Weatherlight.
“Big mistake,” Gerrard growled. Gripping the fire controls of his cannon, he leaned in the gunnery traces and shouted into the speaking tube. “Take us in at full throttle, Karn. Gunners, cut them from the air. Sisay, be ready for a ram attack and keel slam. Multani, prepare for hull burns. Orim, lock down your wounded and get ready for more.” The orders emerged like cannon shot, fast and final.
The response came just as quickly. Heat flared beneath the soles of Gerrard’s boots—Multani surging through the forecastle planks to reach and strengthen the Gaea ram and the keel. The ship’s engines roared. The motion hurled all the gunners about, bringing their weapons to bear on the flock of dragon engines dead ahead.
“You know it’s suicide….” Sisay’s voice came in the tube.
“What’s suicide?”
“A head-on assault against twenty dragon engines.”
“Yeah,” Gerrard shot back, “suicide for them.” He glanced over his shoulder and sent her a smile. It was not the careless grin he used to give. Something had died in his eyes. Not something but someone. “Is the mighty Captain Sisay afraid of death?”
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