The crew of Weatherlight rushed among them like ants. Pairs of workers rolled minotaurs onto litters and carried them up the ship’s gangplank. Everyone except the gunners worked—even Multani and Karn and Tahngarth. Multani configured his body into a kind of ambling stretcher. Karn carried a minotaur slung over either shoulder.
Most effective of all was Tahngarth. The minotaur could not be kept in gun traces while his people lay below. He carried a compatriot over either of his massive shoulders and a third draped in his arms. It was a feat made possible only by his Phyrexian physique—a feat performed as penance. Each time Tahngarth approached a warrior, he bowed to the perfect form of his people. Each time he lifted one, he put himself beneath. Each time he laid one on the deck, he rescued a minotaur from Phyrexian transformation.
Sweat matted his forelocks, stung his eyes, and flowed like tears.
Minotaurs filled every space on Weatherlight. They lay like fish spilled from a bursting net.
It was unwise. Weatherlight was torn from stem to stern. Breaches riddled her hull. Her airfoils hung in tatters from folded spars. Heat stresses formed a fine network of cracks along engine manifolds. She was not battle worthy, perhaps not even sky worthy, but even so, she was overloaded with a thousand comatose minotaurs.
Gerrard and Sisay had tried to broach the subject with Tahngarth, but the minotaur wouldn’t listen. Tahngarth wasn’t just saving his people. He was saving himself.
At last, he hauled the final three minotaurs on board.
“All right, that’s it!” Gerrard punctuated the words with a pair of blasts from his ray cannon. Monsters advanced across the garrison grounds. Into his speaking tube, he shouted, “Posts, everyone. Ignite the engines. Prepare for liftoff.”
“I’m not sure we can lift off,” Sisay said from the helm. “Not this heavy. Not without airfoils. Not without Hanna.”
“Yeah,” Gerrard responded grimly. He felt the absence of the ship’s navigator every day, every moment. “Well, we can’t do anything about Hanna or the airfoils. The only other option is—” Gerrard glanced over his shoulder at Tahngarth, who gingerly stepped among his country folk. The look in the minotaur’s eyes was both intent and fragile. “The only other option is to planeshift without taking off.”
“What?” Sisay asked.
“How far do you need to reach planeshift velocity?” Gerrard asked.
“How far?”
“Yes, how far—skating across the ground on our landing spines—do you need to reach planeshift velocity?”
“I don’t know,” Sisay replied. “A thousand yards.”
From the speaking tube came Karn’s voice, metallic and dour, “We have five hundred yards to the garrison wall and three hundred more to the hills beyond.”
Gerrard nodded. “We can blast through walls but not hills. You’ll have to do it in eight hundred.”
“There are Phyrexians in the hills,” Sisay pointed out.
“We can blast through them as well,” Gerrard said, proving the point by unleashing a barrage that vaporized a charging contingent. “But whatever we do, we’ve got to do it soon.”
“Planeshift where?” Sisay asked. “We’ll be destroyed if we return to Urborg.”
“Lay in a course for Yavimaya,” Multani suggested. “It’s the only place where I can heal the ship’s hull.”
“That’d be a great idea except that we’d be smashed to pieces against the trees. We can’t steer the ship.”
“No, but I can steer the forest,” Multani responded. “Just lay in a planeshift along the Mori Tumulus in the center of Yavimaya. I’ll do the rest.”
Gerrard smiled grimly. “Now I remember the lesson you taught me, Master Multani.”
“And what was that?”
“How to be damned reckless,” Gerrard said. “You heard the man, Sisay. Lay in the course.”
“It’s already done,” she replied.
“Karn, full power to the—”
The command was cut off by a massive surge of the engines. Weatherlight grated forward on her landing spines. Metal shrieked across flagstones. The hull shuddered angrily, but Multani surged within every remaining fiber of wood. In moments, Weatherlight ground forward at a horse’s gallop. The Phyrexian armies ahead closed in at redoubled speed.
“Tahngarth, clear the way.”
Radiance rolled out from Tahngarth’s gun and smashed into the black-scaled figures. The front ranks dissolved altogether. Those behind exploded as their oil-blood boiled.
“Guess I should just shut up and fight,” Gerrard mused, firing his own cannon.
Together, Gerrard and Tahngarth laved the ground in fire. Still, their incinerating rays could not blast Phyrexians quickly enough. Burning hunks of monster cracked against the landing spines. More bodies struck the keel.
The gunners had more to worry about than bodies. A solid wall approached. The cannons fired a synchronized blast. Red energy smashed into the wall. It cracked outward. Stones crumbled to rock fragments. A second salvo punched a hole through the wall. A third turned the stones molten.
It was enough. It would have to be. Weatherlight rocketed through the gap. Lava splashed before the ship. Her landing spines tore out across grassy ground. Another wall approached ahead—a hillside. There was no blasting it away. Nor could Weatherlight be stopped now. She shot forward like a crossbow quarrel.
“We’re not going to make—” Gerrard stopped himself this time as the stony cliff vanished, replaced by the Blind Eternities.
The shrieking was done. The splash of molten rock, the thud of bodies—it all was gone. Weatherlight was bathed in the humming crackle of the world between worlds. She glided in a placid envelope amid spinning energies. Gray light spilled over the strange cargo of warriors.
Gerrard breathed. The whole crew breathed. Never before had they planeshifted without flying. It was a miracle they had survived. It would be a miracle if they survived their landing.
Like a silk veil ripping away, the Blind Eternities crumpled and withdrew. Heat and green replaced it. Trees as tall as mountains and as wide as cities flashed past the ship. The sky was an uneven blue ribbon threaded among treetops. The ground was a rumpled scar—a steaming fault in the world. Enormous roots sought to straddle that broken line, but even magnigoth trees were impotent to close the wound. Weatherlight flew along the fault.
“All right, Multani, what now?” Sisay asked.
“Now you land,” came the placid reply.
“Where?” she asked.
“Anywhere atop the fault.”
Her snort traveled down the speaking tubes. “If I slow down, we’ll augur into the root bulbs.”
“Hmmm,” replied Multani.
Tahngarth shook his head miserably. “Oh, this is great.”
Gerrard said, “This is a little too reckless, Multani.”
“Take us up, Sisay,” Multani suggested.
“Up? I thought we wanted to land,” she said.
“We do. The best place for us to land is up.”
Weatherlight’s ravaged bow rose. The ship labored skyward. Above, treetops hovered like green thunderheads. Weatherlight climbed three thousand feet and vaulted through the leaves. Sunlight broke hot and bright across the ship. The canopy fell away in a sea of green.
“Where do we land up here?” Sisay asked.
“There,” replied Multani.
The bow swept around, showing a magnigoth tree that was twice the height of those around it. This single tree was a world unto itself, with four separate levels of foliage above the main canopy. Each was a different biosphere, each a different hanging garden of plants and animals. Kavu, the guardians of Yavimaya, clung to the side of the tree and stared querulously at the ship.
“You want us to land in that tree?” Sisay asked incredulously.
“No,” Multani repl
ied. “I want that tree to catch us.”
“Catch us? Why would it catch us?”
“Because I’ll be in it. Besides, the ship came from that tree.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That is the Heart of Yavimaya. From its center came a wedge of wood called the Weatherseed. It was that seed that grew into the hull of this ship.”
The human members of the crew only stared in astonishment, unsure what to say.
Multani continued, “Just bring us in a spiraling path across the top layer of foliage. Take us low enough that the hull touches the leaves. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Even as she angled the ship toward the Heart of Yavimaya, Sisay asked, “Well, Commander, what do you think?”
He shrugged, sighing deeply. “Reckless, yes…Take her in.”
Without airfoils, Weatherlight shot like a flaming arrow across the sky. She closed the distance to the Heart of Yavimaya. It grew. Worm holes in the smooth wood swelled into caves and into huge caverns. Bark became a vertical world, with sideways forests of moss. The ship climbed higher, where saprolings covered the upper boughs of the tree. At last, Weatherlight reached the mountainous crown. The air here was cooler, drier than below. Foliage spread in what might have been a mountain meadow above an incredible plunge. The tip of one long branch brushed the ship’s keel.
Weatherlight shuddered as Multani went out of her. The hull suddenly rattled. Wind whistled in countless holes. She seemed to be breaking up.
“Spiral inward!” Gerrard ordered. “It’ll slow us down.”
“It’ll tear us apart too,” Sisay replied, but followed the order.
Weatherlight banked into a tight turn. A huge bough rose like an arm in front of the ship. Leaves slapped at the prow. Twigs lashed the rails. The bough swayed outward, following the ship’s motion. Vines tightened. Weatherlight strained against the dragging weight.
“Cut engines!” Gerrard called.
Immediately, the roar of the power core died away. Weatherlight sloughed forward in a cradle of branches. She sank slowly in green arms and descended amid rustling leaves and crackling twigs.
Heart in his throat, Gerrard breathed a deep, thankful breath. He stood in the traces and lifted a joyous shout. The crew answered. Laughter followed. Relief flooded the deck.
Looking out at the primordial tree, its twisted wood rising to the sky, Gerrard said to himself, “This is a powerful place, a good place. Multani will heal the hull. He’ll make it stronger than it ever was.”
Slowly, a network of boughs eased Weatherlight down beside a huge arboreal lake in one wide crotch. The ship docked on battered landing spines. She groaned as her riddled bulk settled. At last, Weatherlight was at rest.
Kavu emerged from the undergrowth and formed a solemn circle around the ship. For a moment, Gerrard feared they might attack. Then he saw, on one of their backs, the figure of Multani.
Gerrard smiled to his onetime mentor. Waving, he whispered assurances to himself. “Multani will heal the ship, and we’ll fight again at Urborg.”
* * *
—
While Multani reworked the hull and Karn reworked the engine, Tahngarth descended from the crowded ship to rework himself. He who had saved a thousand minotaurs was not willing to be among them when they awoke.
Already they were shaking off their stupor. Perhaps Orim’s ministrations brought them out. Perhaps it was only the healing magic of minotaur muscle.
The healing magic of minotaur muscle….Tahngarth snorted. He looked at his own twisted form. That magic was gone from him.
At the lake, he dived. He dived deep. He remained down long. The cold water felt good on his tortured flesh. It washed away the dust of Kaldroom, the sweat of Urborg, the stink of every tormented place.
When he rose again toward the surface, his eyes made out a strange assemblage on the shore. He broke from the water. It streamed from his horns and hair.
Before him, all along the bank, stood minotaur warriors. The line of them stretched back to Weatherlight. More warriors poured down the gangplank. All headed toward the water and the single figure bathing there. All looked at Tahngarth, their eyes grave as they traced his deformations.
Gritting his teeth, Tahngarth strode from the lake. He would not turn from them. He would not skulk away. He would walk through their accusing midst, back to his friends. He only hoped the minotaurs would let him pass.
They did not. Shoulder to shoulder they stood.
Tahngarth stopped before them. He returned their stares. Words failed him.
Then the beasts before Tahngarth moved. They dropped to their knees and bowed low. So too did the warriors behind. One by one, the minotaurs of Kaldroom knelt before the noble warrior who had saved them.
CHAPTER 20
The Dragon of New Argive
At the head of the dragon nations flew Rhammidarigaaz of Shiv and Rith of Yavimaya. She flew in glory, the unquestioned ruler of the serpentine races. At her side, Darigaaz was but a doubtful shadow.
Was he a murderer? Was he a tyrant? Rokun had not been a traitor, not really. He had defied Darigaaz, but before that moment, Darigaaz had suffered defiance. Something had snapped in him. He had killed Rokun and hurled him against the root bulb. He had destroyed the dragon nations’ faith and replaced it with fear. He had sacrificed Rokun to gain power.
Fear and power—they were halves of a whole. The more the dragons feared him, the more powerful he became. The more powerful he became, the more he feared himself.
There was but one antidote for fear—rage—and when Darigaaz glimpsed the ruins of New Argive, he had plenty of rage.
Not a building stood. The white glories of the ages were shattered eggshells. Not a soul survived, only bodies—bodies and soulless Phyrexians. Monsters scuttled among smashed walls and collapsed roofs. They feasted on bodies and pillaged metals and burned books. They killed living Argivians and obliterated the knowledge of the dead.
And you wondered why you needed such power, Rith said, speaking directly into his mind. And you wondered why you needed Primevals. Before he could answer, she tilted in a steep dive.
Darigaaz followed. His wings tucked. He plunged. The ruined city roared up to meet him. The dragon nations stooped into the dive as well. They headed for the central thoroughfare, flooded with Phyrexians. Dragon shadows swept over scaly heads.
Monsters looked up. Into their eyes poured death.
Rith’s teeth parted. Green spores roared from her mouth. Where they struck, they rooted and grew. Parasitic plants drank Phyrexian blood. Vines coiled about arms. Tendrils cracked joints. Monsters dropped beneath rampant gardens.
Darigaaz breathed fire—a simpler but no less certain death. Flame bled from him. It baked brains and fried muscle and burned oil.
More attacks poured down on them. White serpents keened a sound that cut like knives, separating flesh from bone. Black dragons belched acidic sludge that ate scale and metal. Blue lizards breathed winds that dashed creatures to cobbles. The dragon nations strafed New Argive like a fivefold plague.
Rhammidarigaaz and dragon lords, come with me, Rith said into the minds of the dragons. The rest of you, fan out and destroy Phyrexians.
Without hesitation, the dragon nations peeled away from the main column. They hurled their killing breath into every alley, every ruin, every plaza.
Darigaaz watched them go, proud of their power.
Before him, Rith soared down to a huge ruined structure. Once it had risen multiple stories. Now it was a rubble pile. Sections of marble column lay among shattered friezes. Terra cotta bosses and torn tapestries and mosaic tiles and bodies—plenty of bodies in bloodstained robes.
A temple? Darigaaz wondered.
A kind of temple. A temple to knowledge. This was once the single greatest library on the face of Dominaria, replied Rith grimly
.
Rhammidarigaaz studied the wreckage. A library? Where are the books?
Rith nodded her head toward the street. Huge black circles showed where numerous bonfires had burned.
The greatest library on the face of Dominaria…and they destroyed every last book.
Yes, but they did not find the library’s greatest treasure, Rith said as she settled down atop the rubble pile.
Furling his wings, Rhammidarigaaz landed beside the green dragon. Four more beasts came to ground with him, including the resentful black dragon who had replaced Rokun.
Darigaaz turned a level stare on her. He would have to watch her. Swamp dragons were natural traitors. He shook the thought away. Already, he was thinking the way Rith did.
“Dig,” Rith said simply, interrupting his reverie. “All of you, dig.”
Rhammidarigaaz stooped, grabbing hunks of stone in his massive claws and hurling them aside. The black beast lashed her tail once, and then she set to work with a vengeance. So too did the rest, even Rith.
Darigaaz ignored the others, lost in his own thoughts. With each cornice he grasped, he imagined the walls it had once joined. With each shattered shelf, he read the books that once loaded it. With each body, he lived lives lost.
Rith had awakened something primal in him—something that stretched back beyond his own millennium of life. At first, he had thought it only instinct, but this was more than race memory. This was a longing for former days, when the world was young and humans were only scurrying rats. Then dragons had ruled. In that half-feral mind, Rith’s words made utter sense.
The dragons uncovered a wide marble stairway that plunged away through more piles of rubble. They followed it down into darkness. The library had fallen into its basement, but there was a subbasement below it. In only a few places had its ceiling given way. Rith drove them on. They dug deeper. At the fourth turn of the stair, they reached the end of the debris. Another subbasement lay below. With wings tucked, the dragons slithered down through the darkness. More turns revealed a third and fourth level. At last they reached a deep vault.
Planeshift Page 16
