Gatecrash: The Secretist, Part Two

by Doug Beyer

  Liliana didn’t even try to lift her feeble weapon in response. No, lips still moving though she must long since have run out of breath, she raised her left hand and caught the blade as it descended.

  The cleaver should have torn through her upraised limb like parchment. Should have, and would have, had it not begun to turn black at the apex of its swing, suddenly cloaked and tugged by wisps of shadow. By the time it should have reached the flesh of Liliana’s hand, it was simply gone, drawn away into the nether between the worlds of the living and the dead. The swordsman was left standing, staring at his empty fist.

  With a shrug, Liliana bent two fingers into talons and drove them into his staring eyes. Hardly fatal, but more than enough to take him, screaming, out of the fight.

  And just like that, the tavern grew calm once more. The eldritch symbols across Liliana’s back faded as swiftly as they appeared, leaving her skin pristine. Ignoring the slack faces that gaped silently at her from those partygoers who hadn’t already run screaming from the Bitter End, Liliana moved away from the fallen bandit, dismissing the spectral shadow with the merest thought. Only she, of all those present, heard its woeful cry as it spiraled back into the endless dark.

  She placed one foot atop the fallen chair and leaned on her knee to gaze meaningfully down at Gariel—who was, himself, staring up at her as though she’d sprouted feathers.

  “What … What did … What?”

  “All good questions,” Liliana told him. “Are you all right?”

  “I—I’ll live.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.” She reached down to offer the flustered fellow a hand up—then yanked it away as he began leaning on her, allowing him to fall flat on his face once more. The floorboards shook with the impact. “There’s still the little matter,” she said with a predatory smile, “of you stalking through that door, yelling at me, calling me all sorts of ugly names.”

  “I—you …” Gariel wiped a hand across his face, smearing rather than removing the blood that now dribbled from his nose. “People are watching, Liliana.”

  “That didn’t bother you when you were shouting obscenities at me.”

  Gariel could only gape once more, at the gathered audience and at the injured bandits, and wonder exactly how crazy his friend’s girl actually was. He’d actually opened his mouth to ask such a question—only to choke on a spray of splinters as a bolt that appeared roughly as thick as a tree trunk slammed into the floor mere inches from his head.

  Liliana heard the whir-and-click of a mechanized crossbow even as she jerked away from the sudden impact, glaring at the figures standing in the doorway.

  There were three more, all strongly resembling the pair who had attacked her moments ago. Only these three, Liliana realized as she stared at a trio of self-loading identical weapons, were far better equipped.

  “The next one,” the man in the middle told her gruffly, “goes through his head.” His gaze flickered to the two figures on the floor, one breathing his last, one blinded, and his face hardened. “I don’t think you’re fast enough to stop all three of us, witch.”

  She scowled in turn. “So shoot him. He means nothing to me, and even with those fancy crossbows, I promise you’ll not have time to reload.”

  “Ah,” the man said, voice oily, “but he means something to someone, don’t he?”

  Liliana’s scowl grew deeper still—but her shoulders slumped, and she knew that they saw it. “What do you want?”

  “What I want is to put a few shafts through you for what you did to my boys,” the bandit told her. “But what’s going to happen is this …”

  The ascendance of a new age in the planeswalker mythology: be a part of the book that takes fans deeper than ever into the lives of the Multiverse’s most powerful beings:

  Jace Beleren

  A powerful mind-mage whose choices now will forever determine his path as a planeswalker.

  Liliana Vess

  A dangerous necromancer whose beauty belies a dark secret and even darker associations.

  Tezzeret

  Leader of an inter-planar consortium whose quest for knowledge may be undone by his lust for power.

  On Alaroon, among an encalve of like-minded pyromancers, Chandra draws the attention of an ancient faith that sees her as a herald of an apocalypse. Will she control her own destiny, or suffer the will of others?