The goblin’s rock bounced off of Teferi’s bald head. “Ow,” he said again. To his honest surprise, his head actually hurt. He reached up and touched his smooth pate. When he brought his hand back down, his fingers were red and wet.
“Oh,” Teferi said. “That’s not good.”
Jhoira looked up. “Are you bleeding?”
“A little.”
“Planeswalkers don’t bleed.”
“We don’t. Not usually.” He smiled weakly as he crumpled to the ground, landing heavily on his rear. “I think I may be hurt.”
Jhoira stood up quickly. “How many of the modern Shivans are there?”
“Fifty,” Corus said flatly. “More, if you count the slivers.” Streaming in from the north part of Shiv that stayed behind was an angry buzzing swarm of viciously sharp-shelled insects.
Jhoira looked down at Teferi, his head still dripping. He was totally flabbergasted and amazed at the sight of his own blood.
Venser’s eyes darted from Teferi, to her, to the mob of Shivans. Corus stood quietly, his tongue flicking between his teeth.
“This could be very bad,” Jhoira said. “I think we’re in real trouble.”
Venser sighed. “For a change.”
About the Author
Scott McGough recently moved to farm country and can now compare the urban, suburban, and agrarian lifestyles. Not surprisingly, his first choice hasn’t changed since childhood: all things being equal, he’d rather be down the shore.
Scott worked on The Duelist magazine before joining the Creative Team for MAGIC: THE GATHERING®. He worked on almost all the Urza/Phyrexia saga and has since written eight novels and a handful of short stories for MAGIC: THE GATHERING. All this, and yet he has only ever appeared on one Magic card. Though he finds this burden bitter and onerous, he will at least admit that it’s a really good picture.
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