Agents of Artifice p-1

by Ari Marmell

He found the artificer in something of a natural courtyard between four buildings that still lay in shambles, untouched by the district's slow rebirth. Weeds grew up through the broken cobblestones, and the walls were all but painted in a thick layer of bat, bird, and griffin droppings. Whatever rubble might have lain in the courtyard itself, however, had been cleared away; it was all but empty save for Tezzeret himself, who leaned against a wall over a dozen yards away.

  "Summon something," he commanded, his voice carrying clearly across the courtyard.

  "What?" Jace, who'd just been opening his mouth to offer some sort of greeting or perhaps an apology, found himself utterly perplexed. "What should I-"

  "Summon something! Now!"

  Shaken by the fury in the artificer's voice, palpable even from such a distance, Jace asked no more questions. Still uncertain what was happening, he reached into the aether, stretched his will between the worlds. Before him, a pinprick hole opened in the walls of reality, and through it slipped a cloud sprite, riding wisps of vapor that drifted through from the skies of some other realm-one whom Jace had summoned many times before. She smiled briefly at him, nodding her head in greeting, and then turned to survey her surroundings with an ever more puzzled expression.

  Tezzeret lurched away from the ruined structure and hurled something concealed in his etherium fist.

  An uneven disk of iron, lopsided and bedecked with tiny jagged protrusions, it nonetheless flew straight and true, spinning across the intervening distance until it crashed to the broken stones mere feet from Jace.

  And even as it landed, it shifted and warped, calling upon the energies of other worlds, just as Jace's own summons had. In less than a second, a field of writhing mechanized tendrils, the underside of some horrible iron jellyfish, thrashed across the earth before him. Where they joined with each other at the ground, tiny spots glowed with the dull heat of a smelting furnace, peering out from between the tendrils like inhuman eyes.

  Faster than a crossbow bolt, one of the thinnest tendrils lashed out. Its needle-sharp tip punched through the faerie's wings, pinning her to one of the surrounding buildings by what shredded strands remained. The screech of iron on stone wasn't nearly enough to cloak the cloud sprite's terrified scream as a second tendril rose; this one edged along one side, a whipping, flexing blade that gently lay itself across her thrashing torso. Jace tried desperately to dismiss the summoning, to send her away, but so stunned was he by the sudden assault that he left it too late, waited just those few seconds too long. The scream ended abruptly as the tendril pushed. The two halves of her body dropped from the wall, fading before they struck the ground and leaving behind only a tiny smear of blood to show that she had ever been.

  Jace turned a furious gaze on Tezzeret. "Why?" he demanded, overwhelmed by a peculiar guilt he'd never before felt at the death of a summoned minion. "There was no reason! There-"

  Metal ground on metal as the iron monstrosity struck again, this time with a squat tentacle lacking any edge at all. At full strength, it would have shattered Jace's ribs, pulped his organs; instead, it struck just hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. His eyes watered with pain and he staggered back, glancing up as it hit him again, blackening his eye and causing it to instantly swell shut.

  "Summon something else," Tezzeret commanded darkly.

  "No," Jace growled, picking himself up from the floor. "There's no purpose to it."

  "Oh, there's a purpose," Tezzeret all but cooed.

  A shadow fell over him, and Jace looked up, just in time to see another brutal tentacle, practically a log of iron, snaking toward him. It lifted him up, agony flashing through his gut. When he landed once more, Jace couldn't keep himself from vomiting up a small puddle of bile. He tried to crawl from its reach, hoping, praying that the thing couldn't actually move from its spot. An impossibly long tendril wrapped about his ankle and dragged him back before he'd gotten even a yard.

  "Why are you attacking me?" Jace gasped, struggling to drag himself out of the construct's murderous grip.

  "I'm not attacking, Beleren. I'm teaching."

  And he understood, then. Understood that while Tezzeret wasn't about to kill or cripple him, while he was holding the golem back, the beating wouldn't stop until Jace made it stop.

  With a furious cry, Jace called out through the pain and the bitter residue in his mouth-and a fearsome, inhuman screech answered that call. From the sky dropped a great beast, its wings spread wide in the vastness of the courtyard. The bulk of its scales were iridescent blue, its face and horns ivory white, and tendrils of steam rose from its flaring nostrils. For a brief instant it hovered, wings flapping slowly, methodically, as it studied its ferrous foe.

  "Better," Tezzeret offered from afar. "Not good enough, though."

  As though to prove him wrong, the drake surged ahead, twisting almost on a wingtip to avoid a series of vicious strokes as it flew through the thicket of tendrils. It dug its claws into two of the largest, ripping them up and hurling them back against the wall with a deafening clatter. Shrieking its anger, the drake soared up toward the clouds, curling back around until it faced the construct once more. As it neared, its great maw gaped wide, unleashing a torrent of steam so impossibly hot that even Baltrice's fires might have struggled to match it.

  The sharp edges of the iron grew soft and dull, and tiny droplets of liquid metal rained down to the floor around the multitude of tentacles. It reached out once more, but its movements were slow and feeble. Several of the thinner limbs looked ready to give out entirely. The drake circled the yard once more, coming back for another pass that would reduce the construct to slag.

  But as its foe turned in its aerial acrobatics, the wobbling golem reached out and slammed a limb into a broken, weatherworn gate, lying before the entrance to one of the buildings. Instantly the iron crumbled into rusted particles-and just as swiftly, the tentacles straightened, whole and hearty once more, with no trace of their injuries save several sporadic scorch marks.

  More than a dozen of the tendrils lashed clear across the yard, the force of their attack shaking even the cobblestones, to meet the drake halfway. Bladed limbs flew, claws raked across iron, sparks fell to sputter out upon the ground. And Jace could only cringe as the drake plunged, bleeding, into the center of the mass and slowly faded from view. He felt a sob of frustration and fear begin to well up within and mercilessly crushed it down, allowing himself only a faint gasp of pain in its place.

  "Again, Beleren!" Tezzeret shouted over Jace's shout of denial, of despair. "Summon again!"

  He had almost nothing left. Leaning against a wall, breathing hard, Jace watched with wide eyes as the wriggling limbs reached toward him once more. He'd never summoned anything more potent than the steam-tongued drake; it had always been his ace in the hole, a creature that none of his foes could best. He was exhausted from a week of sporadic sleep, aching from the blows he'd already taken, almost tapped out by the summons he'd already cast. Burning hell, he hadn't even had breakfast!

  But he knew, as well, that he could not take another pummeling. It wasn't that he was concerned about physical pain, not anymore: he refused to admit further weakness to the metal-armed bastard across the way.

  Jace sank to the floor, his legs hunched, his back against a wall. In and out he breathed, slowly, ignoring as best he could the metal fiend that drew ever nearer. And he reached, carefully, desperately, for the river that flowed through the heart of Ravnica, past the borders of Dravhoc district. The Rubblefield wasn't built on the banks of that river, but it wasn't all that far. Jace's familiarity with it might just be enough.

  He touched her mind and soul, felt her respond to his call. He'd sensed her before, though he'd never known precisely who or what she was, felt her watching him as he sent his senses into the aether, practiced the litanies and exercises that, when put together, would comprise summoning spells more potent than any he'd ever tried to cast. This wasn't how he'd planned to test himself, to try such a powerful summons, b
ut Tezzeret had taken the choice from him.

  Channeling mana from the river as though he himself were nothing but a tributary, Jace threw his power and his will and his need into the void.

  The stone wall of one of the surrounding structures burst outward, reduced to a snowlike powder as something immensely powerful struck it from behind. An enormous leonine body squeezed through the gap, cracking the stone farther as it appeared. The fur that coated her sleek form was an unnaturally deep blue, but multihued wings spread from her back, and her head and face were those of a beautiful, and very angry, woman. Her eyes flickered briefly over Jace's bloodied form, and then to the metallic limbs that threatened him. She hurled back her head and uttered a roar that wasn't remotely feminine, and took to the air with a leap of her hind legs, a leap so powerful she scarcely had to spread her wings at all before she landed atop her foe.

  Her great weight and greater strength brought a dozen tendrils crashing to the earth. They thrashed at her, with razor-edged blades and bone-breaking cudgels. Most of its attacks she swatted aside, a cat enjoying the feeble struggling of a dying lizard. Of those that connected, most rebounded from her toughened hide; only once did the golem's blade cut deep, drawing blood as blue as the sphinx's fur. She roared once more, reared high, and came crashing down with all her weight, front paws flying faster than the eye could see. And when she finally stopped and stepped away, Tezzeret's construct was nothing but a pile of shredded strips, for her claws pierced iron as easily as they would have flesh. The courtyard suddenly reeked of strange oils and base metals.

  Jace gave her a smile of deep gratitude, even bowing his head as he dismissed the summons, allowing her to return to her distant home. And then he turned and glared as Tezzeret appeared above him, applauding softly.

  "Are you happy now?" Jace spat at him.

  "Indeed." Tezzeret knelt until he could meet the younger man's eyes. "You've learned three vital lessons today, Beleren. You've learned that strength unused is strength you do not have, that you should never hold back your full potential. You've learned to call allies far greater than any you've yet commanded."

  "And the third?" Jace asked, trying hard neither to scream at Tezzeret nor to roll his eyes at this "lesson."

  "You've learned that you already strip free will from other creatures when it suits you. What else are you doing, when you summon up a sprite, or a drake, or a sphinx, to fight and possibly to die for you?"

  Jace felt the blood drain from his face, and he wondered why he'd never considered that before.

  "Baltrice told me what you did to the ratman," the artificer said. "I know you can do it, and now I've shown you that you are indeed willing to do it. So the next time I order you to do so, I expect you to obey. Without hesitation, and without complaint.

  "Go take yourself to the healers before any of those freeze up on you."

  And with that he was gone, striding from the broken courtyard.

  Jace watched the artificer depart, and his eyes narrowed in smoldering resentment. Yes, these were indeed the sorts of insights Tezzeret often tried to impart. Yes, he had indeed mastered potent magic today. And no, Tezzeret had never said one word about the failed Kamigawa excursion.

  But Jace, clutching at his ribs and his stomach as he rose, staring at the ruins through his one good eye, damn well knew a punishment when he was dealt one.

  There was only so much the healers could do, and by late the next afternoon, Jace was still sore all over, and so mottled with bruises he looked like a plague victim. Still, the messenger who came pounding on his door had been drenched in sweat, and the tone in his voice left little doubt that when Paldor had said "Right now," he'd meant right now. So Jace swallowed the pain as best he could and sprinted through the halls of the complex, squeezing past servants and soldiers where he could, shoving them out of the way where he could not. Finally, his feet had carried him to the foyer just inside the main entryway. There he skidded to a halt, panting heavily, and allowed himself a moment to take in the scene.

  Paldor stood beside the doorway through which Jace had just barreled. His hands were clasped behind his back-but the young mage couldn't help but notice that those meaty hands held a crossbow, cocked and ready to fire. Half a dozen Consortium soldiers and swordsmen, Kallist included, held naked steel in their hands and stood in a circle around a stranger whose crooked grin suggested that he found the whole affair amusing.

  He was human, this newcomer, with blond hair slicked back so tightly it just had to be giving him a headache. He was clad in black suede tunic and pants, topped with an ankle-length cloak of deep burgundy, complete with gold clasp and black lace frills at the collar. He wore a curved dagger at his waist but currently held his hands to the sides, well away from the weapon's hilt.

  "What's going on?" Jace gasped to Paldor.

  The corpulent lieutenant harrumphed. "Fellow claims to be a messenger from Tezzeret's 'master."'

  For a long moment, Jace just stared. "Master?" he finally repeated.

  "Nicol Bolas. Bastard's got a warped sense of humor, apparently."

  "Who…" Jace's eyes lit up with understanding. "Is that who Tezzeret stole the Consortium from?" he whispered, so as not to be overheard. He gave some thought to the mind-speech, decided it wasn't worth the effort.

  "I prefer to think of it as having annexed the organization for the greater good," Paldor replied, his voice equally faint.

  "And he knows where to find us? He just, what, knocked on our door?"

  "Pretty much," Paldor told him. "Bolas has a network as large as the Consortium. We may be rivals, but we still have to communicate. Ravnica's heavily populated enough that nobody's going to risk open war, so it's sort of neutral territory. Here, if nowhere else, we each know where to find representatives of the other."

  "I see," Jace said, though he wasn't certain he really did. "And I'm here to…?"

  "Read his mind. He claims he's got a written message for Tezzeret's eyes only. I want to make damn sure he's not an assassin or some sort of magical construct before I even consider putting him in touch with the boss."

  "Do we know if he's a mage? If he'll sense me?"

  Paldor shrugged. "He's welcome to raise a fuss if he wants. Um, but Jace," he added as the mind-reader took a step forward. "Let's not push things. We don't know what sorts of sorcery Bolas himself is capable of. We don't want to offend him unnecessarily, and anyway, he's not likely to send a messenger to us who knows anything compromising. Confirm this man is who he says he is and that his intentions are as stated, but don't dig any deeper."

  Jace nodded, and took a moment to gather his concentration. The fellow glanced his way and offered a smile equal parts ingratiating and condescending, but if he had any notion what was happening, if he felt anything when Jace touched his mind, it never showed on his face.

  "His name's Mauriel Pellam," Jace told Paldor a minute later. "He is, indeed, a messenger for Bolas-or, more accurately, for people who work for people who work for Bolas. And as far as I can tell, he's just here to deliver a message, no more sinister purpose."

  "Excellent," Paldor said. Then, more loudly, "All right, boys, stand down. You and you, kindly escort my guest and me to my office. The rest of you, back to your duties."

  Jace watched the four men turn and disappear down the hall. He threw Kallist a questioning glance but the other man could only shrug, equally bewildered. Jace left the foyer far more slowly than he'd arrived, favoring his bruised ribs and wondering what the frying hell that had all been about.

  The dining room was among the most opulent and best maintained areas in the Consortium's entire Ravnica complex. Multiple tables, from intimate two-seaters to enormous slabs capable of seating thirty with room to spare, stood about the chamber. The chairs were comfortable, upholstered works of art, allowing their occupants to sit for hours without growing sore or restless. Multiple doors allowed access to the halls of the complex, as well as to the massive kitchen, ensuring a clear path for servers to
come and go. On every wall hung tapestries of intricate craftsmanship, most of which had the vaguely enticing smell of old cooking permanently trapped between the threads, and the ceiling boasted rafters of wood that served absolutely no structural purpose, granting the entire room a vaguely artistic, homey feel.

  The floor, however, was bare hardwood; Paldor had reluctantly allowed the fancy shag carpets to be torn out after the entire cleaning staff threatened to resign.

  Tonight, as he sometimes did when there was forthcoming business to discuss, Paldor invited some of the cell's top agents to a dinner provided by his private chefs. Seven of them now sat around one of the mid-sized tables: Kallist and Jace; Ireena, an elf with surprisingly tan skin and clad in a blood-red gown that nobody but she thought looked good on her; the mage Gemreth, with a peculiar, four-winged imp perched on his shoulder and giggling on occasion at nothing at all; the vedalken Sevrien, now clad in the chain armor of a Consortium soldier; Xalmarias, a centaur who had made room for himself at the table by kicking several chairs across the room, clad only in a rich green vest with gold and silver buttons; and of course, Paldor himself.

  The soup course, a thick, cheesy tuber stew, had already come and gone. In the center of the table lay a steaming platter of mild vegetable pastries intended to clear the palate for the mincemeat pies Paldor had specifically requested for the night's repast.

  As they waited, Jace kept his gaze fixed largely on the table before him. It all smelled so good, but he'd eaten only a few spoonfuls of the soup and was wondering if he could stomach the pies at all. Over the past four days he had all but recovered from his injuries, but a nagging unpleasantness, not quite pain and not quite nausea, lingered in his gut.

  "All right," Paldor said around a prodigious bite of biscuit, "let's get started." So long had he been talking with his mouth full, he was able to do so now without the slightest loss of enunciation. "Ireena, we're having some difficulty with our workhouses in the Nalatras alchemical slums. Some sort of poisoning or plague our healers can't cure that almost seems to move like a living thing. We've hired Vess on to help you with this, in case there's a spirit of some sort involved." Ireena scowled but nodded her acceptance. "So, if the two of you…"