Dragon's Maze

FOR THE SAKE OF THE GUILD

The path had led Emmara to Rix Maadi, the palace that served as the center of the Rakdos guild’s brainsick celebrations. She followed the images that Jace had flashed into her head, taking a turn down an obsidian staircase whose steps sagged in the middle from centuries of use. She passed under a series of grandiose but lurid archways, carved in red stone in the shapes of nightmarish faces and leering, cherubic imps. No one stopped her as she delved deeper, and she caught herself wondering whether any of the arches she passed might have been the Rakdos guildgate. Perhaps she might be done already, and could leave this place without seeing a soul. But Jace’s instructions told her the true gate still lay ahead, and her sense of dread told her it was not going to be as simple as she hoped. She marched on, deeper into Rix Maadi, trying not to think about what dark liquid might be dripping down the walls.

When she entered the large chamber, she knew she had arrived. It was a subterranean chamber, but it had more in common with an opulent throne room than a cave. Braziers burned, their flames rising toward the ceiling like lush tapestries. Cords of iron chains were draped from the ceiling, and a hot stench blew up from iron grates in the floor. On the other side of the great hall, up a series of steps, was an enormous arched doorway, crowned with the horned face of the demon Rakdos. That was the Rakdos gate, leading into dark smoke.

And she was not alone.

“Hello, darling,” said Exava the blood-witch. She stepped down the series of shallow stairs. Two Rakdos cultists offered her swords to her by the hilt, and she took them without glancing away from Emmara. “Tandris, isn’t it? I’ve been hoping you’d come to play.” Exava swung her swords in curves, and the metal flashed in the firelight.

“Our quarrel is over,” said Emmara. She walked forward slowly, wrists at her sides. “The Selesnya ends its dispute with the Rakdos. You may let me pass without fear of retribution.”

“Your words contradict your actions, Miss Tandris,” said Exava. “You can’t end this. Not with our blood on your hands. You slaughtered six of my Rakdos cultists.”

Emmara did not raise her voice. “Your cultists showed they were eager to die the day they came to seize me.”

“And will you do the same for your guild? Will you die for Selesnya?”

“My life belongs to my guild.”

“Ah, a fellow fanatic,” said Exava. She strode forward, letting the edges of her two blades sizzle against each other. “We have something in common, elf. We both believe in a higher power. We both know that our hearts only beat at the pleasure of a higher cause.”

“I serve the living Conclave. Not a sadistic horror from a pit.”

“Doesn’t matter, though, does it? Not when the call comes down to surrender your life for what you believe. Not when the guildmaster speaks. Does it, Tandris?” The witch suddenly struck the grating under her feet with her swords, sending up sparks. “Answer! Yes or no, will you die for Selesnya?”

Emmara had no weapons, no spell at the ready. She only had the need to get through that gate. She wondered whether she would die for that guild that had abandoned her, that had left her to run this race alone. “If I must.”

“No!” said Exava, her eyes and her smile opening too wide. “You will die for nothing.”

Exava did not charge with her swords. Instead she sauntered backward, and all around the chamber, horrors erupted. These were not the usual Rakdos cultists, who were just people wearing grotesque masks and blood-streaked armor. These were demon- spawn, hideous creatures of sinew and fangs and stretched-skin wings, clawing their way out of columns of dark flame that rose from the braziers.

Emmara waved a spell to life, encircling herself with floating rings of thorny bramble. As the demonic creatures lunged and clawed at her, the thorn shield took the brunt of the blows, and the thorns tore at their flesh. Still, it wasn’t enough. The demons’ unearthly strength buffeted her back and forth, and in no time her thorn shield was beginning to buckle. One claw raked open a wound from her shoulder blade to her lower back, and a demon’s bite crushed the bones in her elbow.

“Leave no scraps of her!” she heard Exava shouting over the roars of the demons. “Devour her! Let her feel the gift of agony that we shall bring to all the guilds! For you, Lord Rakdos!”

Smoke poured from the dark place beyond the Rakdos gate, and a series of echoing booms grew louder, closer.

Emmara ached to take a moment to heal herself. But the demons’ onslaught was constant. As her orbiting rings splintered, she cast a related spell, focusing on the individual thorns that had become lodged in the demons’ claws, arms, and gums. Each of the thorns became a seed for a burst of new growth. Bright green sprouts lanced out of the demons’ flesh, sending runners and roots wrapping around their limbs. The demons screeched, writhing and scraping away the insistent growths, trying to claw the magical growth out of them before it burst them apart.

It gave Emmara the time she needed. She took a deep breath, and wove a chord of healing magic to soothe and bind her wounds. She glanced up at the blood-witch. She stood in front of the gate, smoke billowing around her. “You’re a resourceful one,” said Exava with a frown of approval. “But you should have let the underspawn destroy you, my dear. Because now you face my master instead.”

“Oh, no,” she said involuntarily. Emmara had the instinct to reach out with her mind to Jace, but she retracted her thoughts again. No, she couldn’t trust him. She could never trust him again.

The demon lord Rakdos emerged from the guildgate, and Emmara stumbled back, overwhelmed by the enormity of the ancient guildmaster. His four horns folded around his face like a twisted crown, framing his thousand-toothed grin. He spread his wings, filling the chamber. He spoke, and to Emmara it sounded like a wind of death, withering her heart.

“You have found me a delicious soul on which to feed, Exava,” said Rakdos.

Emmara’s mouth tried to form the word no but no sound escaped. The demon lord reached for her with a clawed hand as big as a throne, and Emmara felt his hot touch closing around her body. She yelled out, and there was a crash.

“Jace?” she thought in spite of herself.

She imagined that the crash was the sound of her body breaking under Rakdos’s grip, or perhaps her soul tearing to pieces. But a shaft of blinding light had broken through the ceiling, crumbling the stone. Through the gaping hole thrust a huge fist, lancing down like the light.

More chunks of the ceiling fell, widening the breach, and more light poured in. A huge entity dropped down out of the light and landed with a boom. It was a nature elemental, like the ones Emmara had been able to call. It crouched below the rent in the ceiling, its lush vines coiling around a solid skeleton of marble.

“No!” roared Rakdos, his voice hoarse with hatred.

Emmara was released. Rakdos retracted his grasp and turned to face the elemental. The other demon creatures retreated slightly from the light, shielding their eyes, and the seedlings that Emmara had planted in their bodies accelerated their growth.

Exava only sneered and spat on the floor.

From behind the elemental poured a cavalcade of Selesnya troops. Guildmages, woodshapers, wolf-riders, and centaurs in gleaming armor leaped down onto the elemental and rushed down its back into the chamber of Rix Maadi. There were so many of them, flowing out of the light like a stampede, swords drawn and spells ready. Finally, another great elemental made its way down from the breach, and on its back it carried the three dryads of Trostani.

“My guildmaster,” Emmara said. “Thank you.”

“Go, Emmara,” said Trostani. “Your Conclave shall protect you.”

“You came back for me,” Emmara said.

“You showed the path for us all. Now go.”

The battle rung out in the chamber. Spell-weavers and priests hurled binding spells at the demonic guildmaster as he backhanded the onrushing wolf-riders. The demon spawn slashed at armored soldiers as enchanted steel sizzled against their flesh. The great nature elementals brawled with the demon lord, their mighty limbs swinging in time to Trostani’s commands.

Emmara scrambled for the gate, dodging through the battle to get a clear run. Exava saw her, and moved to block her way, a smile spreading on her face.

Emmara did not slow down. She charged straight at the blood-witch, imagining her as just another obstacle to getting what she wanted, just another lie to smash her way through. She would knock the woman down bodily if she had to.

Exava grinned at her, poised and waiting for the right moment. When Emmara bounded up the stairs, the blood-witch swung her sword, and it was timed perfectly to cleave into Emmara’s neck.

Emmara had nothing to deflect the blow but her own arm. The sword sank through the skin and into bone as she collided with the blood-witch. The two of them rolled to the ground, and Emmara ended up on top, kneeling astride Exava’s hips and pinning her down.

The sword was lodged in Emmara’s arm, almost clear through it. She took hold of the sword’s hilt. She gritted her teeth, a savage yell rumbling in her chest. Exava looked up at her, horrified fascination gleaming in her eyes.

Emmara ripped the sword free and groaned, and warm blood sprayed. She held the arm above her, sword in the other hand, and screamed through her teeth as the bone and muscle and sinew knitted itself whole again, thread by excruciating thread, sealing and merging with the near-severed limb. Her vision swam, and the sounds of the battle faded into the louder and louder pumping of blood in her ears, but she fought to stay conscious.

Emmara’s spell held, but there was still a storm of pain as she flexed the fingers at the end of the injured arm. She looked down at the blood-witch, who was speechless with sadistic enjoyment.

That gave Emmara the chance to jam the blood-witch’s sword into her shoulder. As Exava screeched and writhed in pain, Emmara stood, heaved a few breaths, then took hold of the blood-witch’s free arm. She hauled the woman up onto her shoulder, and as the battle raged behind her, she carried her enemy through the Rakdos gate.

Jace followed the route, trying not to think of what he’d find. Ral Zarek eluded him, but the storm still roiled above, and the rain soaked the streets of the Tenth. Sputtering fires told him he had entered the territory of the Rakdos, and his footsteps splashed as he descended alone.

When he came upon a pitched battle in Rix Maadi he feared the worst. But Trostani pointed him on, telling him that Emmara had already proceeded on to the Forum of Azor.

When Jace arrived at the Forum, all ten maze-runners were there, and all ten of them were threatening the others with spell and sword. The Golgari troll Varolz had new, disc-shaped scars all over his body, presumably from battling the tentacled leviathan, and was trading hammer-like blows with Ruric Thar. Vorel and the Boros runner Tajic each had the other’s throat in his grip. Lavinia and Teysa Karlov took turns offending each other, questioning each other’s jurisdiction, and testing each other with restraining spells. Mirko Vosk, Ral Zarek, and Exava were all circling and sizing each other up, ready to unleash violence at any moment.

Emmara stood by herself. Jace saw her glance at him, but she turned her face away. She looked up into the sky, her arms crossed, watching the rain come down.

Something in the center of the forum caught Jace’s eye. He saw that the flow of mana that had described the path through the maze was becoming visible. It was hard to make out in the storm, but Jace could see the power channeling into the floating monolith in the center of the forum. From the central monolith the mana then radiated out in soft rays, contacting the stone pillars around the forum’s perimeter and setting them aglow, one for each guild.

Something was happening, and all of the assembled maze-runners seemed to be missing it.

“Listen!” Jace shouted. “Halt your fighting, now. This place is activating. You all have to find a way to make peace now, or we’ll all be destroyed.”

“How dare you,” said Teysa Karlov. “You have no right to speak to the speaker of the Obzedat this way.”

“I was here first, Beleren, you con artist,” said Ral Zarek, bristling with electricity. “The Izzet lay claim to all that’s about to happen here.”

“All of you forget that this forum was created by the Azorius,” said Lavinia. “Our maze has led you here, and what results is ours and ours alone. And I will defend our legal right to it if I have to.”

“Varolz see nothing but meat,” said Varolz, peering around at the other maze-runners.

“In the name of Lord Rakdos, I’ll kill you all!” screeched Exava.

“No one gets to kill anyone,” said Jace. “None of you will make any claims. You’ve all assembled, finally. This is the moment that the maze wanted to produce.”

“So why haven’t we unlocked it?” asked Ral. “Where is my prize?”

From the edge of the forum, a cloaked figure approached, and all eyes turned to him. The man stepped forth and threw off his robe. He was a wizened elf dressed in Simic garb, someone Jace didn’t recognize.

“Advisor,” said the Simic mage Vorel, who clearly recognized the newcomer. “How is it that you’ve come here?”

“Have you dispensed with the obsolete specimens yet?” the newcomer asked.

Vorel’s face hardened. “No, I—no. You’re right, Advisor. I’m sorry. I was distracted from my duties. I shall carry out the plan immediately, and bring the Simic to a bright future.” Vorel unsheathed a dagger and began preparing a spell.

The newcomer then walked to the legionnaire Tajic. The newcomer’s form melted, turning into formless liquid for a moment in a manner that made Jace’s stomach go cold. The liquid flesh then took the form of a young legionnaire in Boros armor. She wore a braid of dark hair down her back.

“You,” Tajic gasped.

“Tajic, Blade of the Legion,” said the young woman. “I told you that your charge was to destroy all of the Warleader’s enemies. Yet I see many of her enemies still breathe. Have you admitted defeat, Commander?”

Tajic blinked for a moment, then recovered and snapped his boots together. “Absolutely not.” Tajic had his sword out in a flash, and thrust it into the sky. “For the Warleader!”

“No,” whispered Jace. He peered into the mind of the shapeshifting figure, even as her form began to melt and rearrange itself yet again. Just as he suspected, the newcomer’s mind was an impenetrable blank.

Lazav.

“Don’t listen to this person!” Jace shouted. “Don’t obey him! He’s deceiving you! He’s fed you lies!”

Lazav, now in the form of an Orzhov high priest, laughed and spread his hands as if handing out candy. “It’s no use, Jace. They all know me. They’ve all had their visits from me, and their minds have all made a place for me. And you’ll see that they’ve all devoured the lies I prepared for them.”

His form wobbled and changed again, inverting on itself and emerging out of itself like twisted dough. His new form was that of a burly, tattooed troll with a Gruul insignia on his forehead.

Ruric grunted. “You told us maze would lead us to weapon.” Thar stuck out his chin. “Great weapon that could tear down city.”

“Stop listening to him!” said Jace. “Block him out! Can’t you see that he’s a shapeshifter?”

Lazav grinned, showing tusk. “Yes, true warrior,” he said to Ruric Thar. “Kill all the weak, and the weapon is yours.” He turned to Jace. “They can only blame themselves for what has transpired, of course. They were the ones who invited me in, the ones who opened their ears to my whispers and rumors. They welcomed the suspicion, the blame, the mistrust into their hearts. They made room for me, and now they can hear nothing else. And once they all kill each other, I’ll finally get my prize.”

Lazav’s lips curled into a smile, and everything around that smile became Calomir.

Jace looked to Emmara. He could see her struggling, her eyes drawn to Calomir’s face, even though she knew the real Calomir had been killed by the same shapeshifter. He could see the conflict tearing her apart inside.

Meanwhile the maze-runners were all at each other’s throats again, about to make the first kill, about to bring death to the Forum of Azor.

The flow of mana intensified, and the beams of power grew stronger. The guild symbols on each of the pillars flared to life, each signet ablaze in tinted light. An ethereal figure materialized above the monolith. It was the bailiff, the manifestation of the Implicit Maze, his runic body a beacon of light floating in the storm. The bailiff’s empty eyes regarded all those gathered in the forum. The Assessment was beginning.

“You haven’t failed yet!” said Jace. “Emmara! Emmara, you can bring them together. You have to help them. You have to show them how to become one.”

Lazav reached out to her, and her hand rose, slowly but inexorably, toward his. He clenched his hand into a fist, and Jace saw Emmara’s fingers trembling, curving, tightening. She clenched her jaw and squeezed her fist, and Jace could feel her summoning mana, focusing all her feelings of betrayal and pain and rage for some act of woeful spellcraft.

She shot a look at Mirko Vosk, and her fist began to luminesce, growing as bright as sunlight. She began to walk toward the vampire, her white-hot fist reflecting as intense pinpricks in her eyes.

“Will you protect your guild, Emmara?” Lazav asked her, as Calomir. His tone was cajoling, drawing her out. “Will you do what it takes? Will you kill for your guild?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Yes,” said all the other maze-runners.

“Then let’s give you the weapon you all need,” said Lazav.

“The Assessment has been made,” said the bailiff. “The will of Azor is to deliver the verdict.”

“No!” Jace screamed, grasping his hair in his fists.

A blast of energy emitted from the bailiff, branching out as a stream of runes to all ten of the maze-runners. It wasn’t an explosion as Jace had expected; the bailiff’s magic touched each maze-runner at the center of their forehead, not destroying them, but granting something to each of them.

Jace instinctively examined Emmara’s thoughts. He felt the prize reach her mind as she felt it. It was the knowledge of a new spell, a terrible spell. It was the ability to cast a devastating wave of destruction throughout the city. Under Lazav’s influence, Emmara’s mind relished this new knowledge. It fed directly into her desire to hurt those around her, to punish the other guilds, to kill.

Quickly, Jace scanned the other maze-runners. They all had just been granted the same knowledge.

The bailiff hadn’t cast Azor’s Supreme Verdict. He had granted it to all the maze-runners at once. Each of them held the power to sweep destruction across the district.