Dragon's Maze

THE STARTING LINE

It was the day the dragon had appointed for the maze to begin. Under the curving archways of the Transguild Promenade, Jace surveyed the teams from the sidelines, hiding his location, trying to find one particular woman’s face. He recognized many of the faces, but didn’t see Emmara’s.

There was Exava, effulgent in a new war ensemble featuring shoulder torches and a full spine of shining metal spikes, surrounded by a small horde of burly Rakdos warriors.

There was Ruric Thar, the presumptive Gruul maze-runner, accompanied by the same war party. Ruric and Thar looked bored and impatient, and members of his war party snarled and chest-thumped at anyone who made eye contact with them.

“Move,” growled a guttural voice, and Jace jumped and turned around. A troll lumbered past him, his skin covered in scars and mushroom-like growths. It was Varolz, the Golgari troll he had encountered when tracking down Emmara in the undercity. He was flanked by a trio of dreadlocked elf shamans, all of them wearing a splotchy Golgari guild symbol over their faces in white paint. They moved past him toward the Promenade, scratching their skin and squinting suspiciously at the sun, looking thoroughly uncomfortable to be above ground.

Hovering five feet in the air, concealed in a pocket of shadow under one of the curving columns of the Promenade, was a figure that Jace recognized as Mirko Vosk. He looked to be alone, but Jace didn’t trust that the vampire didn’t have other Dimir agents hidden everywhere. Jace had last left Vosk deep underground, and wondered how he came to be the Dimir maze-runner.

A council of well-armed Azorius lawmages did their best to look composed and nonchalant, but by the way they shifted their feet and constantly sized up the other guild teams, Jace could tell they were out of their element. Jace recognized Lavinia among them, who stood on two feet, immovable as a pillar, one hand on her sword hilt. She barely moved, but Jace could see her eyes scanning the buildings beyond the assembled crowd, possibly even looking for him.

Representing the Orzhov was a tall, well-dressed noblewoman Jace didn’t recognize. The identities of the Orzhov knights around her were concealed by full helmets; instead of faces they bore only the Orzhov’s black sunburst symbol. Small, ugly, gray-skinned servant creatures attended to their black capes. Jace noticed that Orzhov priests were filtering through the crowd, whispering to the other competitors, probably asking, or offering bribes, for information. Jace knew the Izzet had researched the maze heavily, and the Dimir and the Gruul at least had an inkling of what was going on. He wondered how the other guilds would fare, how much they knew of the route.

A brown-bearded, broad-chested man clad in massive-shouldered plate armor led a battalion of soldiers, the symbol of the Boros Legion emblazoned on white cloth draped over their armor. Their soldiers were a variety of races, including humans, a minotaur with a permanent scowl on her face, an impatient-looking goblin, and even some kind of humanoid fire elemental, whose Boros armor floated in protective positions over its animate flame.

The Simic representative was a stern-looking mage whose parentage appeared to be partly human and partly aquatic, possibly merfolk; he rode astride a creature that seemed the offspring of a giant, blue-carapaced crab and an irate squid. The Simic squad was rounded out by a host of mages clad in scale armor, and improbable hybrid fusions of scaled, finned, and shelled creatures. Jace had not had occasion to encounter the Simic Combine directly, but knew that their vision of progress was in expanding the accepted boundaries of what constituted living things, and their strange menagerie certainly attested to that.

An Izzet mage, the same man who presented the dragon’s announcement at the Rough Crowd battle, stood atop a ten-sided wooden stage in the center of the Promenade, surrounded by a group of other mages. Next to him was an icy, loosely humanoid elemental that looked like a cross between multiple forms of energy. No doubt it was some creation of the Izzet, but whether it was an actual entrant or a companion to the other Izzet guild members, Jace could not discern.

The Izzet mage’s bronze-colored gauntlet crackled with jagged arcs of lightning as he raised it, calling for silence.

“Attention maze-runners and delegations of the guilds,” he said. “I am Ral Zarek, official representative for the Izzet League.” Some of the crowd grunted and groaned. Zarek’s upper lip flared in a sneer of contempt. “You are all here because the Great Firemind Niv-Mizzet has invited you to take part in his grand Izzet experiment, the race of the Implicit Maze.”

The crowd grumbled and catcalled. “It’s not your maze, madman!” yelled a Boros soldier.

“Just start the killing already,” a Rakdos warrior hooted.

Jace scanned the crowd. No Selesnya delegation had arrived. No Emmara.

“You should feel very fortunate that you are being included in this experiment,” continued Zarek. “We have determined that participation of all the guilds is required. In a few moments, the official maze-runners will take their place in the square, and the race will begin. The maze requires that your official runner be present at each maze location. Once your runner has entered, no other being will be considered able to trace the route for your guild.”

“What do we win?” called one of the Boros legionnaires.

“The prize has not been announced,” said Zarek.

“Because you don’t know!” the man jeered.

A crack of thunder rattled the naked sky, and many in the crowd jumped. “You only reveal your own ignorance, soldier,” Zarek said. “Although this may appear to be a game, this maze is very serious, indeed. The route has been a secret since the time of the paruns. Its discovery was only made possible by the death of the Guildpact that once barred the guilds from war. And its completion will prove which guilds shall kneel, and which guild shall rule.”

Even the more orderly guilds shouted their objections to that. The Boros had their weapons in hand, battle faces on. The troll Varolz snarled and beat his chest with his huge club. The Azorius lawmages surrounding Lavinia chanted some kind of protection spell, scribing runes on the air in a circle around their delegation.

“Now approach, runners!” Zarek called over the crowd. “Tell me your name and guild, and have your champion counted.”

One by one, the chosen runners from all the assembled guilds approached Zarek at the stage. Jace plied the crowd with his mind, trying to identify Emmara’s thoughts, but found nothing.

“Commander Tajic of the Boros Legion.”

“Lavinia of the Tenth District, official delegate for the Azorius Senate.”

“Varolz. Golgari.”

“Ruric Thar. The Gruul will devour this city!” Roars of enthusiasm.

“Vorel of the Hull Clade. Simic Combine.”

“Teysa Karlov, envoy for the ruling council of the Orzhov Syndicate.”

“Eksssss-ava!” cried Exava. “Of the illustrious cult of our demonic lord, Rakdooos!” Her Rakdos warriors yelled and cheered, stabbing the air with a variety of blades, flails, and spiked clubs.

Mirko Vosk floated over to the stage and whispered something.

“I’m sorry?” said Zarek.

“Mirko Vosk,” said Vosk, barely audible.

“What guild?” Zarek said.

“House Dimir.”

Zarek nodded. “Is there a Selesnya delegate?” He looked around. “Selesnya?”

“Start without the tree-lovers,” snorted Tajic, the Boros runner, to a chorus of agreement.

“As much as I would love to,” said Zarek, “we can’t begin without them.”

“I’m here,” came a voice, and the crowd parted to reveal Emmara.

Jace let go of a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

All eyes turned to look at her. She looked strange somehow, though nothing was different about her appearance. Jace realized that she had no delegation: no elvish wolf-riders at her sides, no Conclave priests or woodshapers, no Calomir on his white rhino. She was alone, an aberration for the guild founded on the value of community. Hairs stood up on Jace’s neck, but he didn’t know why.

She walked to the stage by herself.

“Emmara Tandris, for the Selesnya Conclave.”

“Very well,” said Zarek, his lips cocked sideways in a half grin as he recorded her name.

From his hiding place among the crowd, Jace reached out to Emmara and touched minds with her. He encountered Emmara’s familiar flow of surface thoughts and emotions, and felt a flood of relief. He realized that for a moment, he wasn’t entirely sure the shapeshifter Lazav hadn’t taken her place.

“Good to see you,” Jace thought into Emmara’s mind.

To her credit, her face did not let on that she had heard him. She stared straight up at Zarek, thinking back, “Jace! Where are you?”

“I’m here, at the promenade, with you. Don’t look for me. But I’m with you.”

“I made it here, thanks to you. And I know the route. Jace—you were right about Calomir.”

“Oh. You faced him. I’m sorry.”

“That thing that killed Calomir is still at large. But I made it here.”

“Looks like the Conclave didn’t offer you much support.”

“Even knowing the truth about Calomir, it took a lot to convince them to send me. I think I’ve caused a crisis for Trostani, and for the guild. I think they believe I’ll be less trouble running around the city than stuck there in the Conclave.”

“Then she doesn’t know you very well.”

Jace could see her smile a tiny smile.

Next to Ral Zarek, the elemental creature stepped forward, clashing energies swirling within its body. “And I am Melek,” it said, bowing slightly, its voice buzzing and artificial. “I shall be the maze-runner chosen to represent the—” It stopped, interrupted by Zarek, who raised his gauntlet to ask for silence.

“And I am Ral Zarek,” said Zarek, smirking and imitating the elemental’s voice. With sudden violence, Zarek rammed his gauntlet through the back of the elemental creature, causing a jolt of electricity to crackle. The gauntlet absorbed the electric essence from the Izzet elemental, causing it to hunch and shudder. Sparks flowed out of the elemental runner, depleting it of one of its two elements, leaving behind only a skeleton of ice. Zarek gritted his teeth as the Izzet elemental’s power flowed into him, sending jolts of electricity throughout his body.

After a moment, the former Izzet maze-runner fell onto the stage, a heap of lifeless, steaming ice. “I am Ral Zarek, and I will represent the Izzet,” he announced.

Jace scanned the crowd. All the guilds’ delegations were agitated; they knew nothing would be certain in this race. “Get ready,” he thought to Emmara.

“We now have all ten represented,” said Zarek. “All the eyes of Ravnica are on us, the chosen champions of the guilds. And all of history hence will look back to this day. And now, please listen carefully for the rules.”

The rowdier guilds growled in complaint at the mention of rules. Zarek raised his gauntlet high above his head.

Zarek blasted an omnidirectional pulse of lightning out from his gauntlet. A wave of electricity cascaded from his hand, striking the competitors nearest the stage, knocking them flat and leaving them stunned. The stage broke into pieces, erupting with a flurry of small, foxlike lightning elementals. The elementals leaped on anyone and everyone, biting flesh with teeth made of raw static charge.

“There are no rules,” said Zarek.

Chaos. The crowd of guild teams, caught flatfooted, broke into a screaming mob, running in all directions. Competitors dispersed the spark elementals with sword or spell, but the fighting cost them precious moments.

Emmara had been close to Zarek’s lightning spell, and was just looking down at her hands, shuddering. Jace dashed out of hiding, grabbed her shoulders, and led her out of the center of the chaos, throwing dismissal spells to evaporate lightning elementals in their path. Emmara moved stiffly, and wisps of smoke wafted from her collar. The lightning had left a black, charred spot on the front of her robe.

“Let’s go, my maze-runner,” he said as soothingly as he could. “Move those legs. One foot after the other.”

Jace glanced around. Zarek and his entourage had already disappeared. This was the beginning of the race, he thought. This was the beginning of Azor’s test.

Mirko Vosk caught his eye, and disappeared into a bank of shadows.

The teams dispersed. The Gruul war party headed in the direction of Gnat Alley, a twisting route through ramshackle dive taverns and thieves’ dens. The Simic mages directed their hybridized beasts into an undercity entrance and disappeared. Several of the guilds headed back in the direction Emmara had come. Jace guessed they were all operating on as much of the route as they knew, and that some guilds might even be navigating blind, choosing gates at random.

Emmara blinked, recovering from Ral Zarek’s electro-shock spell, and Jace let her stand under her own power. She seemed to notice he was supporting her, and she nodded in thanks. She put her arms around his neck.

“So it’s begun,” she said.

Jace tried to look as reassuring and as confident as he could. “It has. And you’re going to win it.”

“I’m not sure I can,” she said. “After you sent me the route, I planned it all out. I had big plans. I was going to come backed by a full force of elementals—towering protectors to help us smash our way through the city.”

Jace raised his eyebrows. “That’s a good plan. I like that plan.”

“But I can’t. Trostani took that power from me.”

“She what? How?”

“She revoked my possession of it. That spell was hers. It belonged to the Conclave. It was just on loan to me.”

Jace kept his hand at her back, preventing her from falling. “No matter. We’ll manage.”

“How, Jace? They’re out for blood. Look at them—they all have teams. They have armies.”

“We’re smarter. More knowledgeable. And a lot better looking.”

“Don’t joke. You heard the Izzet runner—there are no rules. Do you know what the best strategy is in a competition without rules? To kill all the other competitors. They’re going to eat me alive.”

“Not going to happen. We can do this. I sent you the route. You know the first part.”

Emmara took a breath and centered herself with a little shrug. “Back to the Selesnya gate.”

“Yes. That’ll be an easy one.”

Emmara shot him a look. “You really think there are going to be any easy ones?”

“No, I suppose not. Listen. Zarek and the Izzet will already be there. Let’s move.”

“I have to face those people again—Trostani and the rest. I’m not sure I can.”

“What choice do we have?”

Emmara squared her shoulders. “You’re right. So, hire a griffin?”

Jace glanced at the teams that were still lingering around the promenade. The Golgari team was preparing its pack insect. The creature was much taller than it was long, its carapace-covered body rising higher than some of the buildings, like a spider on stilts. It squatted hideously, and the Golgari elves climbed onto a pair of leather saddles on its back. The troll Varolz ran off ahead of the creature, toward the Selesnya part of town.

“I have a better plan,” Jace said.