Mercadian Masques

Chapter 21

Behind them, the group of Jhovall traders kicked up a cloud of dust that looked gray beneath the gathering storm. The jingle of harness bells and the purrs that came from the herd of several hundred mounts were accompanied by discontented rumbles from the clouds above. In the marketplace beyond the wall, tents flapped in rising winds, cold with unnatural mist. Workers pounded tent stakes deeper to keep canvas from pulling loose. The guards along the wall crouched in surly array and glanced skyward with each distant growl of thunder.

The fattest of the Mercadian guards approached the leader of the traders. "How many beasts do you bring to market?" Speaking the patois common to traders, his voice had a supercilious, sneering edge to it.

The trader, whose dark face and nose rings proclaimed him a Tsaritsa of the northern plains, chewed stolidly on a wad of klavaa leaves. "Two hundred."

"Six pieces of copper to bring them into the city."

"Two."

"Five."

"Four."

"Done." The trader pulled a greasy leather pouch from his saddle and extracted the price. The guard tucked the money away in the recesses of his uniform and waved the traders ahead. His lip curled. He eyed the dirty, unshaven figures as they passed, their robes drawn up tight around their faces to keep out the dust. "Hurry up there! Storm's coming!"

One trader, considerably taller than the others, paused and lifted a pair of dark eyes to stare back. There was reproach in his gaze. The trader moved on.

Spitting into the dirt, the guard looked down the road at the next party approaching.

The traders circled around the base of the mountain before finding a clear space in which to pitch their tents. They hastily erected the canvas, close together and clustered as near to the mountain as possible, hoping it would shield them from the coming deluge. The Jhovalls were enclosed in a rough pen, erected of wooden posts and ropes. The beasts settled down to feed.

Leaving a few of their number to keep an eye on the herd, the traders gathered within the largest tent for their evening repast. In the center of the space, a brazier burned. The traders squatted around it, their robes trailing on the floor, as bits of meat roasted on skewers. A large communal bowl of rice sat nearby, and the meal was washed down with draughts of thick red wine.

The herdsmen ate in silence, broken only by the sound of chewing, swallowing, and sucking on fingers. Outside, the ever-present hum of the mountain rose and fell in regular rhythms, as if some great beast was breathing heavily. Distant thunder came with the ominous portent of war drums. When the meal was complete and the dishes removed, the traders sat cross-legged on the floor of the tent and passed pipes of tobacco. After a long time, the leader spoke.

"We are arrived at your destination," he said to one of the herdsmen. "You have paid us for our help, and we have taken you through the outer guard as we agreed. Do you now wish to leave us?"

The herder cast back the hood of his robe, revealing a head of dark hair and a long, thin scar running along his cheek. His companions did likewise, one shaking out a long braid that dangled down her back. The tallest one carefully disentangled his hood from a magnificent pair of horns.

"We must leave you and find our companions in the city," Gerrard said. "We are grateful for your assistance, but now we must find a way above."

The leader drew deeply on the pipe and spat into a convenient brass cuspidor that had been placed near his side. "Not an easy task."

"Nevertheless, we must try."

The leader nodded slightly. "I can show you a way into the city," he said after long contemplation of the fire. "It is a secret known to my people. In the past it has allowed us to enter the city without paying the entrance fees and taxes that are charged by the magistrate. In the lifts, you would be quickly discovered by the guard. But if you and your friends take the way I show to you, you will go undetected."

"Is the way safe?"

The leader shrugged. "We have not traveled to the surface that way in some seasons. The last time I passed through that way, I experienced no difficulties."

Gerrard glanced at the others of his party. "What do you wish in return?"

The leader stroked his chin, his eyes bright and glittering. "You have said little of what you wish to do in the city." "If I said less than I knew, Most Respected Shi'ka, it was because I did not wish to put you and your friends in danger." "But I suspect what you intend will threaten the chief magistrate and those who support him." He lifted a hand, stopping the other's protest. "I will be satisfied if the rule of the magistrate is weakened. Such a thing would be of great service to the people of my tribe, who suffer beneath the taxes and bribes of his rule."

Gerrard looked at him for a time in silence. "I can promise you, Shi'ka, that whatever we do in the city, the magistrate isn't going to like it."

Shi'ka nodded solemnly. "Very well. Let us sleep. Then, in the deeps of night, long before morningsinging, I will bring you to the secret way."

He motioned for his fellow tribesmen to clear away their meal. Weary with the long Jhovall drive, Shi'ka rolled himself up in a blanket and began to snore heavily. The others of his tribe followed suit.

Around the tent, the business of Mercadia went on unabated. The markets never closed, and the busy trading and selling at the foot of the mountain did not slow. The coming storm only added urgency to the marketplace. Through all the dark hours, peals of thunder were echoed in the hustle and bustle of the stalls.

A few hours after nightsinging had resounded from the minarets of the city far above, the black night was pregnant with rain. Shi'ka roused Gerrard and his companions from sleep and led them through the crowds of merchants and traders who thronged the area. After a walk of considerable distance, they reached a series of stalls hung with rich rugs of complex design. Shi'ka hastily pushed Gerrard and the others through the stall and into a tiny room in back, hung with rugs and smelling of musk and the oil used to polish rug racks.

The Jhovall trader grasped one edge of a large heap of carpets and indicated Tahngarth should take the other. With a grunt, they lifted the pile and moved it aside, revealing a small trapdoor studded with heavy nails. Shi'ka pulled up the door and gestured Gerrard toward the dark hole. The Benalian could see a slender ladder leading down into blackness.

"Here is the way of which I spoke," Shi'ka said quietly. "Though you have torches, if I may offer advice to you, risk no light within the passage unless absolutely necessary. The burrows beneath the mountain have many rambling ways, and it is possible that a light might be noticed by one whom you would not wish to encounter. Keep your voices still and travel as quickly as you can. May the face of Gho'miko shine ever upon you."

Gerrard clapped Shi'ka briefly on the shoulder. He shucked his Jhovall trader's robe and climbed onto the ladder. As he descended, Sisay, Tahngarth, and the sailors of Weatherlight removed their cloaks and followed. Shi'ka closed the trapdoor behind them.

The first part of the climb was made in an intense darkness. After a dozen yards, the ladder ended in a narrow, circular chamber, from which there appeared to be only one exit. Along this tunnel the company passed, hands extended on either side, ears cocked for the slightest sound. Their own footsteps sounded alarmingly loud, rattling and echoing against the stone floor.

The passage was rough and narrow, so that Tahngarth had to stoop to fit through it. The minotaur softly grumbled to himself.

After a few turns, Gerrard felt the floor begin to ascend. The upward slope continued for some time, the passageway climbing in a series of great, sweeping turns. There was still no light, but echoes told of a wider, taller corridor. In one or two spots, the darkness grew less intense. Gerrard made out several side passages that led off to unknown destinations.

Groping along the main passage, his hands fully extended before him, Gerrard encountered a pile of boulders. They felt rough and irregular, and they completely blocked the way. The others crowded behind.

"Well," Gerrard whispered. "I think this is where we take a risk. Sisay, light the torch, but keep it shielded as much as possible."

There was a faint scrape of steel against flint. A spark landed on the torch's head, and Sisay blew it into a flame. Soon, the brand glowed brightly. The party saw they had come to a cave-in that completely filled the tunnel through which they had been traveling. Many of the stones were of great size, and there was little hope of clearing the passage easily or quietly.

Sisay smothered the torch, and they were back in the darkness, their eyes spotting from the sudden light. "Well," she whispered. "What do you think? Do we go back or try to find some other way through?"

Gerrard sensed the sentiments of the others: none liked this dark passage and they would prefer to take their chances with the guards in the lifts. Nonetheless…

"We try to find another way through," he whispered. "It's our best hope of getting into Mercadia without anyone knowing we've come back." He heard a faint sigh in the blackness and led the way back down the tunnel toward the first of the side passages.

The new tunnel felt smaller and narrower than the one they had been traversing. Tahngarth had to crouch to make his way along, and even Gerrard began to feel oppressed by the vast mountain overhead. At last, a faint glow appeared in the distance before them. As they drew closer, Gerrard spied the outline of a wooden door. He reached it and cautiously pressed his weight against it. The door yielded, opening into another passage.

Gerrard peered out. This hall was surprisingly wide and broad. Every fifty feet or so, an iron sconce on the wall held a flaring torch. To the left, the path angled upward. To the right, it bent down around a curve.

Sisay touched Gerrard's arm. "Well?" she asked. "It looks as if this particular road is no secret."

Gerrard nodded. "I think we have to chance it." He looked at the others crowding behind him. "Try not to make much noise, and go as quickly as you can. We've probably climbed about fifteen hundred feet from the base of the mountain, so we've got a long way to go."

The ascent was faster but tinged with urgency and trepidation. From far below, echoes occasionally resounded- machinery at work in the bowels of the mountain. Sometimes, disturbingly, they heard voices.

Dabis crouched and retrieved something from the side of the road. "Sir," he called in a whisper.

"What?" Gerrard stopped, as the others gathered around the sailor.

"Look." Dabis held out his hand.

Gerrard stared at the tiny object in his palm-a ring of green glass. "It's Squee's ring. It would seem he's been down here. But how?"

Tahngarth said disapprovingly, "If there is trouble to be found, Squee will find it."

"He was searching for Weatherlight," Sisay remarked. "Maybe he found it down here."

Gerrard thought a moment. "Yes, perhaps Weatherlight and Squee are both down here somewhere."

His voice found an echo, this time from up the tunnel. Someone approached around the next bend. The party glanced quickly around. The walls surrounding them were solid, unbroken by any nooks or crannies. Gerrard shook his head grimly and loosened his sword.

A moment later, a group of Mercadians appeared and stopped dead at the sight of Weatherlight's crew. Four in front wore the livery of the city guards. The others were courtiers, but Gerrard caught sight of a flash of green skin from the middle of the group. At least one Kyren.

With a shout, Sisay dashed forward, Tahngarth leaping behind her. There was a ringing that echoed up and down the tunnel. The guard drew their swords in time to parry the first attack. Sisay and Tahngarth closed with two of them.

Gerrard engaged the third guard, and Dabis the fourth.

Chamas rushed forward to aid her shipmates but fell with a cry of pain. A silver shaft emerged from her thigh.

The courtiers edged back. Two Kyren lifted blowpipes to their lips. They were aimed at Fewsteem.

With a slashing blow, Gerrard drove his opponent back so that the Mercadian was interposed between the goblins and their target.

Tahngarth meanwhile chopped sword and hand away from a guard. The Mercadian stared in shock. The minotaur's blade finished the job. In a mighty backstroke, it lopped off the man's head and hurled it down the corridor.

Sisay was having a bit more trouble. Unlike most Mercadian guards, her opponent knew how to handle a sword. He delivered a powerful blow that would have forced a lesser foe to her knees. Sisay parried successfully and shoved the man back. The guard aimed a stroke at her head. She ducked just as a shaft from the blowpipes whistled over her to thump uselessly against the wall.

Gerrard's duel was also more prolonged than he had hoped. He forced his opponent back against the wall. Desperate in terror, the man erected a whirling dervish of steel before him. The Benalian's best strokes could not penetrate it.

There was a wild yell from one of the Kyren. A dagger, thrown by Fewsteem, stuck out of the creature's wrist. He clutched his wound, howling in pain. Sword in hand, Fewsteem leaped over the body of the decapitated guard and attacked.

Tahngarth rushed up beside him, grabbed the Mercadian courtiers, and knocked their heads together. They fell unconscious-at the least-to the floor.

Gerrard feinted toward his opponent and brought his sword up in a sharp thrust that finally struck home. He felt the blade enter flesh and grate against bone. Then the man went to his knees. He sank slowly to the floor and clutched at his throat, from which poured a fountain of blood. The Mercadian's eyes rolled back in their sockets. His legs thrashed twice, and he was still.

In the same instant, Sisay came in over her opponent's guard. Her sword made a deep gash in his chest. As he staggered back, she lunged at him, twice plunging her blade through his body. He fell without further sound.

Tahngarth's striva hovered at the throat of the remaining goblin, whose companion had been cut down by Fewsteem. Dabis held Chamas in his arms. Her lips had turned blue, and she was shaking uncontrollably. Dabis looked up, tears in his eyes.

"The dart must have been poisoned. Can't we do something for her?"

Gerrard knelt by Chamas's side. She looked at him and spoke through chattering teeth. "S-S-Sorry, Commander. I ccan't feel my 1-1-legs anymore."

"Hang on, Chamas! We'll try to do something for you."

She shook her head. "N-No good. I c-can't feel…" Her voice faded. Her eyes closed.

Gerrard rose and looked about. The tunnel walls and floor were stained with blood. Sisay was tying a bandage around her arm. The bodies of the Mercadians lay sprawled. From the surviving Kyren came a low, chittering whine.

The Benalian walked to where Tahngarth held the creature pinned against the wall. "Where were you going?" he snapped.

The Kyren said nothing.

"Where does this corridor lead?"

Again, the goblin was silent.

Gerrard turned to Sisay. "Are those two alive?" he asked, jerking his head at the Mercadians.

She examined each briefly. "This one is. I'm not sure about the other."

"Wake him up."

The dark woman slapped the Mercadian's face once, twice. He groaned and lifted his head. He groaned again when he saw who stood over him.

"Come on, you. On your feet!" Sisay jerked him up by the front of his robes and dragged him over to stand next to the Kyren.

Gerrard bent and picked up one of the darts from the Kyren blowpipes. He held it up to the Mercadian's face. "You know what this is?"

The Mercadian turned pale. His lip quivered. Gerrard brought the dart closer, until its point was resting on the Mercadian's fat cheek. "Where does this corridor lead?"

Tears rolled down the Mercadian's face. He tried to turn his head to look at the Kyren but was prevented by the pressure of the dart. He opened his mouth, his eyes pleading.

The goblin's body twisted. A long-fingered green hand slapped Gerrard's, driving the dart deep into the Mercadian's cheek.

The man shrieked and fell to the ground, clawing at his face. Tahngarth's blade sliced the Kyren's throat, spilling lifeblood.

Gerrard leaped back, not in time to avoid a sharp kick from the dying goblin. He turned toward the Mercadian, but the man was already stiffening.

Sisay stared at the bodies around her. "Where in the Nine bloody Hells were they going?"

Gerrard shook his head. "I don't know, but we need to find out. Let's get these bodies out of sight."

"Captain," Dabis broke in, "what about her?" He indicated the body of Chamas, lying still on the corridor floor. The sailor had done his best to straighten her limbs and wipe away the white foam that had gushed through her teeth.

Gerrard laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but we'll have to leave her with the other bodies for now."

Dabis swallowed and then nodded. He bent and tore a piece of clothing from one of the dead Mercadians and spread it over the young woman's face. Then he picked her up and followed after the others.

The hiding of the bodies was a messy business, and none spoke during it. When they had cleaned the site as best they could, Gerrard removed the closest torches. With luck, no one would notice the bloodstained rocks in the dim light.

Carefully retracing their steps, the crew moved stealthily downward until they reached the bottom of the tunnel. They crouched in a pool of shadows just beyond the passage's mouth. It opened on a vast chamber suffused with a thin blue smoke.

"By Urza's Rack and Mishra's Ruin!" Gerrard muttered.

The crew looked out wonderingly on a mighty fleet of aerial ships being assembled in the huge cavern. A mile high and miles across, that enormous subterranean space was filled with vessels-Phyrexian vessels. Workers moved along web-thin causeways, building, repairing, testing, preparing… Two ships rose through a wide opening in the floor and moved across the vast tunnel.

"What does it all mean?" Tahngarth asked.

Gerrard shook his head. "A lot of these vessels look like Predator, the one that attacked us in Rath. Most of them are bigger, but you can see they have the same general design features. I'd guess this fleet is being built for Rath, for Volrath's use."

"Why?" Sisay asked. Her eyes were hard as she heard Volrath's name. "Why do they need a fleet this big?"

"Only one reason," the Benalian returned. "This must be for the invasion of Dominaria. This is Volrath's invasion fleet."

Tahngarth shook his head. "That does not make sense. Why build a fleet in a place other than Rath? And why here, in a place that is not controlled by Volrath?"

Gerrard rubbed his beard. "Perhaps it is controlled by him." A chill moved through them all. "Perhaps it is."

"They brought Weatherlight through doors below," Sisay said. "What if they brought it here?"

"Weatherlight is here," Gerrard said with sudden certainty. "She calls to me."

Tahngarth said, "Then let's go find her."

"Yes," Gerrard said, pulling his sword. "Well find the ship and do our best to create some mayhem on the way."

Karn stood on the main deck of Weatherlight and gazed aft, toward the panting figure who hung on chains there. "Poor Squee," Karn whispered mournfully to himself.

There was no sense speaking to the goblin. Squee had hung unconscious for a day now. At least he still breathed, but for how much longer? In his silent suffering, Squee was doing more to save Weatherlight than any of his crewmates. Thrice, Karn had fought toward the spars, hoping to save his friend, and thrice been prevented by the guards that surrounded and filled the ship. It was no use. Squee would hang there while he lived-but how much longer would that be?

"Gerrard will come soon, Squee, and we will bring you down among us. Gerrard will come soon."

A figure approached through the moored armada-but it was not Gerrard.

"Volrath," Karn groaned beneath his breath. He turned away from his suffering friend and descended through a hatch to the engine room.

The cramped space was littered with tools. Oily rags hung across the engine's enameled fuselage. Cogwork lay arrayed on towels on the floor. Grease smudged, Hanna sat paging fitfully through the Thran Tome, muttering uncertainly about which part went where. All of the mess was for show, meant to impress the Mercadian guards who watched her. Within the first hour of work, Hanna had effected the correct configuration of Power Matrix and Bones of Ramos. She had even fitted the Juju Bubble, a Legacy item stored in Karn, into its position at the center of the Matrix. By merely inserting the Horn of Ramos into its position, she could power up the whole ship… but then Weatherlight would be Volrath's…

"He's coming," Karn rumbled ominously.

Hanna looked up, startled. "Who?"

"Volrath," Karn replied.

No sooner than the name was spoken, the gray-armored evincar descended the stairs into the engine room. He wore a wicked smile that split his gray-skulled head, and in his hand he held a cocked crossbow. He swung it jauntily up to his shoulder. "How does the work progress on my ship?"

Hanna looked away, her face hardening. "Not well. The myths were wrong. These devices weren't fashioned to fit together. The construct has to be joined by a series of cogs and conduits."

"Nonsense," Volrath responded, kicking the loose gear-work aside. "I had not thought your goblin friend would last this long. My patience has died before him. But only just… Start up the ship, or I will kill him."

Hanna looked up, her face as white as paper. "I'm telling you, I… I'm working as fast as-"

Volrath spun on his heel, marching up the stairs.

Karn followed, his massive hands spread beseechingly. "Patience, Master Volrath. Weatherlight is no mere machine. She is a being-as complex as a living body. She cannot simply be repaired. She must be healed. The Matrix cannot simply be fastened in place. It must grow into the engine."

Volrath was heedless. He gained the main deck and strode to one rail, lifting the crossbow before him. Taking a deep breath, he trained the bolt on Squee's small, panting figure.

"Please, be patient," Karn implored behind him. "Please, Vuel."

Volrath hissed, turning angrily on the silver golem. "Vuel? Vuel! Vuel is dead! He was killed by your blessed master. I am not Vuel. I am Volrath. Volrath is Vuel's corpse, a corpse that wouldn't lie down and die when Gerrard killed it. Do not call me Vuel!" The crossbow trembled in his grasp.

"You are not dead, Vuel," Karn replied placidly. "You still live inside this monstrous shell. Perhaps there is only one nerve of you alive, but I've touched that nerve. Come back, Vuel. If you fire that shot, you'll kill Squee, yes, but you'll also kill Vuel-forever. Put down the crossbow. Come back to life, Vuel!" He reached out and grasped Volrath's shoulder.

Cold steel tore free from warm silver. Snarling, Volrath leveled the crossbow. The trembling was gone. He squeezed the trigger. The bolt leaped out, straight for Squee's heart.

"No!" Karn shouted, his arms flashing out too late.

A thud sounded. Chains rattled plaintively. The spars shivered. A hum shivered through the decks and lights flashed on along the rail. Masts descended. Chains sagged. The crossbow bolt shot over the goblin's drooping head.

Hissing in triumph, Volrath dropped the crossbow. "So, Weatherlight is repaired at last!"

Karn heard no more. He left Volrath there and clambered up over the glassy bridge of the ship, heading toward Squee.

Volrath smiled wickedly and barked orders to the guard captain on the deck. "Summon my crew. Weatherlight launches within the hour!"