Mercadian Masques

Chapter 22

Silently, the team crept up the passageway alongside the subterranean hangar. Gerrard led the way, accompanied by Sisay, Dabis, and Fewsteem. Some distance behind, at rear guard, stalked the hulking figure of Tahngarth. It was five swords against a Phyrexian armada-but these five swords had faced down ghouls and dryads and dragon engines, and they had won. They had surprise on their side, and Weatherlight called to Gerrard.

"She's above-in the cavern on that side," he had said, gesturing beyond the huge columns of stone that spanned a mile from ceiling to floor. "They must have moored her where she could rest on the ground. She's there. I'm sure of it."

Gerrard was not given to mysticism, and so these spoken certainties had seemed nothing short of oracles. He had insisted the group retreat up the side passage, taking the fastest route around the huge cavern. Thrice along the way, they had encountered more Mercadians, and thrice more had cleaned up the resultant mess and removed the torches from their sconces. So far, no alarm had been raised.

In time, they reached the entrance to the upper cavern. As they watched, a ship rose in stately grandeur from the central pit and sailed gracefully down the tunnel to the side.

The level of activity within was remarkable. Along one wall lay an armory, with bin after bin of goblin bombs. Human workers gingerly loaded the incendiary devices into crates and set the crates on skids with rollers on their bottoms. Phyrexian dock workers-mindless creatures-stooped in their traces, pulling the skids down long aisles to various ships. Crews conveyed thousands upon thousands of bombs into bomb bays. There was a sense of urgent activity, the feeling of a vast project nearing completion. Each of those explosives had been fashioned with the intent of killing someone-or many folk-the folk of Dominaria.

Gerrard turned to the crew members gathered about him in the shadows. He gestured. "Weatherlight is there-about a hundred ships in. Do you see?"

Sisay's eyes were grim as she marked the spot. "Yes, and a whole army of Phyrexians between us and the ship."

"We'll use that army to our advantage," Gerrard replied. "Between the armory and the bombs loaded on the ships, we should be able to start a good sized chain reaction. I want the blasts to lead out into the main cavern-see how many of the finished ships we can destroy. We'll create an avenue that'll let us fly out of here. Perhaps we'll destroy the entire fleet."

"This is a plan I can wholeheartedly approve," Tahngarth said, eagerly gripping his striva.

"Here at the entrance is an unguarded vessel, loaded with bombs. We'll sneak over to it and take as many as we can carry. Sisay and I will set charges leading out into the main cavern. Tahngarth, Fewsteem, and Dabis, you'll set charges in this cavern. Target especially ships with full pay-loads. Head toward Weatherlight, set off the charges, and when the guards go to investigate, take the ship. See if you can get it up and running."

"What if we can't?" Tahngarth asked.

"Then abandon the ship, get more bombs, and blow the whole cavern," Gerrard said decisively. "Better to lose Weatherlight than to let this armada attack Dominaria." He smiled humorlessly. "Are you still so wholehearted, Tahngarth?"

"No," growled the minotaur. "It's the right plan, though. Of course, blowing the whole cavern might bring the entire mountain down on our heads." He was speaking also for Dabis and Fewsteem, who glanced uneasily up at the vast stone roof that arched above them.

Gerrard nodded. "Yes, it might. That's a risk we'll have to take. Is everyone ready?"

Heads nodded.

"Okay. Let's go."

Watchful and stealthy, they darted to a nearby ship. It was a one-person skiff with a long, bony prow and orange wings that folded like paper fans to aft. Sisay scrambled up the leathery fuselage and into a goblin-sized cockpit. Her practiced eye soon identified the bomb bay door controls. She triggered them. Bombs spilled out across the floor. Gerrard and the others cringed back a moment before swiftly loading their arms. Laden with the heavy black goblin bombs, Tahngarth, Dabis, and Fewsteem moved swiftly and silently along the wall of the cavern toward Weatherlight.

Gerrard looked at Sisay. "Ready?"

Before she could respond, a klaxon suddenly shrieked. A brazen voice squalled, echoing off the cavern walls. "Intruder alert. All troops to battle posts! Intruder alert!"

With a shout, Gerrard led Sisay down the corridor to the main cavern.

Ahead, two goblin skiffs rose beyond the railed causeway. Gerrard hurled one of his bombs, catching the leading craft squarely. There was a loud explosion. The skiff tipped sharply, spilling most of its passengers into the abyss. They screamed as they fell, their cries fading into the vast pit below them. The injured craft turned twice and slipped below the level of the causeway.

At the same instant, Sisay threw a bomb that enveloped the second shuttle in a cloud of white-orange flame. The vehicle dropped to the cavern floor, and the goblins aboard fell or stumbled away from it. The air was filled with the nauseating smell of burning flesh.

Gerrard and Sisay reached the edge of the pit and looked down. The plummeting skiffs had struck several other ships. At least one was alight, burning brightly some seventy-five feet below where they stood. Gerrard could see the forms of the dock workers running to and fro attempting to stifle the flames.

"So much for stealth," Sisay commented wryly.

"Aim for the biggest ships!" Gerrard bellowed. He threw his remaining bombs one by one.

The first struck a massive ship two hundred feet below. Its deck exploded. Gerrard could feel the force echo through the floor of the cavern. Flames shot up from the ship, scorching the hull of the craft immediately above it. The rigging and ropes of the second vessel caught fire, and in a few moments, it too was ablaze. The first ship shivered from stem to stern with another enormous explosion. Its bow tipped downward, and then it fell, a fiery meteor streaking down into darkness. As it went, it rebounded from several other vessels, and they also caught fire.

Other bombs rained down. The sound of explosions was magnified by the cavern until Gerrard felt as if he were being shaken to pieces. Flames leaped upward. Ship after ship twisted in its death agony and fell, amid the cries of those who had been working on them. Some, bearing full payloads of bombs, exploded in white-hot sunbursts. They flung flaming shrapnel out to slice causeways and slay workers and ignite more vessels.

A skiff wound its way upward, turning and twisting to avoid the explosions and fires. It burst from the pit.

Gerrard hurled his last bomb, which caromed off the skiff's side and exploded harmlessly in air beyond. "I'm out."

"Me too."

"Here's where the fun begins."

Kyren dropped from the vessel onto the causeway, accompanied by several Mercadian guards, whose livery smoked and smoldered. Each guard bore a trident and the fiery will to use it.

Gerrard found himself facing a massive Mercadian. Easily seven feet tall, the man had a face streaked with soot and oil. He gave a yell of rage as he brought his trident down on Gerrard. The arms master dodged and parried with his sword. Its blade rang against the trident's metal handle. He drew back his sword for another stroke and was pushed violently from behind. His weapon almost flew from his hand, and he stumbled forward, tearing the skin of his knuckles against the stone floor.

There was a whiz and a thud above his head, and a peculiar choking gurgle. Gerrard looked up. The Mercadian stood stunned. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His hands clutched a trident whose spines were imbedded in his chest. The Mercadian coughed, and more blood came from his mouth. Then he fell backward and lay still.

Sisay had pushed Gerrard out of the way of the thrown trident. Now she came to her feet in a quick roll and swung her sword at the weaponless warrior. His head bounced along the floor as his body collapsed at her feet.

With a roar, Gerrard rejoined the fight. His sword darted like a swooping falcon. Where it sank its tip, bodies went down in spray.

In moments, most of the goblins fell. Three broke away and ran for their lives toward the surface tunnels. Gerrard and Sisay let them go, busy with the guards that remained on their feet.

Gerrard attacked one with a blow so powerful it flung his enemy back against the causeway rail. The guard wavered for a moment on the edge of the pit and then, with a scream, toppled and plunged.

Sisay meanwhile ran another guard through with a single thrust. In the follow-through of that stroke, she bashed the final guard to the ground with her elbow. A quick sword jab ended his struggle.

The battle was over. Thirteen dead Mercadians and Kyren lay in a bloody mess on the causeway. Beyond, explosions and flames were spreading. Most of the ships were burning. A few skiffs maneuvered among them, but flaming vessels plummeted all around. One skiff, packed with refugee goblins, went down beneath the blazing hull of a huge warship. The Kyren were thrown from their craft and fell squealing into oblivion.

"Nice work…" Gerrard said breathlessly, clapping Sisay on the back.

"Let's get… to the ship," Sisay panted.

"That's a plan 1 approve… wholeheartedly."

The cavern rocked with another massive blast. Stones fell from the ceiling and bashed the already burning ships. Cracks spread along the roof. On the far side of the hangar, a tunnel collapsed in a cloud of dust and rubble.

Gerrard and Sisay turned and raced toward Weatherlight. Even as they did, the floor beneath them shivered. Great boulders fell from the ceiling. A crack split the floor, extending from the edge of the pit. Sisay stumbled and almost fell, but Gerrard pulled her to her feet and ran on. They pelted up the passage.

Behind them, a skiff rose from the pit. Goblin faces twisted in grimaces of fear. With a deafening crash, a section of the cavern roof caved in. It fell like a huge hammer atop the skiff, pulverizing Kyren and flattening the top of the craft even as it flung it to the floor. The skiff struck rocky ground, which in turn buckled. The floor dropped into the space below it. The mountain trembled.

Gerrard and Sisay fled up the passageway as the tunnel collapsed in their wake. Up they ran, their legs aching. The way seemed endless, and their shadows leaped wildly in the flickering torchlight.

"Even if we reach the ship… how do we fly it out?" Sisay panted.

"We'll worry about that… if we live long enough…"

All day and all night, a storm had gathered above the city. Its black bulk blotted out moon and star and bore down on the mountain below. Unlike most storms, this one did not hover overhead. It crouched on the shoulders of the people. It gave weight to the ominous musings in every heart. It squeezed every pair of lungs until bitter introspection oozed forth in whispers of dread.

"The Kyren have captured the Uniter."

"They have killed Ramos."

"This storm is his wrath."

"He will crash to earth again-not in fire, but in flood."

Where private dreads mingled, they admixed and became public fury. The storm that mounded itself atop the city awoke a second storm in the streets below-a storm of rage… of revolution.

"The Kyren are parasites!"

"They are apostates!"

"They can kill Ramos, but they cannot kill us!"

"We can kill them!"

Morning light did not come to storm-swathed Mercadia. The sun's rays could not dispel clouds so deep. Nor did peace return to the streets. Tridents were impotent against such rage. Thunderheads rumbled their ominous threats, and mobs shouted their calls to arms. Lightning flicked across the sky in awesome anticipation, and Ramosans marched along the streets in open rebellion.

Lahaime lifted his voice to the heavens: "People of the mountain, arise! You have nothing to lose but your chains!"

The storm broke.

A gigantic fist of water fell from the skies and smashed into the city. The bashing torrents of rain bore among them winged skyscouts, who dropped on soldiers in the street. Water wizards descended, lightning bright, and sent jags of power to blaze through guard towers. Smoking corpses tumbled from parapets. Other Cho-Arrim-warriors and archers-rose from storm drains to join the rebellion. Cho-Manno led them, with the healer Orim at his side.

In the deluge, fountains across the city overflowed. From their deeps rose merfolk. Limned in storm light, they were glorious and horrific. Conch masks streamed rainwater. Iridescent scales gleamed goblin blood. Pearly tridents skewered boar men and cateran enforcers. Fish had become spear-fishers. Rishadan harpooners had joined the vengeful spirits of the sea. Wind-lashed and water-soaked, slim seafarers slew giants and bull-men and monsters.

The markets, too, rebelled. Farmers loosed Jhovalls upon the very soldiers who had extorted money to allow them into the city. Traders dropped tally sheets, and lifted swords, and drove the guard out. Slaves rose from their hypnotic stupor to pull to pieces the caterans who had captured them for sale. At the head of the common army was a most uncommon young man, Atalla of the tousled black hair.

Some who glimpsed these rebel farmers and exotic warriors might have thought this a coup from without, but the main body of rebels were Mercadians themselves- Ramosans and the common folk they had rallied. Scar-faced Lahaime led his marching minions through the streets. They took prisoners wherever they might. They made guards swear loyalty to the people and disavow Kyren rule. Many civilians joined them, and the rebel army grew more mighty as it moved along. Whenever rebels found a Phyrexian, it was borne in chains to one of the dumping stations and hurled from the mountain.

When the mayhem in the streets was complete, when the storms above and below were in full fury, an elite squad of rebels marched on the center of the corruption in Mercadia-the Magistrate's Tower.

Cho-Manno was gone.

Orim lifted her eyes from the wounded skyscout she tended. In the streaming rain, she could see no more than ten feet in any direction, but she knew Cho-Manno was gone. She sensed it. There was only one place Cho-Manno would have gone.

First, Orim must heal this fallen scout…

Drawing a deep breath of the watery air, Orim set her hands on the man's severed side. Her fingers glowed with silver fire, fueled by cascading rain. Warmth suffused the wound. Water mingled with blood and knit tissue to tissue. Pressing her eyelids together in concentration, Orim felt muscles and skin fuse. In a few moments, the young man was whole again.

Sitting back, Orim helped the scout rise. "Go. Fight for the Rushwood. Fight for the Uniter. Fight for all of us." Orim rose with him. She gave his hand one last squeeze and then released him. As the man moved off toward the raging battle, Orim headed up the street, toward the Magistrate's Tower.

Toward Cho-Manno.

She ran across the gray lawn to the tower steps. She drew her sword and moved cautiously up the winding stair.

Storm clouds wreathed the tower. Cyclones battered its walls. Rain washed in a regular cascade down the stairs, making them treacherous. Lightning danced from cloud to ground and ground to cloud. Buildings burned with voracious fire, red flames rivaling blue bolts. Deep cracks appeared in the street, and from them emerged orange flashes and boomsexplosions in underground caverns. It seemed all of Mercadia would disintegrate in the clutch of this storm.

Orim climbed into the shrieking heavens. Through several doors, she could hear the sound of fighting, but continued on until she was near the top. At last, she reached the apex of the tower. The great doors to the chamber of the chief magistrate were broken open, and a clash of swords came from within.

Orim burst into the room. The chamber was in disarray. Tables and many of the low couches lay overturned. Before the throne were three goblins-advisors to the chief magistrate. They wielded short, crooked swords and were slashing at the figure who stood before them.

Cho-Manno.

His dark face was contorted in anger, and his blade- long, curved, and slender-flashed in and out in a gleaming curtain of steel. He parried the blows of the creatures before him. At least one of the goblin blades was stained with blood, but the Cho-Arrim leader did not appear to be wounded.

Someone cowered behind the throne-the chief magistrate. The white flesh about his throat jiggled in dozens of small pouches, and his great belly quivered with panting fear. In one fat hand, he held something long and slender- a goblin blowpipe. He lifted the pipe, pointing it at Cho-Manno's back.

Orim threw her sword. It left her hand, trailing silver magic. The blade sang through the air, revolving in a great circle. It struck.

The magistrate screamed. He stared stupidly at his severed wrist. A fountain of blood gushed from the wound. Blowpipe, sword, and hand thumped together to the ground. Orim gave him no time to recover. She rushed across the room and snatched up the blowpipe. Clapping it to her lips, she blew. The dart whispered as it left the pipe. It appeared in the magistrate's fat neck.

The Mercadian's eyes rolled up into his skull. He gasped, gurgled, and fell to the ground with a thump that shook the room. His remaining hand clasped spasmodically for a moment before it fell still.

Cho-Manno had made good use of the momentary distraction. With one stroke he slashed open the chest of the Kyren before him. His backstroke lopped off the head of the second. The third turned to run, but the Cho-Arrim leader made a tremendous cut downward. His saber clanged against the ground, and the two halves of the goblin fell apart from one another in a cloud of blood and bone fragments.

With a great bound, Cho-Manno sprang over one of the couches and bent over a figure lying on the floor. Orim joined him and gazed down at Lahaime. The Ramosan leader lay on his back, a blood-soaked cloth clutched to his left shoulder. His face was pale, and he was unconscious.

Orim pulled back the bloody cloth and pressed her hand to the wound. Silver fire emerged from her fingertips. Flesh slowly knitted.

Cho-Manno stroked her face. "I am glad you came. You saved the leaders of the Cho-Arrim and of the Ramosans, both."

Lahaime's anguished expression faded. He gently awoke.

Orim said to Cho-Manno, "I was only repaying the favor."

In chains, Hanna staggered up the engine room stairs. Her guards hauled her upward with an unusual brusqueness. Her shackles made such a clangor in the passage that she had not heard the explosions in the cavern until she gained the deck. Then, the blasts were omnipresent.

The cavern's mouth was collapsing in a shower of stone and sand. Figures rushed up the path, just ahead of the killing cascade. They ran from a crushing death toward a fiery one. In a regular line from the entryway, Phyrexian ships exploded. Red blasts awoke beneath their keels. They bounded up, hull carapaces cracking like eggshells. Ram-headed prows tipped forward. Horn-studded sterns flipped backward. Amid shattered glass and rent steel and scorched wood flew the crushed bodies of Kyren, Mercadians, Phyrexians… Where fire reached bomb payloads, the results were even more spectacular. In shattering succession, small blasts awoke large ones. Nearer and nearer the armory they went, until a blooming sun awoke on one side of the chamber. It was blinding, deafening, and for a moment it obliterated all. All.

The few guards who remained on Weatherlight ducked, covering their heads. Hanna shied back. On the cavern floor below, Volrath and the rest of the guard fell to their faces. As suddenly as the blast had begun, it ended. Blue smoke belched out across a cracking ceiling. The smell of lightning filled the chamber.

Hanna's guard barked orders. His shouts were whisper quiet after the blast. He hauled Hanna to Weatherlight's rail and forced her to kneel. Her chained hands struck the deck before her. The guard pressed her head to the wood.

Another Mercadian, tall and muscular, stomped up along the planks. His sword had a cleaverlike head, as heavy as an ax. His massive boots ground to a halt beside Hanna. "Put your neck on the rail," the man shouted. Without moving, Hanna replied, "What if the ship breaks down again? Who will fix it?"

"Put your neck on the rail!" The order was followed by a kick from one of those massive boots.

Swallowing, perhaps for the last time, Hanna lifted her neck into position.

The executioner's sword flashed firelight as it rose. With an almighty roar, steel descended. Razor-sharp metal cut through nape, and spine, and throat to emerge, streaming gore. The severed head vaulted free, bounced once on the rail, and tumbled in a sanguine spray toward the floor of the cavern.

But it was not Hanna's head. Nor was it the executioner's sword that had severed it. A bloody striva swooped harmlessly over Hanna's neck, and she gaped down at her executioner's blinking skull. Turning, Hanna saw her liberator. "Tahngarth!" she exclaimed in amazement. He did not return the greeting, too busy hoisting a guard who was impaled on his striva. Tahngarth hurled the struggling figure toward the rail. The body struck a pair of goblins and bore them overboard.

Nearby, Fewsteem and Dabis fought two more guards. Unmade by unison strokes, the soldiers fell. One of them landed atop the keys to Hanna's shackles. "Get the keys!" she shouted. Tahngarth finished a final guard and went to fetch them.

He returned and knelt beside Hanna, fitting metal into the lock.

"You arrived just in time," she said.

"How's the ship?" he asked as he worked.

"Fixed. Perfected. More powerful than ever," she replied. "It's complete at last, Tahngarth. Get these chains off me, and the ones off Karn-he's below-and we'll get this ship into the air. We'll fly out of here."

No sooner had she said these words than the shackles clicked. Chains tumbled to the planks. "It won't be so easy. The flight path is blocked."

Rising, Hanna stared out bleakly beyond the rail. The entry to the cavern was completely sealed by a landslide. Her gaze lingered only a moment on that impediment, though. "It's worse than that." She pointed.

Below, in the midst of smoldering ships, stood Volrath and his company. Forty-some soldiers surrounded two figures-Sisay and Gerrard.