INVASION mtg-1

by J. Robert King

  "Cease fire," Gerrard called. "All power to the engines!"

  Weatherlight leaped. Even her running lanterns dimmed.

  The Phyrexian cruiser jolted, descending in a great rush. It fell like a mountain from the sky. The air trapped beneath it fled in roaring waves out of the way. Weatherlight was caught up on the currents.

  Gerrard and Tahngarth clung for dear life to the hot chassis of their guns. The leather straps strained to hold them in place.

  Weatherlight's masts scraped the cruiser's underside. The keel plowed through the ground. With a last shriek, Weatherlight vaulted from the collapsing space. She shot into clear air. The ruined cruiser smashed to ground.

  The air was clear no longer. Pulverized ground rushed out. After it came shards of shattered metal. The cruiser exploded. Wild energy cratered the plains down a hundred feet. The fireball lashed out, toppling two adjacent ships. It flung them onto another. The blaze was so bright, it cast Weatherlight's streaking shadow before the cruiser.

  "That'll keep them out of the sky for a bit!" Gerrard crowed. "Let's give the ground troops some help."

  "I think we're a little late," Sisay reported grimly.

  Gerrard's breath caught in his throat as he looked out beyond the rail. "Take us in slow, Sisay!"

  The city was destroyed. While Weatherlight had slain ten thousand Phyrexians in their warships, a hundred thousand had overrun the city. Every house poured black smoke into the air. Every threshold was strewn with bodies. Some had been eaten half-away-the sweetmeats first. Others had been too badly burned to be consumed. They were little more than tarry skin stretched over black bones.

  It wasn't just the homes that were destroyed. Ram-ships had felled every tower and turret along the outer wall. Some guards had been chewed to pulp by falling stones. Their comrades decorated the remains of the walls. Soldiers were piked on their own weapons.

  Phyrexians loped like wild dogs through the city. The garrisons were decimated, the manor houses, the infirmary…

  "Slow down. Come in lower," Gerrard said, glimpsing a pair of gibbets beside the infirmary's ruins. Gerrard stood behind his ray cannon, straining against the straps to see.

  There, nailed to a pair of tall posts, were Capashen Clan Chief Raddeus and his wife Leda. The spikes driven through them were twelve inches long. Something had climbed the poles, making a feast of the bodies-empty eye sockets, teeth showing past missing lips, a purple cavity beneath the ribs…

  Gerrard turned away, closing his eyes. I'd rather die than lose anything more to them.

  Sisay's voice was gentle in the speaking tube. "There is nothing more we can do here. There is no one left to defend."

  "There are Phyrexians left to kill," Gerrard hissed bitterly. "Turn us about. Take us back over the cruisers."

  "There will be other battles, more important battles, elsewhere. Benalia is overrun. A single ship cannot stop it. The Capashens are gone."

  "I am a Capashen!" Gerrard growled. "Bring us about!"

  "Aye, Commander," Sisay replied.

  Weatherlight banked, pulling swiftly away from the devastation. She cut through a column of black smoke. It dragged covetously across the ship. The ravaged city shrank below. The Phyrexian fleet-a range of mountains on the horizon-swelled outward.

  Gerrard felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  "We did all we could," Tahngarth rumbled.

  The commander's eyes were bitter as he watched the demonic skyline. "You're the one who always talks of those I have lost. Now I have lost a whole nation."

  "You can't save everyone, Gerrard."

  "What are you doing away from your gun? We're coming up on a strafing run. With the starboard gun amidships unmanned-"

  Tahngarth let out a sudden roar and vaulted down the forecastle ladder. He rushed toward the port gun amidships. There, Gunner Dabis thrashed beneath a gigantic spider.

  Tsabo Tavoc! She must have clambered onto one of the airfoils when the ship hovered above the infirmary. Despite a missing leg and the oozy flesh where it had torn loose, the Phyrexian commander was still fast and powerful.

  Clutching Gunner Dabis, she jabbed a long metallic stinger into his belly. Her abdomen pumped venom. The gunner convulsed, falling to the deck. Tsabo Tavoc pivoted toward Tahngarth. Her stinger reluctantly withdrew from the black wound in the man's side. He was a dead man now, and Tahngarth could be next.

  In midstride, the minotaur reached up over his shoulder for his striva. His hand fastened on empty air. His weapon lay in the rubble of the infirmary.

  It was too late to stop the charge. Tahngarth bulled forward, ramming his horns deep into the seven-legged thorax of the spider woman. Ivory sank into spider muscle. Golden oil-blood poured down. Tahngarth thrashed his head, ripping the monster's flesh.

  She shouted in fury and drew herself upward.

  Tahngarth hung from his horns. He growled, kicking. Hooves struck to either side of the spider's darting abdomen. Her venomous stinger jutted between his knees. The barb was crazed in Dabis's blood. An inch-wide hole in the end gushed poison.

  Tahngarth twisted his head. Horns broke free of the monster's thorax. He hurled himself in a back flip, away from that stinger. The world tumbled once magnificently. His hooves struck the deck, slick with poison. He slipped and fell backward.

  Tsabo Tavoc was quick. She lunged. Three of her seven legs slid about Tahngarth, clutching him tightly. They constricted. His arms were trapped at his sides. Metallic limbs closed implacably. Tahngarth couldn't move, could little breathe. Tsabo Tavoc squeezed him beneath her thorax. Her wounds seeped over him. Above a massive torso and mantled shoulders, Tsabo Tavoc's queerly beautiful face stared down in cruel satisfaction.

  Her look suddenly darkened. In compound eyes, a rushing figure reflected.

  Gerrard.

  His sword, too, was missing. He had snatched up what he could-a short-handled gaff hook-and leaped to the charge. The hook arced overhead and sank into Tsabo Tavoc's belly.

  She reared back, clutching Tahngarth all the harder. Her four remaining legs scratched back to the rail.

  Gerrard would not let her go. Hanging onto the hook, he climbed. He braced a foot on Tahngarth's bloody horn and swung his free hand toward her face. The roundhouse cracked her jaw. Knuckles left a gray print beside her segmented mouth.

  Hissing, Tsabo Tavoc slid one of the three legs free of Tahngarth and reached up around Gerrard.

  He wriggled the hook loose and drove it into soft flesh above the spider woman's collar bone.

  Spitting black bile, Tsabo Tavoc yanked Gerrard and the gaff away. The hook snapped through her collar bone. She flung Gerrard brutally to the deck.

  He landed in a roll and smashed into the far rail.

  The spider woman, with Tahngarth in tow, crept over the rail, preparing to leap.

  "Oh, no you don't," Gerrard growled.

  He hurled himself across the ship just as Tsabo Tavoc slipped below the side. Gerrard swung the gaff. It pierced flesh. He clutched the rail and braced himself. Only then, through the rail posts, did he see that the gaff had impaled Tahngarth's shoulder. The minotaur's whole weight-as well as that of the spider-hung from that single hook.

  "Do you kill him," Tsabo Tavoc purred in a voice like summer cicadas, "or do I?"

  Winds tore sweat from Gerrard's brow. He stared down into Tahngarth's eyes. Despite the obvious agony, there was no fear, no resentment in the minotaur.

  Segmented mouth parts worked. "Either way, I win. I have killed your land. I will kill your world."

  Gerrard felt his own shoulder pulling out of the socket. He clenched his arm. Bone ground against ligaments.

  "Even if you win," he panted out, "we won't stop fighting."

  Tsabo Tavoc's compound eyes became inky black. "Fool." She lifted her stinging abdomen, curling it up toward Gerrard's clenched fist. The trembling stinger oozed white poison. It drew itself up to strike.

  A gash of red light tore through the air. It curled the hairs on
Gerrard's arm. The blast struck two of the great spider's legs. They vanished in the crimson gush. More energy raked across her belly. The hook wound was immediately cauterized. She shied back from that blast, letting go of Tahngarth and dropping. Her remaining five legs balled about her. Landing, Tsabo Tavoc rolled amid her troops. Warriors were unmade by her lashing metallic legs. At last, she came to a stop and stood.

  Meanwhile, Gerrard hauled Tahngarth up over the rail. Despite the minotaur's mass and the tearing winds, Tahngarth felt suddenly very light. Gerrard caught him in his free arm and laid him on the deck.

  "Now, I'm a… bull-fish," Tahngarth growled out.

  Gerrard smiled grimly. "I thought I'd got that leggy thing, not you."

  "But… who shot the… ray cannon?"

  They both looked up to see the blind seer, white knuckles clinging to the fire controls of Gerrard's gun. Gaseous plasma dripped from the muzzle.

  Gerrard gabbled at the man, "H-how did y-you know tto shoot?"

  Beneath his dark hat, the man spoke simply, "I know things."

  Orim emerged from the hatch and rushed to kneel beside Tahngarth. She set her hands on the gaff hook, sending an enchantment down into it. With a slow, smooth motion, she pulled the hook forth and stanched the flow of blood.

  "Another thing I know," said the blind seer, descending the forecastle steps, "is that you're wasting your energies here. There is only vengeance here-and death."

  Gerrard stared grimly down at Tahngarth's clenched teeth. "Yes, old man. I think you are right."

  "There is a better Battle of Benalia. There is another army- heroes after your own stripe. An easy thousand of them. You must go lead them."

  Arching his brow, Gerrard said, "Another army? Who? Where?"

  "The Atrivak Mounds-Benalish Penal Colony."

  "Military prisoners?"

  "An easy thousand. Powerful warriors, but incorrigible."

  Gerrard gave a dry laugh and shook his head. "Heroes after my own stripe."

  Chapter 9

  Teferi's Realm

  Barrin soared through the skies over coastal Zhalfir. The day was sultry. Clouds stood in steamy stacks all around. Lurking among them were three more portals, newly opened. Soon drifting black racks of Phyrexian armor would appear. Then there would be death in Zhalfir as there was in Benalia.

  Barrin's Metathran fleet had been crushed in Benalia. Only a small squad of hoppers had survived. The rest had sacrificed themselves downing cruisers and debilitating plague ships. The Serrans had fared better, though one in two angels had been killed. At last, Barrin and his troops had fought near enough to the portal that he could send his healing magic into the wound in the sky. He sealed it and ended the air battle but was utterly spent in the effort.

  He and his last fighters had withdrawn to the next aerial rendezvous. The Serrans soared to their aeries to regroup.

  For Barrin, there was an all-too-brief night of study and sleep before the next battle opened above distant Zhalfir- another powerful source of white mana. He teleported to a western point that he knew well. The battle of Zhalfir would unfold just as the battle of Benalia had-too few defenders flinging themselves in suicidal fury against too many attackers. Such had always been the model for Urza's battles. For Urza, survivability was not as important as victory.

  One of these days, Urza will orchestrate a battle that even I cannot survive, Barrin thought grimly.

  Topping a long slope of saw grass, Barrin glimpsed the battle on the fields beyond. A portal gaped wide in the sky. It was black and ragged among the clouds, as though some jealous god had gripped the heavens and ripped a hole in them. From that black tear emerged cruisers, plague ships, dragon engines, and a new class of sleek-bowed vessels- dagger-boats. Fighters filled the air like wasps, buzzing beside the droning hulls of larger ships.

  "Urza and I against an armada," Barrin said, clucking.

  He had spoken too soon. Someone had brought defenders to the field-amazing, powerful, glorious defenders. Figures played on the wide plains amid shrubs and fruit trees. In their draping white robes, they seemed children, hands and heads upraised as though guiding kites through the skies. In fact, they were archmages. Above them moved gossamer, streaming sorceries. Mistmoon griffins and giant eagles, angel warriors and armored pegasi-these were summoned creatures, ideals made material. Alabaster dragons and duskrider falcons, winged paladins and flying unicorns-they were guided in their battles from below.

  White talons tore dagger-boats to shreds. Angelic swords clove ray cannons from their embrasures. Griffin beaks plucked ballista bolts from the sky and rammed them back into the swarming ships. Even unicorn horns were put to their original use, the merciless goring of the despoiled. Phyrexians died in their thousands. So, too, did these summoned creatures, but they were not true beings.

  They were ideas given flesh and blood for a time, granted the will to fight, and ideas never died.

  Barrin smiled. This was the battle of a fairer mind than Urza's. White ideals clashed against black realities and steadily won. On a ridge overlooking the savanna stood Urza and that fairer mind-Teferi.

  It was a strange tableau. Teferi stood to the fore, gazing out at his sorcerous army. In his manifold blue robes, the black-skinned man seemed taller than Urza- bolder, more powerful. One of Teferi's feet was poised on a stone. He leaned avidly toward the battle and spoke in rapid, exited tones. Urza meanwhile stood behind. He never stood behind. His feet were planted like fence posts. His hands hung empty and idle at his sides.

  Barrin allowed himself a laugh at his old friend's expense. Urza was never so miserable as when someone else was in control.

  Spreading his war cloak like the wings of a settling hawk, Barrin swooped down to light on the arid hilltop. The rustling robes drew the eyes of the two men upward. Urza's gaze was both nettled and pleading. Teferi's was triumphant.

  The tall, ebony-skinned man smiled broadly and extended his hand to shake Barrin's. "Ah-a pleasure to see you again, and so soon-"

  "A pleasure!" hissed Urza in exasperation.

  "Welcome, Master Barrin, to Zhalfir."

  Barrin studied the extended hand with feigned caution before grasping it. "No shocking grasp? It's almost a letdown, Teferi. Still, it's nice to know you haven't reverted to your old tricks."

  Teferi shook his head vigorously. "Only new tricks, Master Barrin. Plenty of new ones."

  "He won't let us help," Urza blurted in place of a greeting.

  "Won't let…" Barrin echoed incredulously. He searched Urza's queer eyes, looking for signs of humor. It was a futile search.

  Teferi's eyes brimmed with joy. "It's not that I won't let you both help-just not Master Urza alone. No offense. If Tolaria taught me anything, it taught me that Urza is a danger to himself and everyone else unless he's working with his lab partner."

  "Which would be me," Barrin said through tight lips. The two masters of Tolaria traded rueful looks. Teferi had always been a bright, good-hearted troublemaker-just what Barrin and Urza needed. "Well, I'm here, now. How can we help?"

  Teferi took a glad breath, stroking his chin and looking out at his proud forces. "That's a good question. The Mage Corps of Zhalfir seem to have things well in hand."

  "Impressive," Barrin said. "I have never seen spells used this way before."

  "Phoenix flocks," Teferi said. "An innovation of mine. It keeps the battle in the air, keeps the casualties to Phyrexians. Our warriors are all creatures of fancy-ideas battling monsters. That is very appealing to me."

  Barrin watched tracers of white-mana magic rise, slim and graceful, from a mage on the dusty field. The power spread outward, blossoming into a great spectral eagle the size of a mammoth. Its wings swept out. They could cover whole companies. With a shrieking cry that raked the heavens, the enormous raptor crashed into a Phyrexian cruiser. Pinions of pure energy enveloped the ship. The bird's figure disintegrated. Lines of magic limned every hackled spine and barbed strut of the ship. The lines solidified into un
breakable cords of power. They constricted inward. The shimmering white force cut beneath armor plates. It sliced bulwarks and causeways. Sparks showered from the cut marks.

  "Why don't they simply land, crushing your forces?" Barrin asked.

  "Watch," Teferi replied quietly.

  The cruiser that had been overwhelmed by the spectral eagle began to disintegrate. Sections of the ship cut loose and tumbled away. Strangely, though, the pieces did not plummet toward the savanna. Instead, they rose, tumbling into the air. Some of the hunks impacted Phyrexian ships above. Sharp wedges lodged in the bellies of the craft. No, not the bellies. Only then did Barrin realize that all the Phyrexian ships floated upside down in the sky.

  "It's a simple but powerful enchantment, reversing the pull of Dominaria," Teferi said. "It's a time-field effect, like those I learned on Tolaria. In backward time, the world repels rather than attracts objects. Meteors leap into the sky, feet are propelled away from the ground, and instead of stumbling, drunkards vault upright. I've extracted that single vector of movement and enacted it in a broad space above the plain. My sorcerers can stand on the ground, but a hundred yards above their heads, gravity reverses itself. Those ships are laboring toward the ground just as they would labor into the air. If any of them actually neared the envelope of the reversion field, they would plunge to their destruction."

  Above the massed fleet of Phyrexian ships ascended the wrecks of hundreds of other vessels. They rose into empyrean spaces. Many had been dismantled by Teferi's phoenix flocks. Others had met more mundane ends.

  A cruiser halfway out of the portal flipped violently over. It veered, crashing into a nearby plague ship. Beyond them, another cruiser unleashed its battery of black-mana guns on a flock of angels. In the topsy-turvy field, though, the muck spattered a nearby squadron of dagger-ships. They cascaded into the sky. Even plague spores, even the dead, did not fall toward the ground.

  "It's interesting what difference a single inversion can make," Teferi noted blandly. He cocked an eye at Urza. "It's a benefit of having a sense of humor-I'm used to thinking of what things look like when they're flipped over. Funny, mostly. In this case, flipping stuff over makes it look really lovely." He gazed at the cyclone of wrecked ships heading skyward.