Gatecrash: The Secretist, Part Two

by Doug Beyer

  Exava was smiling so hard that blood trickled from between her clenched teeth and down the sides of her mouth. She liked the feeling, so she smiled harder. Exava had a wisp of a plan to find the insolent mind mage; he was the type who would concern himself with the lives of innocents. A soft touch, like the Selesnya elf. She would only have to kick up some chaos, and he would, in time, reveal himself.

  She looked down below her at the glorious bedlam she had created. She rode the frenzy and let the riot take her where it wanted. Every once in a while she would give the horde a nudge, guiding the riot toward population centers and guild landmarks. She only needed to lean on her platform, applying her weight in the direction she desired. The man-minions below her would feel the shift in the weight of the platform, and they would compensate, drifting in the direction she leaned. She wondered if her muscle could even see. The spiked leather masks they wore, like all Rakdos gear in general, were designed more for the impact on the viewer than for the comfort of the wearer. No matter. She would see for them.

  They approached an Azorius guard station and checkpoint. An archway of elegant white marble stretched across the road, with an intricate triangular guild symbol of the Azorius at its apex. A band of Azorius lawmages raised their swords to the oncoming Rakdos horde, chanting the minutiae of legal protocol as if it were scripture.

  “In accordance with public conduct code, section four-two-one, subsection D,” droned one of the officials, “you are requested to reverse your trespass and proceed to the nearest registered guild boundary.”

  “Any incursion beyond this point shall be considered warrant for the request of a writ of barred action,” recited another.

  A third lawmage just stammered the same phrase over and over. “Entry hereby denied. Entry hereby denied.”

  When the snarling Rakdos rioters reached the archway, they smashed through the lawmages like a bull through a curtain. The Azorius officials’ shining swords were more reference material than weapon, their blades etched with runes of law. Some of the lawmages gave way, and Exava laughed and made rude faces at them, knowing they couldn’t stop her horde without days or weeks of intricate bureaucracy.

  The rioters proceeded around a turn. The horde flipped horse carts, smashed shop windows, and trampled pedestrians. Exava grinned with all her teeth, stretching the stitches at the edges of her mouth. As the throng of Rakdos cultists marched, she began to chant, and the cultists chanted with her.

  Jace leaned against Lavinia’s door frame like a book propped up diagonally. A globe of lamplight, identical to the staid and precise globes throughout the towers of New Prahv, lit only half his features. The rest of his face was still hidden under the hood of his cloak. Between them was Lavinia’s desk, full of tomes, architectural charts, ancient maps—evidence of deep study in the Azorius archives.

  “Didn’t expect you,” said Lavinia.

  “You should be asking yourself why I would come,” said Jace.

  “Would you like some tea? I could send for the hussars. My captain of the New Prahv guard brews a mean pot.”

  “You do, and I vanish. I leave and never come back. And your case never goes anywhere.”

  “Until I track you down.”

  “Believe me. Where I can go, you’ll never be able to follow.”

  Lavinia sat back in her chair and sighed. “Well, my ‘case’ is already nowhere. You’ve been handed off to the Boros, did you know that? The Boros, whose idea of a proper investigation these days is barging into random addresses with a fireball spell. But I’m not even sure you’re such a hot property anymore.”

  “I’m not. Before I had my hands on something of value, something dangerous—you would have been right to track me down. But I’ve lost it. And I need to get it back.”

  “And you thought you’d break into the Azorius guildhall, and ask your arresting officer? That was your plan to get yourself some help on that score? You’re not a very good criminal, are you?”

  “You’re after the truth. I think you know I can be of help in finding it.”

  “You know what’s sad? It’s that part of me believes you. But I don’t help those who think they’re above the law.”

  “I’m not trying to escape justice. I’m using everything in my power to expedite it. You want to solve the case of the kidnapped Selesnya woman? I can tell you which guild is responsible for the abduction.”

  “The Rakdos. We already know that.”

  “Go deeper.”

  “We know Exava was involved. The demon’s most trusted witch.”

  “Deeper.”

  Lavinia paused. “You think someone put her up to it? Another guild?”

  “Think. Who benefits from guild infighting? Who wants to rouse the ranks of the Selesnya, and start a riot with the Rakdos, so that the public sees nothing of their own schemes?”

  “The Izzet? We know they’re up to something.”

  “But they’re being anything but subtle about it. In fact, the Izzet helping the cause. Helping draw attention away.”

  Lavinia’s eyes glazed over. “House Dimir.”

  “After setting up Emmara’s kidnapping, a Dimir agent attacked me for something I no longer have. And I need to recover it as soon as possible.”

  Lavinia looked up at him. Jace gave her an opportunity to speak, but she said nothing.

  “Now’s when you ask, ‘What did you lose?’ ” Jace said. “And I explain the strange situation I’m in.”

  A smile of realization spread across Lavinia’s face. “Don’t tell me. You lost your memories.”

  “How did you know?”

  “And the Dimir were after them? That is a predicament you’ve got yourself into. And now you don’t even know what it is you’ve lost.”

  “That’s about the sum of it. Your investigation told you all this?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Kavin did.”

  “Kavin came to you? When?”

  “He gave me something.” Lavinia produced a sheaf of scribbled notes, but she hid them against her chest. “He managed to save some information as you were destroying his memories.”

  “May I see that?”

  “Sorry. It’s evidence in your case, I’m afraid.”

  “Officer Lavinia. Unless I recover what I’ve lost, people will die. Including, I think, Emmara Tandris.”

  “As I remind you, you’re a suspect in a crime. Including the abduction of Emmara Tandris. Now it sounds like you’re threatening her.”

  Jace took a deep breath. “I seek the same thing you do, Officer Lavinia. We should be on the same side.” Jace nodded at the notes spread out across Lavinia’s desk. “You’ve been doing research of your own. These are from your archives, aren’t they? Can you at least let me in on what you’ve found?”

  “Please, make a move for them. Or use your mind tricks—go ahead. You’ll see what kind of magic an Azorius official has in her own office.”

  “No one’s forcing. I know your guild’s expertise with wards and safeguards. All I’m doing is asking a favor, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “No, you’re asking me to help you spread lies. I studied the archives. All I found was dusty old architectural plans. Some patterns, sure, if you’re looking for them. But it’s all just a matter of coincidence, unless you’re conspiracy-minded—or are looking to take advantage of those who are. It’s circular logic. You’re using these secrets to convince people to believe in secrets. It’s all for show.”

  “And yet I ripped out my own memories to keep safe such secrets.”

  “A trick—and a cruel one, when it came to Kavin. I’ve seen your kind before, Beleren. I’ve seen a hundred guild-hating demagogues like you. You use people. You lure them in with promises and lies, and then when they’re no longer useful to you, you dispense with them.”

  “We thought it would be safer if he didn’t know.”

  “Did you both think that, or just you? But it’s not just him. You’re a danger to this entire district and all the people
in it. You sent that two-headed Gruul brute on that wild crusade—do you know how many people he’s injured? How many he’s killed?”

  “Ruric Thar?” Jace had been in contact with the Gruul ogre when he was at the Cobblestand. And it was mind-to-mind contact. The ogre could have information related to his lost memories. It was a thin lead.

  “He and his Gruul thugs have visited the guildgate of every guild multiple times,” said Lavinia. “Smashed through platoons of guards, shrugging off magic designed especially to stop him. My own Azorius have lost six to his rampage. And he keeps coming back for more. Trails of bodies crisscrossing the district. And it’s ever since you hired him, Beleren.”

  “Do you have information on his whereabouts?”

  Lavinia sighed. “We’ve lost track of him. He could be anywhere. But as I said, he’s been hitting all the guildgates.” She turned back to the shelf behind her desk and consulted her station book, then whirled back to her desk. “We might know more by tomorrow. I—”

  But when she turned back, Jace had made himself gone.

  Ral Zarek rode in the back of an enclosed vehicle of mizzium metal, propelled by a combination of elemental energies and one strong, harnessed cyclops. He and his team of Izzet mages, including Skreeg the goblin, had been crisscrossing the Tenth District for days, following the routes they had discovered from Beleren’s sanctum. The inside of the Izzet jalopy was covered with maps of the district, sheets of Ral’s own notes, and the stink of days of travel.

  No single solution suggested itself. Beleren’s research had only narrowed down the potential paths to a dozen or so orderings of the guildgates, and Ral’s own study of latent threads of mana had narrowed it down to three paths. “What’s stopping us from trying them all?” he had asked himself. Maybe the fact that the gates were miles apart, in some of the most dangerous areas of the district, many of them actively guarded by horrifying monsters and traps. Maybe that was what was stopping them.

  The vehicle came to a halt at the Forum of Azor, a wide, circular public space near the center of the Tenth. According to legend it was established by Azor, the founder of the Azorius Senate, as neutral ground where the guilds could meet and discuss matters of law. A set of kiosks representing each guild encircled a central hub. Guild representatives manned the kiosks, providing information and broadcasting recruitment slogans to unguilded passersby.

  Ral and Skreeg got out of their vehicle and looked around the Forum.

  “Where does it lead next?” asked Ral.

  Skreeg touched a dial on his gauntlet. The gauntlet exploded, blasting the goblin’s arms and face with a fine shrapnel of mizzium metal. He blinked and coughed a puff of smoke. “According to my readings, it ends here,” he croaked.

  “What?” said Ral. “This is it? This is the end of the maze?”

  “Conclusive,” said Skreeg, knocking the side of his head. Pieces of brassy metal fell from his large ear. “There’s a trove of incredible power here. The braids of mana terminate at the hub of the Forum.”

  Ral felt nothing—nothing like the greatness he expected to find. “So, why aren’t I surging with previously untapped mystical power? Why hasn’t great knowledge opened itself up to me? Why aren’t I emperor of Ravnica?”

  “Is that what should happen?” asked Skreeg.

  “We followed the route!”

  “We followed a route.”

  “No,” said Ral. “This was the final combination, the third of the three potential paths. One of them should have been the correct route. We should have solved it.”

  Skreeg put his hand out. “Well then, congratulations on an experiment well performed!”

  Ral scoffed. “We’re not done,” he said “There’s more to this than what we’ve found.”

  “Will we be reporting this result to the Firemind, then?” Skreeg asked.

  Ral looked at the goblin’s face, all explosion-crisp and cheerful. He scanned around the Forum of Azor, resenting the civilians who milled about the space, and wanting badly to absorb the potential he knew must be lurking here.

  When Emmara arrived at home, two centaurs loyal to the Selesnya were posted at her door. A squad of archers patrolled the rooftop garden of her building. It was a waste of effort, she thought. Since Trostani had taken an interest in her and she had begun doing more work for the guild, she barely lived there anymore.

  She tried the door, but it was locked. “What’s this?” she asked one of the centaur guardians.

  “I can open that for you, ma’am,” said the centaur, producing a set of keys and unlocking the door. “Captain Calomir commanded that all dignitaries of the guild be under constant protection.”

  “I’m not even in there.”

  “The captain is concerned about security, ma’am.”

  “Indeed I am.” Calomir came from around the other side of the house, and caught up to her at the door. He wore his usual charming grin as well as he wore that soldier’s uniform. He held the door open for her. “A moment, Miss Tandris?”

  “What’s all this? This was your idea?”

  Emmara stepped in, and Calomir closed the door behind them. The house’s familiar smells of wood and herbs were almost covered by the smell of Calomir’s oiled boots and steel sword. She could hear the shuffling of footsteps of the Selesnya sentries on the roof.

  “Would you believe it’s Trostani’s?”

  Emmara wasn’t sure she did believe him. “Soldiers on my house, Calomir. What are we becoming? It’s giving the guild the wrong message. I’ve only lived here for a short time, and now I’m singled out, treated differently from the rest of the Conclave. Treated like a prisoner.”

  “We just want to keep you safe.” He leaned against Emmara’s kitchen table, a solid piece of oak that had been woodshaped by Selesnya mages. “And I think a strong Selesnya army sends a good message.”

  “Since when? I don’t like this belligerent streak in you.”

  “Emmara, you were taken. You, a Selesnya dignitary, were kidnapped by the Rakdos. We can’t do nothing.”

  “Those warriors had no agenda. They were drunk on their obsession with their demon—they would have done anything their superiors told them. And as Jace said, I think the Dimir were behind it somehow.”

  Calomir’s condescending smirk irritated her. It was the one he gave before he broke bad news to her. He took her hand in his and patted it. “My dear, you’re a true force for peace. But the world is changing. The Izzet have expanded their experimentation. There have even been squads of Izzet mages threatening our sacred guildgate. The Orzhov have been buying spies and mercenaries from the outer districts. The Simic have been massing an army of their twisted hybrid monsters. A squad of Gruul warriors has been crisscrossing the district, ignoring guild borders. Tensions are high.”

  “Which is exactly why we have to reach out to the other guilds—now, before this hysteria goes too far. We have to learn to understand them. You used to say that.”

  Calomir released her hand. “So you sought out him.”

  “Jace? Yes. My friend. Are we actually going to fight about this?”

  “He’s a strange one, that’s all. He’s an unguilded mind mage. Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “He has unique gifts, Calomir. He can see through all the bickering, the masks, the walls we put up between our guilds. He can unify us. We came to this guild because we believe in unity, didn’t we? I still believe in that, and I believe in his potential. But I’m starting to believe you don’t believe in mine.”

  Calomir snorted. “Do you actually believe the nonsense he was saying? He all but accused me of treason to my own guild.”

  Calomir shook his head. “I’m concerned for your safety. Listen, Trostani is waiting for me. I just want to know one thing about this Jace. You sought him out to help our cause. So how much does he know about the … conflict between the guilds? The Izzet’s secret project?”

  Emmara sighed. “Well, he knows … he knows nothing, now. He got deeply into it, apparen
tly, but then he took himself out again. He used magic to destroy his own memories about it. That’s what he was doing when the Rakdos attacked us.”

  “And he hasn’t been able to learn anything more since? He doesn’t have any other sources of information?”

  “Not that I know of. He destroyed all his research. I don’t think he can help us now.”

  Calomir nodded. “Stay here. Get some rest. You’ve been through a lot.” He leaned in to kiss her.

  She gave him a peck on the lips, and watched him leave between the guards flanking her door.

  The Gruul Clans were usually found huddled in the cracks of civilization. They were a guild with a conspicuous and time-whittled chip on its shoulder, seething from their eviction from a long-extinct wilderness, perennially regarded as brutes and uncivilized throwbacks by the other guilds. The Gruul had come under control on Ravnica long ago, cowed by rules and bounded by fences, just as nature had been. But their memories were long and resilient, and a fire raged in their hearts.

  Jace caught up with Ruric Thar and a gang of his Gruul cohorts near the Orzhov guildgate. They were camped in a patch of thicket in a city park in view of Orzhov territory, seemingly about to go on the warpath.

  Jace hadn’t seen Ruric Thar lead a war party like this; in fact, Jace had never seen, or for that matter smelled, a Gruul war party at all. Their armor was made from animal hides and bones, and their weaponry was heavy pieces of scavenged city rubbish. Their skin was alive with tattoos, etched with a combination of magic, ink, and, Jace supposed, a considerable amount of pain. Each of them was a hulk of muscle, and Ruric Thar was the largest and mightiest of them all.

  Jace figured the direct route was best, and approached the war party. “Hail, Ruric.”

  Ruric Thar and the Gruul war party turned to him.

  “He’s Ruric,” said the leftmost of the ogre’s two heads, tipping toward the right. “I’m Thar.”