The Colors of Magic Anthology (magic: the gathering)

by Richard Lee Byers

  [Note in margin: Pure romance! Ar-basinno should have written stories for a living. L. B.]

  Da game wuz fun an so we do it again. Dis time we had too teems an dey wore diffrnt shirts. We thrued da bomb to Quilk an he run wit it to try to get to da odder end of da field til da odder teem catch him an beat him wit clubs an stuff an he wuz down. Den we do it agin til da odder teeam (we called dem da Raiders cuz dey raided us an tried ta steal our bomb) got da bomb and den dey run wit it.

  [Ar-basinno's note: From this fairly confused passage, we can infer that the ritual slaying of the Fizzer was followed by an orgy, involving all the participants in the ceremony.]

  [Note in margin: Of course. All of Ar-basinno's theories involve orgies sooner or later. L. B.]

  We had ta name our teem an we coodnt think a somtin til somebody, I tink it wuz Fizzers cozin Farf who wuz throwin da bomb most, sed we should pack beatle bugs fer lunch nex time cuz he wuz hungry.

  [Ar-basinno's note: Again the reference to increasing the number of "bugs, " i. e., followers necessary for the ceremony.]

  So we callin ourselfs da Packers.

  [Ar-basinno's note: It seems clear that this religious cult split into several competing factions, which evidently led to religious wars. This probably explains why this cult was eventually wiped out and has left only faint traces in goblin culture today. From the extent of the destruction in the cult, we are safe in inferring a series of increasingly severe religious wars and crusades carried out by the "Raiders" and "Packers" upon one another, resulting in their mutual extinction. I propose to deal much more extensively with this issue in my forthcoming book, The Shattered World: An Investigation of the Goblin Religious Wars and the Collapse of the Cult of Squee.]

  [Note in margin: The gods preserve us, he proposes to write another sleep-producer. L. B.]

  Anyway da game is fun an now we play it all da time cept peeple don lik getting hit wit clubs, so we had ta tell everybody no more of dat, jus grab da guy wit dat bomb an push him down. Also wes runnin out of goblin bombs an people don like throwin dem so much cuz if dey drop em dey get blooed up. So maybe well uze somfin else. Like a ball. We wuz tryin ta cide what ta call da game. Somebody sed we should call it Ball kickin wit Feet, but we all laffed. Den I sed we should call it affer food, cuz it makes us feel like eatin after. So we dacided ta call it Cricket.

  So concludes this remarkable document, the most detailed and persuasive evidence for my theory of the cult of Squee yet adduced. The author of the document even gives a name to this important cult: Cricket. I take considerable pride in presenting this evidence to refute the ignorant attempts by certain of my colleagues at the Argivian University to dismiss my research and request that the regents of the university take it into consideration when discussing my application for future resources to continue to investigate the exciting and intriguing pathways opened up by this find.

  Note appended to the above:

  To the Regents and Masters of the Argivian University, from Lavino Bar-bassanti, late of the university.

  As you can plainly deduce from the above document, old Ar-basinno has gone completely around the bend. His "theory" of a goblin religious cult of Squee, which he began developing twenty years ago, has been preying on his brain, and now he's taken it to new heights of lunacy.

  As I mentioned above in a marginal note, I was with Ar-basinno when he investigated the ruins at The Flarg. Since he was drunk most of the time, there was little he saw and less he remembered. He's right about the field, though: Sarapinna and I found it more or less the way he describes. It was striking only in that whereas the rest of the settlement had fallen into ruins after the human raids that laid waste to the area, the broad field was actually well-preserved. I don't deny that it was a place of importance to the goblins, but Ar-basinno's idea of religious rituals has no evidence for it at all.

  I told him as much at the time, but he wasn't inclined to listen, and I felt it was best to keep quiet and hope the whole thing would blow over. We found the spheroid objects, wineskins, and whistle exactly as he says. The garments were in pretty bad shape, but I could make out the word "Raiders" on one and "Packers" on the other. On each side of the field were places where there had been some sort of arrangement of benches. Ar-basinno is right in saying that whatever was going on there was seen by a gathering of goblins.

  At one end of the field was a large rock, on which, at some time in the past, someone had chisled some numbers and words. It was hard to make everything out, but there was something about "downs. " However, we were unable to decipher the word's direct translational meaning.

  Personally, I believed the whole discovery was far less significant than Ar-basinno wanted to make out. Back in our tent, he kept babbling on about the "most significant archaeological find of the century" and the "physical foundation of the science of goblinology" until I had to hit him over the head with a flagon of wine to shut him up. The next morning when he came to, the idea of a religious cult was firmly ensconced in his mind, and nothing I said could dislodge it.

  We argued about it almost the entire way back to Argivia, and shortly after, as many of you are aware, I departed from the university rather than suffer through further association with him.

  I strongly urge you to ignore this whole affair and offer Ar-basinno the prospect of a quiet retirement to some obscure location within the university. Whatever went on at The Flarg on that field, I doubt it had any lasting significance for goblin culture. At best it was some sort of ritual-certainly not religious-that was brief and probably didn't involve any great numbers. It seems clear to me from the document that "Cricket" was a game, and who can imagine any society spending a great deal of time and resources on a mere game?

  The Crucible of the Orcs

  Don Perrin

  The mage Elkan stood beside his field commander, General Groth Jonar in the small sitting room off the library. His red robes flowed around him in garish expanse. He was a young man with a shock of blond hair and his cowl hung back on his red robes.

  It had been a hundred years since the ice had receded from the lands of Dominaria, and for thousands of years before that, ice had ruled. The Kjeldorans had been formed from survivors of the advancing glacier wall, but they had fled to the east to find a better homeland-one that would last until the world could find warmth again.

  Those first Kjeldorans had settled in a land previously claimed by the Balduvians. For nearly four centuries now, the Kjeldorans and the Balduvians had been at war. The Balduvians had faired worse than the well-organized, well-trained armies of Kjeldor, but Elkan was going to change all of that.

  Elkan had ambition. He had always sensed that the age-old problem with Balduvian strategy was that no general could risk an army, since a force was far too important to their survival. An army that does not take risks is an army that always loses. True, the Balduvians won many battles, but they never won a campaign. That was why its people were living high in the mountains instead of on the fertile plains now claimed by Kjeldor.

  Turning the failing axiom on its head, Elkan came up with the perfect solution. An army of expendable troops could win and keep winning, but at a terrible cost. He needed troops he could throw away and yet have more, and more after that. The orcs, he found, were his willing pawns, delivered by their most famous general, Jonar.

  General Jonar was a tall orc warrior. He always wore his armor, his baton always by his side. The story of his rise to clans master and general of the orc armies was a long one, and he told it at every battle victory feast. He had a reputation for victory, although that had failed him in his last attempt. He had been disgraced by his defeat at the battle of Balesh Pass, his orcs running before the might of massed piked infantry. Jonar needed another victory to regain his standing within Balduvia and within the clans of the orcs. It was the only reason he listened to the young mage.

  Elkan maintained a small suite of rooms in the secondary keep of the Balduvian stronghold. He was a junior mage and y
oung even for that. Most mages did not qualify for such a position or such rooms until at least mid-life. He had gained advancement quickly.

  Balduvia was under attack by General Varchild and the Kjeldoran Knights. Varchild was a new general who was gaining a reputation that was great for the Kjeldorans but was sapping the morale of the Balduvians. It was a time of severe strife for Balduvia, but it was a clear opportunity for an ambitious young wizard.

  The mage and the general looked over the map for the battle that Elkan had planned. Jonar leaned forward and traced an area far south of the Balduvian stronghold near the approaches to Kjeldoran lands. The area circled in red was to be the most likely place to stop the army as it crossed from the plains and foothills below to the high ground of the mountain passes beyond.

  "They will attack us here. I have no doubt. They must press the pass before we have forces available to stop them, " Jonar said, stabbing a finger at the map.

  Elkan snorted arrogantly at the remark. "Why would they attack us here? Kjeldor does not have stupid generals, and I hear this Varchild is smarter than most. Why attack us while we still have complete access to the powers of the mountains? They will lure us first into the plains and use their knights to fight us. "

  The point was a valid one and had been proven in several battles before. Both Kjeldoran and Balduvian mages had shown that they could draw mana from foothills, but the closer a Balduvian mage came to the plains, the more danger he was in.

  "You do not understand, " the general retorted. "If we know that they will attempt to lure us, then we will not bite at the lure. Instead, we will feast later on the entrails of their mounts."

  "You see my point precisely," Elkan replied, undeterred. "If we stay in the mountain passes, they will know where we are. They will devise ways to kill us. General Varchild is no idiot. We must take the fight to the enemy on her ground. She won't be ready for us, and we'll have the advantage."

  "You cannot walk onto flat ground and pretend to have an advantage," Jonar barked. "You have not seen the White Knights and their thundering charges. They are a terrible sight to behold."

  Elkan raised an eyebrow. "A little timid are we? I see that Balesh Pass is getting to you. Let me worry about the strategic, General. You worry about the tactical. After all, it is the strategic that cost you your position with the Balduvian Guard. I think the gold I am paying you should easily compensate you for your risk."

  Jonar nearly ended it right there. It would have been simple to draw his dirk and slam it into the mage's chest. The blood would have matched the color of the robes so well, he thought to himself.

  After several moments of silent struggle he was able to regain control over his emotions and let his reason carry the day. He still needed all the things that the mage promised. He could not go on without a victory, and no one else could provide the funding or the support necessary to provide for an army.

  He shook his head, clearing it. "Very well. Show me your plan again."

  It was easily the worst plan he'd seen in several years, but it had a glimmer of hope. He thought back to the Battle of Balesh Pass. That too had been a good plan, but it had failed utterly while worse plans had succeeded.

  "If we can surprise them here on the approach to Mount Delapre," he said, "we can fight and retreat into the mountain passes above. They won't be able to chase us. You will have stronger magic in the higher ground. You should wait for us here-" he pointed to the mountain pass-"and prepare some surprises for those who chase us."

  The mage nodded in thoughtful agreement.

  "I see your thinking, General. Very well. Now, who do you have at your disposal?"

  The general hesitated. His position within the orc hierarchy had been weakened. "I can only count on two clans."

  The mage shook his head. "I am not surprised, General. In fact, I have foreseen this and have arranged for you to augment your force with the goblins of the Flarg mountains."

  Jonar stood aghast. "Goblins? Goblins? I will not work with goblins. It is out of the question."

  Elkan shook his head. "Get used to the idea, General. You will meet your new allies at Balesh Pass in two weeks. They will ensure that I have my victory."

  Soon after his meeting with Elkan, Jonar found himself at the head of a large column of soldiers. They had collected at Lake Balduvia before beginning the march. Two regiments of orcs followed the general.

  After two days' march through the passes leading south, they came to a large glade on the opposite side of Mount Kireshal from Balesh Pass. Jonar ordered camp set, though it was only mid-afternoon.

  "We camp here. I want Clan Leaders Lavash and Jel to meet me here as soon as they can."

  Ten minutes later, the two clan chiefs stood before him.

  "Get your climbing gear. We're going to Balesh Pass."

  The two chieftains looked at each other. Both shrugged, turned, and were back in another ten minutes, ready to go. Neither dared ask why they were going. It was too delicate a topic to breach with the general, who had been defeated only months ago just a few miles away.

  Through the rest of the afternoon the three climbed Mount Kireshal, keeping to the south side for more sunlight. They wound along the upper trail leading down to Balesh Pass just as darkness fell. Throughout the long climb, not a word had been spoken.

  Jonar stopped just as the sun dipped behind the mountain range. The party had come to a small crater dug into the side of the rock face. Pieces of metal and debris scattered the area, but they were ancient. The head of a venerable clockwork avian was slumped beside the path. The charring on its skull-now almost completely corroded-had been replaced by a strange stonelike substance. Almost three thousand years after the Brothers' War, Dominaria still suffered the effects of that conflict.

  The shattered ancient mechanical bird was a silent reminder of that war.

  Darkness fell rapidly in the mountains. The three set up their small tent and built a cooking fire on the rocky slope. There were no trees for cover from the wind, so they built a small wall out of rocks that they piled up to the windward side. It kept the fire from going out and stopped the wind from gusting too strongly through the tent.

  It had been pleasant climbing weather while the sun was up, but now, in the darkness, the temperature began to plummet.

  Jonar pulled three dead chickens from his pack, and he handed one to each of the clan chiefs.

  "Where did you get these?" Jel asked, awestruck.

  Lavash held his with a reverence usually reserved for holy artifacts. Chickens were rarely if ever seen in the mountainous regions of Balduvia. The air was too thin for them to thrive. Kjeldor had no shortage of chickens, and before the hostilities there had been a brisk trade for the tasty birds. After the war broke out, chickens were valued as precious commodities. For some in Balduvia, the lack of chickens was not terribly dire. To the orcs, it was the loss of their most revered food.

  Jonar smiled and leaned back against a rock. "I have spies where no one would think to look. It is not easy, but I can get a few of these from time to time. Privilege of rank and all that."

  The air temperature dropped. As they cooked the birds over their fire, Jonar leaned forward, as if to tell them a secret.

  "In the valley below, we will find the key to our victory. Tomorrow, we meet our allies, the Flarg goblins. They have sent-

  Lavash nearly dropped his chicken into the fire, he was so startled.

  "Goblins?" he barked out. "What the hell are we going to do with them? We orcs have been much maligned in the past, but that's nothing compared to the goblins!"

  Jonar held up a hand, silencing the chieftain.

  "Balesh Pass holds many horrors for me, as you well know. I would not brave the elements, the mountain, and the sights I must bear tomorrow were I not absolutely convinced of this fact-we need the goblins. Without them we will be ridden down and slaughtered by the knights from the plains. "

  The other two stared at him with disbelief, their prejudices showin
g on their faces.

  "We won't fight with goblins, " Jel said flatly. Lavash nodded solemnly beside him.

  Jonar sat silently for a few moments without movement. Finally, he leaned forward toward his two chieftains. He spoke in a calm, even tone that frightened the two orcs far more than any yelling ever could.

  "You will fight with the goblins. Not only that, you will convince your warriors that the goblins are our salvation. Do I make myself clear?" Jonar did not mention that it was the mage who insisted that the Flarg goblins were to be their allies.

  It was Jel and Lavash's turn to sit in silence for a few moments. Finally, Jel looked over at Lavash. Their general was clearly not in the mood for discussion.

  "As always, we will do as you command," Lavash said, looking down.

  "That is not good enough," Jonar returned, his eyes gleaming with the passion of his words. "You must believe it. Trust me-with the help of these goblins I will deliver a victory that we could not achieve otherwise."

  The fabulous chicken feast finished silently. Each orc reflected on the others' words. Finally, they retreated to the tent to await the morning.

  A mild snow fell in the early hours before sunrise, but it only covered the tent with a light dusting. It took mere minutes to pack up and begin the descent into Balesh Pass.