Gatecrash

“It gives you comfort to believe that, I know. But I am hardly to blame. I may spread information selectively, but people hear what they wish to hear. If my message finds a place in one’s heart, then it’s the heart that’s false, not the message.” Lazav spread out his hands, encompassing the chamber, the sleeves of his cloak hanging heavy from his arms. The mortar of the ancient bricks in the wall behind him traced a network of lines, twisting and spreading up into the ceiling, up toward the surface of Ravnica.

“I see it now,” Jace said. “It’s all for the maze. Infiltrating the Selesnya. Setting up the Rakdos. Warmongering to spark a guild war. It’s all cover for your plan to take what’s behind the Implicit Maze.”

Lazav’s grin flashed a remnant of yellowish teeth, a sight that Jace wished he hadn’t seen. “The maze is merely a means to my ends. It’s a delightful diversion for the guilds, while I grind away at the foundations of society under them. When I hold all the pieces, nothing will remain—no Guildpact, no peace, no law. No guilds! And therefore no competition for my ultimate command of all life and thought. It is simple, you see? I am a being of quite simple tastes. I only desire the annihilation of everything that is not under my power.” Lazav tapped a finger on Jace’s forehead. “Can you grasp that, mind mage?”

“I’ll kill you,” said Jace.

“Ah, then you do grasp it. Good. That means it’s time for you, finally, to divulge all you know about the maze.”

“I’ll tell you nothing.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find you have little choice in the matter. There’s someone waiting just below us who’ll be very anxious to redeem himself.”

Jace looked at his feet. There was nothing but solid stone floor beneath them.

Lazav’s form trembled, liquefied, and rearranged itself. He took on the persona of the Selesnya elf Calomir again. But Lazav’s grin remained on the elf’s face.

“And if you still don’t cooperate, well,” he said, now with Calomir’s elvish voice, “I’ll just have to apply more pressure. Perhaps I’ll have a conversation with a mutual acquaintance.”

“You’ll leave Emmara out of this.”

Lazav, in the guise of Calomir, nodded to the Dimir mages who stood behind Jace. They dragged him to his feet, then flipped him over and shoved him face-first onto the floor, pressing his chest down onto the stone. Their hands pressed on his back, and somehow they pushed him through the stone, his body falling through solidity, merging and slipping down through layers of earth like a ghost. Then he fell into air again, and collapsed onto a cold, hard floor. All was dark and quiet.

“Jace,” said Emmara’s voice in his mind.

Jace struggled to turn over. His body complained, but he maintained the mental connection with Emmara.

“I’m here.”

“I need you to come to me now. I’m at the Conclave. They’ve imprisoned me. Please come.”

“I’m sorry,” he thought to her. “I can’t be there just now. Just keep listening to my voice. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid I must tell you that Calomir—the actual Calomir—is gone.”

“What?”

“The man we’ve seen is an impostor. A shapeshifter set on infiltrating the Selesnya. Calomir is dead. I’m very sorry.”

Silence. Emmara’s thoughts did not form words that Jace could hear.

“So if you see someone posing as Calomir,” Jace went on, “stay away from him, if you can. If you can’t, do whatever you have to do to stay safe. Stall him. Don’t let on that you know his secret. I’ll be there soon.”

Another silence. When he again heard her thoughts, there was a certain strained vibration to them, like an earthquake held to a slight tremor by sheer will. “This is true, isn’t it.”

“I’m afraid so. Emmara, I’m so sorry.”

“All right. I understand.”

There was another pause. Jace sat there in the darkness, waiting.

“Jace?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t lose contact with me.”

“I’ll be right here.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t.”