Return to Ravnica

“I know there are risks. But maybe we can stay ahead of him. Maybe we can get to the bottom of this before they do.”

“You misunderstand. I’m not just refusing. I’m telling you no. You can’t proceed with this. Neither of us can. It’s suicide.”

Jace remembered the sensation of the dragon’s eyes, the dragon’s mind, turning toward him, just for that instant. It brought to mind a soul-chilling encounter with the dragon Nicol Bolas. His newfound knowledge about the Izzet’s discovery had come with a troubling cost—the possibility that yet another dragon knew his name.

“Jace, we’re done with this. Do I need to remind you what happens when the guilds want something? They ruin lives. They use people. We get involved, and we expose ourselves to the worst they’re capable of.”

“But doesn’t that mean we should get involved? Don’t you think this is important?”

“Of course it’s important. From what you’re saying, it’s gravely serious. Which is why we’re going to shut down this project, destroy all traces of our research, and leave this district.”

Jace wanted to contradict him. He wanted to rebel, to forge ahead without Kavin’s help. He knew investigating this maze would put him in danger, and had accepted that. But he thought of his time with the Infinite Consortium, and how he had learned that when he went up against powerful men, those he cared about were the ones who were hurt. He thought of his friend Kallist, who even Jace himself had manipulated in the end. He thought of Kavin—a talented man but no match for the ruthlessness of Ravnica’s guildmasters.

And he thought of Emmara, who had brought Jace back from the brink of death time and again, and who asked for nothing in return. She had been nothing but a friend to him, and he had brought nothing but harm to her. She had survived an assassination attempt brought on because of him. The more he chased his curiosity, the more she bore the consequences.

Perhaps all this was nothing. Perhaps this was simply the wild fancy of a capricious dragon—Jace had found nothing in his research to suggest that the maze led to a weapon or something else that would endanger Ravnica.. Perhaps Jace was needlessly endangering himself and his allies by yet again sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He wished he could immerse himself in the layers of secrets, but he couldn’t see any way around the grave risks.

“So?” Kavin asked.

***

Mirko Vosk walked briskly, scanning the night for witnesses. When he arrived at the chosen intersection, the streets were abandoned. So he approached a brick wall and walked straight through it.

The wall softened into mist for a moment, allowing his passage, and reverted to solid brick after he was through. The abandoned corridors of the undercity branched out before him. He descended a half-ruined staircase, passed under a series of archways, and wove his way through unmarked side passages. Even in the gloom, his eyes reflected like mirrors.

The corridor widened into a haphazard catacomb. Vosk was surrounded by a ring of crude stone shelves where the skeletal remains of forgotten Ravnicans were interred. He knew he had reached the right meeting place because his fangs descended involuntarily. He could feel his master’s presence like a breath on his neck.

Vosk turned in a slow circle, addressing the air around him. “I have news, Master.”

“Of Beleren … Yes, I see,” came the voice—an omni-directional, croaking rasp that echoed throughout the passages.

“He knows something—something that may be of value to the guild.”

“Yes,” said the voice. “He may prove to be the instrument we require.”

Vosk turned, speaking to the walls all around him. “Shall I drain him for you, Master?”

“Enlighten me on the other one, Vosk. What do your senses tell you about the Selesnya girl?”

“Trostani favors her, as you foresaw, Master. Her import grows. I can smell it on her.”

“And what does one call two paths that cross and become one?”

“Synchronicity?”

“Opportunity,” rasped the voice. “By applying pressure in one place, we divert attention away from another, do we not?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And so we may achieve the elf by means of the Cult, and Beleren by means of the elf.”

“As you wish.”

“You are my most promising agent, Vosk.”

Vosk nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Master.”

“But if you fail me,” said the voice, “I shall have your ribs replaced with shards of wood, so that every breath you take threatens to pierce your heart.”

“I understand,” said Vosk.

There was no further response.

***