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McGough, Scott - Magic, The Gathering - Artifact Cycle 01 - The Brothers' War PDF

1512 Pages·2016·2.07 MB·English
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Preview McGough, Scott - Magic, The Gathering - Artifact Cycle 01 - The Brothers' War

JEFF GRUBB JEFF GRUBB “The Brothers’ War” (Magic: the Gathering. Artifact cycle. Book I.) PROLOGUE OPPOSITES ATTRACT (63 AR) It was the night before the end of the world. The two armies had gathered on opposite sides of a blasted vale. Once this had been a verdant valley, its wide plain shaped by a wide, meandering stream, its flanking hills blanketed by thick groves of oak, blanchwood, and ironroot. Now these trees thick groves of oak, blanchwood, and ironroot. Now these trees were gone; no more than ragged stumps remained, the grass burned away, and the earth beneath packed hard and barren. The stream was a sluggish flow hidden by a thick film of oil, its surface broken only by the shadowy masses of nameless solids. Thick, inky clouds concealed the moons and stars from sight. It had been overcast and cold on Argoth, despite unseasonably warmer weather elsewhere on Terisiare. Both sides in the upcoming battle had taken to torching the forests they found, if only to deny their opponents supplies and support. By day the cloud canopy was a dull gray, a sheet of rolled and unfinished steel. By night it was lit only from below, by the thousands of campfires and foundries that now dotted the landscape. Along the opposite rims of the vale the flames lit by both invading forces glimmered like evil eyes in the darkness. Spanning the shallow stream was a pair of toppled giants, remnants of an earlier battle between one of the invaders and the original inhabitants of this land. One of the fallen giants had been made of living wood, and had been splintered into a thousand shards. Its huge forested head lay on the ground, screaming silently to the uncaring night. It had been the last champion of the natives of Argoth, the avatar of their goddess, and with its death passed away all hope for the island people. The victor in the battle had also been destroyed in the struggle. This huge humanoid monster was made of stone, its joints constructed of massive plates of pitted iron and great brass gears. Its lithic body had been broken and patched a number of times, and great sheets of metal had been bolted to its hide to hold it together. The battle with the living forest beast had overtaxed its pistons and armatures. Its final lunge had splintered its opponent; now it sprawled forward, facedown, a bridge over the tepid stream. One of the stone giant’s arms had been ripped loose from the battle and lay a few hundred feet away, its fingers raised to claw the sky. On the back of the granite giant’s silent corpse a lone figure waited. In his youth he had been broad shouldered and handsome, but the years of war and service to his master had exhausted him. His shoulders were slumped now, and his frame carried the additional weight of both his responsibilities and his age. His once-tousled blond hair was worn short, and the first patch of skin was apparent at the crown of his head, herald of eventual baldness. Still, he was taller than most of this fellows, so others did not see it unless he was seated. For the moment he paced along the giant’s back. Tawnos pulled his rough, brown woolen cloak tighter around him, cursing the cold and dark. As he did so his fingers scraped against the metal breastplate beneath. It did not fit him-very little that had not been made specifically for his large frame did, and he had brought it along only as an afterthought. The message had been warm and welcoming, but it came from the enemy camp. Urza would be irritated if his former student let his guard down so easily. There was motion along the far side of the giant’s back, near where its smashed head lay at a twisted angle to the rest of the body. Tawnos did not see her climb up, but suddenly she was there-a flash of red hair surrounded by an ebon cloak. It was as if she wore a piece of the night itself, and wore it very well. She was alone, as she had promised. As she crossed toward him, Tawnos pulled a small device from his pocket. It was a flattened sphere with a lamp’s wick jutting from the top. He pressed a stud along the side of the sphere, and the device sputtered. The wick burst into a brief, yellow flame, which subdued to a soft orange hue as Tawnos manipulated the small stud along the side. Ashnod drew into the light, and he saw that she had that bemused smirk that he had always found attractive. He also saw that there were now silver hairs among the scarlet. “I’d heard you were dead,” he said. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Duck,” replied Ashnod the Uncaring with a broad smile. “I’ve heard I died at least five times in the past ten years.” The smile faded and the voice turned solemn. “You came. Thank you.” “You sent a message,” said Tawnos. “It could have been a trap,” said Ashnod. “It could have been,” admitted Tawnos and opened his cloak. His breastplate reflected the small light, which glimmered off the two sets of ornate weapons that rode on his hips. Ashnod smiled again. “Good to know you’re still cautious,” she said. “Prepared,” observed Tawnos. “That is all. Prepared.” Ashnod slung her pack on the ground and knelt next to it. Tawnos hesitated, then joined her. They sat in relative silence for a long moment. Far off, in the distance on either side of the vale, were the hammers of forges preparing for the bloody business of the next day. “You sent a message,” prompted Tawnos. “This is the last one, you know.” said Ashnod, staring out into a night pierced by red fires. “The last battle. The final conflict. One way or another, the resolution of the war between your master and mine.” “Between Urza and Mishra,” said Tawnos with a nod. “They are both here,” Ashnod added. “There are no reinforcements. No retreat is possible for either side. One way or another, it all ends here.” Tawnos shifted uncomfortably. It had been a long time since he had sat cross-legged on hard stone. “It is a good time for a

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