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

1512 Pages·2016·2.07 MB·English

by  McGough Scott

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