Emmara’s spell held, but there was still a storm of pain as she flexed the fingers at the end of the injured arm. She looked down at the blood-witch, who was speechless with sadistic enjoyment.
That gave Emmara the chance to jam the blood-witch’s sword into her shoulder. As Exava screeched and writhed in pain, Emmara stood, heaved a few breaths, then took hold of the blood-witch’s free arm. She hauled the woman up onto her shoulder, and as the battle raged behind her, she carried her enemy through the Rakdos gate.
Jace followed the route, trying not to think of what he’d find. Ral Zarek eluded him, but the storm still roiled above, and the rain soaked the streets of the Tenth. Sputtering fires told him he had entered the territory of the Rakdos, and his footsteps splashed as he descended alone.
When he came upon a pitched battle in Rix Maadi he feared the worst. But Trostani pointed him on, telling him that Emmara had already proceeded on to the Forum of Azor.
When Jace arrived at the Forum, all ten maze-runners were there, and all ten of them were threatening the others with spell and sword. The Golgari troll Varolz had new, disc-shaped scars all over his body, presumably from battling the tentacled leviathan, and was trading hammer-like blows with Ruric Thar. Vorel and the Boros runner Tajic each had the other’s throat in his grip. Lavinia and Teysa Karlov took turns offending each other, questioning each other’s jurisdiction, and testing each other with restraining spells. Mirko Vosk, Ral Zarek, and Exava were all circling and sizing each other up, ready to unleash violence at any moment.
Emmara stood by herself. Jace saw her glance at him, but she turned her face away. She looked up into the sky, her arms crossed, watching the rain come down.
Something in the center of the forum caught Jace’s eye. He saw that the flow of mana that had described the path through the maze was becoming visible. It was hard to make out in the storm, but Jace could see the power channeling into the floating monolith in the center of the forum. From the central monolith the mana then radiated out in soft rays, contacting the stone pillars around the forum’s perimeter and setting them aglow, one for each guild.
Something was happening, and all of the assembled maze-runners seemed to be missing it.
“Listen!” Jace shouted. “Halt your fighting, now. This place is activating. You all have to find a way to make peace now, or we’ll all be destroyed.”
“How dare you,” said Teysa Karlov. “You have no right to speak to the speaker of the Obzedat this way.”
“I was here first, Beleren, you con artist,” said Ral Zarek, bristling with electricity. “The Izzet lay claim to all that’s about to happen here.”
“All of you forget that this forum was created by the Azorius,” said Lavinia. “Our maze has led you here, and what results is ours and ours alone. And I will defend our legal right to it if I have to.”
“Varolz see nothing but meat,” said Varolz, peering around at the other maze-runners.
“In the name of Lord Rakdos, I’ll kill you all!” screeched Exava.
“No one gets to kill anyone,” said Jace. “None of you will make any claims. You’ve all assembled, finally. This is the moment that the maze wanted to produce.”
“So why haven’t we unlocked it?” asked Ral. “Where is my prize?”
From the edge of the forum, a cloaked figure approached, and all eyes turned to him. The man stepped forth and threw off his robe. He was a wizened elf dressed in Simic garb, someone Jace didn’t recognize.
“Advisor,” said the Simic mage Vorel, who clearly recognized the newcomer. “How is it that you’ve come here?”
“Have you dispensed with the obsolete specimens yet?” the newcomer asked.
Vorel’s face hardened. “No, I—no. You’re right, Advisor. I’m sorry. I was distracted from my duties. I shall carry out the plan immediately, and bring the Simic to a bright future.” Vorel unsheathed a dagger and began preparing a spell.
The newcomer then walked to the legionnaire Tajic. The newcomer’s form melted, turning into formless liquid for a moment in a manner that made Jace’s stomach go cold. The liquid flesh then took the form of a young legionnaire in Boros armor. She wore a braid of dark hair down her back.
“You,” Tajic gasped.
“Tajic, Blade of the Legion,” said the young woman. “I told you that your charge was to destroy all of the Warleader’s enemies. Yet I see many of her enemies still breathe. Have you admitted defeat, Commander?”
Tajic blinked for a moment, then recovered and snapped his boots together. “Absolutely not.” Tajic had his sword out in a flash, and thrust it into the sky. “For the Warleader!”
“No,” whispered Jace. He peered into the mind of the shapeshifting figure, even as her form began to melt and rearrange itself yet again. Just as he suspected, the newcomer’s mind was an impenetrable blank.
Lazav.
“Don’t listen to this person!” Jace shouted. “Don’t obey him! He’s deceiving you! He’s fed you lies!”
Lazav, now in the form of an Orzhov high priest, laughed and spread his hands as if handing out candy. “It’s no use, Jace. They all know me. They’ve all had their visits from me, and their minds have all made a place for me. And you’ll see that they’ve all devoured the lies I prepared for them.”
His form wobbled and changed again, inverting on itself and emerging out of itself like twisted dough. His new form was that of a burly, tattooed troll with a Gruul insignia on his forehead.
Ruric grunted. “You told us maze would lead us to weapon.” Thar stuck out his chin. “Great weapon that could tear down city.”
“Stop listening to him!” said Jace. “Block him out! Can’t you see that he’s a shapeshifter?”
Lazav grinned, showing tusk. “Yes, true warrior,” he said to Ruric Thar. “Kill all the weak, and the weapon is yours.” He turned to Jace. “They can only blame themselves for what has transpired, of course. They were the ones who invited me in, the ones who opened their ears to my whispers and rumors. They welcomed the suspicion, the blame, the mistrust into their hearts. They made room for me, and now they can hear nothing else. And once they all kill each other, I’ll finally get my prize.”
Lazav’s lips curled into a smile, and everything around that smile became Calomir.
Jace looked to Emmara. He could see her struggling, her eyes drawn to Calomir’s face, even though she knew the real Calomir had been killed by the same shapeshifter. He could see the conflict tearing her apart inside.
Meanwhile the maze-runners were all at each other’s throats again, about to make the first kill, about to bring death to the Forum of Azor.
The flow of mana intensified, and the beams of power grew stronger. The guild symbols on each of the pillars flared to life, each signet ablaze in tinted light. An ethereal figure materialized above the monolith. It was the bailiff, the manifestation of the Implicit Maze, his runic body a beacon of light floating in the storm. The bailiff’s empty eyes regarded all those gathered in the forum. The Assessment was beginning.
“You haven’t failed yet!” said Jace. “Emmara! Emmara, you can bring them together. You have to help them. You have to show them how to become one.”
Lazav reached out to her, and her hand rose, slowly but inexorably, toward his. He clenched his hand into a fist, and Jace saw Emmara’s fingers trembling, curving, tightening. She clenched her jaw and squeezed her fist, and Jace could feel her summoning mana, focusing all her feelings of betrayal and pain and rage for some act of woeful spellcraft.