It was worse than she feared.
“I recommend we send all available ranks of soldiers, at least thirty cavalry, and a contingent of woodshapers and guildmages,” Calomir was saying. “And if we can call some greater elementals, we should do that too.”
“You believe that that is the proper reaction?” asked the three dryads of Trostani. “Ever since the end of the Guildpact, we have tried to achieve a peace with the Rakdos, and our response to this incident may well determine our relationship for years to come.”
“Exactly. We have tried to achieve a peace. And how well has it worked? Our response to this incident is exactly what is at issue. We must strike back, to prove our mettle to the other guilds. We must demonstrate that we are not willing to sit by while our dignitaries suffer brazen abductions in the middle of the historic Tenth District.”
Emmara stepped into the grove. “Or we can send a dignitary out to meet them,” she said. Calomir and Trostani turned to her. “We send the very same abductee, to show them how deep our commitment to peace goes, and to impress upon this district that the Conclave represents allegiance to unity. We send a symbol of our goodwill. We send me.”
“That’s foolish and you know it,” said Calomir.
“Foolish is the Conclave marching through the streets wielding steel and spell,” she said, “surrendering our argument for peace while the other guilds are already rattling sabers over the Izzet.”
Trostani reared up to her full height, the three dryads addressing Emmara. “We have great hopes for you as an emissary of our guild’s message, Emmara. But Calomir has convinced us that no peace can be brokered with those who would destroy for destruction’s sake.”
Calomir puffed out his chest and crossed his arms.
“That’s not true,” said Emmara. “We haven’t given it a chance, not really, not since the Guildpact. We haven’t let Jace try to reach them …”
“You’ve tried to persuade the mind mage to help in this effort, but as Captain Calomir has said, his loyalties are anything but clear. He will not be part of our response. Do you understand?”
“Yes, guildmaster,” said Emmara.
“On the other hand, we will require you.” The dryads reached their arms out to Emmara. “Your skill with the nature elementals is now required. You will call to them. You will awaken them, to help Captain Calomir assemble the force he needs.”
“No. I won’t. I won’t be party to this. I won’t call a being of nature to an errand of war.”
“The guild is agreed,” said Trostani. “The Conclave has declared it so.”
Emmara started to object, but the words caught in her throat. Her shoulders fell.
“It is the will of all. Are you suggesting that your lone, individual voice should trump those of all the masses?”
“No, Guildmaster. But—”
“Good, then. Proceed. Captain Calomir shall direct your efforts as he sees fit.”
Emmara bowed to her guildmaster. When she turned to Calomir, her teeth were clamped together, as if she were biting words.
“Come with me, Miss Tandris,” said Calomir, offering his hand.
Jace tried to remember the last time he had a relaxing, tranquil day, a day at the end of which he could stretch out, knit his fingers behind his head, and sigh contentedly. Having to best a Gruul ogre warlord in single combat was dire enough, but Jace somehow had to accomplish this feat without the use of spells. If he attacked the ogre’s mind in any way, he would suffer the backlash himself. Jace wasn’t sure he even knew how to sigh contentedly.
Compared to Ruric Thar’s muscle and size, Jace had only wit on his side. He had a keen mind, and he was slow to anger. He would have to turn that into victory.
“All right, then,” Jace couldn’t believe he was saying. “We fight.”
The Gruul warriors roared in a bloodthirsty cheer.
Ruric Thar slashed overhand down at Jace with the axe arm. Jace dodged out of the way, narrowly enough to feel the wind of the cutting blade by his cheek. Ruric Thar immediately followed up with a crushing left fist, impacting with the broad side of Jace’s face. It wasn’t enough to break bone, but it sent Jace rolling across the trimmed grass of the city park.
Jace’s vision was blurred. He climbed to his knees and spat something red onto the grass. He tried to feel that he expected a blow like that, to remember that the ogre would inevitably be able to outdo him in raw strength. He felt like letting fly a torrent of the foulest curses he knew in multiple planar languages; this brawl was plainly insane. But his patient mind took over. He took a breath and blew out his anger. The circumstances were unfair, but he had to abide by the rules at hand, and win within them.
He couldn’t assail the mind—minds—of Ruric Thar, but he could observe the minds of the other Gruul warriors. He could almost read them already. They watched him intently, fists clenched in empathy. The Gruul were the underdogs of Ravnica—they felt for him.
He opened himself to it. He let their thoughts and passions flow through his consciousness, to try to study how they thought. Maybe understanding them could give him an edge against Ruric Thar.
Stop analyzing and react, one of the warriors thought.
Don’t think, you damned fool, thought another. Civilization taught you wrong. Let go of it all! Just hit him!
Their thoughts roared in his mind. They were barely even thoughts. Jace felt overrun by a stampede of unstrategic, impulsive, carnivorous instincts. He needed to understand that, to dissect the secret behind it, and use it.
Jace rushed at Ruric Thar. The ogre swung his axe-arm, but the angle was sloppy, and the blade only glanced off of Jace’s shoulder and tore his cloak. Jace’s knuckles slammed into his target, a sensitive spot in the underarm, and then he aimed for the kidney twice. The ogre reacted with an elbow, sending Jace careening.
Jace sat on the park grass again, his wounds thudding.
Stop holding yourself back, thought one of the warriors. Let the roar come out!
Thinking is getting your face mashed in, thought another. Feel! Uncage yourself!
Jace let it all in, combining the minds of all the warriors into a ring of fury with him as its center. His ribcage pounded and his lungs burned. He could hear the urgings of the warriors in his mind. They thought that in order to beat a Gruul warrior, he needed to think like one—or not think like one. They wanted him to surrender his mind, to let the rage wash over him and overwhelm his logic.
But he had a better idea.
Jace focused on the imagery in the minds of the spectators around him. They weren’t just radiating raw fury and bloodlust—they were imagining how they would attack Ruric Thar if they were in Jace’s place. They were a barrage of combat ideas. Jace let the punches and rolls and throws swirl around him, choreographing an attack plan.
Jace somersaulted at Ruric Thar and grabbed at a leg, clamping onto it. The ogre tried to shake him off, but he bit the thin-skinned area behind the knee, ripping tissue with his teeth. Ruric and Thar roared and kicked Jace off their leg.