No single solution suggested itself. Beleren’s research had only narrowed down the potential paths to a dozen or so orderings of the guildgates, and Ral’s own study of latent threads of mana had narrowed it down to three paths. “What’s stopping us from trying them all?” he had asked himself. Maybe the fact that the gates were miles apart, in some of the most dangerous areas of the district, many of them actively guarded by horrifying monsters and traps. Maybe that was what was stopping them.
The vehicle came to a halt at the Forum of Azor, a wide, circular public space near the center of the Tenth. According to legend it was established by Azor, the founder of the Azorius Senate, as neutral ground where the guilds could meet and discuss matters of law. A set of kiosks representing each guild encircled a central hub. Guild representatives manned the kiosks, providing information and broadcasting recruitment slogans to unguilded passersby.
Ral and Skreeg got out of their vehicle and looked around the Forum.
“Where does it lead next?” asked Ral.
Skreeg touched a dial on his gauntlet. The gauntlet exploded, blasting the goblin’s arms and face with a fine shrapnel of mizzium metal. He blinked and coughed a puff of smoke. “According to my readings, it ends here,” he croaked.
“What?” said Ral. “This is it? This is the end of the maze?”
“Conclusive,” said Skreeg, knocking the side of his head. Pieces of brassy metal fell from his large ear. “There’s a trove of incredible power here. The braids of mana terminate at the hub of the Forum.”
Ral felt nothing—nothing like the greatness he expected to find. “So, why aren’t I surging with previously untapped mystical power? Why hasn’t great knowledge opened itself up to me? Why aren’t I emperor of Ravnica?”
“Is that what should happen?” asked Skreeg.
“We followed the route!”
“We followed a route.”
“No,” said Ral. “This was the final combination, the third of the three potential paths. One of them should have been the correct route. We should have solved it.”
Skreeg put his hand out. “Well then, congratulations on an experiment well performed!”
Ral scoffed. “We’re not done,” he said “There’s more to this than what we’ve found.”
“Will we be reporting this result to the Firemind, then?” Skreeg asked.
Ral looked at the goblin’s face, all explosion-crisp and cheerful. He scanned around the Forum of Azor, resenting the civilians who milled about the space, and wanting badly to absorb the potential he knew must be lurking here.
When Emmara arrived at home, two centaurs loyal to the Selesnya were posted at her door. A squad of archers patrolled the rooftop garden of her building. It was a waste of effort, she thought. Since Trostani had taken an interest in her and she had begun doing more work for the guild, she barely lived there anymore.
She tried the door, but it was locked. “What’s this?” she asked one of the centaur guardians.
“I can open that for you, ma’am,” said the centaur, producing a set of keys and unlocking the door. “Captain Calomir commanded that all dignitaries of the guild be under constant protection.”
“I’m not even in there.”
“The captain is concerned about security, ma’am.”
“Indeed I am.” Calomir came from around the other side of the house, and caught up to her at the door. He wore his usual charming grin as well as he wore that soldier’s uniform. He held the door open for her. “A moment, Miss Tandris?”
“What’s all this? This was your idea?”
Emmara stepped in, and Calomir closed the door behind them. The house’s familiar smells of wood and herbs were almost covered by the smell of Calomir’s oiled boots and steel sword. She could hear the shuffling of footsteps of the Selesnya sentries on the roof.
“Would you believe it’s Trostani’s?”
Emmara wasn’t sure she did believe him. “Soldiers on my house, Calomir. What are we becoming? It’s giving the guild the wrong message. I’ve only lived here for a short time, and now I’m singled out, treated differently from the rest of the Conclave. Treated like a prisoner.”
“We just want to keep you safe.” He leaned against Emmara’s kitchen table, a solid piece of oak that had been woodshaped by Selesnya mages. “And I think a strong Selesnya army sends a good message.”
“Since when? I don’t like this belligerent streak in you.”
“Emmara, you were taken. You, a Selesnya dignitary, were kidnapped by the Rakdos. We can’t do nothing.”
“Those warriors had no agenda. They were drunk on their obsession with their demon—they would have done anything their superiors told them. And as Jace said, I think the Dimir were behind it somehow.”
Calomir’s condescending smirk irritated her. It was the one he gave before he broke bad news to her. He took her hand in his and patted it. “My dear, you’re a true force for peace. But the world is changing. The Izzet have expanded their experimentation. There have even been squads of Izzet mages threatening our sacred guildgate. The Orzhov have been buying spies and mercenaries from the outer districts. The Simic have been massing an army of their twisted hybrid monsters. A squad of Gruul warriors has been crisscrossing the district, ignoring guild borders. Tensions are high.”
“Which is exactly why we have to reach out to the other guilds—now, before this hysteria goes too far. We have to learn to understand them. You used to say that.”
Calomir released her hand. “So you sought out him.”
“Jace? Yes. My friend. Are we actually going to fight about this?”
“He’s a strange one, that’s all. He’s an unguilded mind mage. Isn’t that dangerous?”
“He has unique gifts, Calomir. He can see through all the bickering, the masks, the walls we put up between our guilds. He can unify us. We came to this guild because we believe in unity, didn’t we? I still believe in that, and I believe in his potential. But I’m starting to believe you don’t believe in mine.”
Calomir snorted. “Do you actually believe the nonsense he was saying? He all but accused me of treason to my own guild.”
Calomir shook his head. “I’m concerned for your safety. Listen, Trostani is waiting for me. I just want to know one thing about this Jace. You sought him out to help our cause. So how much does he know about the … conflict between the guilds? The Izzet’s secret project?”
Emmara sighed. “Well, he knows … he knows nothing, now. He got deeply into it, apparently, but then he took himself out again. He used magic to destroy his own memories about it. That’s what he was doing when the Rakdos attacked us.”
“And he hasn’t been able to learn anything more since? He doesn’t have any other sources of information?”
“Not that I know of. He destroyed all his research. I don’t think he can help us now.”
Calomir nodded. “Stay here. Get some rest. You’ve been through a lot.” He leaned in to kiss her.
She gave him a peck on the lips, and watched him leave between the guards flanking her door.
The Gruul Clans were usually found huddled in the cracks of civilization. They were a guild with a conspicuous and time-whittled chip on its shoulder, seething from their eviction from a long-extinct wilderness, perennially regarded as brutes and uncivilized throwbacks by the other guilds. The Gruul had come under control on Ravnica long ago, cowed by rules and bounded by fences, just as nature had been. But their memories were long and resilient, and a fire raged in their hearts.