Victory in the arena and defeat in the ship. Even from where he stood, Urza could sense Hanna's death. Planeswalkers could heal most diseases with a thought but not Phyrexian plague. A futile regret fled through Urza, a wish that he had studied disease processes instead of artifice. It was foolishness. His machines would save millions of lives-they could not be reasonably exchanged for this one life. Even so, this was a loss. Hanna had anchored Gerrard. Without her, he would be a different man, a lesser man. Urza hoped only that Gerrard would still be sufficient to his role.
"I shall have to tell Barrin of his daughter's death," Urza reasoned, "once he has won the battle of Urborg."
Victory in the arena and defeat in the ship. It was a momentous hour. Urza's own labors in the coming minutes were critical. Taking one last breath of the dust of Koilos- a smell that took him back to the days with his brother- Urza planeswalked away from the dune.
He did not step into the chaos between worlds. That was a place for mortals. Urza did not have to travel that way, though sometimes he visited the Blind Eternities when he needed time to think.
Not now.
Urza appeared in the gloaming of a forested hillside. He stood in the minotaur homelands. An-Havva lay below, but he had no interest in minotaur cities. A single cabin stood on the hill. It was picturesque-what seemed a mere hunting cabin. A fieldstone pathway led among wildflowers. Chink logs held aloft a pile of thatch. A queer little chimney contentedly puffed smoke into the air. Quaint and tiny, it was meant to seem so. Its owner had built a cabin that was larger inside than out.
Urza walked up the fieldstone path. Through the soles of his boots he felt the cool stones. They were reporting his approach to the man within. Some intruders dropped dead on the path. Those who stole through the wildflowers fell into a sleep that proved eternal. Urza was not susceptible to such protections. Neither did he wish to circumvent propriety and incur the resentment of another planeswalker.
The door was round topped and rugged. Urza knocked on it with the shimmering head of his war staff.
"Good evening, Taysir. The time has come."
Without a sound, the door swung suddenly inward. A short, thin man stood there, his bushy brows peaked dubiously. Though bald on top, the man had a regular mane of white hair, and his beard was cinched at his sternum. He blinked deep, querulous eyes, and his voice whuffed with bookish intensity.
"Time? Time?"
"Yes," Urza replied. "The hour has come. Dominaria hangs in the balance."
"Doesn't it always?" Taysir replied dryly.
"Who is it, Father?" asked a young woman who appeared at Taysir's side. She seemed a great-greatgranddaughter to him. Her shoulder-length hair was black beside his linty locks, her face smooth and bright next to his pruny visage. She saw Urza and scowled. "Oh, it's you."
Apologizing with a smile, Urza made a shallow bow to the woman. "Hello, Daria. It is time for your father to come to the defense of the world."
"If you are taking him, I'm coming with you."
Urza's face turned dark. "This was never part of the agreement."
"It is now," Taysir said quietly. He rubbed his throat, loose folds of skin beneath his beard. Louder, he went on. "We've agreed. We go together or not at all."
"You didn't discuss it with me," Urza quietly protested.
"You need planeswalkers," Taysir said. "She is of our ilk and powerful even in her youth."
Urza considered. "I do need someone to replace Teferi."
Taysir smiled. "Teferi's pulled a Teferi?"
Huffing irritably, Urza said, "Lock your doors. Snuff your candles. Douse your fires. You're both coming."
Daria gave a begrudging grin and hugged her father. "I'll get our stuff," she said, ducking back within the door.
The glow in the cabin windows went dark. The sudden rush of steam up the chimney smelled of cool ash. A moment later, Daria emerged. A pair of packs rode on her shoulders. They seemed small, but as with Taysir in all things, they were larger within than without. Daria shooed her father from the doorway and emerged into the blue gloaming of the hillside.
Panting slightly, she said, "We're ready, Urza Planeswalker."
"Are you ready, Daria Planeswalker?" mocked Urza, his eyebrow hitched ironically. "Take us, then, to the realm of Freyalise."
Canting her head sideways, Daria reached out her hands. "Take hold."
The two ancient planeswalkers rested their hands in hers. The twilight mountainside melted away like watercolors running from a page. Reality puddled and rose again.
It spread itself in a new design, what seemed a vast star burst. It was in fact a huge thistle bloom. Green and gold down extended from a gleaming core. Breezes whispered among the feathery seed pods. Occasionally a stalk tricked free to glide away. No sooner had one tuft floated off than another grew outward.
Beside that enormous bloom, the three planeswalkers floated, as tiny as gnats.
"The Inner Sanctum," Urza said, blinking at the great thistle. "I am not welcome here."
"We are," replied Daria with a quirked smile. Cupping a hand to her mouth, the young woman called: "Freyalise, it is time."
There came no change to the mammoth thistle. No door opened, though a presence emerged from the core of the blossom. Not a single downy tuft shifted. Still, out of a clump of them formed a statuesque woman with delicate, almost fey features. Her blonde hair was shorn short and dyed in the fashion emulated by the Steel Leaf elves. Across her face coiled intricate tattoos in woodland motifs-leaves and flowers whose stems extended down her throat and beneath the white shift she wore. A ring glinted in one nostril, and light mantled her.
Freyalise smiled. Her lips held much the same caprice as Daria's. It was clear these two had become allies in what Urza would call mischief. Still, Freyalise was ancient. She was protector of Fyndhorn and goddess of the Juniper Order, savior of the Llanowar Elves and Patron Lady of the Order of the Steel Leaf. She also was no particular friend of Urza's.
"Time, is it?" asked Freyalise, blinking as if awakening from a dream.
"That's what Daria said," Taysir put in.
"Yes, it is time," Urza answered. "A critical battle is at hand, a dry run for our final target-"
Ignoring Urza, Freyalise extended her hands toward her friends and took them in her arms.
"How are your studies getting on, girl? Your father's a tough master-the minotaurs made him so. No, that's not true. He was tough before the minotaurs. If anything, they rounded his rough edges." Turning to Taysir, she said, "And speaking of rough edges, guess who is visiting me?"
The old man's eyes rolled. He said with infinite resignation, "Kristina."
"Yes!" Freyalise said happily. "Oh, don't tell me you still moon over her."
"No. The Anoba Ancestors took care of that, as well. They said I couldn't have my body back until I 'got shut of the rut.' I did. Get shut. Of the rut."
Freyalise laughed.
"Ahem," Urza interrupted, coughing into his hand.
Freyalise turned. Her eyebrow lifted. "Oh, it's you."
"That's what I said too!" Daria replied happily.
"Planning another Ice Age, Urza?" Freyalise jabbed.
Urza winced. "I might remind you that your spell to end the Ice Age was as devastating as mine-and cast with the same disregard."
"You two…" Taysir said.
Urza continued, "I understand you have no love for me. I expect none. But you have love for the world and its creatures, and that's why we've come. We are sworn-even that bastard Szat-to fight for Dominaria. That's why we come together."
Freyalise strolled easily across the air until she stood before him. "I don't remember your swearing to fight for Dominaria, only against Phyrexia."