"Thran?" Tahngarth snorted. "You mean you were made by the Thran?"
Again the massive head bowed. "I do not know. I know nothing of my origins. But I do know that in some fashion I am connected to the Thran and their mastery of artifice."
Gerrard looked at Tahngarth. "I don't know why it took me so long to see it. When 1 was a boy, I asked Karn what those symbols meant and got the same answer. But I've always imagined he was made by some Thran long ago." He turned back to the parchment. "So this document is written in the language of ancient Thran?"
"Not precisely, but there is an undoubted resemblance." His massive hand indicated the document. "It would seem that in some way the Thran are connected to the origins of Mercadia."
The Thran. Gerrard was swept away on a wave of thought. He remembered Multani, years before in his cave, lecturing him, Mirri, and Rofellos on the mysterious race who had lived on Dominaria millennia before. Thran artifacts were scattered across the land, hidden beneath the sands. Even the legendary Brothers' War had had something to do with the Thran, something to do with "Wait," Tahngarth growled, "are you saying these Mercadians are Thran?"
Karn said nothing, but looked to Gerrard, who rose and paced the room.
"No," he said at last. "Legend says the Thran became Phyrexians, the machine race that tried to invade Dominaria in the age of the Brothers' War. They were stopped by Urza the artificer."
Tahngarth's brow quirked in puzzlement. "But when we were shackled together, Orim told me the Cho-Arrim had a play about the Brothers' War."
Gerrard stopped pacing. "Then they would have to be…" "Perhaps not all Thran became Phyrexians," Karn supposed. "Some might have come here. If they kept contact with the Phyrexians, they could have learned of the Brothers' War. Their earliest records, then, would have been kept in early Thran. That would explain this document."
"It would," Gerrard replied. "But did you hear what you just said?"
"Which part?"
"You just said the Mercadians must have kept in contact with the Phyrexians. If that's the case, Volrath may know we're here. Perhaps he has been watching us all along."
For nearly a week, Tahngarth had been drinking. The Mercadians, whatever their other vices, were well skilled in the art of producing alcohol. The minotaur had indulged himself considerably this evening.
The candle flared in its stick, and the room was stifling, smelling of its three inhabitants. Air from the windows was no relief. It smelled of hundreds of thousands of human bodies packed together into houses and courtyards, all sweating in the unbearable heat. A stillness had descended on Mercadia, and with it, heat that grew ever more oppressive. The very walls were sweating. Though the Mercadians seemed unaffected by the heat-trading in the marketplace below was as brisk and energetic as ever-the prisoners found themselves increasingly snappish.
The situation was not helped by the conduct of Squee. He visited only occasionally, always garbed in the robes of his kind. After "saving everybody's butt but not getting nothing for it," Squee had begun to spend more and more time with Kyren. That he was far less intelligent than they was patently obvious to everyone but Squee. The Kyren treated him as a dim but beloved cousin. He told stories of the practical jokes played on him, the incessant teasing, but indicated they also defended him against any perceived slight from non-goblins. All of this, he related in singsong questions, like his peers. Squee's ego flourished under these circumstances, and the minotaur had had to restrain himself on several occasions from taking the ship's cabin boy across his knee and giving him a sound thrashing.
And speaking of sound thrashings-what of Gerrard! Tahngarth frowned and took another deep draught of sweet wine. The young man who had stepped into the center of all their lives had been something of an enigma to the minotaur. Now, after regular visits from Takara, Tahngarth knew too much about Gerrard. Despite his outward calm, a great anger dwelt in Gerrard. Takara only enflamed it. He was angry about betraying his brother. He was angry about the deaths of Rofellos and Mirri. He was angry about everything, and every time Takara showed up, he grew angrier. At least she brought wine-and now, cups for drinking it.
Tahngarth poured a deep, dark-red stream into his cup and belched. The minotaur was rarely drunk, but on the few occasions on which he had let himself go, the results had usually been spectacular. His capacity for alcohol was amazing.
"Good wine!" The minotaur thumped his cup on the table for emphasis. Wine splashed from the cup and pooled on the heavy wood.
"Have you not had enough?" Karn asked, standing by the window.
Tahngarth growled in the back of his throat and drained his cup.
The silver golem stood impassively watching him. "Gerrard has slept all day today." "So?"
"I think we should wake him."
"What's the point?" The minotaur scraped his cup along the table, drawing a long, raw gash in the wood. He rose and walked, albeit unsteadily, to the window and gazed out over the lights of the city. Even at night, it seemed to him he saw the waves of heat rising from the rooftops.
Behind him the golem's calm voice said, "We should be sure Gerrard is all right."
"Fine. Wake him. He'll just have another drink." Karn strode to where Gerrard lay, sloppily tangled in a blanket. Stooping, the silver golem nudged his shoulder. "Aw, c'mon, Hanna. Lemme sleep." Tahngarth stomped up loudly, grasped Gerrard by both shoulders, and hauled him to his feet.
"All ri', all ri'." Gerrard stood unsteadily in the light of the room, his dark hair tousled and his clothing askew. He opened bleary eyes, and anger kindled there. "All right, Tahngarth! Challenge me, will you? All right!" Balling fists, he knocked away the minotaur's hands.
"Ah, at last, some entertainment!" Tahngarth said with relish.
Karn stepped back, leaving minotaur and man circling each other. "Fine entertainment for a pacifist," he rumbled.
Gerrard struck first, one hand darting out at Tahngarth's neck. The minotaur blocked the jab easily and countered with a swing to the head. Gerrard ducked under, came up, and brought both hands clenched together against Tahngarth's muzzle. It was a powerful blow, and the minotaur staggered. Gerrard snorted in satisfaction.
"Mutiny, is it?" Gerrard taunted. "You've wanted the ship ever since Sisay was kidnapped. Now she's gone, so you thought you'd have another try, eh?"
Tahngarth swung again. He connected with the Benalian's shoulder, sending him backward over the table and crashing to the ground. "You fool!" roared the minotaur. "You were never worthy to even lick Sisay's boots. You've done nothing for her ship and nothing for her!" He leaped at Gerrard.
The master-at-arms was too quick, rolling to one side and jumping to his feet. Tahngarth crashed past him. Gerrard spun, kicking him in the ribs. It was a blow that would have disabled a man, but a minotaur could shrug it off, and Tahngarth minded it little. He scrambled up, and he and Gerrard, each drawing a breath, rushed together.
Tahngarth was massive, but Gerrard was quicker and lighter on his feet. The Benalian had trained in hand-to-hand combat and had learned tricks that evened the odds.
Tahngarth grabbed him. Gerrard, with an agile twist, slipped through his huge arms and spun around behind him. One foot lashed out at the back of the minotaur's left knee. Tahngarth staggered forward with a cry and stumbled to the ground. Gerrard leaped on his back, clasping his arms around his opponent's throat.
"Admit it, you respect me," Gerrard growled.
Tahngarth merely flung Gerrard over his shoulders and onto the floor. "Admit it, you fear me."
Gasping, Gerrard rolled to his feet. "Who wouldn't fear