Agnate's heart tumbled in him. It had to work especially hard these days, pumping blood through collapsing vessels, driving legs that turned to mush. His heart could do it. It was strong. His secret infirmity didn't matter, for his heart would win the land war of Urborg.
Agnate strode like an old general behind the vanguard. His troops streamed up around him, boys eager to race up a hill. Agnate allowed it. For months, each of these soldiers had fought like ten men. Now they played like boys. After all, there was nothing to fear here in the foothills.
Something huge suddenly eclipsed the sun. Its shadow slid like a leviathan over them. The playfulness left their legs. Soldiers turned, half-crouched away from the shape, and peered up at it with fear.
It was no Phyrexian ship, that was sure, but neither was it a vessel any of them had ever seen before. The craft was headed up with a massive ram, its end carved in the shape of a powerful woman. Spikes proliferated along either side of this figure, leading back to a sleek hull covered in thick armor. The metal shone mirror-bright. At the stern, the armor swept outward in a pair of gleaming metal wings. Long, steely pinions could slide closed across each other like folding fans. Between them jutted a pair of thermal exhausts for what must have been a massive drive mechanism. Fire burned in twin cones of red behind the ship.
Most ominous of all, though, were the Phyrexian ray cannons that gleamed at forecastle, amidships, stern, and belly.
Agnate cursed himself for a fool, but it was too late to recall his men. They were caught in the open, beneath… whatever it was, yet Agnate's heart told him not to run.
The ship cruised toward a flat spot on the volcano's side. Steam hissed from numerous ports along its base. Troops below scattered back. Beneath the ship, landing spines extended from metal panels. The vessel eased down toward its perch.
Only then did Agnate see the ship's profile-her needle-sharp bowsprit, enclosed bridge, and slim stern. Joy swept through him.
"Weatherlight"
When last he had seen her, she was battered. To see her transfigured by her wounds gave Agnate the hope that perhaps he himself could be healed.
He strode forward faster than his legs wished to go. This was a meeting of champions. Agnate was winning the ground battle, and Weatherlight was winning the sky. It was a moment of triumph. Agnate needed a moment of triumph.
He hailed the ship: "Commander Gerrard. It is good to see you among the living!"
From the rail came an answer, "I would say the same of you, Commander Agnate, though you seem among the dead!"
Gritting his jaw grimly, Agnate approached the vessel. It seemed even larger on the ground than it had in the air.
Agnate cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, "This alliance-strange as it may be-has won the wetlands of Urborg. Soon we will win the mountains too."
Gerrard jutted his head over the rail. His face was handsome and dark against the beaming sky, though his eyes were worried. A humorless smile spread across his lips.
"Yes, soon you will win the land, but at what cost?”
The joy that had flooded Agnate drained away. He suddenly seemed all rot. "Permission to come aboard, Commander."
"Permission granted."
A rumble came above as crew members lifted free a section of rail and slid the gangplank in place. It extended down to crunch on a patch of pumice.
Agnate strode slowly toward it. He did not want to seem overeager. Nor did he want his legs to fail. As he ascended the gangplank, he saw the crew members who had lowered it- minotaurs. They were everywhere, crowding the refitted ship.
In their midst stood Gerrard. The young man's eyes were grave, though he wore a welcoming smile. Agnate remembered that smile-the look of a commander who wins all the battles but loses the war. Agnate wore such a smile himself.
The commanders met. They clasped forearms in a hearty greeting.
Gerrard said, "Welcome aboard Weatherlight."
Nodding graciously, Agnate replied, "Welcome to Urborg."
Gerrard returned the nod. He swept his hand out to one side of him. "I have brought you reinforcements. A thousand minotaurs. The elite troops of Hurloon and Talruum. The Phyrexians liked them so well they were planning on recruiting them. I beat them to it."
Agnate took a deep breath and gazed at the minotaur troops. They were the fiercest natural warriors Dominaria had to offer. Urza had used much of minotaur physiology and flesh to design the Metathran. They were cousin races, one conceived by Gaea and the other by Urza.
"Excellent. Minotaurs fight like ten men. You have given me a levy of ten thousand soldiers."
"More like twenty thousand. These troops have lost their homelands. They've sworn a death oath against Phyrexians."
"Yes," Agnate agreed. "Then perhaps even thirty thousand."
Gerrard clapped a nearby bull-man on the neck and drew him over. The warrior wore a solemn expression, despite Gerrard's casual demeanor.
"This is Commander Grizzlegom, leader of the minotaur army."
Agnate dipped his head in greeting, but his eyes remained on the bull-man's face. There was strength in this minotaur but also subtlety, intelligence, perhaps even wisdom. Minotaurs judged each other this way, by the lines of the face and the soul in the eyes. Agnate made a snap decision. It was uncommon for him, but he hadn't much time.
"Commanders, I must speak with you privately," he said in a hushed voice.
Gerrard seemed surprised. He looked around the crowded deck before gesturing toward the stem castle. "We could ask to use Captain Sisay's chambers-"
"No," preempted Agnate. "The sickbay. Your healer should be there too."
Gerrard nodded seriously. "Yes. Yes, of course. This way, Commanders."
The ship had transformed. That was the miracle of Thran metal. It grew.
Karn entered the metal. This was more than peering out the rail lanterns or feeling areas of heat stress on the manifold. This was merging with the ship. Karn's body still crouched beside the engine block. His fists still clutched the twin control rods deep in their ports, but Karn's mind lived in Weatherlight.
The feeling was exquisite. Thran metal was more alive than his own silver frame. Oh, to be made of the stuff, to be a Thran-metal man.
That sparked a memory:
He stood in a hot red place, a laboratory where another metal man was being made-a Thran-metal man. Lizard folk took measurements from Karn and added pieces to the mechanism. Jhoira was there. She seemed not to have aged a day since that horrible time of slaughter in Tolaria. Still, her young eyes were sad. Her jaw clenched in consternation as she studied diagrams. Beside her stood a handsome young man with a dark complexion. Teferi?
How had he aged decades when Jhoira had not aged at all? Why would they make a new Karn?
The memory was gone. How strange. Another Karn, made of Thran metal? A replacement? His friends would replace him with a better design?
Karn had often wondered about his creation. He knew he was ancient. Many of his components were Thran in origin, even the symbol on his chest. Those facts had allowed him to believe in a lofty creation. This memory told of humbler beginnings. He was almost replaced by a Thran-metal man. He was almost traded to lizards.
Desolated, Karn wandered through the fittings of the ship, a man pacing the decks. He absently adjusted a lantern outside the captain's study, enlarging its parabolic mirror. There was also a misaligned latch on the study door-a fitting that hadn't changed to accommodate the enlarged frame. Karn fixed it as well. Every major change to the ship brought a thousand minor ones. Once Karn was done, Weatherlight would be perfect.