Dragon's Maze

But that plan had a flaw, thought Jace as he huffed with exhaustion through the rainwater cascading off his hood. It assumed Jace wanted the same thing Zarek wanted—to destroy his foe. As long as Jace took that line of attack, he would play right into Zarek’s prepared scheme. But Jace didn’t even want Zarek destroyed. He was the Izzet maze-runner. Whether he was officially selected by his guild or not, he would be that guild’s representative in the eyes of the bailiff, in the eyes of the maze. Jace needed him to finish the maze and appear at the Forum of Azor.

Jace pushed himself up out of the deepening puddles. As he stalked forward, the downpour hissed against the shoulders of his cloak, and his eyes glowed in the dark of his hood. Jace did not flinch as Zarek punctured his body with a stroke of lightning; he merely walked toward Zarek, holding his stare. As he neared Zarek, he stepped around him and marched up to the gate.

Jace walked directly through the lightning barrier and disappeared into the darkness of the archway.

The diversion worked. Zarek spun with disbelief, looking through the gate to find Jace, but he saw nothing but the dark passage beyond. He waved open an aperture in the bars of lightning and ran after him.

That’s when Jace—the real Jace, the invisible Jace who had sent his illusionary self through the gate before him—slipped through the barrier. He had to crouch quietly in the shadows in the passageway, his cloak dripping, concentrating on maintaining the illusion and letting Zarek get some distance ahead of him. All his urges told him to follow Emmara as quickly as he could, but he waited there, crouched in the dark. He sustained the illusion long enough to Zarek, then stood once more, and raced after them.

FOR THE SAKE OF THE GUILD

The path had led Emmara to Rix Maadi, the palace that served as the center of the Rakdos guild’s brainsick celebrations. She followed the images that Jace had flashed into her head, taking a turn down an obsidian staircase whose steps sagged in the middle from centuries of use. She passed under a series of grandiose but lurid archways, carved in red stone in the shapes of nightmarish faces and leering, cherubic imps. No one stopped her as she delved deeper, and she caught herself wondering whether any of the arches she passed might have been the Rakdos guildgate. Perhaps she might be done already, and could leave this place without seeing a soul. But Jace’s instructions told her the true gate still lay ahead, and her sense of dread told her it was not going to be as simple as she hoped. She marched on, deeper into Rix Maadi, trying not to think about what dark liquid might be dripping down the walls.

When she entered the large chamber, she knew she had arrived. It was a subterranean chamber, but it had more in common with an opulent throne room than a cave. Braziers burned, their flames rising toward the ceiling like lush tapestries. Cords of iron chains were draped from the ceiling, and a hot stench blew up from iron grates in the floor. On the other side of the great hall, up a series of steps, was an enormous arched doorway, crowned with the horned face of the demon Rakdos. That was the Rakdos gate, leading into dark smoke.

And she was not alone.

“Hello, darling,” said Exava the blood-witch. She stepped down the series of shallow stairs. Two Rakdos cultists offered her swords to her by the hilt, and she took them without glancing away from Emmara. “Tandris, isn’t it? I’ve been hoping you’d come to play.” Exava swung her swords in curves, and the metal flashed in the firelight.

“Our quarrel is over,” said Emmara. She walked forward slowly, wrists at her sides. “The Selesnya ends its dispute with the Rakdos. You may let me pass without fear of retribution.”

“Your words contradict your actions, Miss Tandris,” said Exava. “You can’t end this. Not with our blood on your hands. You slaughtered six of my Rakdos cultists.”

Emmara did not raise her voice. “Your cultists showed they were eager to die the day they came to seize me.”

“And will you do the same for your guild? Will you die for Selesnya?”

“My life belongs to my guild.”

“Ah, a fellow fanatic,” said Exava. She strode forward, letting the edges of her two blades sizzle against each other. “We have something in common, elf. We both believe in a higher power. We both know that our hearts only beat at the pleasure of a higher cause.”

“I serve the living Conclave. Not a sadistic horror from a pit.”

“Doesn’t matter, though, does it? Not when the call comes down to surrender your life for what you believe. Not when the guildmaster speaks. Does it, Tandris?” The witch suddenly struck the grating under her feet with her swords, sending up sparks. “Answer! Yes or no, will you die for Selesnya?”