islands in the traditional sense; the paddies in which the rice grew not much of a lake. But still, it was enough living, rippling water, and enough mingling of water and earth along the feeble 'shore,' that he should be able to draw some small measure of mana from the land, to refresh his spirit as well as his body.
And the fact that the paddy stood in the direct shadow of the nearby mountain should more than suffice for her needs, as well-certainly better and more efficiently than the paddies themselves would meet his.
Jace allowed his consciousness to seep into the earth beneath him, to plumb its unfamiliar depths. And there, deep within these foreign lands, he felt the presence of others: Elemental spirits and ancient ghosts, born from or drawn to the soul of Kamigawa's lands, and they claimed much of its mana for their own. These must be the kami; Jace steered clear of them, lest they grow wroth and manifest in the world above.
So Jace allowed the merest dregs of the land's power to seep into his soul, and still felt more than a little run down after an hour's rest. Groaning softly, he forced himself upright, scowled at his cuffs, his sleeves, and the hem of his cloak, all now stiff with the residue of the muddy water in which he'd landed.
Baltrice gave him an exasperated look as he rose. Jace wondered briefly what he'd done to piss her off now and only then realized that it probably wasn't him. Perhaps she, too, had found her precious mountain less generous than she'd hoped.
'Where to from here?' he asked.
She frowned briefly in concentration. 'I'll need to pick out a few landmarks before I can be sure,' she told him slowly, 'but I'm guessing about forty or fifty miles to the village.'
'Ah. A nice spring jaunt, then.'
'You don't like it? You lead next time.'
Jace shrugged. At least it meant he'd have one or two nights' sleep before they reached their destination. He could use the rest-even if travel in Baltrice's company was likely to prove about as
'restful' as wrestling a gharial.
They walked. The mud beneath their feet slowly gave way to drier ground, the grass ceased to squelch and began to softly crunch. Jace, knowing full well what sort of terrain loomed in his future, enjoyed the stable footing while it lasted. As they moved away from the mountain, he saw a number of people in the distance-peasants, he presumed, judging by their drab clothes and broad-brimmed straw hats-standing knee-deep in the rice paddies. Though they clearly stared in the travelers' direction, none made any move to approach.
And far beyond even them, barely visible over the horizon, stood one of the multi-tiered and terraced Kamigawa temples.
Jace and Baltrice kept silent, each having little desire to speak to the other. He occupied some of his time going back over the plan, such as it was, but as that filled an alarmingly short span of time, he gave up on it.
Finally, the sun faded in the west, unfamiliar night birds took up a continual chorus (with something on the order of a million crickets singing harmony), and Baltrice stopped to make camp and confirm their location. The Kamigawa night, for whatever reason, smelled of chrysanthemums.
And for lack of anything else to do, Jace finally turned to Baltrice and asked, 'So how is it you know your way around Kamigawa, anyway?'
'Been here before,' Baltrice explained. She stretched her hand over a small pile of wood and tinder, and tensed her arm as though lifting a heavy weight. Sparks rained from beneath her fingernails, and soon they had a small but cheerful campfire dancing merrily away. 'Helped Tezzeret establish the Kamigawa cell, until we found local people to lead it. Spent several months here.'
'And the nezumi?'
She snorted. 'Never did have to deal with them personally. But I'm given to understand they can't be trusted.'
'So Paldor mentioned,' Jace acknowledged.
That, however, was tomorrow's concern. Jace chewed a few bites of dried meat and retired to his bedroll without another word to Baltrice. A moment's concentration to lay a field of magic over him, one that would awaken him if anyone drew near, and Jace closed his eyes and slept.
Baltrice sat, her back against a log, and glared across the embers of the dying fire at Jace's slumbering form.
It would be easy. A quick burst of flame, or a sudden, overwhelming summons and Beleren would be dead before he could so much as clamber from his bedroll. No more worries, no more looking over her shoulder, no more wondering how high in the Consortium his ambitions reached.
No more wondering if and when Tezzeret would decide that a mind-reader made a better right hand than a flame-caster.
So easy… And nobody would ever know. She could say that the nezumi killed him, that he delved too deep into the Kamigawa mana and earned the wrath of the kami, the local demon-spirits. She could even say that he'd grown lost following her trail through the Eternities and vanished from her sight. It was unlikely, but not impossible, and he'd not be the first planeswalker to set out for an unfamiliar destination, never to appear again.
She felt her breath quicken, her blood grow warm. Tiny sparks of flame leaked from the corners of her eyes, though of course she couldn't see them. Even the embers of the campfire flared briefly into a second life, as the magic flowed around and through her.
So easy… Baltrice took a deep breath and allowed her jealous anger to fade. The campfire died once more, the flames vanished from her eyes.
It wasn't mercy that stayed her hand tonight. It was loyalty, she told herself, loyalty to Tezzeret, to the Consortium, to the mission. She couldn't know precisely what was ahead, what she would face when she came up against the nezumi. She might just need Beleren, much as the notion turned her stomach. And she would not face Tezzeret having failed, not when that failure was her own fault.
So Beleren could wait for another night. Perhaps, when the mission was complete, another opportunity would present itself.
Finally Baltrice lay down, wrapped herself in her own bedroll, and let sleep come to her.
'Whose idiotic idea was it to send two humans to infiltrate a ratman warren?' Baltrice snapped.
Jace shrugged, though he was pretty sure she couldn't see the gesture. 'Just as soon as you manage to recruit a nezumi planeswalker for the Consortium, you be sure to let me know. Besides,' he added after a moment, 'we both know exactly whose idea this was. If you'd like, I'll be happy to take your complaints to Tezzeret when we get back. I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear how committed you are to his vision.'
Baltrice gave him a look that threatened to set him alight without the benefit of magic, but said nothing.
They lay crouched in a slimy, viscous gunk-fluid enough to seep into everything and thick enough to stick. It sloshed across the skin like the touch of a living disease. The water flowed steadily despite the lack of breeze, suggesting the presence of subsurface currents moving among the reeds and towering cypresses whose greedy wooden fists gathered in all possible sunlight, leaving none for the swamp below.
Jace twitched as an insect that must have been the size of a small drake bit him behind the ear. He swore that this was the last time he'd go anywhere near a swamp if he had any say in the matter.
They lay there for hours, covered in muck and leaves. Lay there, and watched, and thought, and argued, and watched some more, because neither was entirely certain what to do next.
The nezumi village stretched across a broad swath of swamp. Twisted huts carved from the husks of trees and bamboo plants stood at various levels, all raised above the muck of the marsh below. Although primitive, they showed a level of craft and skill that Jace found surprising. The doorways and windows were not rough and random holes, but perfectly shaped ovals and circles; the steps that wound their way around the largest trunks were solid and even, albeit clearly carved for nonhuman feet. Lanterns and an occasional banner hung on bamboo poles that jutted from the sides of the structures, and though most of the swamp around here was shallow enough to wade through, many of the homes had skiffs tied up at their base.
None of which was their problem. No, the fact that the sprawling village hosted several hundred individual nezumi, and that the ratpeople appeared to follow no recognizable schedule, nor to acknowledge the rising or setting of the sun-that had them stumped. 'Minimal impediments,' indeed! Baltrice had spent their first five minutes here cursing Paldor for his faulty intelligence.
So they waited for nightfall, hoping to make their approach in the dark. They watched as nezumi poled their
