Jace frowned. Something about that didn't ring true at all; he'd swear he almost heard an undercurrent of fear beneath Tezzeret's normally unshakable facade.
He also knew better than to question the man. 'You know I've never actually met another reader, as far as I know, right?' he said instead. 'I've got a pretty good grasp of the theory behind how to block an attempt, but I've never put it into practice. I have no idea if I can do what you're asking.'
Tezzeret nodded. 'But you're more likely than anyone else, aren't you?'
That made sense; Jace nodded. 'All right. Nicol Bolas. Anything else I should know about him, other than that he's a planeswalker with a serious grudge against you?'
'Not really,' Tezzeret said, rising to his feet. 'Oh, except that he's a twenty-five thousand-year-old dragon and bigger than an ogre's barn.
'Any more questions?'
'No,' Jace said sickly. 'I think that'll do.'
After the third time Tezzeret tried, and failed, to pronounce the name of the world for Jace's edification, the young mage gave up on trying to master it. Frankly, it didn't much matter if he knew the name of the world.
He just knew that it was damned cold.
They stood at the base of an arctic mountain range, in a crevice that offered only mediocre protection from the howling winds. Streaks of snow and sleet whipped through the air, turned sideways by those winds, sifting downward past the various crags and stone arches. Sleet stung the face, flakes melted through clothes to shiver the skin beneath. Jace felt the presence of mana in the ice below, yet it was faint, almost anemic. Someone or something-Bolas himself, perhaps? — had drawn frequently and thirstily upon the magic within, leaving precious little until the region had time to recover.
He huddled in a heavy, fur-lined cloak, wrapped about him and held with arms crossed over his chest. Even through his scarf, he saw tiny puffs of mist with every breath. Yet Tezzeret, who was clad in leather leggings and a heavy vest with multiple pockets and straps, looked quite comfortable. From the forearm of his prosthetic hung a brass globe, attached as though with some sort of magnetism or adhesive. It glowed a warm orange and emitted a low hum that made Jace want to reach into his own head and scratch his eardrums until they stopped itching.
And possibly to punch Tezzeret in the mouth for bringing only one.
'Where is he, anyway?' Jace called out, shouting to be heard over the roaring winds. 'I thought we were supposed to meet him half an hour ago!'
Tezzeret shrugged. ''Bolas does not wait for you,'' he quoted. ''You wait for Bolas.''
'I've never cared for that expression.' The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, carried on the wind, echoing throughout the canyon. It was deep, the rumble of the mountain's roots as the earth shifted slowly above; it resounded in their ears, utterly unimpeded by the raging blizzard. 'It makes me sound so pompous. I despise other people making me sound pompous.'
The canyon before them began to darken, as something unimaginably huge took shape. 'I prefer,' the voice continued, 'to do it myself.'
And then he was simply there. The eldest plane-swalker. The Forever Serpent. Nicol Bolas.
He filled the canyon, a living mountain of muscle and scale, fire and fang. His dark hide shown green against the backdrop of blinding white; the smoke that rose from his nostrils was thick and red, and rain fell from the heavens where the heat of his breath melted the falling sleet. Vast wings spread wide, extending hundreds of feet from the chasm on each side-and then, impossibly, he drew them in, tucked them tightly against his body and lowered himself to the canyon's floor. The great head turned, aiming a single eye at the two insignificant humans, and within they saw themselves reflected in a black and bottomless abyss.
Jace found himself unable to speak, scarcely even to breathe. Even Tezzeret blanched; anyone who had spent less time with him than Jace himself would never have seen it, but there it was. No matter how well he hid it, the artificer was terrified, and Jace found that more disturbing than the dragon itself. Then, taking a deep breath, Tezzeret strode forward, 'accidentally' shouldering Jace aside in the process. The jolt was enough to get him thinking once more, and Jace cast his mind out in a net, surrounding Tezzeret's own. Still, he could not tear his gaze from the impossible beast before him.
'You do us great honor with your presence,' Tezzeret began, only the faintest quiver in his voice. 'It is my hope, Nicol Bolas, that together we can come to a mutually beneficial-'
'Shut up.' Bolas shifted his head, causing a small avalanche of ice and rock to pour down from the ledge against which he stood. 'I hate you, artificer, and I find rare cause to bother hating anyone anymore. The only reason I'm not currently picking your spine out from between my teeth is because you were smart enough to arrange these wards ahead of time.
'More to the point,' he continued, 'I know full well you feel the same about me, no matter how you choose to doll up your words and trot them out like perfumed trollops.' The dragon shifted, dragging a single claw across the ice with an ear-splitting screech. 'So perhaps we can save the pleasantries for those who might actually care about them, and simply tell me what you propose?'
'Very well. First, I want you to stop…' Tezzeret took a breath, coughed once to hide the fact that his voice had nearly broken. 'Stop interfering with my operations in the Kankarras Mountains.'
'Your operations?' Bolas rumbled. 'I seem to recall staking a very public-and perfectly legal-claim to the mineral rights all the way from the banks of the Ashadris to…'
After only a few minutes of mountains and rivers, mines and foundries, treaties and neutral grounds, Jace found his mind wandering. The voices of the dragon and the artificer both faded into background noise, not unlike the blizzard itself.
Tiresome, isn't it, Jace Beleren?
Jace practically leaped out of his clothes, which might well have posed a problem given the ambient temperatures. He recognized the voice, yet the dragon's attention remained fixed on Tezzeret, its massive maw moving as it spoke. It took the mage several heartbeats to recognize telepathic speech when he was on the receiving end, rather than the projecting.
Lord Bolas? he sent questioningly.
Nicol Bolas. You'd be surprised how little titles mean after you've claimed pretty much all of them.
Jace found himself nodding and forced himself to stop. Somehow, he didn't think Tezzeret would be all that pleased to learn this conversation was taking place.
I find myself curious, Bolas continued. How did one such as you find yourself cleaning up the artificer's messes?
Again, Jace had to stop himself-this time, from shrugging. It was the best offer I had coming to me.
Ah. You may find, Jace Beleren, that being the best doesn't make it good.
A moment passed, and still the dragon continued to argue with Tezzeret, offering up not the slightest sign of any other effort.
How did you lose an entire organization, anyway? Jace would have taken the thought back as soon as he sent it, but of course it was far too late.
Bolas merely chuckled, a strange sound to hear inside one's own mind. And here I'd taken you for a coward.
Well, I-
In short, Jace Beleren, I grew careless. I have many such factions and cabals that answer to me, and I cannot keep as close a watch on them as I might wish. Not anymore, he added bitterly.
Jace wanted to ask him what that meant but decided he'd pushed things far enough.
The artificer simply worked his way up through the organization until he was near the top-and then he and his minions slew everyone of higher rank. More important, they slew everyone, save those they implicitly trusted, who knew that the Consortium secretly answered to me. Without my own people to counter his commands, he simply stepped into the power vacuum and continued operating as though nothing had changed.
I have, on occasion, attempted to slip agents back into the ranks, but he always seems to detect them. Though the dragon's head did not turn, Jace had the sudden sensation that he was being glared at. It's almost as though he has a mind-reader in his employ, isn't it?
Jace, who had more than once been asked to check a new recruit for loyalty and had pointed out those who were harboring secrets, smiled wanly and glanced around for any place to run.
