the Infinite Consortium's inner sanctum.'
'Ah. You should have simply said so, Beleren. With that, I am happy to help you.
'Or I would be,' he said, as Jace's face began to brighten, 'if I had the slightest notion where it was.'
The words were a physical blow to Jace's gut. The sounds of Grixis faded, as though he'd shoved cotton in his ears; his shoulders slumped, and he could actually feel the angry 'I told you so!' radiating from Liliana. He'd been so sure.
But the dragon was not finished. 'I can, perhaps, set your feet upon the path to find that information.'
That got their attention. 'Then, uh, why haven't you acquired it yourself?' Jace couldn't help but ask.
'Because, little planeswalker, I have many potent abilities, but remaining hidden in a closet for weeks on end is not among them.'
He nodded at their bewildered faces, as though it was the reaction he'd hoped for.
'You remember, I'm certain, the icy realm in which you and I first met?'
Jace smiled grimly. 'I've been thinking of it a lot recently.'
'Excellent. Then you'll remember that the artificer and I were discussing mining operations.'
'I will. Uh, I mean I do.'
'We were not arguing over land, little mind-reader. We were arguing over what waits within that land. Many of the ores of that world have long been inundated with all manner of mana; they seem almost to absorb it. Tezzeret believes such ore to be a vital component in the creation of etherium. And although he's never managed to perfect that process, he uses the material for other purposes. I do so as well.
'On a mountainside, quite distant from my own territory on that world, the Infinite Consortium keeps an establishment that serves as both a mine and a foundry. There, they slowly chip from the earth a vein of particularly mana-rich ore. At random intervals ranging from a few days to more than a month, either he or his hellhound Baltrice appear to take possession of the refined ore-never more than a small amount, so they may carry it with them-and return with it to the Consortium's heart, where they move ahead with whatever experiments they're conducting.'
Jace and Liliana exchanged distraught glances. 'Are you suggesting,' Jace asked haltingly, 'that the two of us should hide in a damned Consortium foundry for who knows how long, just for the shot at reading Baltrice's or Tezzeret's mind? Which would also, incidentally, warn them we were there.'
'Oh, no,' the dragon assured them. 'It's not remotely that easy.'
'Of course it's not,' Jace muttered.
'Not even the personnel know when the planes-walker arrives for the processed ore, or see them when they do so. Small crates filled with ingots of the metal, barely light enough for a strong person to lift, are left in a tiny room with thick stone walls and only a single door, constructed of heavy steel. When a shipment is ready to go, they leave it within, and some days later, it's gone. And before you ask, no, the room is not large enough to hide in and remain unnoticed, not even with your potent illusions.
'The foundry is heavily patrolled, with living soldiers and at least two of Tezzeret's clockwork golems. Even the workers are trained in battle and carry alarm whistles enchanted to be heard clearly above the worst roaring of the furnaces. And all this, of course, was the level of protection and security before you and the Consortium declared war on each other. It's doubtless increased since then.
'And that, sorcerer, is why I've not made efforts at rooting out this information.'
Again the two mages stared at one another. Finally, however, Jace turned back to the dragon and forced across his face the widest grin he could muster.
'Piece of cake,' he said.
'Piece of cake,' Liliana taunted as they crouched low on the mountainside, peering over heaps of rock at the enormous installation. 'Would that be chocolate or lemon-flavored, oh master baker and tactician?'
Jace ignored her, picking bits of shale from his sleeves, flicking frost from his gloves, and staring at the high smokestacks and fortress-like walls. Or rather, staring past them; he'd sent a small band of faeries and homunculi to flitter invisibly about the complex, then read their minds to gain a solid notion of the layout.
If anything, Nicol Bolas had exaggerated their chances.
Multiple squat structures, some of stone and some of a steel alloy that resisted rusting beneath the frost, clung grimly to the mountainside. The thick fumes that rose from within mixed haphazardly with the clouds above, and even where the mages lay, some quarter-mile up the mountainside, the falling snow was tinged gray.
Some of those buildings, his spies had observed, covered mines dug deep into the stone, traversed by carts propelled by squat animated constructs. Others played home to enormous basins of molten metal, so hot that any precipitation to touch the outer walls instantly melted and ran down the sides.
Inside, an array of catwalks spanned the structures, interwoven and intertwined like the home of some giant iron spider. A veritable forest of chains hung from the ceilings, ready to carry any of the dozens of machines or the enormous buckets used to smelt ore. Guards strode the narrow walkways as workers completed one task and dashed furiously to their next.
And Jace's summoned infiltrators hadn't even managed to find the sealed 'arrival' room the dragon had described, let alone determine if it boasted any viable flaws or weaknesses they might exploit.
For a very long while Jace and Liliana watched, shivering in the cold, each waiting for the other to come up with a workable plan. But this was not all the young mind-reader contemplated during those dark, cold, and endless hours. His encounter with the dragon had reawakened other suspicions, worries and concerns he'd tried desperately to push from his mind.
Again he wondered how Semner had found him after so much time, without the use of magic far more potent than the thug and would-be mage could ever possess. Again he wondered how the Consortium had found Emmara, Rulan, and the others-how they'd connected them with Jace himself-when they'd never proved able to do so before. Again he noted that circumstances had conspired to force him into a corner, removing options one by one until all that remained was the one option he'd worked so hard to avoid. And though he'd chosen not to bring it up, perhaps afraid she wouldn't answer, perhaps afraid she would, he wondered why the normally fearless necromancer had flinched so strongly at Bolas's mention of demons on Grixis.
It was impossible. He knew it was impossible, for he'd been inside her mind, albeit only once and long ago. And yet the more he thought on it, the more his misgivings thrust themselves to the fore as he drifted on the edge of sleep every night, the more he came to realize, with a sense of sick horror gnawing parasitically at his gut, that no other answer fit nearly so well.
So muddled had his thoughts become that he honestly couldn't recall whether he was considering the foundry or the woman beside him when Liliana finally snapped. 'This is useless!' she barked at him. 'What can we possibly do here that Nicol Bolas couldn't?' 'Hide in a closet,' Jace muttered, remembering the dragon's words.
'Fine. So if we wanted, and if we got really lucky, we could watch helplessly from inside the walls instead of outside. Big hairy deal.'
But Jace was slowly smiling as a notion-a long shot, yes, but viable-finally dawned on him. 'And there are some,' he said smugly, 'who can hide where we can't.'
'Um, yes. So?'
'So, Liliana, here's what we're going to do…'
A sheet of flame erupted from the aether, split down the middle, and once more Baltrice appeared in the heart of Tezzeret's sanctum. She tried and failed to curse between ragged gasps for breath, for all her efforts were bent toward not dropping the heavy load she carried. Face coated in sweat and as red as the fires she commanded, she strained to lower the crate to the floor. Only when it landed did she release her breath in an explosive gasp and hurl a litany of obscenities so foul they threatened to corrode the metal of the hall around her.
Oh, but she hated this task! Of all the duties asked of her as Tezzeret's right hand, the collection of refined materials from the foundries involved in the Consortium's etherium project was by far the worst. It was time consuming, it was laborious and exhausting, but more than that, it was demeaning! Toting crates back and forth? That was a servant's job!
But until the artificer either found another planeswalker willing to be employed as a menial laborer- unlikely! — or found a means of artificially bridging the worlds-even more unlikely! — she was stuck with it.
At least she was here, though, and she could leave the task of toting the damned box down to the laboratory
