Ravnica: City of Guilds (Magic: The Gathering: Ravnica Cycle, #1)

by Cory J. Herndon

“Over my dead body,” the cyclops rumbled. “That,” the angel replied as she took the hilt of the sword in both gauntleted hands, “is the general idea.”

“I present a pact. A simple system that respects the autonomy of the castes, with independent territory for all—your own kingdoms, with which to do as you please. Each caste provides something key to the survival of this new, united Ravnica. I, Azor, with my allies in both camps of this endless caste war, have conceived something more than a document. When our leaders, the paruns, sign it in blood, its magic shall ensure peace for as long as Ravnica exists. My friends, my enemies, this,” the man finished with a flourish, “is the Guildpact.”

“Please disperse in an orderly fashion,” the angel interrupted. “This matinee is canceled, and this theater has been closed pending the investigation of multiple violations of the Guildpact Statutes and the City Ordinances. The League of Wojek apologizes for any inconvenience and hopes you will enjoy the upcoming Decamillennial festivities safely and peacefully.” As an afterthought, she added, “Rioting at this time is not recommended.”

“Ow,” Kos gasped. “You sure you haven’t got anything?” “There is usually little need for an angel to bring medicine to anyone. It gets in the way of the holy work of justice,” Feather said.

Lieutenant, I don’t have to tell you we do not have an easy job, the League. In fact, it’s the toughest service in the whole Boros Legion. Why? Because we’re not soldiers, who make war. We’re protectors of the peace. We’re public servants. We’re here to guard the people of this city and the guilds that make it work. We’re not serving a single guild or nation. We serve all of them. We serve the city.

She doubted the criminal would live. He didn’t look like the type to confess, and a ledev guardian returned blood with blood if an attacker could not be convinced to see the wisdom of the Selesnyan way.

The undead were useful, as the centaur’s animated corpse would soon prove. But a creature that fought for its life before its death, he believed, deserved the gift of a true demise. Anything that didn’t fight to survive deserved its fate. When Jarad’s time came, he too would go down fighting. The leviathan would fight too. He was sure of it.

Svogthir was a parun, an original signatory to the Guildpact. Svogthir had signed third, after Razia of the Boros Legion and Azor the Judge, giving his allies on the side of chaos an excuse to follow his lead. It wasn’t an exaggeration, the scrolls read, to say that if not for the Golgari and Svogthir’s simple act of wisdom, there would be no guilds today.

Svogthir held power as Golgari guildmaster for nine millennia, and all that time he continued to improve upon his own body with a never-ending series of self-enhancements. At the time of his fall from power, the god-zombie was said to have the right arm of a giant gorilla, a species he had personally helped make extinct; the left claw of a massive scorpion; legs made of pythons woven with oak vines; and the torso of a giant cyclops. By the end, his head was the only original part left, and many past matka had opined through the scrolls that this was certainly a major factor in the degenerative madness that eventually allowed the gorgons to seize control. By the late 8000s, Svogthir had become a virtual prisoner of his own power, growing more paranoid and reclusive with each passing year. At the dawn of the Guildpact’s nine thousandth year, his trusted lieutenants—the gorgon Sisters—turned on him. And according to every existing record, including the scrolls, the Sisters had destroyed him. That, her beloved said, was the lie. The Sisters had not been able to completely destroy Svogthir. He was immune to their powers of petrifaction, even if he was mad. Unable to petrify the guildmaster, they’d shattered every bone in his body and left him deep beneath their lair. And there, her ally said, the god-zombie still sat atop a calcified throne. Dangerously mad, to be sure, but very useful to the right Devkarin priestess with the right guide.

And we think putting this guy back is charge is good...why?

“They’ve forgotten me up there. Let them remember me one more time.” “You’re remembered,” Savra said. “You’re a god to our people.” “Exactly. A god. Not something real. I seek to become your most holy relic. Your staff,” he explained. “When I am gone, you will add my head or whatever remains of it to the totems you carry. This you must swear to do right now or no deal.”

“You know, Guildmaster,” Savra said, “I think those legends I heard about you being completely insane may have been a little off the mark.” “No, I’m quite insane,” Svogthir replied. “Trust me, no one thinks through his plans as thoroughly as a crazy wizard, especially one who is so completely, utterly bored. Do we have a deal, Matka Savra?”

“You don’t understand,” Svogthir replied, “and I am not surprised. It is my fault, really. I have spent so many long hours working through the scenarios that might see me free of this dull place that I sometimes forget what I have and have not told you.” “The crabs ate part of your brain. That couldn’t have helped.” “I don’t begrudge my only true companions these last thousand years a snack now and then,” Svogthir said.

Above all other considerations, you must never create something you cannot destroy. —Matka Tajini (331–612 Z.C.), from the Matka Scrolls

“Lost your blade?” “I hurt him,” Kos said. “You got thrown into a wall.” “Well, pick up something,” Borca said. “He’s getting over the initial shock, and I think he’s—” “Mad?” Kos said. “Furious,” Borca corrected. “No,” the elf said, “but I’m beginning to think you might be mad, wojek.”

The roof was loosely lined on all sides by the still, floating forms of twelve more quietmen, three on each side. These had to be new arrivals, Kos realized, as their robes were all pristine white. No traces of blood. “What are they waiting for?” Borca asked, a sentiment echoed by Fonn in a whisper. “I do not know,” Pivlic said, “but let us not find out any sooner than necessary.”

A faceless head encased in white linen burst through a small porthole with a crash. Fonn kicked the quietman in the face and knocked it back outside. She stared at her extended foot in horror. “Holy mother,” she said, “I just kicked a sacred vessel in the head.” “Your holy mother doesn’t seem to be listening,” Jarad said.

The front of the cockpit was open but covered with a thin, golden sheen that magically blocked wind and, in theory, any objects that might want to come through. He gripped the wooden armrests with white knuckles as Feather tapped the Izzet control panel twice and their speed increased again. Towers and windows whipped past so quickly Kos couldn’t even tell what part of the city they flew over and through. He heard a yelp and a series of collisions as Fonn lost her footing and crashed into Jarad, who fell against Biracazir and into a stack of chests in the cabin. Kos turned straight ahead and buckled together the four leather straps affixed at the four corners of the chair’s backrest. “Are you all right?” Feather asked. “You appear pale and perhaps faint.” “I’m fine,” Kos said uneasily. “But I think I’ll fasten the safety harness.” “And close your eyes?” “And close my eyes. Just get us there, Feather.” “You should really see this view, Kos,” Borca’s ghost offered from somewhere behind him as the yacht lurched and dipped under the angel’s less-than-delicate touch. “It makes you appreciate being dead.” “Shut up, Borca.” “I shall accelerate. I think the stress is getting to you, Lieutenant.” “No, don’t—” “Wow! Kos, you have to see this!” “Shut up, Borca.” Kos’s stomach and several other organs collided violently with each other as the nose of the zeppelid dipped, and it occurred to him that while he appreciated the angel’s concern, her attention on the view ahead would be appr...

“I hope you will have a clean death, Jarad. You would make a troublesome zombie.” “I haven’t even begun to be troublesome,” Jarad snarled.

The magic of the Guildpact was the strongest enchantment the plane of Ravnica had ever known. It wasn’t just a piece of paper or an agreement on trade. The Guildpact was a document, yes, but it was also a spell—a spell that empowered, among other things, the rule of law contained within. And the League of Wojek was the instrument of that law. He, Agrus Kos, was an instrument of the law. Kos pushed himself to his feet, then reached into his pocket and retrieved the ten-pointed star. He affixed it to the breast of his civilian tunic. He pulled a set of silver, cufflike lockrings from his belt. Though Phaskin had reinstated him earlier, he hadn’t felt right wearing the badge. Now the badge meant everything. Kos strode across the dais, stooped over the smoldering form of what he saw to be the greatest evil in the world, and fastened the lockrings onto Szadek’s forearms. They snapped together, glowing softly, bound by the spell of the Guildpact. Not even the Lord of Secrets could break it as long as Mat’selesnya still lived. “Szadek,” Kos said, “I’m placing you under arrest for the murders of Luda, Saint Bayul, and Sergeant Bell Borca of the Tenth Leaguehall. If you try to resist, you will be beaten senseless. I’ve had a very rough week.”

“Going out in an explosion sounds better than getting eaten by worms,” Kos said. “Thought I was doing you a favor.” “Yeah, well,” Borca’s ghost said and looked uncomfortable. “I’m bored. This is so dull. No offense, Kos, but now I get to sit around and watch you sign forms?” His spectral copy of the Orzhov insurance contract appeared in his hand. “According to this, the policy requires that an ‘honest and full accounting’ be made. In writing.” Kos considered. There was actually a lot of potential in having an invisible ghost around. There was also a lot of annoyance. “Are you sure you want me to do this, Borca? Because you’ll be dead. Really, sincerely dead.” “I am dead,” Borca said. “And did I mention I’m bored? I’m bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored. Do it.” After a moment, he added, “Please. Come on, partner.”