The Brothers' War Read online

  Urza looked out over the vale and shook his head. He thought of Loran’s notes, and he thought of Harbin. The boy had seen what the natives of this land could do and had come to believe there were more powerful forces than just artifice and machinery. Perhaps he was right. But it was too late for that.

  Perhaps it was always too late, thought Urza.

  There was movement to Urza’s right, and he turned, expecting to see Tawnos stepping out of the gathering smoke. Instead it was another figure, this one muscular and young, and dressed in the robes of the desert.

  “Hello, Brother,” said Mishra.

  THE BROTHERS’ WAR

  ©2001 Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Wizards of the Coast, Magic: The Gathering, their respective logos, and all character names and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.

  Cover art: rk post

  First Printing: May 1998

  eBook Publication: March 2018

  Original ISBN: 9780786911707

  Ebook ISBN 9780786966394

  640-C5602000-001

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  v5.2

  a

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue: Opposites Attract - (63 AR)

  Part 1: A Study in Forces - (10 AR – 20 AR)

  Chapter 1 - Tocasia

  Chapter 2 - Ornithopter

  Chapter 3 - Koilos

  Chapter 4 - Visions

  Chapter 5 - Sundering

  Part 2: Objects In Motion - (21-28 AR)

  Chapter 6 - Kroog

  Chapter 7 - Mak Fawa

  Chapter 8 - Tawnos

  Chapter 9 - Ashnod

  Chapter 10 - Korlis

  Chapter 11 - Affairs of State

  Chapter 12 - Phyrexia

  Chapter 13 - Peace Talks

  Chapter 14 - Night Moves

  Chapter 15 - Parry and Thrust

  Chapter 16 - Aftermaths

  Part 3: Converging Trajectories - (29 AR – 57 AR)

  Chapter 17 - Mishra’s Workshop

  Chapter 18 - Urza’s Tower

  Chapter 19 - Exchange of Information

  Chapter 20 - Transmogrants

  Chapter 21 - Ivory Towers

  Chapter 22 - Urza’s Miter

  Chapter 23 - Circles of Protection

  Chapter 24 - The Third Path

  Chapter 25 - Rack

  Chapter 26 - Clockworks

  Chapter 27 - Sylex

  Chapter 28 - Argoth

  Chapter 29 - Mana and Artifice

  Part 4: Critical Mass - (57–63 AR)

  Chapter 30 - War Drums

  Chapter 31 - Magic and Machine

  Chapter 32 - The Road to Apocalypse

  Chapter 33 - Tawnos and Ashnod

  Chapter 34 - Urza and Mishra

  Epilogues: Diverging Paths - (64 AR)

  DEDICATION

  To My Own Brother, Scott

  who will agree we got along much better

  than Urza and Mishra

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Those stories set in worlds shared by many creative individuals owe their origin to diverse hands, beyond those listed on the cover. As one who has long labored behind (as well as in front of) the scenes, I would like to thank a group of important individuals, many of whom I have never met or spoken with, whose work and creativity formed the basis for this story.

  I would like to thank the designers of the MAGIC: THE GATHERING Antiquities set: Skaff Elias, Jim Lin, Chris Page, Dave Pettey, and Joel Mick, and the spirit with which they imbued their cards that I have tried to bring forth here, as well as the innumerable talented artists who wrought images out of a few lines of description. I would also like to thank Jeff Gomez, Jerry Prosser, Paul Smith, Tom Ryder, Phil Hester, and Jeof Vita, who have told part of this tale in graphic format.

  I would particularly like to recognize a number of individuals who helped bring this book to life. These include, but are not limited to, Peter Venters and the MAGIC: THE GATHERING Team, Chaz Elliot, Mary Kirchoff, and Emily Arons, all of whom have shown brilliance, understanding, and patience in this long process. In particular I’d like to thank Peter Archer and Lynn Abbey, who listened to way too many odd theories and questions.

  Last, but by no means least, I would like to thank Richard Garfield, who got the entire ball of wax rolling in the first place. To quote Sir Isaac Newton, “If I have seen further, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants.” I have been most fortunate to work among an esteemed number of giants.

  A word about sources and accuracy

  The story of Mishra and Urza is the best-known tale in Terisiare and has been carried to all corners of Dominaria. That is not to say that it is a complete or entirely coherent narrative, as there have been several versions of the tale over the years, each reflecting the tenor of its age. During the time known as The Dark, Urza and Mishra were presented as blackhearted villains, responsible for the fallen state of the world they left in their passing. During the long Ice Age, they were reinvented as potential saviors, patron saints of a long-dead technology that could yet save the world. In the present age they have been alternately presented as heroes and villains, savants and fools, exulted to the heavens or condemned to the flaming pits of Phyrexia. This version attempts to portray them as they were, people of their times, both affecting and affected by the world around them.

  The version you hold in your hands, like almost all recognized versions, takes as its primary source The Antiquity Wars, an epic poem-cycle by Kayla bin-Kroog. It is one of the few complete records to survive from the age of the Brothers’ War. In addition, the author has been scrupulous in tracking down what few primary sources exist from that period, and has painstakingly pored through later editions of the tale, removing those parts that were either patently untrue or shaped by the desires and wishes of later scribes.

  The result is the most complete and modern account of Urza and Mishra and the conflict that swallowed them and their world. It is a rendition of the classic tale set for the present age. The reader should trust this version and no other.

  A word about time

  Dates, when provided in the text, are given in Argivian Reckoning (AR), recognized throughout Dominaria as a standard calendric system. The calendar dates from the birth year of Urza and his brother, and only came into common use many years after their passing. The most complete dating record of the time was used by the Argivians, who dated their years from the founding of Penregon, their capital. At the time of Urza’s and Mishra’s birth the year was 912 PF.

  It was the night before the end of the world.

  The two armies had gathered on opposite sides of a blasted vale. Once this had been a verdant valley, its wide plain shaped by a wide, meandering stream, its flankin
g hills blanketed by thick groves of oak, blanchwood, and ironroot. Now these trees were gone; no more than ragged stumps remained, the grass burned away, and the earth beneath packed hard and barren. The stream was a sluggish flow hidden by a thick film of oil, its surface broken only by the shadowy masses of nameless solids.

  Thick, inky clouds concealed the moons and stars from sight. It had been overcast and cold on Argoth, despite unseasonably warmer weather elsewhere on Terisiare. Both sides in the upcoming battle had taken to torching the forests they found, if only to deny their opponents supplies and support. By day the cloud canopy was a dull gray, a sheet of rolled and unfinished steel. By night it was lit only from below, by the thousands of campfires and foundries that now dotted the landscape. Along the opposite rims of the vale the flames lit by both invading forces glimmered like evil eyes in the darkness.

  Spanning the shallow stream was a pair of toppled giants, remnants of an earlier battle between one of the invaders and the original inhabitants of this land. One of the fallen giants had been made of living wood, and had been splintered into a thousand shards. Its huge forested head lay on the ground, screaming silently to the uncaring night. It had been the last champion of the natives of Argoth, the avatar of their goddess, and with its death passed away all hope for the island people.

  The victor in the battle had also been destroyed in the struggle. This huge humanoid monster was made of stone, its joints constructed of massive plates of pitted iron and great brass gears. Its lithic body had been broken and patched a number of times, and great sheets of metal had been bolted to its hide to hold it together. The battle with the living forest beast had overtaxed its pistons and armatures. Its final lunge had splintered its opponent; now it sprawled forward, facedown, a bridge over the tepid stream. One of the stone giant’s arms had been ripped loose from the battle and lay a few hundred feet away, its fingers raised to claw the sky.

  On the back of the granite giant’s silent corpse a lone figure waited. In his youth he had been broad shouldered and handsome, but the years of war and service to his master had exhausted him. His shoulders were slumped now, and his frame carried the additional weight of both his responsibilities and his age. His once-tousled blond hair was worn short, and the first patch of skin was apparent at the crown of his head, herald of eventual baldness. Still, he was taller than most of his fellows, so others did not see it unless he was seated. For the moment he paced along the giant’s back.

  Tawnos pulled his rough, brown woolen cloak tighter around him, cursing the cold and dark. As he did so his fingers scraped against the metal breastplate beneath. It did not fit him—very little that had not been made specifically for his large frame did, and he had brought it along only as an afterthought. The message had been warm and welcoming, but it came from the enemy camp. Urza would be irritated if his former student let his guard down so easily.

  There was motion along the far side of the giant’s back, near where its smashed head lay at a twisted angle to the rest of the body. Tawnos did not see her climb up, but suddenly she was there—a flash of red hair surrounded by an ebon cloak. It was as if she wore a piece of the night itself, and wore it very well.

  She was alone, as she had promised. As she crossed toward him, Tawnos pulled a small device from his pocket. It was a flattened sphere with a lamp’s wick jutting from the top. He pressed a stud along the side of the sphere, and the device sputtered. The wick burst into a brief, yellow flame, which subdued to a soft orange hue as Tawnos manipulated the small stud along the side. Ashnod drew into the light, and he saw that she had that bemused smirk that he had always found attractive. He also saw that there were now silver hairs among the scarlet.

  “I’d heard you were dead,” he said.

  “Don’t believe everything you hear, Duck,” replied Ashnod the Uncaring with a broad smile. “I’ve heard I died at least five times in the past ten years.” The smile faded and the voice turned solemn. “You came. Thank you.”

  “You sent a message,” said Tawnos.

  “It could have been a trap,” said Ashnod.

  “It could have been,” admitted Tawnos and opened his cloak. His breastplate reflected the small light, which glimmered off the two sets of ornate weapons that rode on his hips. Ashnod smiled again.

  “Good to know you’re still cautious,” she said.

  “Prepared,” observed Tawnos. “That is all. Prepared.”

  Ashnod slung her pack on the ground and knelt next to it. Tawnos hesitated, then joined her. They sat in relative silence for a long moment. Far off, in the distance on either side of the vale, were the hammers of forges preparing for the bloody business of the next day.

  “You sent a message,” prompted Tawnos.

  “This is the last one, you know,” said Ashnod, staring out into a night pierced by red fires. “The last battle. The final conflict. One way or another, the resolution of the war between your master and mine.”

  “Between Urza and Mishra,” said Tawnos with a nod.

  “They are both here,” Ashnod added. “There are no reinforcements. No retreat is possible for either side. One way or another, it all ends here.”

  Tawnos shifted uncomfortably. It had been a long time since he had sat cross-legged on hard stone. “It is a good time for an ending,” he said. “All this has gone on far too long.”

  Across from him, Ashnod bowed her head in the light. “And wasted so much.”

  “Many have lost their lives,” agreed Tawnos.

  Ashnod giggled, an ill-placed sound that raised the hairs of Tawnos’s neck in irritation. “Lives?” she said. “Lives are nothing. Think of all the forests gutted, the lakes drained, the lands plundered to get us to this point. Think what we could have done with those resources. And people: yes, how we could have used them, otherwise.”

  As she spoke Tawnos could feel his face tighten in disapproval. Even in the dim glow Ashnod could feel his silent irritation. “Sorry,” she said at last. “I spoke before I thought.”

  “Good to know there are universal constants,” said Tawnos stonily.

  “Sorry.” There was another pause, and in the distance something clattered. It sounded like a mechanical demon laughing. “How is he?” she said at last.

  “The same, only more so,” Tawnos replied. “Yours?”

  Ashnod shook her head. “Something’s…wrong.” Tawnos raised an eyebrow and she added quickly, “Mishra’s colder than ever. More calculating. I’m worried.”

  “I always worry,” said Tawnos. “Urza has become more withdrawn over the passing years.”

  “Withdrawn,” said Ashnod. “That’s the word. As if we aren’t even there. Like no one else is.” She reached out to touch his shoulder. Tawnos stiffened, leaning away, and she let the gesture drop. “You’re right about it being a waste,” she said at last. “But it can be avoided even now.”

  “How?” Tawnos’s eyes narrowed.

  “Give him what he wants,” said Ashnod. “Give Mishra the other half of the stone.”

  “Surrender?” Tawnos said, his voice too loud. “After all this, surrender? When tomorrow we might carry the field? Before we came to Argoth, it might have been an option, perhaps.” He thought a moment and said more to himself than to his companion, “No, not even before.”

  Ashnod held up both hands in a pacific gesture. “Just a suggestion, Duck.”

  “He sent you with that message?”

  “My words are my own,” snapped Ashnod. “He doesn’t trust me,” she added softly.

  “Who would, at this point?” asked Tawnos. The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he said.

  “Fine,” she snarled, and stood up suddenly. She grabbed the knapsack, and it disappeared again within the shadows of her voluminous cloak. “And I even came bearing gifts.”

  “Any gift from you would be treated suspiciously,” said Tawnos, scrambling to his feet and standing next to her.

  They paused for a moment, and a cold wind passed between th
em. Then Ashnod turned to leave.

  “Perhaps…” Tawnos began. She hesitated at his words. “Perhaps we could get our two masters together,” he continued. “Without their weapons. Without their armies. Perhaps there’s a way to make them both understand each other.”

  Ashnod shook her head. “They are lockstepped into their actions now, as mechanical as their own inventions, as relentless as the phases of the Glimmer Moon.” She gave a sad giggle. “You dream of a time when they could understand each other. There was never such a time.”

  She walked away from him, then paused and turned. “Be careful tomorrow. May you survive the battle.” She walked to the far end of the toppled giant, and put her hood up. Her scarlet hair disappeared, and she merged once again with the shadows.

  “Be careful yourself,” said Tawnos to the unresponsive darkness and turned quietly toward his own camp. As he walked back, one part of his mind noted the condition of the field, seeing pitfalls Urza’s troops would have to avoid.

  But another segment of his consciousness meditated on Ashnod’s words, repeating them over and over.

  “There was never such a time….”

  The Argivian archaeologist removed her lenses and rubbed her tired eyes. The desert grit was everywhere, all the more so when the stiff breeze blew eastward from the inland wastes. The desert air was warm as forge coals, but Tocasia was glad for the gentle wind. Without the breeze it would be merely unbearably and stiflingly hot at the dig site.