"Save Zhalfir?" the dark-skinned man echoed. "You think closing a single portal makes Zhalfir safe in this worldwide conflagration?"

"Safer than most places," Urza replied evenly, "but safety isn't the issue. Defeat of the Phyrexians is."

Teferi nodded. All the joking had gone from his face. "This is where you and I differ, Master. Safety is the issue. You've never wanted to save your people. You've only wanted to defeat your foes-Mishra, Gix, K'rrik, and now Yawgmoth himself. You would sacrifice us all if you knew it would doom him."

"I am willing to sacrifice myself to defeat Yawgmoth," Urza replied solemnly. "I have neither sympathy nor patience for others who are not."

The old, cocky Teferi had returned. "As I said, Master, this is where we differ."

"You can't save your people, not single-handed," Urza said.

"Oh, I do not do it single-handed. I've had the aid of thousands and the consent of millions. You yourself helped me harness the final measure of power to complete the spell. It is triggering even now below us."

Below, Zhalfir shuddered. Something passed over it- not over it, but through it. The same energies that had boiled through the doomed portal now shot through the land. Every rill was lined in scarlet ribbons of energy. Every field was sketched in shimmering white. The shorelines flashed waves of blue fire, and the veins of every woodland leaf glowed green. Then all was subsumed in a great colorless grid, as though the land and the plants, the animals and the people, were being caught in a vast blueprint.

"If spells can make ideas into reality, they can make reality into ideas," Teferi said quietly.

The transformation picked out every mote of Zhalfir. Lines fused. Grids merged. For one dazzling moment, all the colors combined into a blinding radiance. With a flash, Zhalfir was gone. Where it had been, only a red afterimage remained in Barrin's eyes. Then came a boom like a hundred thousand thunderbolts in synchrony.

Barrin blinked, struggling to see. Winds tore past him, but Teferi's magic held him in place. The red glow where Zhalfir had been faded to black-a black wound the size of the great land mass. It was bedrock. Teferi had taken the whole peninsula, a mile of air above it, and a mile of rock beneath.

The ocean stood for a moment in astonished walls all around. Then its green rim turned white. Water cascaded into the deep gash. The belly of the ocean slumped. The first gush smashed to bedrock and churned eagerly out across dry stone. The head of the flood was overtopped by new waves, which crowded the shoulders of the slumping water and poured into the cauldron.

Urza gazed in silent consternation at the churning sea.

Barrin gaped. "What did you do?"

"I saved my people. They dwell now in immutable ideas," explained Teferi.

"Y-you killed them!" Barrin stammered.

"No. They will return when the world is safe again. For them, not a moment will have passed."

"There will be tidal waves," Urza said darkly. "Thousands will die."

"Millions have been saved," Teferi replied. "This is how I save my people. This is how you and I differ."

"Yes," Urza replied. "This is how we differ."

Chapter 10

Gerrard had deep misgivings about this plot. His Benalish commander's uniform fit poorly. He'd not donned the garb since leaving his division half a year ago. The quilted sleeves constricted his biceps. The maroon waistcoat and bandoleers bulged across his pectorals. The linchpin in this contraption of doom was the official orders being forged even then by a blind man.

The blind seer sat at Hanna's navigation desk. He pinned a hunk of parchment beneath one hand. His other clutched a quill.

With strong, jagged strokes, he wrote: By this writ, command of the Benalish Military Penal Colony shall be surrendered to Commander Gerrard Capashen.

"This isn't going to work," Gerrard groused, flinging his hands out. He turned to Sisay. "We'd better abort, Captain."

"Too late, Commander," Sisay replied placidly from the helm. "They've already seen us." She gestured beyond the bridge.

Silhouetted against the sunset, the Benalish Penal Colony seemed a dark diadem topping the Atrivak Hills. Tall walls of stone hemmed in the inner wards. Guard towers stood at the many corners. Crossbow nests bristled beneath the descending night. In the center of the yard, a gaunt wooden tower presided over it all, and from there an alarm bell sounded.

"We won't get a second chance at this," Gerrard muttered. He reached down, snatching up the parchment. His eyes widened in amazement. The document looked convincing, well ordered and with an impressively embossed seal. Gerrard read aloud:

To: Captain Benbow, Warden of the Brig at Atrivak

From: Capashen Chief Raddeus

Greetings,

In the sudden peril that has swept across our nation, I require the fighting might of every warrior under my command. I have sent my ward, Commander Gerrard Capashen, recently returned from epic battles against our foes, to gather the prisoners in your charge and lead them into combat. Please provide him every assistance to liberate, arm, and provision the troops previously imprisoned in your facilities.

Blessings, Chief Raddeus

Gerrard nodded, mollified. "Perhaps we do have a chance." He peered down at the mysterious old man. "There's more to you than meets the eye."

"Yes," the blind seer said smoothly, "since nothing meets my eye." "Hand me that map tube," Gerrard said, reaching toward the desk.

From the map rack, Hanna snatched the tube. Gerrard pulled its cap and upended it. Out slid a detailed map of Benalia City. Not a single structure, so carefully rendered on the map, remained in reality.

Gritting his teeth grimly, Gerrard rolled the forged document, set a daub of candle wax on it, and printed the wax with his own Capashen ring. He slid the roll into the map tube and lifted his eyes toward the fore window of the bridge.

The sun seemed to blaze within the prison. Guard towers and needlelike palisades reached their clawing shadows up the deck of Weatherlight. Soon, the ship was swallowed in darkness. The silhouetted brig hovered spectrally above. Just beneath it lay a natural shelf of stone, covered by the western overlook of the mounds.

"We land there, where Weatherlight will be shielded from Phyrexian eyes and bombs. We don't want to be pinned down."

"Aye, Commander," replied Sisay. She eased the ship up toward the shelf.

"So far so good. Let's just hope Benbow falls for the forgery."

"Guards!" Captain Benbow shouted. The warden's voice echoed through the block-walled station house. He glowered at Gerrard and his command crew. Benbow's meaty hands clutched the forged letter, and his red brows bristled. "Guards!"

They flooded in. Guards were common enough in the Benalish Military Brig. In field plate with yellow tabards, the warriors surrounded Gerrard and his crew.

"Wait!" Gerrard objected. "You must believe us. Benalia needs every fighting arm! An invasion is underway!"

"Clap them in irons!" Benbow bellowed. The guards converged.

Gerrard had surrendered to Benalish forces once-and Benalia City was destroyed while he sat in the brig.

"Attack!" he shouted.

Tahngarth snorted his approval. He flung a wooden chair beneath the chin of the nearest guard. The man barked once and fell forward, landing atop the chair that had knocked him out.

Hanna was not as fortunate. A guard grabbed her from behind in a headlock. He breathed angrily in her ear. More a lover than a fighter, Hanna turned her head and intercepted his lips with hers. The warm contact produced a sudden weakness in the man's grip. Hanna pulled forward and lifted her heel in the angle often induced by a kiss. The guard went down, clutching himself.