"The dart must have been poisoned. Can't we do something for her?"

Gerrard knelt by Chamas's side. She looked at him and spoke through chattering teeth. "S-S-Sorry, Commander. I ccan't feel my 1-1-legs anymore."

"Hang on, Chamas! We'll try to do something for you."

She shook her head. "N-No good. I c-can't feel…" Her voice faded. Her eyes closed.

Gerrard rose and looked about. The tunnel walls and floor were stained with blood. Sisay was tying a bandage around her arm. The bodies of the Mercadians lay sprawled. From the surviving Kyren came a low, chittering whine.

The Benalian walked to where Tahngarth held the creature pinned against the wall. "Where were you going?" he snapped.

The Kyren said nothing.

"Where does this corridor lead?"

Again, the goblin was silent.

Gerrard turned to Sisay. "Are those two alive?" he asked, jerking his head at the Mercadians.

She examined each briefly. "This one is. I'm not sure about the other."

"Wake him up."

The dark woman slapped the Mercadian's face once, twice. He groaned and lifted his head. He groaned again when he saw who stood over him.

"Come on, you. On your feet!" Sisay jerked him up by the front of his robes and dragged him over to stand next to the Kyren.

Gerrard bent and picked up one of the darts from the Kyren blowpipes. He held it up to the Mercadian's face. "You know what this is?"

The Mercadian turned pale. His lip quivered. Gerrard brought the dart closer, until its point was resting on the Mercadian's fat cheek. "Where does this corridor lead?"

Tears rolled down the Mercadian's face. He tried to turn his head to look at the Kyren but was prevented by the pressure of the dart. He opened his mouth, his eyes pleading.

The goblin's body twisted. A long-fingered green hand slapped Gerrard's, driving the dart deep into the Mercadian's cheek.

The man shrieked and fell to the ground, clawing at his face. Tahngarth's blade sliced the Kyren's throat, spilling lifeblood.

Gerrard leaped back, not in time to avoid a sharp kick from the dying goblin. He turned toward the Mercadian, but the man was already stiffening.

Sisay stared at the bodies around her. "Where in the Nine bloody Hells were they going?"

Gerrard shook his head. "I don't know, but we need to find out. Let's get these bodies out of sight."

"Captain," Dabis broke in, "what about her?" He indicated the body of Chamas, lying still on the corridor floor. The sailor had done his best to straighten her limbs and wipe away the white foam that had gushed through her teeth.

Gerrard laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but we'll have to leave her with the other bodies for now."

Dabis swallowed and then nodded. He bent and tore a piece of clothing from one of the dead Mercadians and spread it over the young woman's face. Then he picked her up and followed after the others.

The hiding of the bodies was a messy business, and none spoke during it. When they had cleaned the site as best they could, Gerrard removed the closest torches. With luck, no one would notice the bloodstained rocks in the dim light.

Carefully retracing their steps, the crew moved stealthily downward until they reached the bottom of the tunnel. They crouched in a pool of shadows just beyond the passage's mouth. It opened on a vast chamber suffused with a thin blue smoke.

"By Urza's Rack and Mishra's Ruin!" Gerrard muttered.

The crew looked out wonderingly on a mighty fleet of aerial ships being assembled in the huge cavern. A mile high and miles across, that enormous subterranean space was filled with vessels-Phyrexian vessels. Workers moved along web-thin causeways, building, repairing, testing, preparing… Two ships rose through a wide opening in the floor and moved across the vast tunnel.

"What does it all mean?" Tahngarth asked.

Gerrard shook his head. "A lot of these vessels look like Predator, the one that attacked us in Rath. Most of them are bigger, but you can see they have the same general design features. I'd guess this fleet is being built for Rath, for Volrath's use."

"Why?" Sisay asked. Her eyes were hard as she heard Volrath's name. "Why do they need a fleet this big?"

"Only one reason," the Benalian returned. "This must be for the invasion of Dominaria. This is Volrath's invasion fleet."

Tahngarth shook his head. "That does not make sense. Why build a fleet in a place other than Rath? And why here, in a place that is not controlled by Volrath?"

Gerrard rubbed his beard. "Perhaps it is controlled by him." A chill moved through them all. "Perhaps it is."

"They brought Weatherlight through doors below," Sisay said. "What if they brought it here?"

"Weatherlight is here," Gerrard said with sudden certainty. "She calls to me."

Tahngarth said, "Then let's go find her."

"Yes," Gerrard said, pulling his sword. "Well find the ship and do our best to create some mayhem on the way."

Karn stood on the main deck of Weatherlight and gazed aft, toward the panting figure who hung on chains there. "Poor Squee," Karn whispered mournfully to himself.

There was no sense speaking to the goblin. Squee had hung unconscious for a day now. At least he still breathed, but for how much longer? In his silent suffering, Squee was doing more to save Weatherlight than any of his crewmates. Thrice, Karn had fought toward the spars, hoping to save his friend, and thrice been prevented by the guards that surrounded and filled the ship. It was no use. Squee would hang there while he lived-but how much longer would that be?

"Gerrard will come soon, Squee, and we will bring you down among us. Gerrard will come soon."

A figure approached through the moored armada-but it was not Gerrard.

"Volrath," Karn groaned beneath his breath. He turned away from his suffering friend and descended through a hatch to the engine room.

The cramped space was littered with tools. Oily rags hung across the engine's enameled fuselage. Cogwork lay arrayed on towels on the floor. Grease smudged, Hanna sat paging fitfully through the Thran Tome, muttering uncertainly about which part went where. All of the mess was for show, meant to impress the Mercadian guards who watched her. Within the first hour of work, Hanna had effected the correct configuration of Power Matrix and Bones of Ramos. She had even fitted the Juju Bubble, a Legacy item stored in Karn, into its position at the center of the Matrix. By merely inserting the Horn of Ramos into its position, she could power up the whole ship… but then Weatherlight would be Volrath's…

"He's coming," Karn rumbled ominously.

Hanna looked up, startled. "Who?"

"Volrath," Karn replied.

No sooner than the name was spoken, the gray-armored evincar descended the stairs into the engine room. He wore a wicked smile that split his gray-skulled head, and in his hand he held a cocked crossbow. He swung it jauntily up to his shoulder. "How does the work progress on my ship?"

Hanna looked away, her face hardening. "Not well. The myths were wrong. These devices weren't fashioned to fit together. The construct has to be joined by a series of cogs and conduits."

"Nonsense," Volrath responded, kicking the loose gear-work aside. "I had not thought your goblin friend would last this long. My patience has died before him. But only just… Start up the ship, or I will kill him."

Hanna looked up, her face as white as paper. "I'm telling you, I… I'm working as fast as-"

Volrath spun on his heel, marching up the stairs.

Karn followed, his massive hands spread beseechingly. "Patience, Master Volrath. Weatherlight is no mere machine. She is a being-as complex as a living body. She cannot simply be repaired. She must be healed. The Matrix cannot simply be fastened in place. It must grow into the engine."