Volrath winced back, lifting his blade to guard. Too late. It clanged from his hand, useless.

Gerrard's weapon landed with the weight of a cudgel- but it cut like a razor.

The sword struck Volrath's right collar bone, severing it. It clove a trench eight inches deep. The evincar was laid open. Rib marrow, severed halves of meat, and flayed tendons showed clearly on either side of the sword before blood poured out in a killing tempest. So deep the blade went that it met the previous stab wound in gurgling lungs.

Volrath stood a moment more, only because the attack had been so swift he hadn't had time to crumple. Then he went down sloppily, sprawling to his face, legs twisted beneath him and haunch jutting up.

Gerrard's brother Vuel-Gerrard's nemesis Volrath-at last was dead.

Gerrard raked his sword free and spun, knowing the same fate awaited him. Phyrexian dock workers and Mercadian guards flocked inward. He cared about none of them, but only about Sisay.

With a shriek, Gerrard hurled his blade as though it were a scythe. It harvested the heads of Sisay's captors. They fell as their master had, in streaming gore. Red blood and glistening oil mingled on the floor. The few that survived this first stroke bolted or did not survive the second. Hand slick with the life of his foes, Gerrard reached down and hauled Sisay to her feet.

She had the presence of mind to snatch up a trident from one of the fallen guards. Shaking, she turned back-to-back with Gerrard. The old friends warily watched the circle of soldiers tighten.

"Just like… old times," Gerrard spat out between labored breaths.

"Outnumbered twenty to one?" asked Sisay.

"Well, there's that."

"Surrounded by idiots?"

"There's that, too."

"About to die?"

"Yeah," Gerrard said with feigned ease. "That's the part I meant."

There was no more time for jokes. A wall of tridents and swords converged around the two. Gerrard's sword trailed red, painting the faces of soldiers even as it flung back their killing steel. An edge flashed past his defense and caught Gerrard in the side, but its wielder paid with a sudden debilitating gush of guts.

At his back, Sisay was equally pressed. Her trident was an inferior weapon-rusted and dull-but she made devastating use of it. Prongs blinded one warrior while simultaneously skewering the skull of another. Wrenching the tines free, she brought the butt end up to crack a soldier in the jaw.

In the first press, Gerrard and Sisay each downed five foes, but twenty-five fresh ones remained. The sheer weight of descending metal dragged Gerrard and Sisay down. Prong by prong, Mercadian guards and Phyrexian dock workers slew them.

"It's been good!" Gerrard shouted above clanging metal.

"The fight?" Sisay yelled back.

"Knowing you."

"Same here."

The conversation was cut short by converging blades. From both sides, the unstoppable foes surged in. Gerrard made one final swipe with his sword, knowing it could not fend off even one of the killers.

His blade met no resistance. It swung through empty air. Not empty-full of energy.

A wide, red beam, bright as the sun, surged into being before Gerrard. It flash-burned Mercadian flesh, melted Phyrexian armor and weapons, turned skeletons of both races to puffs of ash. Awash in that destroying beam, Gerrard's sword wilted and fell to the ground in a silvery puddle. There, it mingled with the watery weapons and armor of his foes.

He pivoted back from the killing blast and saw that a second beam vaporized the warriors in front of Sisay. Mercadian and Phyrexian, they were dead. Only Gerrard, Sisay, and a handful of soldiers survived in the trough between the twin rays. A few of them staggered into the incinerating light and burned away to nothing.

Gerrard and Sisay embraced, steadying each other lest either of them tumble into death.

As suddenly as they had appeared, the blinding rays of destruction were gone. They had flashed away more than a score of warriors, their armor and weapons, and even melted the stone floor into magma. In the gloom, two hovering points of light remained-a pair of cooling lenses in the ray cannons aboard a certain ship.

"Weatherlight!" Gerrard sighed gratefully.

The ship was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

She floated above, swathed in the gloomy deeps of the hangar cavern. Her hull shone as if it had been polished, her sails were furled along the great masts that stretched like wings on either side of her. Her intakes set a healthy roar in the air. Fires from burning hulks cast a lurid light across the hull of the ship, but Weatherlight was whole. She was once again flying… and fighting.

The remaining few Mercadians and Phyrexians beat a quick retreat from the warship.

More bolts of death could have leaped from the ship's rail, transfixing them. Instead, a coil of line dropped down. It snaked from the bow and waved within reach of Gerrard. A head peered down beside the rope, and Gerrard realized the ship was only the second most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Hanna!" Gerrard cried happily. "Volrath said you'd been executed!"

"He's a liar," the blonde navigator shouted back. She nodded toward the evincar's lifeless corpse. "Or, he was a liar. Grab the rope and climb up!"

Shaking his head, Gerrard gave a rueful laugh. "I'll not be climbing for a while. Not with this shoulder in ribbons."

"Then tie it around you, and I'll pull you up."

Gerrard dropped the hilt of his melted sword, fed the rope beneath his arms, and struggled to tie it over his breastbone. His hands were shaking too much, and his left arm was weak.

Sisay stepped up, completing the knot. "There you go."

"Oh, Sisay-what am 1 thinking? I should have let you go first. You're the captain, after all."

She smiled. "I'll catch the next lift." Even as she said it, the rope went taut, and Gerrard started lurching upward.

"After she brings me up," he quipped, "you might have to wait awhile for the next lift."

Sisay laughed happily. Another line dropped down within her reach. She glanced up to see a pair of horns above. "Permission to come aboard, First Mate Tahngarth?" she asked as she secured the rope.

The minotaur replied, "Permission granted." He hauled her aloft.

Despite Tahngarth's bulk and Sisay's light heft, Hanna was quicker at hauling Gerrard to the deck. She set one foot on the rail and dragged the rope rapidly upward. Hands accustomed to bolts and wrenches greedily hauled hemp.

In moments, Gerrard slid up the gunwale and over the rail, spilling atop Hanna. They tumbled to the deck, ropes coiling all around them. Their glad laughter gave way to kisses, which again gave way to laughter.

"It's nice to see you," Gerrard said in understatement. His fingers stroked her grease-decorated face and hair. "But you shouldn't have spent so much time primping."

Hanna smiled as she rolled him over. This time she landed on top, straddling him. Her hands gingerly probed the lacerations in his shoulder. "Don't you know it's bad manners to go on a date with an open wound?" Insistently, she dragged his shirt from his shoulder, and the lightness in her voice ceased. "I wish Orim were here…"

"I'm just glad you are," Gerrard said, pulling her fingers away. "It's not bleeding much now. I'll grab some rags and wrap it. Orim can look at it once we get above." He looked about at the ship. "You've been doing some healing of your own. Weatherlight looks terrific."

"Let's go get you and Sisay some bandages, and then let me show you what I've done."

Sisay had gained the deck by then-with a bit more decorum. Together, Sisay, Tahngarth, Gerrard, and Hanna made their way into the bowels of the ship. Down a ladder and along a passage, they reached the sickbay. There, Hanna dressed Gerrard and Sisay's wounds. On a nearby pallet lay Squee, sleeping fitfully after his long ordeal. Fewsteem and