"Better them than my friends," Karn thought aloud. Without another word, he headed down the pa.s.sage toward the ship's power core. He could sense its emanations. There was an uncanny kinship between Karn's body and the cruiser. Even the runes carved in the ships inner halls resembled the characters scribed on Karn's chest. Living metal surrounded him, half designed, half grown. The dark corridor had an organic logic, more like a vein than a hallway. Each footfall seemed a heartbeat. For a moment, the pa.s.sage dissolved, replaced by another from long ago. It was a white hallway. He walked beside a young man, a boy really, though a genius. Beneath his bald forehead lurked impish eyes and a slightly cruel smile. It was no Gerrard. His skin was too dark. It was another friend, Karn's first friend. He struggled to remember a name. Ladlepate? Arty Shovelhead? No, those weren't names for the boy, but for Karn. The boy's name was ... Teferi?

Karn surfaced from his waking dream in the midst of a fierce fight. Phyrexian shock troops-more machine than creature-swarmed him. Their human heads and torsos were deeply ensconced within a framework of artifact mechanisms. On draconic legs, they ran. With scythelike arms, they fought. Their horns could impale three men abreast, but they could not impale Karn.

Karn patiently grabbed their arms and ripped them loose. It was the treatment he had given Tsabo Tavoc and now to her children.

The beasts fought on. They couldn't destroy him, but they could halt his advance until more troops arrived. That would be enough to doom everyone aboard Weatherlight.

Growling, Karn knocked down a trooper blocking his path. It landed on its back. Karn stomped on the thing's chest. Metal failed. Flesh oozed out like paste from a tube. This was worse than killing the hounds. These creatures had once been human.

Karn finished the wretched work. Glistening-oil coated him from feet to hips. It poured in a regular rain through the grating. Trying to shut the sound out of his mind, Karn strode deeper. The engine core called him.

Again, the tunnel closed to a single point. It opened in another place and time, but the circ.u.mstances were the same. He was killing Phyrexians to defend a friend.

This was a true friend, not like Teferi. This was Karn's first true friend. Her name came ringing back through his body like the toll of a bell. Jhoira. She had saved him from loneliness, and he had failed to save her from Phyrexians. She lay, bloodstained and broken, on the floor of her cell there at the academy (the academy?), and Karn fought in rage against the negator that had slain her. He was not really defending Jhoira, for she was already dead. He was avenging her, bloodily, with a sense of righteous rage.

The killing strokes of that bygone day-how long ago?-elided with the killing strokes Karn would swing in mere moments.

He had reached the engine room-a huge arched chamber. At its center was an enormous engine, ten times the size of Weatherlight's. b.u.t.tresses of Thran metal braced a sloping manifold in foot-thick steel. Within that framework surged energies that glowed red-hot. Power coursed from the main engine into countless arteries. Auxiliary powerhouses crouched on the floor around the mother machine. The air throbbed with noise. The engineers were utterly unaware of Karn's approach.

They were almost human-tall, thin, with weighty brains and narrow digits. Their bodies bore slender metal implants. No doubt these were compleated Phyrexians, but they had not been much modified from the human stock whence they had been drawn.

Without pause, Karn strode to them. They died like birds in his grip. How could he do this? Karn, who had stood by while Tahngarth was tortured in the Stronghold? Karn, who had allowed Vuel to make off with Gerrard's Legacy? Karn, who had failed Jhoira in her hour of greatest need?

No, he had not failed. In fact, he had turned back the hour, had turned back even the day. He'd gone back in a time machine-strange memories!-to kill her killer, to save her and the whole academy of Tolaria.

Tolaria! But Tolaria was a myth, less real even than its master Urza.

If Tolaria was a myth, why did Karn remember its destruction? To save the academy-no, to save Jhoira-he had pushed the time machine to its limits and destroyed it all.

To save his one true friend ...

The Phyrexian engineers were dead. Gerrard and the others would be dead too unless Karn shut down the engine. There were countless ways, but as Karn read the configuration of power cells, he knew the main core would always restart itself. There was only one way to shut it down permanently.

Striding along the oil-stained flank of the engine, Karn shoved levers upward. Power mounted. One cell began to whine and then the next. Mana superfluids boiled violently. The rumble crescendoed to an angry wail, then a deafening shriek.

It was enough. Karn turned. He ran back the way he had descended. It was an easy trail, marked with bodies. Seventeen engineers beside the power core, twelve shock troops in the pa.s.sageway, and there, ahead, where clear sky shown through a hull breach, five vampire hounds.

Behind Karn, the core went critical. White-hot fire engulfed the engine room. It burst the walls outward. It flung the doors from their hinges. Pure energy bounded up the corridor behind Karn.

He ran. His feet clanged on the grating. From heat alone, the vampire hound bodies burst into flame. Their glistening-oil blood made a wall of fire before him. White power behind and red flame before, Karn hurled himself through the hull breech. He roared. His bloodied hands burned as he hurtled through the air.

Perhaps, in destroying it all-even himself-he had saved his only true friends.

Then, like a memory solidifying, Karn felt something in his hands. He held on and was drawn away from the incendiary cloud. Black metal retreated beneath his dangling feet. Urborg appeared below.

Karn clung to the forecastle rail of Weatherlight. Fires snapped and burned around his hands and feet, but he held on.

Above the rail, eyes worried within a shock of black hair. Gerrard smiled.

"Karn, you did it. You made it back. I don't know what I would've done without you."

Chapter 12.

The Dragon of Yavimaya.

Throughout their flight across the ocean, Rhammidarigaaz had wondered how he would find the second Primeval. Now, as his dragon nations circled above tumbled Yavimaya, he knew.

The Primeval drew him. She lay imprisoned below. Elves had entombed her in the heart of a great tree. For ages of ages, the ancient forest serpent had been a captive to the wood. Magnigoth sap had pasted down her scales. It had permeated her flesh and coursed into her blood and leeched every rebellious impulse from her mind. This dragon, who had breathed forests into being and had flown in a world where mortals were caged birds, this beast was a prisoner of the trees. But not forever.

Bending his fangy mouth down toward the forest canopy, Darigaaz began a long, spiraling dive. His people followed.

The wet heat of Yavimaya streamed across his leathery wings. Beneath the sun and above the treetops, Darigaaz soared. In this time of war and dark revelations, there was too little quiet and beauty. He watched his own lithe shadow as it surged over the canopy. Tree to tree, the image leaped. In its wake came the shadows of the dragon nations. They seemed fish schooling above a reef. Down to Yavimaya they plunged.

She was here, just here, in the ma.s.sive magnigoth around which they circled. It was a mountain of a tree, three thousand feet tall. Its crown could hold aloft an elven city. Large white blooms spread across the peak and showered gleaming pollen through the air. Gigantic Kavu basked among its branches, letting the sun warm their reptilian blood. Below, foliage spread in four more levels down the huge trunk. Each had its own climate, its own fauna and flora. The base of the tree was a swollen k.n.o.b of wood that bristled with spikes.

Even glimmering pollen and acrid sap could not cover the sweet, sharp scent of dragon flesh. The magnigoth was powerful and ancient, yes, but less so than its captive.

Darigaaz tucked his wings and plunged through the upper canopy. It was like diving through the algae of a deep pool. Sunlight failed. Wind gave way to stillness. Airy creatures were replaced by giant spiders, staring Kavu, and every skulking thing.

His people descended in a ribbon behind him.

Darigaaz circled the magnigoth trunk. Heat seeped from his skin. Talons dragged through moist murk. Wings brushed the spikes that jutted from the root bulb. There was no true soil here except the humus that ran in a black network among the trees. On that spongy ground, Darigaaz landed. His claws dug in the dirt, and he tucked his wings. With a final flap of leather and a series of soft thuds, the dragon nations of Dominaria landed. They formed a thick ring of flesh around the prison of their ancient lord.

Darigaaz took a deep breath and eyed the tree. It was indeed a mountain. How could he bring this creature out? How could he hope to free a Primeval?

You know how, spoke a voice in Darigaaz's mind. It was a purring voice, feminine and powerful.

Abstracted, the elder dragon reached up to the talismans at his wattle.

No, the answer does not tie there. That is new magic, a distillation of colors. We lived before all that. We lived when power was raw and elemental. You must tap the primeval power, Rhammidarigaaz.

Tap the primeval power? How?

You have been a servant to mortals too long. You have forgotten what it means to be a dragon. To be a king.

Darigaaz bristled. He was the elder dragon of Shiv. He was the lord of the dragon nations. He had not forgotten what it was to be a dragon king.

You're no king. You're a diplomat, a negotiator. You must rule yourself before you can rule these folk. What of volcanic desire? What of volcanic power?

"Have you brought us here merely to stand and stare?" asked the lord of the black dragons.

Darigaaz shook off his reverie. Only then did he notice that Lord Rokun coiled before him.

Rokun was a coal-black beast cast in the very likeness of Tevash Szat, the dragon G.o.d who had begun this whole escapade. Rokun's tongue was also the equal of Szat's.

"Did we fly across the ocean only to land here without plan or purpose?"

Yes? Did you?

The fire kindled in Darigaaz's belly grew only hotter. "Our purpose is to raise the second Primeval before the Phyrexians can destroy her. Our plan is to join the strength of the dragon nations to tap ancient power."

Feigning credulity, Rokun said, "Oh, yes. Let's all join in a circle and hold hands-"

Don't coddle him. He is not your child. He is your subject.

"Would you be silent?" Darigaaz snapped, uncertain whether he addressed Rokun or the voice in his head.

"No, I will not," snarled Rokun. His tail lashed. His claws gripped the black soil as he circled the dragon elder.

"I kept my silence while many of us were slaughtered at Koilos-and for what, a hunk of sand that is now in Phyrexian hands?"

You fight for men, not for dragons.

"The permanent portal was destroyed. That was the purpose of the Battle of Koilos-"

"I kept my silence as you led us to what little remained of your homeland, to fight for nose-picking goblins and runty Viashino. I kept my silence even as you led us across the world to find this oversized scratching post, but I will keep silent no longer."

Lash out. If you let him speak that way to you, he will rebel.

Darigaaz lifted claws to his ears. "I'm through listening to you."

"No, you aren't. I'm taking control of the dragon nations. We will follow you no longer!"

Lash out! Are you too docile to save your own people?

Darigaaz's claws raked down from his ears and seized the black, hackled throat of the upstart. "You will not take command of this army. Not while I live." He hurled Rokun away from him, into a crowd of black dragons that eagerly watched the confrontation. They reeled back, clearing the way.

Rokun rose menacingly. In the dark forest, his plate armor seemed more insectoid than reptilian.

Through gleaming fangs, he hissed, "Oh, Rhammidarigaaz the Elder, I have longed for this moment." He launched himself at his foe.

Black power scintillated across his horns and coalesced down his arms. Rokun's claws grew preternaturally outward like lines of ink drawn on the air. Those lines intersected Darigaaz's stomach and cut deep parallel furrows through the scales.

The elder dragon reeled back.

At least one of you remembers how to fight.

Darigaaz did not heed the voice, busy remembering something else-the volcanoes of Shiv. He drew the power to him and formed it into a red-hot column of force that poured from his clawtips. He roared and lunged. His talons clenched the black dragon's throat. Incendiary heat ripped through the monster's neck. From the holes torn by his claws gushed a tarry liquid. The acid burned Darigaaz's flesh. More sprayed between the black dragon's clenched teeth. Where it spattered Darigaaz, his own scales dissolved. It burned wounds across his neck and shoulders. Darigaaz reeled back.

Use your native power....

Like a well-stoked furnace, Darigaaz drew a hissing breath. Within his chest, breath transformed. It coalesced into pure energy and roared out. Flame blazed from his mouth. It ate the air between the dragons. A ball of fire broke over Rokun.

Ah, you do remember about volcanic heat! You do remember that you are a dragon and a king!

Rokun thrashed in the searing fire. His wings burned away in an acrid whoosh. His scales curled upward like mud drying beneath the sun. He staggered, going to his knees. Even the acid that dripped from his wounded throat burned.

Still, Darigaaz did not relent. Feral flame poured out of him and laved the rebel lord.

Yes, Rhammidarigaaz! Kill him, and the others will fall in line!

As if awakening from a nightmare, the elder dragon shuddered. His eyes grew wide. Fire ceased in his throat. The last of the flames dribbled between his fangs. Rhammidarigaaz stared in horror at the smoldering figure.

Rokun struggled to rise from the blackened ground where he lay. It was no good. His scales were as fragile as dry leaves. The vital fluids of his being drained whitely from every pore. He would die-that much was certain- but he was not dead yet.

Staggering numbly toward his foe-his victim- Darigaaz called out, "Summon the white dragons! Summon the healers!"

"Don't bother!" rasped out Rokun. "They can only prolong it now. You have slain me, Rhammidarigaaz. You have slain me because I dared to oppose you."

Yes, Rhammidarigaaz, purred the voice in his head. That is what you have done. That is what you had to do.

Staring feverishly at the ravaged figure, Darigaaz said, "You would have slain me-"

"I would have slain you ... to save our people from worthless wars and old myths," gasped Rokun. "I would have slain you to save the dragon nations ... from being the tool of planeswalkers."

"Better the tool of planeswalkers than the tool of Phyrexians."

Through smoke-whitened eyes, Rokun looked up past Darigaaz to the other dragons. "Break from him.... Escape the doom he brings...."

You must finish him before he turns your people away!

"This quest will destroy you ... and all of us...."

"Silence, Rokun! You are defeated. Be silent!"

"You cannot silence me.... They will rebel against you...."

A self-fulfilling prophecy!

"I said, silence!"

"Rise against him, dragon nations! Rise!"

You must finish him!

Rhammidarigaaz reached down, grabbing the scorched body. Scales shattered beneath his claws. He hoisted the creature overhead. Fury surged through him. Lifting Rokun high, he hurled him through the air. The ravaged body arced outward. Enough life remained in it that Rokun struggled to right himself. His claws and tail lashed.

Rokun crashed atop the root bulb. Nine spikes ripped through his seared flesh, impaling him. The body slumped on those spikes. Air left him in a long, gurgling hiss.

Darigaaz watched, heart pounding in his throat. He looked down at his claws, black from the deed. He looked up at the dragon nations. In their eyes, he saw his mad figure.