Duel of the Gemini

Intentions

The lion-kin didn’t speak, but nodded slowly in the direction of the man beside him.
“I know,” said the stranger.
The realisation that his deception had failed did not bring with it fear as Sorin would have expected, but rather relief at the knowledge that it was no longer necessary to attempt to hide behind the long-forgotten statue of a 10,000 year old guildmage. Without waiting for instruction, Sorin took the first steps out from behind the stone artwork. Immediately the disgust he felt from the White light intensified: a burning which assaulted his senses and the mana inside him, spreading through his body like fire. Slowly the lion-kin’s head turned towards him, causing the burning sensation to rage so that he was forced to look away, focusing instead on the stranger. The man’s head was covered by a cowl and his left arm was hidden in the folds of his robe. In his right hand he held something Sorin couldn’t make out. When he spoke again, his voice was slow, confident: a voice that made every word sound both natural and well rehearsed.
“Don’t waste your breath trying to speak; you’ll have a hard enough time breathing normally in front of us.” Sorin felt his initial suspicion of the man move to a more rational dislike: he was arrogant, that much was clear, but at this close distance Sorin could begin to distinguish between the lion-kin’s aura and the man’s, and both were very powerful.
“You’ve come for the sword,” the man said after a long pause. Sorin debated the implications before he answered. The man’s accusation did not necessarily confirm the sword’s existence, nor that this vault was indeed its hiding place. All that was clear was that this man was not a member of the guild. Eventually he decided to stick to the matter at hand.
“Who are you?” he asked. The man smiled; a slow, one-sided grin that set Sorin’s teeth on edge.
“To some I’m known as Eldranis. That will be sufficient for now.” Fruitlessly Sorin wondered if he would have been happier not inviting such a cryptic response. “All that matters for the moment is that I knew you would be here,” the man went on, “and consequently chose this night to introduce myself. But as you can see, we are not alone.”
Eldranis tilted his head in the direction of the lion-kin. “I know you won’t ask, so I’ll just tell you. The Sword is here, but I doubt you’ll be able to get past its guardian. In any case, it was enough for now that we’ve met, and that we will meet again.” With this the man raised his right hand to reveal the object he had been holding: small stone carving in the shape of a star.
Sorin recognised the stone star immediately, as would anyone who had spent time on Ravnica. It was a seal: a magically enchanted piece of stonework not dissimilar to the living gargoyles that guarded the cathedrals. These crests however had no life of their own, no semblance of free will however dominated by their masters. The seals were used for one thing: when broken, they called forth the Orzhov in all their wrath. They were an efficient means of earning a pat on the head and a small pouch of silver for dobbing in one’s neighbour whenever a edict of the church was threatened. In the outskirts of Old Rav, or even as low as the Golgari undercity, an active seal would most likely attract a low level enforcer, a thrull or other guild monstrosity used to carry out mindless tasks. But here, in the heart of the holy capital, and worse, in the depths of the most secret vault, a broken seal would act as a devastating alarm, capable of drawing hundreds if not thousands of merciless guildmagi in seconds. The man’s dark gloved hand closed ominously around the brittle effigy.
“Wait!” Sorin raised his hands, as if to negotiate, blood pumping in his ears. “Neither of us will get out of here alive if you release that.”
“True, “Eldranis mused aloud. “I very much doubt even a Planeswalk would be possible here. The chamber is barriered from all methods of teleport. The only option therefore, is for you to escort me out.”
Sorin stifled his disbelief: “Escort you?”
“Do you have any reason to think I mean to attack you when your back is turned? If I meant to kill you, I would simply have alerted the guild to your presence when you entered via the servant’s door. An obvious choice if I do say so myself.”
Sorin ignored the jab. “That still doesn’t explain why I should leave without what I came for. You said yourself you don’t have it.”
“I only said that it’s still here, and more importantly, that you wouldn’t be able to get to it. Not as you are now at least. Your best choice therefore, is to do as I say, and follow me out.”
Sorin focused on the man, on the pure White light of his aura. He found no trace of corruption, no sign of a duel allegiance. Even his face betrayed not a hint of wavering in his conviction, not a clue as to his motive beside a genuine desire to exit the cavern. Eldranis turned and began walking, letting the light pour across his face for a moment. A think cloth covered the lower half of the man’s face, leaving visible only a pair of jet-black eyes. Sorin knew of others with eyes like that: mages of black mana, for whom the whites in their eyes had been driven out as their powers had increased. The same had inevitably happened to him, just one of the hundreds of scars and dark seals the Black mana had left on his body. Sorin couldn’t fathom how a Planeswalker of the purest light mana he’d ever felt could possibly get eyes like that. Perhaps the man carried some kind of curse? Silently, the stranger stepped passed and began walking out of the cavern and through the tunnel. Without risking another glance at the lion-kin, Sorin turned and began to follow. Not a word was spoken until the two men emerged from behind the hollow wall guarding the tunnel’s entrance.
Free of the tunnel, Sorin immediately felt the crushing weights of the White mana and anti-teleportation enchantments fall away, like an avalanche off his shoulders. Wasting no time, he let the dark mana from the hall fill him, barked out a command spell and vanished.
Sorin sat and watched the empty space in front of him. He was still in Orzhova, on top of one of the middle-sized cathedrals. The command spell would have left a traceable residue, thus he figured it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, moments later, the man from the vault appeared in a flash of bright light. Messy, Sorin thought. He waited until the mana left over from the spell wore away before he spoke.
“Now what?”
“Now, we talk.” Eldranis answered, without hesitating.
Sorin had long since lost the ability to appreciate the absurdity of this night, which had started so simply as an attempt to steal one of the most valuable artefacts from one of the most powerful organisations on Ravnica. On instinct, he let the mana inside him began to swell, creeping up in strength to spell-casting levels. All that was left was to wait for an opening. Sensing the change, the man spoke again.
“We’re not off this plane yet,” he said, waving the stone star safely in his palm through the night air. “Plenty of time left to tell the Orzhov where to find their intruder.” This time the man’s smile seemed to threaten laughter. Sorin breathed deep, tried to quiet the surging mana and waited for him to continue.
“The intention is not for you to die here,” Eldranis finally said. “In fact, a great many things depend on your survival.”
“What sort of things?”
“The life of a very special individual for one: a most powerful Planeswalker.” He waited to see if Sorin would respond to his taunts. When no response came, Eldranis went on. “I do believe you’ve heard of her: Liliana Vess.”
He spoke the last two words like they were the key to opening every vault on every world across the universe. Sorin felt his blood freeze at the sound of them. The idea that he could have anything to do with the fate of someone like her was beyond his imagining. This time the man didn’t wait for a response. “She’s in danger,” he said bluntly. “She’ll need your help.”
Sorin felt the words catch in his throat as he sputtered. “That’s impossible… You’re out of your mind!”
“Perhaps. Either way I’ve arranged a meeting so you can find out for yourself.” His other hand moved like a blur and a small metal object was suddenly closing the gap between them. Sorin reached out a caught a crudely crafted steel spearhead. “Take that as my way of introduction,” added Eldranis.
Sorin knew well the value of such objects. People could remove themselves fully from points in space, objects couldn’t. They always retained something of their origins, unnoticeable to most, but with magic they became keys, guiding the portals Planeswalkers used to transport themselves across the universe. While he pondered the significance of the spearhead, the man spoke again.
“Now I’d like you to meet someone, an associate of mine.” Sorin suddenly realised that the conversation was in fact over. Without another word the mysterious Eldranis closed his fist and an instant obliterated the stone star.