Future Sight Read online

  Jeska is determined to save the world…

  Radha snarled fiercely and flailed. She would not die here, not at the Pardic woman’s hands. She had a warhost to run, and elves to corral. She had a boy to train.

  The anguish suddenly ceased, and Radha’s limbs snapped back against her body. She hung motionless, breathing heavily, until Jeska floated in front of her.

  “Leshrac was right,” Jeska said. “I…we can do this.”

  “But I won’t,” Radha said. “Kill me or turn me loose, Planeswalker. I will not be your toy.”

  Jeska frowned, and Radha’s jaws froze once more. “You are an arrogant, childish beast, Radha of Keld, but you can yet do the world a great service. Gather your strength. Prepare yourself.”

  Jeska’s power blossomed forth once more, drowning Radha in an ocean of arcane forces. Helpless, motionless, voiceless, Radha’s mind screamed her deafening rage and frustration.

  …no matter who she has to kill.

  Scott McGough ushers in new author John Delaney, and together they conclude the adventure first started in Time Spiral.

  Time Spiral Cycle, Book III

  FUTURE SIGHT

  ©2007 Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Wizards of the Coast, Magic: The Gathering, their respective logos, and all character names and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries..

  Cover art by Aleksi Briclot

  First Printing: April 2007

  eBook Publication: March 2018

  Original ISBN 9780786942695

  Ebook ISBN 9780786966479

  640-C5610000-001-EN

  EUROPEAN HEADQUARTERS

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  Wizards of the Coast LLC.

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  www.magic.wizards.com

  v5.2

  a

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Deb, Mo, and Laura, for reaching out.

  —Scott McGough

  To my parents Avril and Ciaran; sisters Anne-Marie, Ciara, and Laura; and brother Paul for putting up with all the irrational secrecy and inexplicable angst.

  —John Delaney

  Acknowledgments

  Scott McGough would like to acknowledge the contributions of the following exceptional individuals:

  • Susan Morris, for her truly extraordinary effort and patience

  • My Seattle posse, for letting me rant on and on and on

  • Magic’s Creative Team

  • The Magic authors who truly laid the foundations and set the stage for this trilogy: Jeff Grubb, J. Robert King, Will McDermott, Jess Lebow, and Cory Herndon

  • Daneen McDermott, for her unsung and immeasurably important contributions to the Magic storyline

  John Delaney would like to acknowledge:

  • Susan Morris, my 75% editor, 20% tutor and 5% babysitter

  • Scott and Tim for the awesome experience of working on the story, and for leaving just enough characters alive for me to have my fun

  • Brady Dommermuth, Matt Cavotta, Jeremy Cranford, Jeremy Jarvis and everyone else at WotC who was responsible for the Time Spiral set

  • Richard Garfield for his prodigious wormcan-opening skills

  • Kerrick, werefrog, Nerd Wonder, and everyone else on the Wizards.Com boards for helping me keep my facts straight

  • Tahngarth, for being on two different cards in the same booster pack at the right time.

  A hooded figure waited on Madara’s pebbled beach, arrow-straight and silent as he stared out into the sea. The Talon Gates speared up from the ocean as they had since the dawn of history, each mile-high spire curving toward its opposite, their needle-sharp points within a hundred yards of touching. The setting sun illuminated the gateway from behind, casting the Gates’ sharp shadow back toward the shore.

  Dark eldritch power coalesced in the growing gloom. The figure became aware of a formidable new presence taking shape, one that gathered its substance from the local swells of entropic energy known as black mana. The hooded man was unafraid—his power had long been rooted in darkness, and it held no terror for him. It hardly mattered if the new arrival proved to be an ally or an enemy, a source of sustenance or amusement. He was curious, even eager, to encounter it, as he saw anything that also drew its strength from the Multiverse’s bottomless well of black magic as a valuable resource.

  Six disembodied hands materialized in the air just over his head. They floated with their fingers pressed together and their pale palms facing him. Slowly, the emaciated hands formed themselves into a rough circle with the fingertips of each barely touching the wrist of its neighbor.

  Greetings, Planeswalker. The female voice was hollow and echoed like a whisper in a marble hall.

  The man cocked his head. Though his expression was hidden by his hood, his posture was intent. He nodded in reply to the newcomer’s communication, but he did not answer with words or thoughts.

  We have not been introduced, but I know you. As you should know me.

  The hooded man hesitated. This was no mere wizard addressing him or a mindless primal thing, but a powerful and sentient spirit entity. The new arrival wasn’t a planeswalker, but she was steeped in ancient elemental forces. By his estimation she was not a magic-user at all but rather magic itself, raw power that had achieved sentience and personality.

  The man’s teeth glittered from under his hood. He was intrigued, and not only for the encounter’s novelty. There was even more to be gained here than he anticipated. She was pure magic, and he was a magic-user in every sense of the word.

  “Forgive me,” the hooded man said aloud. His voice was clear, and he spoke without fear or hesitation. “I do not know you in your current guise.”

  A patch of ivory white fog appeared inside the frame of disembodied hands. The smoky image quickly clarified into a heart-shaped porcelain face, a near-featureless mask such as an aristocrat might wear to a masquerade ball.

  I am Night, the mask said, though its cold features did not move. I am that which is hidden and yet everywhere in abundance. I am she who both conceals and consumes. I aid both predator and prey, hunter and hunted, and my preference is determined only by the native wit and skill of the principals. Everything
that thrives on or in darkness draws strength from me.

  The man’s soft chuckle floated out from under the recesses of his hood. He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head back. “I have heard of you, O Night. But I forged my own path to power without your help. Sadly, I must reject any claims you’ve come to make on me.”

  My most accomplished acolytes often do.

  The hooded man’s voice remained clear but grew sharper as malevolent mirth crept into his tone. “You should choose your words more carefully among strangers. I am no one’s acolyte.”

  And I do not ask you to behave as one now. My purpose here is not domination but cooperation.

  “I see. And if we set aside the delusional assertions of your own import…what between us compels me to cooperate?”

  Now your words are careless. Do not insult me or yourself by pretending to know nothing of the danger that threatens us all. The mask turned so that it partially faced the ocean. Pale, purple light flickered in its empty sockets, and the sea view changed as it was plunged into amethyst-colored gloom. The purple-tinted scene now included a great, jagged gash in the space between the spires of the Talon Gates. Angry swells of golden dust and smoke churned within the tear, roiling like a lava field moments before an eruption.

  Tell me, the mask said, have you come here to bask in the view of the Talon Gates phenomenon or to catch sea bass? For in truth Madara’s beaches offer little else.

  The hooded figure laughed and said, “Well said. Yes, O Night, this so-called time rift called out to me. It draws mana and vents chaos. It disrupts the very fabric of reality without purpose, pattern, or plan. I have come to observe and admire it.”

  I see. And has this observation proved rewarding in and of itself?

  “Aesthetically?” the man said. “Yes. But not practically. Not so far.”

  I can change that. You know the history of this place?

  “I know great and terrible things happened here.”

  Then you know of the dragon who is my enemy. You know of his connection to this particular rift phenomenon and the entire region. You know he will return here.

  “I know no such thing. Nor do I know of any dragon.”

  No? Then you have not come to the Talon Gates to profit? To expand your influence?

  Leshrac gazed lazily out at the seascape. “It’s a breathtaking view, isn’t it?”

  Perhaps I erred in choosing you. The planeswalker I want never stopped hungering for more power.

  “Sorry to disappoint you. I assure you I do not know what you’re talking about.”

  So you say. But let’s assume you do know and that you understand the value of knowing. This wound in the world is infected and about to burst. When it does, it will shatter and recast all that is. The universe will shake, and only the strongest and most tenacious will endure. To survive, one must be prepared…or willing to prey on the prepared.

  “How dire that all sounds. But what is it to me beyond a mild diversion?”

  My enemy has intimate connections to this place, to this rift. Madara has long been the seat of his power on this plane. The rift allowed him to return from the brink of the abyss. Since his return he has been busily settling old debts and basking in old glories. He will return here, to the site of his greatest victories and his greatest defeat.

  “Again, Spirit, what is that to me?”

  Only a rare opportunity to best one of the most formidable beings alive. He casually commands forces that would melt most minds in an instant. But not yours. You understand the value and the cost of power. You embrace its risks and rewards. If you are properly prepared when the dragon comes, his might can become yours.

  The hooded man crossed his arms. “Now we come to the heart of the matter. You have come to me to help yourself. No, don’t apologize. I am driven by that very same motivation far too often to judge others for it.”

  I do not apologize, the mask said. And I am beyond your judgment. Your very nature connects us and makes you worthy of my blessings.

  The hooded head shook. “I rarely accept gifts. I have bestowed too many in my time that were unwelcome and poorly received, despite how necessary or appropriate.”

  I offer no trinket, no bauble, but a tool to help you achieve your goals.

  The hood shook again. “And serve yours in the process. I reject your blessings, O Night, as I rejected your claim on my power.”

  My most accomplished acolytes often do.

  The man sniffed loudly, half-amused and half-offended. Had the mask’s frozen lips curled into a sly smile?

  Perhaps you should see what I offer before you refuse it.

  “Perhaps. But not if I see no personal benefit.”

  Then as a prelude to my gift I will give you information—without condition, yours to take or leave as you will. The mask floated forward a few feet, and the voice dropped to a whisper. The dragon acts as if he’s only got a limited time to indulge himself. Even his boasts and taunts betray his belief that the worst is yet to come, that nothing can stop it. I’m sure he means to withdraw from the Multiverse and ride out the coming storm in a safe place of his own devising.

  “Your course seems clear then. Stay out of his way until he leaves.”

  Ah, but I am one of the old debts he’s obsessed with settling. He pursues me even now. If one were to draw his attention here in the meantime, one would find him impatient and distracted, eager to return to the hunt. He might even be careless….

  Before the man could respond, the porcelain mask shimmered in its frame and began to separate. A duplicate of the original face pulled free like a snake shedding its skin and tumbled freely to the ground, where it stuck in the sandy soil with its hollow features facing the hooded man.

  He examined the new mask carefully from where he stood. It was obviously an artifact of great power. It seemed to radiate dark energies from its front face as it drew them in to its inner surface. What would happen, the man wondered, to someone who donned Night’s mask?

  Overhead, still framed by a ring of emaciated hands, Night’s true face began to fade. If you are strong and shrewd, she said, you will use what I have given you. I urge you to consider it, to learn its value and reap its rewards.

  But whether you accept my blessing nor not, I can linger no longer. Farewell.

  The hooded man’s ears pricked up, and he smiled. There was weakness in the mask’s tone, fatigue and distraction. If she were the embodiment of Night itself she did not sound as robust as she had, nor as vast as a primal entity should. Perhaps creating the second mask took more of her strength than she had intended?

  He allowed himself a moment of cruel joy. “Leaving so soon? Was it the journey that exhausted you, O Night, or my company?” He planted his hands on his hips and cocked his head. “Or perhaps the dragon has found you once more?”

  The mask continued to fade for a moment but then snapped back into sharp focus. It hung there silently for several seconds. Then it said, Your reputation is well-earned, Walker of the Night. You have seen what I sought to keep hidden. Yes, the dragon has found me, and I must flee. He has already destroyed my home, driven me out, and set my own acolytes against me. It is not enough, it will never be enough. Not for him. I am beset wherever I go. I am beaten, broken, and in full flight. I would see him killed before he catches me again.

  “And so you want to pull me into your own private disaster so I can fix it for you.”

  I no longer have the power to defeat him.

  “Assuming you ever did.”

  But you do. And I have just given you the means. Take this as truth, just as everything else I have told you is true: I want him dead, or at least diminished. Do this and the mask is but the first of many blessings I will bestow.

  “More of a bargain than a blessing, I’d say. In exchange for the mask I get to use it against the dragon when he comes.”

  Would calling it a bargain satisfy your paranoia?

  “No. But I am far more comfortable with bargains th
an blessings. I accept, O Night. I will do as you have bid me to our mutual benefit.”

  You will do as you please, Leshrac, and it will either benefit me or not. I have no illusions, only faith that you will act according to your nature.

  The man cast back his hood to reveal his sharp, strong features. His skin was the color of ash and lilacs, and his eyes were a uniform, featureless gray without iris or pupil. His jaw tapered to a flat, protruding chin that supported a razor-toothed leer. Blue-black smoke rose from his pate, wreathing his head in an ever-changing mane. Four black coals orbited his skull, and as his eyes widened the coals burst into flame. In seconds the glowing stones formed an angry crown of fire.

  “I still accept your bargain, O Night,” Leshrac said. “But I wonder which will surprise you more: when I succeed where you failed or when I come for you to finish what the dragon began?”

  The spirit of Night faded without reply, her chain of hands flowing into the empty frame and trailing away into nothingness. Leshrac stood smiling on the shores of Madara, his eerie gaze fixed on the white, porcelain mask still stuck in the sand.

  An intriguingly unexpected turn, Leshrac thought. His smile widened, and he extended his hand. The mask pulled free of the sand and pebbles and floated to him, hovering just outside his reach. He would be extremely careful employing Night’s blessing if he employed it at all, after rigorously exploring the artifact for hidden dangers.

  The Walker of the Night chuckled. If the mask proved at all useful, he already had the perfect candidate on whom to test it.

  Jeska hated swamps. She had traveled over half the Multiverse and never found one worth revisiting. They were all cesspools where the reek of rot mingled with the secretions of parasites to form a noxious, bubbling stew of filth. The local wildlife was invariably a desperate collection of gaunt predators who relied on ambush and poison to catch prey that was barely worth the effort.