Planeswalker (Magic: The Gathering: Artifacts Cycle, Book II)
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The war between Urza and Mishra is over. Brooding on the death of his brother at the hands of extraplanar forces, Urza drifts among the planes.
But the end of the Brother's War has transformed him into something greater. Deep within his heart, a spark has been kindled to a flame that cannot be quenched.
Urza has become a planeswalker.
about this from the moment Urza started talking about exposing the sleepers with the Glimmer Moon! So, why, exactly, put shatter spiders on the altar?” “Because the Book won’t be there when the altar’s destroyed. I figured it would shame the Shratta, whatever’s left of them and I wanted the Shratta shamed at the same time the Red-Stripes were exposed. I didn’t expect Red-Stripes to be leading the procession.” He cocked his head toward the temple where what he’d described was happening: the same
across the fire. “What do you think?” He had Mishra’s quick wit and perception. “The Phyrexians are back, Rat, and they’re not slow or stupid. They’re right here in Efuan Pincar. I could smell them in Medran. Urza’s got the power to fight them, but he won’t do anything until he’s settled his guilt with Mishra.” Rat swore and stared at the stars. “These Phyrexians … Tucktah and Garve?” “No, not them. They were with the Red-Stripes. I smelled them.” He swore a second time. “I’d’ve been better
limp arms and legs began to tremble. Xantcha’s breath caught in her throat. She’d never believed that Urza was cruel, merely careless. He’d lived so long in his own mad isolation that he’d forgotten the frailties of ordinary flesh, especially of flesh more ordinary than that of a Phyrexian newt. She was certain that once Urza noticed what was he was doing, he’d relent. He could heal as readily as he harmed. But Urza didn’t notice what he was doing to the youth she’d brought from Efuan Pincar.
impressions in her skin and after a handful of failed naps, she started walking again. If walking and fitful napping were a day, then Xantcha walked for three days before she came upon a familiar stranger waiting beside a weathered rock. Even remembering that she, herself, had been one of several thousand identical newts, Xantcha was sure it was the same stranger. The rock was the same, and a wake of broken grass began nearby. The stranger had moved. She was sitting rather than standing, and
Glimmer Moon goes high, it tugs the charged end of the crystal, which stands up in the drop of water, and my little spider makes the noise that affected Xantcha, but not you or I. It is as good as an arrow!” “But just a bit more complicated,” Ratepe warned. “Geometry, brother,” Urza laughed. “Astronomy. Mathematics. You never liked mathematics! Never learned to think in numbers. I have done all the calculations.” He gestured at the writing-covered walls. Xantcha had pulled herself to her feet.