"You want us to land in that tree?" Sisay asked incredulously.

"No," Multani replied. "I want that tree to catch us."

"Catch us? Why would it catch us?"

"Because I'll be in it. Besides, the ship came from that tree."

"What are you talking about?"

"That is the Heart of Yavimaya. From its center came a wedge of wood called the Weatherseed. It was that seed that grew into the hull of this ship."

The human members of the crew only stared in astonishment, unsure what to say.

Multani continued, "Just bring us in a spiraling path across the top layer of foliage. Take us low enough that the hull touches the leaves. I'll take care of the rest."

Even as she angled the ship toward the Heart of Yavimaya, Sisay asked, "Well, Commander, what do you think?"

He shrugged, sighing deeply. "Reckless, yes… Take her in."

Without airfoils, Weatherlight shot like a flaming arrow across the sky. She closed the distance to the Heart of Yavimaya. It grew. Worm holes in the smooth wood swelled into caves and into huge caverns. Bark became a vertical world, with sideways forests of moss. The ship climbed higher, where saprolings covered the upper boughs of the tree. At last, Weatherlight reached the mountainous crown. The air here was cooler, drier than below. Foliage spread in what might have been a mountain meadow above an incredible plunge. The tip of one long branch brushed the ship's keel.

Weatherlight shuddered as Multani went out of her. The hull suddenly rattled. Wind whistled in countless holes. She seemed to be breaking up.

"Spiral inward!" Gerrard ordered. "It'll slow us down."

"It'll tear us apart too," Sisay replied, but followed the order.

Weatherlight banked into a tight turn. A huge bough rose like an arm in front of the ship. Leaves slapped at the prow. Twigs lashed the rails. The bough swayed outward, following the ship's motion. Vines tightened. Weatherlight strained against the dragging weight.

"Cut engines!" Gerrard called.

Immediately, the roar of the power core died away. Weatherlight sloughed forward in a cradle of branches. She sank slowly in green arms and descended amid rustling leaves and crackling twigs.

Heart in his throat, Gerrard breathed a deep, thankful breath. He stood in the traces and lifted a joyous shout. The crew answered. Laughter followed. Relief flooded the deck.

Looking out at the primordial tree, its twisted wood rising to the sky, Gerrard said to himself, "This is a powerful place, a good place. Multani will heal the hull. He'll make it stronger than it ever was."

Slowly, a network of boughs eased Weatherlight down beside a huge arboreal lake in one wide crotch. The ship docked on battered landing spines. She groaned as her riddled bulk settled. At last, Weatherlight was at rest.

Kavu emerged from the undergrowth and formed a solemn circle around the ship. For a moment, Gerrard feared they might attack. Then he saw, on one of their backs, the figure of Multani.

Gerrard smiled to his onetime mentor. Waving, he whispered assurances to himself. "Multani will heal the ship, and we'll fight again at Urborg."

While Multani reworked the hull and Karn reworked the engine, Tahngarth descended from the crowded ship to rework himself. He who had saved a thousand minotaurs was not willing to be among them when they awoke.

Already they were shaking off their stupor. Perhaps Orim's ministrations brought them out. Perhaps it was only the healing magic of minotaur muscle.

The healing magic of minotaur muscle… Tahngarth snorted. He looked at his own twisted form. That magic was gone from him.

At the lake, he dived. He dived deep. He remained down long. The cold water felt good on his tortured flesh. It washed away the dust of Kaldroom, the sweat of Urborg, the stink of every tormented place.

When he rose again toward the surface, his eyes made out a strange assemblage on the shore. He broke from the water. It streamed from his horns and hair.

Before him, all along the bank, stood minotaur warriors. The line of them stretched back to Weatherlight. More warriors poured down the gangplank. All headed toward the water and the single figure bathing there. All looked at Tahngarth, their eyes grave as they traced his deformations.

Gritting his teeth, Tahngarth strode from the lake. He would not turn from them. He would not skulk away. He would walk through their accusing midst, back to his friends. He only hoped the minotaurs would let him pass.

They did not. Shoulder to shoulder they stood.

Tahngarth stopped before them. He returned their stares. Words failed him.

Then the beasts before Tahngarth moved. They dropped to their knees and bowed low. So too did the warriors behind. One by one, the minotaurs of Kaldroom knelt before the noble warrior who had saved them.

At the head of the dragon nations flew Rhammidarigaaz of Shiv and Rith of Yavimaya. She flew in glory, the unquestioned ruler of the serpentine races. At her side, Darigaaz was but a doubtful shadow.

Was he a murderer? Was he a tyrant? Rokun had not been a traitor, not really. He had defied Darigaaz, but before that moment, Darigaaz had suffered defiance. Something had snapped in him. He had killed Rokun and hurled him against the root bulb. He had destroyed the dragon nations' faith and replaced it with fear. He had sacrificed Rokun to gain power.

Fear and power-they were halves of a whole. The more the dragons feared him, the more powerful he became. The more powerful he became, the more he feared himself.

There was but one antidote for fear-rage-and when Darigaaz glimpsed the ruins of New Argive, he had plenty of rage.

Not a building stood. The white glories of the ages were shattered eggshells. Not a soul survived, only bodies- bodies and soulless Phyrexians. Monsters scuttled among smashed walls and collapsed roofs. They feasted on bodies and pillaged metals and burned books. They killed living Argivians and obliterated the knowledge of the dead.

And you wondered why you needed such power, Rith said, speaking directly into his mind. And you wondered why you

needed Primevak. Before he could answer, she tilted in a steep dive.

Darigaaz followed. His wings tucked. He plunged. The ruined city roared up to meet him. The dragon nations stooped into the dive as well. They headed for the central thoroughfare, flooded with Phyrexians. Dragon shadows swept over scaly heads.

Monsters looked up. Into their eyes poured death.

Rith's teeth parted. Green spores roared from her mouth. Where they struck, they rooted and grew. Parasitic plants drank Phyrexian blood. Vines coiled about arms. Tendrils cracked joints. Monsters dropped beneath rampant gardens.

Darigaaz breathed fire-a simpler but no less certain death. Flame bled from him. It baked brains and fried muscle and burned oil.

More attacks poured down on them. White serpents keened a sound that cut like knives, separating flesh from bone. Black dragons belched acidic sludge that ate scale and metal. Blue lizards breathed winds that dashed creatures to cobbles. The dragon nations strafed New Argive like a fivefold plague.

Rhammidarigaaz and dragon lords, come with me, Rith said into the minds of the dragons. The rest of you, fan out and destroy Phyrexians.

Without hesitation, the dragon nations peeled away from the main column. They hurled their killing breath into every alley, every ruin, every plaza.

Darigaaz watched them go, proud of their power.