Gatecrash

The Gruul Clans were usually found huddled in the cracks of civilization. They were a guild with a conspicuous and time-whittled chip on its shoulder, seething from their eviction from a long-extinct wilderness, perennially regarded as brutes and uncivilized throwbacks by the other guilds. The Gruul had come under control on Ravnica long ago, cowed by rules and bounded by fences, just as nature had been. But their memories were long and resilient, and a fire raged in their hearts.

Jace caught up with Ruric Thar and a gang of his Gruul cohorts near the Orzhov guildgate. They were camped in a patch of thicket in a city park in view of Orzhov territory, seemingly about to go on the warpath.

Jace hadn’t seen Ruric Thar lead a war party like this; in fact, Jace had never seen, or for that matter smelled, a Gruul war party at all. Their armor was made from animal hides and bones, and their weaponry was heavy pieces of scavenged city rubbish. Their skin was alive with tattoos, etched with a combination of magic, ink, and, Jace supposed, a considerable amount of pain. Each of them was a hulk of muscle, and Ruric Thar was the largest and mightiest of them all.

Jace figured the direct route was best, and approached the war party. “Hail, Ruric.”

Ruric Thar and the Gruul war party turned to him.

“He’s Ruric,” said the leftmost of the ogre’s two heads, tipping toward the right. “I’m Thar.”

So they used different names for their two heads. Jace thought of them as brothers, in a way, but he supposed that wasn’t accurate. They were the same being from the necks down.

“Both of you, then,” said Jace. “I come to ask for your help. Since you worked for me, you’ve been traveling around the district in a certain way. Following a route. Visiting gates.”

“How you know this?” asked Ruric.

“Are you following a pattern of some kind? Some new information that you might have picked up at our last meeting? I think I may have left something in your mind, and I need it back.”

Thar chuckled, a sound that echoed in the ogre’s chest like a barrel. “Can’t, little mage. Ours now.”

“I’m afraid I need it, and I’m afraid it has to be now. It’s vitally important.”

“Answer’s no,” said Ruric, waving the arm that terminated in a large axe. “Now go. We have crook-priests to smash.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” said Jace.

The Gruul warriors looked at each other, as did the Ruric head and the Thar head.

“All right, then,” said Thar. “You want it, you must take it. Take out your sword.”

Jace spread his palms. “I—what? I have no sword.”

Ruric and Thar nodded understandingly. “Axe, then.”

“What I mean is, I don’t carry weapons.”

“You must have weapon. You are challenger. Challenger has the honor of first hit. Oszika, give him your sword.”

“Isn’t there another way to do this?”

Ruric shook his head. “This is Gruul way.”

A tall female troll presented Jace with the hilt of an enormous, wide-bladed sword. Jace took it, recoiling from the weight of it. He tried to heft the tip of it, and barely managed to pull up the point.

“Swing it,” said Thar.

Jace knew he was far beyond the bounds of his expertise, but he gave the sword a test swing. It was so heavy that he had to use gravity to swing the end of it around, which gave it so much momentum that it nearly spun him around. It took all his body weight to absorb the trajectory of the sword and end his swing.

Ruric spat on the ground in disgust. The Gruul warriors laughed.

“While I’m flattered you want to duel,” said Jace, “I am not going to strike you. I only need a moment to plumb your mind, and I can be on my way.”

The war party laughed again. “Just try it!” one of the warriors shouted.

Thar had the left hand on his chin. “You do spells.”

“Yes,” said Jace. “Spells. Just one spell to scan you two, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Then spells will have to do.” Ruric Thar took the sword back and handed it back to its owner. He squared up opposite Jace and braced for impact. He was empty-handed, but not unarmed: one of his forearms ended at the elbow, and had been fitted with a huge axe.

“As we said, first hit goes to you,” Ruric said. “No death magic, no summoned creatures, no rotting spell. Fire, lightning okay. Hit us.”

This is barbaric, Jace thought. He wasn’t going to attack this ogre with magic, not while he just stood there. That would only invite a counterattack, and would just start a fight, which Jace suspected was exactly what the Gruul ogre wanted. Jace would be agreeing to a fight he couldn’t win. He just wanted to explain himself, but it didn’t look as though things were heading toward a diplomatic resolution.

Plus, there was an even more pressing problem. “I don’t typically use spells that … hit people,” he said.

“Ah,” said Thar, nodding. “Grow claws, slash my face?”

“No, I can’t do that, either.”

“Call down blast of searing light?”

“No.”

“Lift and hurl heavy boulders at great speed?”

“No.”

“Unleash flurry of jagged blades?”

“No …”

“Turn yourself into giant? Shred me with serrated vines and leaves? Sonic scream of rage? What?”