J. King - INVASION

Except that Llanowar had a spirit of its own. Reserved, refined, reticent, the soul of Llanowar stared at Multani through the leaves.

Forgive me this intrusion, honored Molimo - Why come you here, Multani of Yavimaya? – came a thought that was as much accusation as question.

Circling through the bark of one great forest giant, Multani could sense the angry heat in the heartwood. I come to see this man, this Eladamri.

As with all outsiders, he is nothing, came the reply.

He is nothing, but Gaea makes something of him, said Multani. I come at her bidding. It was only a slight exaggeration.

At the name of Gaea, a troubled rumble came to the great mind of Molimo. Freyalise rules Llanowar, not Gaea

– Gaea rules all Dominaria, even if your elves do not know it, Multani replied. Freyalise is no goddess . She is but a planes

– Be quick, then, Multani! See what you must. Do what you must, and leave.

Yes, Molimo. As you bid.

Smiling inwardly, Multani continued on his way. Molimo would suffer his presence now because he had no other choice. He would suffer it later when fiends started falling from the sky.

In the time it had taken Multani to skip across the ocean, Eladamri and his entourage had nearly reached the treetops. There was no missing the path he had taken. Every fox shied from the trail of the throng; every coney poked its wondering head out at them. Eladamri marched forward in the company of Steel Leaf warriors and their sleek, shouldering hounds.

Even now, they ascended to the palace of King Fhedusil.

Multani coiled up through vast vines, some as fat as trees elsewhere. He surged to the high court of the Staprion Elfhame.

It was a glorious palace of white wood, grown through complex magics out of the crown of a quosumic tree. The tree's boughs spread wide, an enormous hand holding aloft the palace. Foliage rioted across woodland murals and up tall towers with roofs of living thatch. Green pennants snapped among the leaves. Wide courtyards, hanging gardens, blooming bowers-it was a beautiful court in the treetops. Yavimaya had no such magically constructed halls. An elf from Multani's homeland might have thought it all pretentious, though today it seemed only wonderful.

Multani seeped out into the quosumic's leaves and saw it all.

Eladamri stepped beneath a gate of twining vines and out into the main courtyard. To his right hand walked Takara. Her eyes were hard beneath her shock of red hair.

To his left hand strode Liin Sivi, gripping the toten-vec at her waist. All around them marched tattooed warriors. They walked with him as though they were his bodyguards. Their bright-dyed hair made savage gardens around Eladamri. He progressed up the winding way toward the high court.

The doors of the high hall swung wide. More guards, King Fhedusil's elite, stood aside to let the visitors through.

Multani withdrew from the leaves, slid into the living thatch on the roof of the grand palace, and peered down.

The high court within was opulent in shaped wood, inset with gold and silver. At its far end, atop a red rug and backed by a wall of glass, stood a huge black throne. There sat King Fhedusil. Ancient but powerful, the chief had white hair that spiked within his crown. His limbs were thin and long, with the same sinewy strength of tree roots. Across one gnarled knuckle he wore a ring of Staprion nobility.

King Fhedusil gazed, patiently amused, at the man who had been called the Seed of Freyalise.

Eladamri entered the throne room. Takara and Liin Sivi accompanied him, as did a score of Steel Leaf warriors. The rest kept the throng back behind a wall of pikes.

Eladamri approached the king's dais. He motioned for Takara and Liin Sivi to remain behind. They complied, in their own turn holding back their elf escorts. Alone, Eladamri strode to a dense rug of red and blue before the throne. He knelt there in front of Fhedusil.

"I have come to serve you, Majesty."

A querulous look filled the face of the Staprion king. "From all I have heard, I thought you would expect me to bow to you."

Eladamri raised his eyes and stared levelly at the ruler. "I expect nothing of any of you except that you fight when the fiends fall from the sky."

Smiling ironically, the ancient elf sighed. "Ah, yes, the prophecies-"

"They are not prophecies. They are only reports. I am not a prophet, only a man who has seen the armies that are coming. In my former world, I united three tribes and led them in revolt against these Phyrexian killers. Here, I do not wish to lead anyone, only to provide what help I may against a common foe."

"Really?" the king responded. "And what sort of help could you be?"

"I can tell you how they will fight. I can tell you that only warriors must remain above. The rest must abandon this palace. It and all other great structures in the canopy will be attacked first."

Multani was impressed. Perhaps Eladamri was not as pure as the elves dreamed him to be, but he was honest and bold.

"Abandon the palace?" echoed the king incredulously. "All go below?"

"Yes. I will stay here with your warriors, but you and the others must go below to survive," Eladamri responded.

King Fhedusil nodded once last. Then he stood. With a simple gesture, he sent his own guard from beside his chair to lay hold of Eladamri. Simultaneously, guards seized Liin Sivi and Takara. The throng beyond the high court fell to a shocked silence.

Into that hush, the king spoke. "It is a black hour for our world, yes, Eladamri. But blacker still when a man who has a sliver of foreknowledge uses it to rise to the top of a nation. To use a piece of gossip to become a false prophet-"

"I have never claimed to be a prophet," objected Eladamri as he struggled against his captors.

"Perhaps not a prophet, but a war-profiteer," snapped the chief. "You are not the Seed of Freyalise, as has been said of you."

"I dispute none of this," Eladamri pleaded. "I am a warrior, pure and simple. I have been dreamed by these people into something I am not."

Suddenly, Multani understood. The people of Llanowar needed a leader, and King Fhedusil, for all his age and wisdom, would not be sufficient to the task. Gaea had found a man, a sufficient man, and was dreaming him into divinity.

"We are done dreaming," the king insisted. "We are done listening to idle foolery. We will not abandon our palaces in the sky. ‘The kingdom of Hell is at hand!’ you say. We will not follow you!"

Multani saw it before anyone else. He saw it in the multitudinous vision of the living thatch. Portals opened above Llanowar. Thousands of small portals. Through them dropped tens of thousands of plague bombs.

Sliding down from the thatch into a great branch in one corner of the high court, Multani took form. Leafy brows and bristly lips, twiggy hair and spore-filled eyes- Multani charged into the midst of the assemblage.

"I am Multani of Yavimaya. Listen to this man! Even now, portals open overhead. Fiends are falling from the skies!"

"Guards! Arrest this apparition!" the chief shouted, finger jutting out toward Multani. "Take them to the stockade!"

"We must go below," Eladamri and Multani chorused. Guards dragged at them.

Something tore through the thatch above. Glimpsed in a flurry of straw, it seemed a small meteor, though it was a constructed thing-a spherical machine. The plague bomb smashed down. It cracked the hardwood floor as though it were an eggshell. The bomb struck King Fhedusil, slaying him instantly. It hit the far wall and bashed its way into the king's chambers. A moment of silent terror followed. Then from the hole in the wall, white clouds of plague spores spewed outward.