The Darksteel Eye (18 page)

As he pushed his way through his troops to where the captives were being held, Marek ran through his options. If he did what he’d been told, gave the order and executed the elf girl, he’d be acting in direct opposition to the wishes of the Guardian. True, he’d never met the being Pontifex referred to as his god. But he had seen Panopticon, and he felt certain there was someone powerful inside. He had seen enough evidence, and he
didn’t doubt the consequences of crossing such a creature. To make matters worse, Marek had a healthy suspicion that the Guardian could see almost everything that took place on Mirrodin. And though Pontifex had given the order to terminate the elf girl’s life, it would be Marek who would do the dirty work—something the captain of the elite guardsmen felt certain would not go unnoticed.

On the other hand, Pontifex would certainly punish him for disobeying his orders. His life would be forfeit, and the best he could hope for would be to desert and try to find another place to live. This thought almost made the warrior laugh. Who would have him? The human wizards? Not likely. He’d been responsible for enslaving and oppressing too many of them. He doubted they would greet him with open arm. No, that way too led to death.

He stood now over the prone elf girl. Marek had seen her before, but never up so close. She seemed so frail now, held helplessly to the ground. He leaned down and looked her in the eye. Despite her disadvantage, she looked defiantly back at him, a fire in her eyes. Her determination and conviction in the face of certain death unnerved the warrior. How strange, he thought, that even at the end, pinned to the ground and held by two lasso halberds, she could muster enough courage to frighten him. Would he go the same way?

“Who are you?” asked the elf.

Marek unhooked a one-handed axe that had been strapped tightly to his thigh. Its sharpened head reflected a riot of colors. “Who I am is unimportant,” he said. “All you need to know is that I’m here to kill you.”

“Rather unsporting of you,” the elf spat. “Killing an unarmed elf held to the ground by a pair of your henchmen.”

Marek nodded. “I agree,” he said, “but you were hard to catch. I’ve had enough of sport.” The vedalken captain of the
guard lifted his axe in the air. “Goodbye,” he said, and he brought the axe down with all his might.

Even as the blade whistled toward the ground, the elf maintained eye contact with him. The closer her death came, the more determined and confident she looked. Finally, Marek couldn’t take it, and he closed his eyes. His axe connected, and a heavy ringing sound echoed out, followed by the general cacophony of battle and the telltale clang of weapons crashing.

That wasn’t right.

Marek opened his eyes. Standing before him, her sword hooked under the blade of his axe, stood the human wizard woman—Bruenna.

“Hello, Marek,” she said.

*  *  *  *  *

Glissa stared up at the vedalken warrior with the axe. She hated this man. She had never before met him, but right now he represented everything that was wrong in the whole world, and she wanted him dead.

His blade descended on her. She was defenseless; all she could do was watch and hope that her hatred was enough to strike him down.

The air before her face began to waver and something materialized, blocking her view of the vedalken. The axe crashed into the object and was turned aside. Glissa twisted to see Bruenna standing over her. A sudden rush of relief filled her whole body, and the elf laughed nervously. She might live to strike down the vedalken after all.

Then the brief euphoria over being saved suddenly gave way to fear. Watching her friends be captured and held down like animals had so infuriated her that she hadn’t had time to be scared.

Now, however, she was terrified.

The sounds of battle filled her ears, and Glissa felt the vedalken holding her to the ground release their grip. Rolling up to her feet, she wriggled free of the two lassos. All around, they were surrounded by human wizards. Bruenna’s tribe had appeared as if from nowhere, and they fought now with the vedalken warriors.

Glissa scrambled to her sword, still lying on the ground where she had dropped it, and she crossed to Al-Hayat. With two quick slashes, the wolf was free. Turning, Glissa narrowly missed being decapitated by a flying halberd. Blocking the attack with some difficulty, the elf managed to scramble in under the reach of the long weapon. The shaft struck her shoulder, and it stung, but the blade waved harmlessly in the air behind her. Bringing the point of her sword up before her, she jammed it home, puncturing the vedalken’s gut. The blade slid cleanly through, popping out the other side, and the warrior went slack.

Glissa had to place her boot on the vedalken’s chest to get enough leverage to pull her blade free. The Sword of Kaldra came out with a sloshing sound, and the elf whipped it sideways, tossing the blood from the steel. Then she turned to free the goblin and the golem.

She was too late.

The vedalken were outnumbered two to one by the humans—and they fled toward their gliders. Bosh was now pushing the remnants of the net off of his head as he bent down to pick up Slobad, who, though the warriors holding him prisoner had fled, was still lying flat on his stomach.

The first of the gliders launched into the air, accompanied by the same hollow whistling sound they had made on their way down. Only now the whistle grew higher in pitch, rising to an ear-piercing hiss as it rose out of reach.

One by one the vedalken jumped into the air, flying off in defeat, only half as many as they were when they arrived. The humans let out a collective whoop, giving up pursuit and circling back to tend to the wounded.

*  *  *  *  *

Marek saw the humans materialize, and he was grateful. He could back out gracefully, claim defeat and still keep his life. He wondered if the wizard woman Bruenna would understand if he told her how glad he was to see her. Probably not. Marek understood it only because life had always seemed to deal him contradictory roles, and he’d had to make the best of each of them. This situation was no different from many he’d encountered, though he would have been lying to himself if he didn’t admit that that was a very close call, so close that it continued to unnerve him as he ordered the retreat. Had he been less distracted, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Fewer of his good warriors would had died had they fallen back immediately. As soon as the humans arrived, the battle was lost. As much as knowing how to be a warrior, a commander needed to also know when to fall back—live to fight another day.

Pontifex had taught him that, a long time ago. Recently, it seemed he’d forgotten many of his own lessons. Perhaps the pressures of capturing this elf had taken their toll on him. Marek wasn’t certain what it was, but something had changed in the man—and not for the better.

Marek’s wandering thoughts stopped as he fell back to Pontifex and Orland.

“My lord,” he said. “The humans are too strong. We must leave now and catch them again when we are at the advantage.”

“He’s right,” agreed Orland. “It’s time to go.” The councilor
sprinted to his glider, putting it on with the panicked speed of a desperate man.

Pontifex just stood there, squeezing his fists and grinding his teeth. Finally, he nodded. “We will finish this later,” he said, and he slipped the backpack of his glider over his arms.

Marek followed suit, lifting his wings into place then turning to face the humans. He would wait until Pontifex and Orland were safely off the ground before taking off himself.

That was close, he thought, as he listened to the thumping of his heart inside his chest. Too close.

*  *  *  *  *

“Where did
you
come from, huh?” Slobad asked Bruenna.

The goblin had looted one of the vedalken warriors for his halberd. The long spear towered over Slobad’s squat little frame, making the weapon look even longer and more fearsome. Bosh lifted him off the ground and placed him on his shoulder.

Bruenna smiled. “We’ve been tracking Pontifex since he left Lumengrid,” she explained. “We knew he’d come after you sooner or later, so we followed him. I’m just sorry we weren’t here quicker. Those gliders are fast. Our flight spells are not quite so agile as their artifacts.”

“Slobad didn’t see you, huh? How come you not make us all invisible when we go to Lumengrid, huh?” said the goblin.

“It was a potion left to me by my father, one I’ve been saving for an emergency.” Bruenna shrugged. “This felt like one of those times.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you arrived when you did, or we would have all been goners,” said Glissa. Grabbing Bruenna’s hand, she gave it a tight squeeze and looked down at the wizard’s once injured leg. “You’re all healed.”

Bruenna followed Glissa’s eyes and nodded. “Not entirely,” she said, limping a little on her leg, “but enough.” She smiled. “I told you we would provide aid when the time was right.”

“Yes. You are true to your word.” Glissa cocked her head and looked the human over once from head to toe. “We are truly grateful.” She paused. “But I have another favor to ask.”

Bruenna nodded. “The only true harm is in not asking,” she replied.

Glissa was glad to hear those words. “Would you come with us to Mephidross?”

The sound of that name brought the collected group of human wizards to silence.

“The Dross?” asked Bruenna. “Why would you want to go there?”

Glissa lifted her blade. “To complete the Kaldra Champion.” She looked out at everyone standing there in the middle of the razor grass plains. The strange light from the convergent moons painted them in a ruddy orange-brown. “So that we can raise an ally strong enough to defeat Memnarch.”

The humans looked dubious.

“So you can exact your revenge for your parents’ death?” asked Bruenna.

“No.” Glissa shook her head. “So we can all be free of
him
once and for all.”

“I don’t know.” Bruenna looked over her shoulder. “The village will be unprotected. There will be retribution from the vedalken for this.”

Glissa nodded. “You have already chosen to take your stand. Now the only question is, are you going to accept the consequences, or are you going to continue to fight for what you believe in?”

Bruenna turned back, the heavy burden of leadership plain on her face.

“You can’t go back to being a slave,” said Glissa. “We can finish this now. For all time. For all of us.”

Bruenna looked at her warriors once again. Glissa could see the looks in the eyes of her human wizards. Many of them nodded to their leader.

Bruenna turned back to the elf. “Very well,” she said. “I will follow you to Mephidross.”

Memnarch strapped himself into his infusion device and watched the red pinpricks of light float over his body. Funneling the mana, the magical process commenced. His skin flushed, and he felt the familiar fire as the serum burned away the ignorance from his body. The fires he felt would purify him, make him stronger, so that he might be a better servant to his master.

His head buzzed with the pain, and his eyes filled with tears. The light pulsing in from the mana core coalesced as it always did with the first infusion of the morning, and there, arrayed before the guardian of Mirrodin was a vision of the creator himself—Karn.

“Master, you have come.”

The vision did not say a word. It wavered in the middle of Memnarch’s laboratory, drifting above the floor as if it were a ghost of the liquid metal planeswalker.

“Memnarch has been so lonely—and afraid. It has been so long since your last visit. Memnarch fears you will never return. This place, this plane you created, is beautiful and wondrous. You have truly provided anything a guardian could desire.” Memnarch dropped his head. “Except companions. Memnarch had to bring them here himself. All the creatures, except Memnarch himself of course, every one of them was
brought here by my soul traps. At first, Memnarch only wanted subjects to experiment with. He wanted to see what made them tick.

“But now Memnarch knows why they work. He has observed their habits, catalogued them all. And he cannot say that the work has been unrewarding. Those who seek knowledge find solace in discovery.”

Memnarch stared at the vision. “Though the experiments continue, Memnarch still lacks a companion,” he continued his conversation with Karn. “Memnarch has even tried to make the creatures here understand him. The one called Pontifex has been to see Memnarch many times. Many times. If Memnarch wished it, this one would stay here in Panopticon, would stay with Memnarch forever. But that is not what Memnarch wants.

“These creatures, they do not understand. They do not have the capacity for emotion.” Memnarch looked up to where the eyes should be in the ghostly image before him. “They are instinctual and predatory, but that is all. They tear each other apart so that they may simply survive another day. Oh, they fooled Memnarch for some time. The systems and rituals they have created seem sophisticated, very sophisticated indeed. But upon further study these things—these complex systems that Memnarch has watched, has hoped would show an understanding, a level of higher intelligence and emotion—have proven just the opposite.