The Darksteel Eye (27 page)

She was greeted by the back of a tall, bright metal throne sitting on a multitiered dais. The walls of the chamber were of a dark, etched metal that looked as if it had been eaten away at by acid—or something worse. Stepping out from behind the throne, Glissa spotted a pair of exceptionally tall double doors. They were closed at the moment, and they glowed around the edges with a magical red light.

“I’ve been here before,” she said.

The others filed from the tunnel. Slobad stepped up beside the elf, sticking close.

Glissa walked up the dais to touch the cushion on the seat of the throne. “We’re in the Vault of Whispers. This is Geth’s chamber.”

The double doors swung open. A rush of fog flooded in, spreading out over the floor like a wave, filling up the room from corner to corner.

Behind the fog, a pale, human-looking man stepped into the room. His bald head shone under the warm lights. A strip of metal ran over his forehead and down the back of his neck, disappearing into the folds of his gray robe.

“So nice to see you again, young Glissa,” said the man as he entered. “You really shouldn’t drop in so unexpectedly.”

Glissa pulled her sword from its sheath. “Hello, Geth. I hope that our visit this time won’t be as unpleasant for you as our last.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” replied Geth, moving around the wall, getting deeper into the chamber without getting any closer to Glissa. “I quite enjoyed our last visit.”

Glissa watched the strange, gaunt man as he circled in the room. “Yeah, I’ll bet,” she said. “So tell me, how’s your vampire?”

Geth visibly bristled. “Fine. Fine.”

Bruenna and her wizards had entered the room. They stood against the wall opposite Geth.

“And Yert?”

Geth frowned. “I’m afraid Yert is no longer with us.”

Glissa stepped down from the dais. “What did you do to him?”

Geth continued around the wall but stopped when he saw Al-Hayat come out from behind the throne. The leader of the Vault held up his hands. “Nothing. I swear.”

“Then where is he?”

Geth eyed Al-Hayat one more time, then Bosh stepped out beside the wolf. He glanced from the pair back to the human wizards then panned over to Glissa. “He met with a tragic accident.”

“Accident?”

Geth nodded. “Turns out he wasn’t much of a handler after all.” He held his hands out wide and shrugged. “I gave him a new reaper as you requested, but the poor man got caught within its grasp only a few hours after you left here.”

Glissa felt the bile inside her rise to the surface. “If you—” She took a menacing step forward, but Geth held out his finger, waving it side to side.

“You didn’t come here to check on Yert, young Glissa. So why don’t you tell me what it is you require, and perhaps we can speed your visit here.”

Glissa stopped, but she gripped the hilt of her sword tightly
in both hands. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself. “All right, Geth.” She held up her hand, showing him the ring the troll had given her. “I need the last piece to the Kaldra Guardian.”

Geth took a step back. “My, my. That’s no small request.”

Glissa narrowed her eyes. “What is it you’re angling for, Geth?”

The pale man smiled. “Angling for? There is nothing that you have that I desire. Besides, I do believe I owe you for sparing the life of my vampire.”

The elf cocked her head to one side. Geth seemed entirely too happy to see her and even more happy to be helpful. “This isn’t right,” she said. “What is it that’s amusing you so much?”

“Amusing me?” Geth’s smile widened. “I’m just enjoying the irony of this. The last time you were here, you stormed in, cut the arm from my vampire, demanded that I tell you who was ransoming your life, then absconded with my vial of serum.” He held his hand up to his face, trying to hide the smile behind, but it was no use. He began to laugh. “Now you need my help. Isn’t that grand?”

“Yes, grand, Geth.” Glissa was growing impatient. “So tell me where the last piece is, or this time it won’t be your vampire who loses a limb.”

Geth tried to swallow his laughter, but he couldn’t. He held his finger in the air and began taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself.

“Don’t you see the beauty in all of this? It’s like the cycle of life. First you are nothing. Then you’re born. You live your life, and then you die.” Geth rubbed his hands together. “If you’re lucky, you end up here in the Dross, continuing to be productive in the unlife. If you’re not, then that’s it. You’re nothing again.”

A chill ran down Glissa’s spine. This was not right. Looking
back, she could tell Bruenna and her wizards were feeling the same thing. On the other side of the throne, Al-Hayat too was uncomfortable, shifting his gaze side to side, keeping himself hunched and ready to pounce.

Beside her, Slobad crouched near the ground. He looked tired, almost distracted. The plunge into the lake must have taken more out of him this time.

Only Bosh seemed unfazed by the strange situation. Then again, Bosh’s expression was always stoic, neither happy nor sad.

“All right, Geth,” said Glissa, raising her sword again and taking two large steps toward the pale man. “You can laugh about this all you want when we’re gone.”

Geth pressed himself tight up against the wall, his eyes bulging.

Glissa moved in closer, letting the tip of her blade hover just below his throat. “Tell me where the last piece is.”

“What makes you think I’ll just hand it over?”

“Only this.” Glissa whipped the tip of her blade across the gaunt man’s cheek, drawing a thick line of red blood.

Geth squealed and pulled his hands up, covering the fresh wound. The look of horror and betrayal on his face was plain.

“I spared your life once, but at the moment I’m not in such a generous mood.” She looked down at herself, covered in muck. “I’ve been through too much, haven’t slept or eaten, and I don’t trust you.” On this last word she shoved the tip of her blade again at Geth, punctuating her point.

“Okay. Okay.” Geth held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll show you.”

The ruler of the Vault placed his fingers to his lips and let out a high-pitched whistle. The acid-etched walls of his chamber tipped forward, as if an invisible giant had been holding them up and now had let go.

Glissa grabbed Geth by the collar of his robe and pulled him back, out from under the falling wall. As she pulled back the lord of the Vault slipped from her grasp and disappeared in the swirling fog.

As the walls collapsed in, everyone else charged toward the center of the room, pilling onto the dais. There was barely enough space, and Bosh was forced to climb on top of the throne.

With everyone collected safely from the way in the center of the room, the walls fell with a tremendous clang, pushing before them a gust of wind. The fog that had blown in with Geth was pushed back into the air, and the companions were surrounded by a dense ring of opaque whiteness.

“What have you done, Geth?” she shouted out into the gloom.

The leader of the vault cackled, his voice coming from farther away than Glissa had expected. “Only completed the circle.”

Everyone stood on guard, straining to see. The fog began to settle again, slowly drooping to the floor. As it descended, objects began to take shape. Tall and narrow, they looked at first like human-sized statues. The fog clung to them as it fell, making the figures seem to rise up from the floor.

Then one of them moved.

“Hello, elf,” said a voice that sounded muted and far away, as if it were underwater.

Bruenna raised her hands. Magical energies playing between them. “Vedalken.”

*  *  *  *  *

Pontifex watched the walls to Geth’s chamber fall. A thick fog lifted into the air, obscuring his view.

“Marek, are your troops in place?”

“Yes, my lord,” replied the head of the guard. He held a glowing halberd in the crook of one arm, and in his other hands he gripped an old-fashioned trident.

“Excellent.” He rubbed two of his four hands together. “Now we wait and see if our friend Geth has come through.”

As the walls settled fully to the ground with a loud clap, an island rose from the fog in the center of what used to be Geth’s private chamber. Clinging to that island like a pile of rats atop a sinking ship were the elf and her companions.

“Hello, elf,” said Lord Pontifex. He took a step forward.

Atop the island, a pair of hands cloaked in magical energies rose into the air. Pontifex heard someone say, “Vedalken,” then a jagged bolt of blue lightning shot out and enveloped a warrior standing next to him.

He turned to give Marek the order to charge, but his bodyguard and commander of the vedalken guards had already moved in.

Though most of the fog had cleared, it still clung to the floor, obscuring from view the bottom half of the onrushing warriors. They held their charged lances high above them as they ran. The glowing heads lit up the shifting white cloud below, washing out every color in the spectrum and replacing it with a pale blue.

In the next second, Pontifex’s warriors tore into the huddling mass in the middle of the room. Metal clashed against metal. The sounds of flesh tearing and bones breaking drifted over the fog like a lilting horn. The flash of blue-headed halberds cast exotic shadows on the white cloud, and Pontifex came one step closer to acquiring his prize.

*  *  *  *  *

“It’s a trap,” shouted Glissa, steeling herself for the charge.

Bruenna had already reacted, sending a jagged shot of power out into the foggy distance.

What had appeared to be statues were vedalken warriors. The fog obscured most of their bodies, but Glissa could clearly see the glowing heads of their magically tipped halberds. They seemed to float on the cloud, casting a pale blue glow as they came. It was a strangely calming color.

The warriors were upon them, and Glissa had no more time to ponder the beauty of the killing blades.

Magic arced out from the dais, crashing into the oncoming warriors. Several fell, but the rest came on, and Glissa launched herself forward, her blade biting into vedalken flesh.

The fog on the floor swirled up and around the combatants. Blades clashed, and sparks flew. Spells were cast, and warriors were frozen in place. Nowhere on the dais was safe from the assault, and in seconds the entire group was surrounded.

Glissa’s blade sang as it cut the thick, dank air. With one swing she cut cleanly through the shaft of a vedalken halberd. With the next she cut down the warrior holding the two halves.

Standing where she was, she couldn’t see the rest of her friends. Occasionally she would catch a glimpse of blue magic flying toward the vedalken warriors, or hear Al-Hayat growl. Even if she had time to turn and check on Slobad or Bosh, she doubted she’d be able to see them through all the fog.

Kicking aside the dying warrior before her, the elf turned to the next vague figure looming in the wispy white cloud.

The head of his charged halberd came into view, and Glissa sped up her swing, barely able to block the attack before it smashed into her shoulder. Spinning away, she came around onto the balls of her feet.

The head of the halberd came at her again, but this time she
was prepared, and she batted it away with ease—but a sharp pain blossomed on her thigh. The halberd blade had been a feint. Looking down, Glissa saw the head of a trident pull back into the obscurity of the fog.

Drawing air through her clenched teeth, Glissa took a step back, the stinging burn of her fresh wound causing her to limp. The trident had punched three deep holes in her leg, and they wept blood. The entire left side of her body was beginning to ache. She couldn’t fight like this. She needed to heal herself.

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked for some help—there was none in sight, only a swirling cloud of white and jags of blue magic. Her only chance was to try to duck back into the fog, hide herself long enough to heal her leg.

Just as this thought flashed through her head, the warrior she’d been fighting stepped out of the fog—the vedalken Bruenna had called Marek. He held a glowing halberd in one hand and a short, sharp trident in the other. The tips of the trident were shiny, and though the blue glow of the vedalken’s lance was washing out the color, Glissa knew it was her blood tipping the tines.

Marek wasted no time, bringing his halberd down in a chopping blow. Glissa batted it away, but her injured leg slowed her. Pain flared again in her thigh, and she watched the vedalken pull his trident, for the second time, from her wounded leg.

Dropping to the ground, she pressed her back against the floor. The thick fog swirled up, concealing her from view. Pressing her sword tightly against her body, Glissa rolled to her right, hoping to mask her whereabouts.

The sounds of battle filled the air above her, and a heavy boot pounded the floor right beside her head. He’s found me, she thought. A chill ran up her spine, and panic flooded her veins. She had failed.

Then the warrior who belonged to the boot moved on, and Glissa breathed a quick sigh of relief. Dropping her sword, the elf placed both of her hand on her injured left thigh. Even placing light pressure on the skin made the wound throb more, and Glissa winced. Taking a deep breath, she clamed her thoughts and drew in mana. Like the spell she had cast beside the underground lake, this one only needed a small amount of the energies of the Tangle. The rest she could improvise.

Feeling the spell fully powered, Glissa pushed the arcane magic from her finger tips, flooding the healing warmth into her thigh. The pain subsided immediately, and Glissa closed her eyes, lost in the brief moment of painless bliss.

Cold, sharpened steel pressed tightly against her throat.

“I suggest you surrender,” said a far-away, watery voice.

Glissa opened her eyes and looked up at an image of herself reflected in the shiny surface of Marek’s facemask.