The Fifth Dawn (29 page)

Glissa shot from the side of the mountain like a goblin flamerocket into the sky. As much time as she’d spent in the air since that night the levelers attacked her home, she still relished the freedom of unfettered flight. It was her only option for reaching Memnarch in time now—Bruenna had warned her the teleportation gemstone was a one-use-only spell, and the elf girl had used it up when she killed Yert. But since they’d found the vampire necromancer so quickly, she still had plenty of time to reach her goal. She wore the Miracore tucked securely under her jerkin.

The flying elf cast her eyes down on the carnage that littered the battlefield. The mountains, flanked on one side by the shrunken Glimmervoid and on the other by the greatly enlarged Mephidross, were surrounded by chaos. Tiny black nim poured out of the mountain like needlebugs, following the orders Bruenna had given them through the Miracore. The nim collided with even smaller goblin and leonin warriors, who cut into the passive zombies with abandon. Great silver beasts chewed through the defenders, but so far the lines were holding—although they were starting to bend at some points. Glissa silently wished them luck.

The elf girl rolled and let her course gradually rise. She couldn’t afford to be delayed by aerophins or vedalken flyers. From this vantage point she could make out thousands of the
construct beasts of every size and horrible shape. They hacked and slashed through goblin, leonin, and nim, leaving bloody body parts littering the field behind them. The giant, globe-headed vedalken that moved among them were unmistakeable even from Glissa’s vantage point. They were no longer holding back, and dozens of vedalken had entered the fray. Others rode hovering flyers, divebombing the defenders of Kark-Home and slicing into goblin, human, and leonin with well-placed bolts of blue energy.

No two constructs looked the same, and many looked big enough to swallow a goblin regiment whole. But those were insects compared to what the defenders had informally dubbed “quake-beasts.” Three of them clung to the sides of Krark-Home. The huge constructs had ovoid bodies with no discernible head, supported by over a dozen radial segmented limbs. The quake-beasts’ claws tore large chunks of raw iron from the side of the mountain as larger grasping legs dug deep into the ore, which gave them the appearance of enormous leechbugs on a mile-high vorrac. At each tapered end of the ovoid a pair of pitted silver hammers pounded the mountain mercilessly, sending tremors into the tunnels below.

An even louder explosion drowned out the din, and Glissa saw a ball of orange flame heading straight for her. She couldn’t tell where it had come from, and didn’t have time to look. The elf girl got out of the way just in time as a massive hunk of molten iron shot past. She turned to follow its trajectory.

The projectile reached its zenith then dropped back down toward the mountain. It struck one of the quake-beasts in the middle of its ovoid body, and both exploded in a conflagration that made Glissa shield her eyes even at that distance. The shock wave from the blast immolated nearby trees and knocked combatants onto the ground.

“What
was
that?” Glissa wondered aloud. She scanned the mountain, trying to spot the source of the huge hunk of molten iron. Had the quakes triggered a volcanic explosion, or had someone been trying to hit her?

Another blast erupted from the mountain, and this time Glissa made sure to backtrack the projectile’s path. The ball of flaming metal had emerged from perfectly round, bowl-shaped cylinder mounted on the side of a cliff, and pointing straight up. This second shot wasn’t as accurate as the first, and slammed into the mountain several hundred feet from the nearest quake-beast and started a small wildfire. She spotted tiny goblin warriors climbing around the side of the cylinder. Glissa wasn’t surprised that the Krark had built such a massive weapon. Slobad would have loved it.

Slobad. Distracted by the battle, she’d forgotten her immediate task. She forced her eyes forward and accelerated as much as her will would allow toward the Tangle. Glissa intended to enter the interior through the newest lacuna, Yshkar’s recommendations be damned.

Another explosion sent a wave of heat washing over Glissa, and she involuntarily glanced down to see what had happened.

One of the quake beasts had stopped pounding on the mountainside and had the bright idea to instead attack the massive goblin cannon. The attack had knocked the weapon’s barrel at an odd angle and it had fired against the side of Krark-Home itself.

“All right,” Glissa said through clenched teeth. “One more delay, and that’s it.”

The elf girl’s nerves almost hummed in the proximity of so many artifact creatures. Glissa didn’t know the limits of her destructive power, or if what she had in mind would exhaust it before the final battle, when she might need it most. At the
moment, she didn’t care. She wheeled in the sky and reached out to touch the Tangle energies. The familiar buzz crackled on her outstretched arms, and she envisioned green fire forcing the massive quake-beasts apart at the seams.

Two rays of blazing jade shot from her clasped hands and struck each gigantic construct squarely in the center of its ovoid body. Glissa willed the power to keep flowing, and the energy obliged, leaping from one quake-beast to another and back again. Finally, they erupted with a pair of successive mushroom explosions that rocked the mountain and sent a visible shock wave of smoke and debris over the battlefield.

The elf girl smelled smoke and realized it was coming from her own body, but she felt no pain. She checked on the Miracore, still tucked safely in her jerkin. The talisman was unharmed—in fact, it was cool to the touch. Glissa was drained and the Tangle energies already felt distant, but it had been worth the effort.

She nearly collided with a tall, familiar humanoid figure covered in mottled silver that rose to block her path. Malil stood astride a larger version of the typical vedalken flyer that bristled with the same iron tubes she’d seen mounted on the noses of aerophins.

“Hello, elf girl,” Malil said. “Having fun?”

“Flare!” Glissa muttered, drawing her sword. She hoped that flight spell wouldn’t give out any time soon.

“No need for that,” Malil replied. “I’m not here to fight.”

“Then why are you here? I’m busy,” Glissa said.

“I just need this,” Malil said, and before Glissa could react, he kicked the flyer into gear and zipped behind her, hooked one finger through the heavy chain supporting the Miracore, and lifted it over her head. Without another word, Malil spun the flyer in mid-air and zoomed off in the direction of the Tangle.

“Flare!”
Glissa cursed.

“Stupid, stupid,
stupid!”
Glissa muttered. No matter how fast she pushed her borrowed flight power, she couldn’t gain on Malil.

The elf girl had dropped her guard, thinking she had the whole sky to herself.

Stupid.

Glissa poured on as much speed as she could, but the tiny silver shape of Malil’s flyer remained as distant as ever. He had been following the ragged line of the Oxidda range for half an hour, and now the Tangle loomed—wild, powerful, and calling to Glissa’s soul like an old friend. An old friend that had undergone a growth spurt in her five-year absence.

The Tangle had not spread, like the Dross, but the diffusion of magic five years ago had led to an explosion of plant life. The oldest trees now rose like sentinels above the canopy, joined in their vigil by several of the omnipresent silver spires that seemed to be everywhere on the surface of Mirrodin.

Malil made a wide turn as he passed a circular break in the forest canopy—a venue into the thick foliage that could only be the lacuna. The metal man was heading straight back to his master with the prize. If Memnarch were to come into possession of the Miracore, what could she do? Though willing to try, Glissa didn’t really think she could take the Guardian in a straight fight, even if he weren’t protected by all the other bizarre constructs she’d seen before. The ones he was obviously still creating at a breakneck pace. Malil looped once and dove straight down into the hole in the side of the world. Glissa followed, closing the distance for the first time since the chase began.

The lacuna was tangled with vines and roots all around the edges, but still provided ample room to maneuver as long as
Glissa stayed clear of the sides. Malil, however, stuck close to lacuna walls, diving around and through the snarl of vegetation. Glissa gained a little more. Why was Malil allowing himself to slow down?

Something flashed far away down the long tunnel, something silver that was out of place in the midst of the vibrant vegetation. As soon as she saw the glint of metal it disappeared.

She must have imagined it. The only silver thing in the lacuna was Malil, and if she didn’t do something soon he was going to get away.

As Malil passed by the spot where Glissa thought she had seen a flash, the foliage exploded. A long-haired figure in tattered black clothing vaulted off the side of the lacuna and caught the metal man in a flying tackle. The blow knocked Malil cleanly from the flyer, which spun out of control, rudderless, and exploded against the inner wall far below. Both figures tumbled into open space, and slowly Malil and Glissa’s mysterious ally dropped downward. The metal man kicked and flailed, but his attacker clutched him around the waist, refusing to let go. Within seconds, she’d caught up to the pair and was able to get a good look at the man in black.

The man in black wasn’t a man at all. He was leonin.

Raksha Golden Cub flashed Glissa a toothy smile. “You’re here! You’re alive!” The leonin let out a long laugh that bordered on maniacal, and added, “I don’t know how much longer I can hold onto this creature! Do something!”

Malil screamed as Glissa raised her sword, but couldn’t get his feet or fists to connect with anything. In one smooth stroke, the elf girl brought her blade down on the metal man’s neck and out the other side. Arterial spray fanned into the air, but subsided within seconds as Malil bled out. Strange, when she’d tried that five years ago, the wound had healed instantly in a
swirl of quicksilver. Flesh had almost consumed the metal man. Glissa slipped the Miracore from Malil’s headless shoulders, then Raksha released the body and gave it a shove. The mottled silver corpse crashed into the spiky vegetation that lined the lacuna, where it hung suspended by thorns and vines.

The elf girl slipped the Miracore over her head then grabbed the leonin under the armpits and gradually slowed their descent. Shifting Raksha in her arms to make sure she wouldn’t drop him, Glissa floated over to the side of the lacuna and felt the odd sideways turn of gravity. She set the leonin down gently amongst the vines and moss. At that exact moment, her flight spell finally gave out.

Glissa fell sideways and flopped onto the greenery next to Raksha, drawing breath and happy to be alive, happier still that she’d found her friend again—and at such an opportune time. The elf girl had grown accustomed to the constant pull of exhaustion, and the opportunity to just lie there was too much to resist. The relief at regaining the Miracore was palpable. Malil’s sudden theft of the talisman had almost looked like the end. Just a few minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt.

Finally, Glissa broke the silence. “So … you’re alive, then?”

Raksha snorted, and burst into that same odd laughter she’d heard before. Apparently, three years in the Tangle had wrought changes in the Golden Cub, both physical and mental. Had the others been right? Had he really gone mad?

The physical changes in the former Kha shocked her. Raksha’s black vorrac-leather tunic and trousers were ragged and ripped. A leonin longknife, the hilt worn smooth from use, was tucked sheathless into a knotted cablevine he wore around his waist. Little of his silver armor remained, but he still wore a chest plate carved with deep gouges, one battered pauldron on his left shoulder, and dented iron bracers that were caked with
rust. Despite the conditions of his garments, Raksha appeared to have stayed in relatively good shape, if a little underfed. That much was obvious from the way he’d tackled Malil.

“Yes, I live. Your eyes are sharp as ever,” Raksha said, his voice a little rougher than Glissa remembered. The elf girl noted the former Kha had also dropped any pretense of his old formal speech pattern. “You came. You finally …” He propped himself up on one elbow and stared at her as if he expected she might dissolve into smoke. The bright golden fur on his chin was flecked with white and silver, and his wiry whiskers were shorn clean on the right side. Three pale, ragged scars ran diagonally from the center of his forehead and down across his eye socket to his left cheek, though his sharp eyes were both intact. His mane had become as wild as Glissa’s own tangled cable hair, but more nappy, snarled with twigs and sticks.

Raksha sniffed the air and flashed the tips of his teeth. “What is that smell?” He followed his nose to Glissa, and peeked over her shoulder.

“Hi there,” Geth’s head said from inside the open pack, and winked.

“You brought the
head?”
Raksha growled in disbelief. “How did it even—”