by Jess Lebow
The warrior collapsed, dropping to his knees. Glissa was yanked forward, and she watched the ground come up toward her face. This is it, she thought.
Something grabbed hold of her left foot, still lifted high in the air, and she was tugged back. She watched two halberd blades and a heavy wire loop strike the ground. The enchanted weapons cut into the metal plates of the plain, leaving huge gouges beside the dying vedalken—right where she would have been lying facedown.
Coming to ground on both feet, Glissa turned back to see her savior—Slobad. His bony hands were wrapped around her ankle, but he lost his grip and fell backward from the force of his tugging her free of the dying vedalken. She wanted to thank him, but there wasn’t time. More warriors pressed in.
* * * * *
Marek came to ground right beside Pontifex. His two dozen glider pilots landed closer to the melee. The elite guard commander shucked his glider wings and crossed to the two vedalken Synod members.
“Councilor,” he said to Orland, bowing his head slightly. He turned to Pontifex. “My lord, we were to pin them between the two groups. I fear I have failed you.”
Pontifex shook the comment off. “Nonsense. You flushed them right into our hands.”
Marek nodded.
Pontifex looked over his bodyguard’s shoulder at the fighting. The elf and her companions were still backed up against the razor grass field, but the vedalken warriors had made little progress in capturing Glissa.
Pontifex gripped his sword tightly.
Marek took another shallow bow. “I bid you farewell,” he said. “I will capture the elf and bring her to you.” The warrior turned on his heels and marched toward the battle.
“Kill her,” said Pontifex, his teeth clenched.
Marek stopped in his tracks.
Orland turned to the vedalken lord, a look of utter astonishment on his face. “Kill her? You can’t be serious?”
Pontifex grabbed Orland by the collar of his robes, forcing the gangly politician’s visor up against his own. “Quite.”
Marek stepped closer. “Are we not to return the elf girl to Memnarch?” He paused. “My lord?” he added late.
Pontifex glared into Orland’s eyes. Not letting the councilor loose, he spoke to Marek. “Plans have changed,” he said. “The Guardian no longer wants her.”
Orland shifted his eyes. Pontifex followed his gaze to Marek. “He’s not going to help you,” he shouted at his captive.
“I am not your enemy, Lord Pontifex,” claimed the councilor. “Please, let me go.”
Marek stood watching the scene. Pontifex could see him from the corner of his eye. “What are you waiting for, Marek?” he said. “Go kill the elf girl.”
Marek nodded. “As you wish, my lord.” This time he was more forthwith with the title. “But I would not be doing my duty to you if I did not ask you to reconsider.”
Orland squirmed in Pontifex’s grip. The vedalken lord, using his superior height, lifted the councilor up off of his footing, forcing the politician to stand on his toes or be strangled by his own robe, now bunching around his neck.
“Thank you, Marek, but no little elf is going to get between me and the Guardian of Mirrodin.” He shook Orland. “Neither is an elected Synod councilor.” He finally took his eyes off of Orland, loosening his grip on the man’s robe and letting him get his feet back under him. “Kill her.”
Marek didn’t even blink before he turned and sprinted toward the melee. Pontifex watched him as he rallied his men and headed off, following his orders to the letter.
“He’s good, Marek is,” he said to Orland, who was now trying to sooth his damaged throat. “Very good.”
Blood covered the plain. Nearly a dozen vedalken lay dead or dying on the ground—half the number who had swooped from the sky to press Glissa, Slobad, Bosh, and Al-Hayat back against the razor grass field.
Glissa herself had received nasty cuts on her cheeks and one across her breast. They stung and bled, but they weren’t painful enough to distract her, so she ignored them. Slobad was the same. He’d taken a thump to the head, but that was about it, as the small goblin did his best to stay away from the sharp ends.
Al-Hayat, on the other hand, was bleeding from the nose and throat. The wolf fought on, grabbing away halberds with his teeth, chewing soldiers to bits, bowling warriors over where he had the chance. He stood at the front of the foursome, growling and pushing his fur out to make himself look even bigger than he already did.
Lunging forward and snapping his teeth closed, the great forest creature reached out and caught another one between his wicked fangs. The vedalken gurgled out a cry, and the wolf began shaking the blue-skinned creature from side to side. Blood sloshed in a fan-shaped wave out across the other warriors, and the guardsman let out a scream more desperate and frightened than any Glissa had ever heard.
Al-Hayat stopped shaking, and the vedalken hung limply from his teeth, unmoving, no longer screaming.
Then the next wave of glider pilots arrived. Glissa had seen them land, had felt their shadow cross over the battle, bringing with it a deep pit that sank to the bottom of her stomach. But now they were here, pressing into the fight from the back of the vedalken line.
The four-armed warriors were pushed forward, right into Al-Hayat. The wolf bit the head off of one warrior, but the crush of blue-skinned bodies was just too great, and the forest beast had to retreat.
The warriors continued on, running into Glissa next. Despite her quick blade, she wasn’t as fast as Al-Hayat, and she too had to take steps back. Her heel came up against the sharp stalks at the base of the razor grass, and without looking behind her, she knew she’d run out of room. There, at the foot of the iron golem, standing beside the bloodied wolf and the bruised goblin, she made her final stand.
“Any ideas?” she shouted above the sound of metal on metal.
“I could stomp through the razor grass,” said Bosh.
Glissa glanced up. The golem was covered in blood, which blended into the color of his partially rusted hide in the strange light.
“No,” she said, “we’d get killed faster that way. How about you?” she asked Al-Hayat. “Got any magic that can get us out of this?”
The wolf snarled. “Not in this particular predicament—”
The great forest beast’s words were cut short when one of the vedalken warriors managed to wrap the looped wire from his containment halberd around the wolf’s neck. Al-Hayat struggled, lifting the warrior on the other end off of his feet. The wolf nearly got loose, but three more vedalken came to their comrade’s aid, and the lasso tightened. With great difficulty, the four warriors pulled the wolf to his knees, his snout to the ground.
Glissa took a step forward, hoping to free her friend. A loud pop echoed off of the razor grass, and she had to dodge out of the way as a metallic web unfolded over her head. Someone from the back of the vedalken line had fired a net, shaped like a spider’s web. The ends were weighted, and when it unfurled, it formed a glistening metallic dome that settled over Bosh, Slobad, and Glissa.
Her back against razor grass, the only place to go was toward the vedalken. Glissa stepped out from under the net, barely missing being entangled, but Bosh and Slobad were not so lucky, and the iron golem was trapped, the goblin between his feet.
With a desperate hack, Glissa swung at the still crowding warriors. They were packed so close together it was difficult for them to move, and the elf’s blade slashed right through two clear visors, releasing a flood of serum onto the hot ground.
The move had bought her a few precious seconds, and she cashed them in now. Turning around, she brought her Sword of Kaldra down on the webbing holding the golem. The blade slipped swiftly through the woven metallic fibers, cutting a gash in the net the height of an elf.
Slobad saw the webbing separate, and he made a dash for the opening.
“Hurry,” shouted Glissa, then she turned.
A thick wire dropped down over her shoulders, and Glis
sa felt her arms get pinned to her sides. The force of the lasso closing around her knocked the wind from her lungs. She let out a scream and dropped her sword.
Another lasso closed around her neck, and Glissa was pulled forward onto her belly, face down on the hot plain. Twisting to her side, she looked up at her friends.
Al-Hayat was pinned to the ground by a gang of vedalken warriors. Bosh struggled with the net, but it too was controlled by the glider pilots, and despite his great strength and obvious size advantage, the iron golem had nowhere to move. Worse, Glissa could see that the vedalken had pulled the net so tightly around Bosh, it was digging into his fleshy shoulders, cutting large gashes and causing him to bleed.
Slobad had managed to make it out the hole Glissa had put in the net, but he’d been caught and was held face down on the ground by two warriors—the pointy ends of their halberds firmly against his back.
“What do you want from me?” Glissa shouted. Held to the ground as she was, she couldn’t see her captors.
No one replied.
* * * * *
Marek watched his troops capture the elf girl. In the face of heavy losses, they had done a fine job showing restraint. It would have been much easier to kill them all. Before the mission had begun they had been given strict orders to keep her alive. Only Marek knew of Pontifex’s change of plan. It would be up to him to carry out the new orders.
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 hi
m. 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.”