by Jess Lebow
She stepped behind a vedalken warrior. With all of her strength, she jammed the tip of her blade into the small of his back. The four-armed guard squirmed like a bug on a pin and dropped his sword.
Something hit Bruenna in the back of the head, and she fell forward. The force of the fall pushed her blade deeper into the vedalken’s back, and he let out a gurgling cry.
She was hit again and let go of her sword, her arms flying out in front of her to stop her fall. Turning over onto her back she looked up just as a leveler’s scythe blade descended through the fog and bit into her shoulder.
* * * * *
“Do you have those damn things working together yet?” screamed Glissa.
Slobad, kneeling on the ground near the big pile of disks, waved his hand at her, not bothering to turn.
The sounds of battle were getting louder. Glissa’s nerves were shot. Who knew how many of her friends were dead or dying up there right now. She felt powerless, trapped down here, waiting for Slobad to summon a creature she wasn’t even sure would help her.
“If you don’t hurry, they’re all going to be dead,” she said, pacing around one of the smaller piles.
The goblin stood up and brushed himself off. “Finished.”
The heavy shield Glissa had uncovered lifted itself up. The pile of metal disks that had been covering it cascaded away. Jingling as they hit the others, there were so many of them landing all at the same time, they sounded like a heavy downpour—only all the raindrops were made of metal.
When Glissa had landed in this room, she had thought the floor was not so far below her feet, simply covered in a thin layer of these strange metal disks. She had been wrong. This chamber ran deep.
The elf and the goblin stepped away, pressing their backs against the wall. Gold disks continued to roll from the avatar’s shoulders as it rose and rose.
The disks fell back, filling the empty space in the piled gold. The floor became like quicksand, dissolving underneath their feet, grabbing at their ankles and threatening to pull them down into the crushing pit of gold. Glissa and Slobad struggled to stay on top, almost running in place as the floor sucked them down.
Slobad tripped. Landing flat on his chest, the little goblin slid backward, caught in a roiling current of metal disks.
“Help!” screamed the goblin, trying to swim through the gold.
Glissa dropped to her knees and reached out. “Grab on.” The moment she stopped running, she too got stuck in the wave of gold, and the two of them slipped toward the edge of the empty pit.
Try as they might, they couldn’t stop their descent. The closer they got to the hole the faster they went. Glissa grabbed Slobad’s hand and squeezed it as they slipped off the edge and fell into darkness. The jingling noise grew louder the farther they fell, and gold disks pelted them from all sides, falling into the pit and bouncing off their skulls.
“We’re going to be buried alive,” shouted the elf.
“Not if we die from fall, huh?” Slobad shouted back.
A pale blue-white glow filled the pit. Glissa could see the sides of the hole as the disks sloughed off and fell. Then the glow coalesced into an enormous five-fingered hand and wrapped itself around the falling pair. The gold stopped pelting them, and they stopped falling.
“What the—?” Glissa’s question was cut short when she was tossed against the side of the hand as it lifted her and Slobad back up to the top of the pit.
Up and up they went, then just as suddenly as their fall had been stopped, so did their ascent. The hand opened up, and Glissa looked out over a ghostly white palm.
“Oh.” Slobad’s jaw dropped.
The Kaldra Champion floated before them. Its head, arms, and hands were formed from a glowing, pale blue-white plasma. At first, Glissa thought it was magical energy, but sitting in the middle of its palm, she could feel its substance. It was rubbery and soft, almost like flesh.
Its arms were strong and inscribed with hundreds of tattoos. Some formed rudimentary pictures of animals and monsters. Others appeared to be simple runes—letters or words in an alphabet Glissa did not understand.
Under the great helm its face looked human—only much, much larger, and blue. It had a strong, angular chin that jutted out past the rest of its face, and its eyes were empty white orbs, like those of an old blind man. In its right hand it clutched the sword, whose power Glissa already missed.
“So you’re the Kaldra Champion,” said Glissa looking up into the towering creature’s white orbs.
It nodded.
“Help us save our friends, huh?” asked the goblin.
The Kaldra Champion smiled then nodded.
“Hurry.” Glissa pointed to the hole in the ceiling.
The Kaldra Champion closed his fist around the goblin and the elf and looked up. Glissa could just see between the creature’s fingers as he launched toward the light. The ceiling came up in a blink, and Glissa covered her head.
* * * * *
The floor exploded.
Bits of blackened metal scattered across the room, ricocheting off the levelers and pinning several vedalken to the walls.
A pale blue-white giant shot up and hovered above the broken ground. With a wave of his hand the fog covering the floor completely disappeared, revealing the wounded and dying creatures who had been concealed.
“What in the nine hells is that?” shouted Pontifex.
Malil stood beside him, shaking his head.
The creature opened his palm, and two figures stood up.
Pontifex grabbed the metal man by the arm. “It has the elf girl.”
“I can see that.”
Pontifex turned to find Marek. The leader of his elite guard was squirming on the floor about twenty feet away. He appeared to be in no condition to give orders.
Pontifex shouted at the top of his lungs, “Get the elf girl!”
The vedalken warriors who hadn’t been knocked down by the flying debris immediately disengaged and charged the floating blue creature holding the elf.
“Do you think that’s wise?” asked Malil turning to Pontifex. “I’m not entirely certain we shouldn’t be very afraid of this creature.”
* * * * *
Levelers covered Bosh from head to toe. Vedalken poked at him with their halberds. One group of attackers he could handle, but two … He smashed at them, crushing them between his mighty palms, but there were too many of them.
He was going to die.
Something exploded, and Bosh felt the floor rumble under him. The fog lifted, and he heard someone yell, “Get the elf girl!”
The vedalken turned and ran. The odds had improved.
Rolling over to one side, the half-iron, half-flesh golem pushed himself up onto his elbow. Levelers cascaded from his chest, bouncing as they hit the hard metal floor. Unlatching the compartment on his chest, Bosh flung it open. The big door swung down, creaking on its hinges, and slammed into the ground. Reaching over, the big golem closed the hatch and admired the two smashed leveler carcasses on the floor before him.
Pushing himself onto his feet, Bosh looked down at the little metal constructs before him. With no fog, he could see them all clearly.
“Time to smash.” His deep voice rumbled, and he brought his fist down atop the nearest foe. Bits of broken metal spun off into all directions.
* * * * *
A leveler pinned Bruenna’s shoulder to the ground. The metal burned inside her skin, and she couldn’t move. Worse, she couldn’t even see where the thing was. Lying on the ground, the fog blocked her view of everything except the first few inches of the scythe blade that jutted from her shoulder.
The artifact creature pulled back, yanking the blade from her flesh and disappearing into the fog. A wave of relief rolled over her only to be replaced by a dull throb and panic. It’s preparing to hit me again, she thought. If only she could see it.
The fog swept away from the floor, revealing the entire room—and the leveler about to strike. The killing
device’s blade came whistling through the air, but Bruenna kicked and rolled, throwing herself just barely out of harm’s way. The blade crashed into the ground, sticking into the metal floor, and the human wizard placed her hand on the leveler’s hide.
Bruenna flooded the device with a combination of blue and black mana. Gears ground to a stop, and the beast shook. Smoke seeped from its seams, and the light in its eye sockets grew blindingly bright.
“This is for my shoulder,” she said, and she placed her other hand on the creature as well.
Another spell flooded into the leveler. Metal plates collapsed, crushing the creature’s insides. The artifact shook more violently, shuttered once, then came to rest as the light inside it went out.
* * * * *
The great forest wolf looked out at more than two dozen levelers and vedalken combined. They closed in, fearless but cautious all the same.
Al-Hayat waited, growling at them, watching each inch closer. A vedalken was the first to step too close. In a flash, Al-Hayat bounded forward, closed his powerful jaws around the blue-skinned warrior’s head, then stepped back against the wall.
The vedalken’s body stood upright for a moment longer. Its hands still gripped tightly around its halberd. From the stump of its neck, blue blood rushed over its shoulders, flooding to the ground in pulsing bursts.
The wolf spat out his mouthful. His bite had been so big that he didn’t even break the seal on the vedalken’s helmet—taking the head clean off the neck in a single piece.
The warrior’s body toppled to the floor, and everyone else charged.
Al-Hayat slapped the first leveler away with the flat of his paw. His claws made a grinding sound as they scratched across the creature’s metallic hide, and the artifact creature went flying.
The rest piled on top of the wolf. Levelers and vedalken alike slashed and stabbed the forest beast. Flailing and growling, Al-Hayat tried to beat them back, but it was no use. They were on him, and they cut his flesh from his bones.
With each slash, he howled. With each stab he growled. Finally, covered in his own blood, Al-Hayat’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor. Lying on his side, he snapped at all he could reach with his sharp fangs. Many died, but many more were out of his reach.
Something exploded from the floor. A creature, the likes of which he’d never seen, rose toward the ceiling as if it were the blue moon coming over the plane. Al-Hayat had lived many long years on Mirrodin. He had seen the birth of the blue moon and the black and red ones after that. One day he had hoped to see the green moon shoot from the Tangle and make its place in the heavens, as the others had. The time for that was nearing.
He felt the tip of something sharp pierce his gut, and his whole body shuddered. His energy waned, and his vision narrowed. Looking up at the rising blue column, he saw Glissa standing on the creature’s palm. She looked down on him, caught his eye, and he tried to smile.
“You have done well, Glissa,” he whispered knowing she could not hear him.
He felt more blades enter his flesh, but oddly they did not hurt.
It is my time, he thought and closed his eyes.
* * * * *
Glissa turned, standing on the Kaldra Champion’s palm. There, behind where the throne had been, lay Al-Hayat. He was surrounded by vedalken and levelers. His lip curled, exposing his great fangs, covered in blue blood.
A leveler jabbed its scythe blade into the wolf’s gut.
“No,” shouted the elf.
Al-Hayat lurched once, looked up at her, then closed his eyes and laid his head on the ground.
Glissa pulled her new sword from its scabbard and leaped into the air. The ground was a long way down, but she tucked into a roll as she landed, breaking her fall.
The levelers and vedalken turned away from the fallen beast, converging on the elf.
“You want some?” she shouted at them as they came on. “Come and get it!”
Behind them Al-Hayat jerked once, and a puddle of blood began to form under his limp mouth. Rage bubbled up inside the elf, mixed with grief. From now on, the wolf would be only a memory.
She let the rage fill her. Every cell in her body tingled with hatred, and her eyes were half blind with tears. Finally, she could hold it in no more, and she screamed at the top of her lungs.
The sound echoed off the walls, filling the cavernous space and rocking the ground. Those levelers who were charging toward her exploded. Bits of silver housing and sinew flew in all directions. What had once been a dozen killing devices was reduced to a pile of spare parts in the blink of an eye.
It wasn’t just the levelers. The vedalken’s halberds disintegrated as well. Blades glowing with magical power fell to dust, leaving the four-armed warriors with nothing. They stopped in their tracks, their eyes wide with terror.
Sword in front of her, Glissa sneered. “Who’s next?”
A huge pale blue hand came crashing to the ground on top of the stunned vedalken. Not one had the time nor the speed to move out of the way, and a half-dozen of them were smashed to pulp.
The remaining warriors gathered their wits and ran.
Glissa looked up at the Kaldra Champion. “After them,” she shouted.
The Champion nodded. Setting Slobad to the floor with his other hand, he turned toward the retreating troops and gave chase.
* * * * *
Marek’s whole body throbbed. The icy serum in his helmet was freezing his head. Fortunately, the glass of his facemask was less resilient than his flesh, and it burst out, releasing some of the pressure and sparing him from having his skull crushed like a melon.
Still, the cold stung his skin, and it sent an icy burning down his spine all the way through his hips and into his legs. That wasn’t the most immediate problem. With a block of ice surrounding his head, he couldn’t see or breathe.
Groping around, he tried to find something he could chip away at the ice with. He found nothing and in desperation smashed his head against the floor.
Each time he made contact, the impact raced through the solid ice and vibrated through his skull. At first it hurt, but his head became numb from the cold, and after a few attempts, he couldn’t feel it any more.
His lungs began to burn, and his oxygen-starved body grew weary. Panic raced through his veins, and he smashed his face harder against the ground. Blackness filled his head, and he became dizzy.
Lifting himself to his feet, Marek jumped into the air and kicked his legs up over his head. The commander of the vedalken elite guard threw all he had into this last attempt to free himself, and the top of his head crashed down, the rest of his body behind it. The impact of the blow was enough to put a crack down the middle of the ice, and the block began to give way.
Wheeling back, he felt himself drifting off into unconsciousness as he smashed his head one more time against the ground. The ice broke away, clearing his face, and the dank air of the Dross filled his lungs.
The cloudy blackness in his head receded, and the rest of the world came back to him. The skin on his face felt burnt, and his legs were still numb from the cold running down his spine, but he could breathe, and at the moment that was all he cared about.
He lay facedown on the floor for a long while, only vaguely aware of the goings on around him. Finally, someone rolled him over, and he looked up into the face of Lord Pontifex.
“Marek. You’re alive.”
Marek could only blink and grunt.
Malil came into his view. He tapped Pontifex on the shoulder.
“We should go,” he said.
The vedalken lord looked up at something Marek couldn’t see then nodded.
“Damn. All right.”
Bending down, Pontifex wrapped his arm under Marek’s shoulders and lifted the stunned warrior to his feet.
The chamber spun, and Marek flopped his arm over Lord Pontifex’s shoulder. Looking up, he saw now what had forced the retreat. A huge ghostly blue-white creature was pounding vedalken warriors and
levelers alike to pulp.
Marek rolled his head toward Pontifex. “How will we …” His voice was scratchy and hollow, and it hurt to speak. He cleared his throat. “Find her … again.”
Without looking at Marek, Malil answered his question. “Memnarch will know where she is.”
Pontifex shouldered most of Marek’s weight, and the two of them hobbled from the Vault of Whispers. Malil was close behind.
Glissa knelt next to Al-Hayat.
The great forest beast was dying.
“Can you heal yourself?” asked Glissa.
The wolf smiled then winced in pain. “I have no more magic.”
“What can I do?”
“You can finish what we have started,” replied Al-Hayat. “You can free the rest of Mirrodin.” The wolf lay still. “Rejoice with the coming of the green moon.”
Al-Hayat closed his eyes, and his breath slipped away.
Glissa lay her hand on his fur. Large chunks of it had been cut and torn away during the fight, but she stroked it all the same.
Slobad came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked back and him.
“I could have saved him if I hadn’t fallen into that hole.”
Slobad shook his head. “Crazy elf not fall into hole, we not find giant, huh? We all be dead.”
Glissa took one last look at Al-Hayat then got to her feet. The inner sanctum of Mephidross lay silent. The Kaldra Champion had smashed his way through the ranks of levelers and vedalken and sent them running. It was true, he had saved their lives—most of them anyway. They had won this battle, but it felt more like a defeat than anything else.
Bruenna came over to the pair. “Where to now?”
Without hesitation, Glissa replied, “We have all the pieces. It’s time to meet Memnarch.”
“How do you intend to get there?” asked the wizard.
The elf shrugged. “I don’t … The only way in I know of is through the blue lacuna. Marching back out through the swamp and then into the vedalken fortress again doesn’t sound like such a good idea. I don’t think we’re in much shape to fight another battle just yet. Anybody have any other ideas?” She looked at both Bruenna and Slobad.
“I do,” said Bosh in his rumbling voice. His hands had been bandaged by the last of Bruenna’s wizards, and he stood now looking down on the other three.