“Oh, artificer, sir,” Koth said. “You coming?”
At that moment Venser blinked out of existence to teleport to the bottom of the pit. Shrugging, Koth ran to the hole. The ground shook as the crushers advanced. They were just behind him, by the feel of it. Koth could smell their grim knuckles.
Elspeth was the first one down. Koth looked before he jumped. Darkness. The first crusher stopped and pulled back its huge fist for a punch that would surely have driven Koth back and into the metal wall. He jumped. The cushion of wind at the front of the punch whizzed past his head as he fell down into darkness.
The landing was soft and wet. They lay in the dark, listening to the caterwauling screams echoing from the hole above them. When Elspeth struggled to her feet a voice broke the quiet.
“Be at ease,” the voice said. “We are many and you are few. Do not struggle or we will gut and leave you and the twisted ones will work through your skins. We need you as you need us to leave this dark place.”
“We are not leaving this dark place,” Venser said.
“Oh, you are leaving,” the voice said. “You are coming with us. Furthermore, you will like it very much. We will even take the vulshok, if he will agree not to run away.”
“Show yourselves,” Koth yelled, starting to glow red in the darkness.
“Loud as always,” the voice said.
But many forms started to appear in the darkness at the edge of Koth’s glow. They were of differing heights and sizes, but all carried weapons. There were thirty that Venser counted. An elf with etched copper arms stepped forward, with his bow half drawn and two cocked fingers holding an arrow in place. His skin was greenish, and the smell of him was odd, Venser thought. Perhaps it was the copper growing into his skin. But the elf’s hair, which seemed to be made up of segmented sections of cable or some close substance, was sweat sodden and pulled back. Deep creases surrounded both his eyes and mouth, as if he had frowned for years.
Behind the forms, vast boulders towered.
“Are we saved by the elves?” Koth laughed.
The elf at the front of the group held up one finger. “Not entirely,” he swept his hand back. The outline of a vulshok, with spikes at the shoulders and head, was clearly visible behind him.
“I am Ezuri and you are saved by Mirrodin. It is a place you may remember from the old days,” the elf said.
Koth was quiet.
Venser noticed for the first time that the elves in the group, and the leader in particular, had small circular parts of their arm and leg metal that glowed green.
“What do you seek?” Elspeth said, standing tall and white in the festering filth around her. Her sword was unsheathed and laid across her left arm. Venser was suddenly very glad that she was a part of the group. Koth was seething … getting redder and redder the longer he stood. There would be a fight if the situation continued.
It was the elf who spoke. “We are here to lead you out of this madness,” the elf said, “if you would come.”
Koth brightened. “Yes, please,” he said. Then he seemed to realize that he’d spoken too quickly. “Why are you helping us?”
The elf laughed a high, shrill laugh. “One, maybe two more rooms and you would be as this meat we are standing upon,” he said. He looked down at the rotting flesh. “Some of this is elf. Perhaps some of these elves were from my tribe.” He lifted his foot. “That might even be my wife.”
Nobody spoke. After a moment Venser stepped forward.
“I am Venser of Urborg.”
“It is I, Ezuri,” the elf said. “And these are raiders against the fiends.”
“Ezuri, we thank you for wanting to help us, but we must continue down from here.”
“Why?” the elf said. “We have been tracking you for some time, and at every turn you seem to be uniquely able to choose the most dangerous path, and to take it.”
Venser heard Koth stir next to him. He would hear from the vulshok later how they were not on the correct path, but it was time to make sure that the elf did not impede their progress.
“We search for a friend who was lost here.”
“Who is this friend? I might have seen him.”
“His name is Karn,” Venser said.
Ezuri stared at Venser for what seemed like a full minute. “No, I have not seen anyone by that name.”
“We must find him,” Venser said.
“If he is any deeper than the meat room, you may forget you ever heard his name.”
As if to prove the point, a chorus of gargled bellows cut the stinking air. Ezuri did not move his head, but his large ears pivoted slightly at the sound. His eyes never left Venser’s.
“I cannot let you pass this room,” Ezuri said. “You know this. I cannot let you stir those that tear flesh into a frenzy. We have been pressing them hard and making good progress against them. I cannot let you undo our work.”
“You think you have them on the run?” Koth said. “We were just at the Vault of Whis—”
“And there were some Phyrexians around there,” Venser cut in.
Sensing he was not getting the whole story, Ezuri cut his gaze from Koth to Venser, then after a quick glance at his troops, turned back to Venser before continuing.
“There are small pockets of the enemy there,” Ezuri said. “That is known.”
Elspeth picked up on the tone of the conversation. “Yes, some,” she said.
“But what we saw come out of that mountain …,” Koth began.
“Koth,” Elspeth interrupted. “Would you introduce me to your kin?”
Koth cast an eye at the vulshok standing behind Ezuri. “He is Shield clan.” Then to the vulshok, “Come forward, Shield clan.”
The vulshok stood where he was, and looked to Ezuri. The elf nodded and the vulshok stepped forward.
“Since when do the wrought follow the bidding of those of the forests,” Koth said.
“Since we lost most of our tribe,” the vulshok replied.
“Do you know Ranglif or Nagel?”
The man shook his head.
Venser seemed unconcerned. “You must surely know the Lyser?”
The vulshok nodded once. “He is dead.”
The small smile faded off of Koth’s face. “Is that so?”
“That is so,” the vulshok said. “A battle in the Tangle did him.”
“What was he doing in the Tangle, with the elves?”
Venser watched the vulshok shrug his shoulders. The shoulder shrug must be one of the worst expressions in existence, Venser thought. So meaningless and yet so insolent.
The artificer looked critically at the band of rebels, as Koth argued with the vulshok. They had spread their ranks as Ezuri spoke. They would be hard to flank or evade. Still, if they could get to the other side of that large rock behind Koth, it might be possible to run through the boulder field. With a little luck they might find an exit before Ezuri and his thugs caught up. It was worth trying.
But Ezuri had been watching Venser. When the artificer moved, three of Ezuri’s elves had their bows up and aimed.
“Do not move, friend,” Ezuri said. “You really are going to accompany us.”
Venser took a breath. In his toes and ears he could feel his mana tingling and building. He had enough mana for a very small jump. It could perhaps take him behind the large boulder. But if he made that jump he would be completely without mana and fighting all of them.
“We have watched you disappear,” Ezuri said. “Do not do that here.” To make his point, Ezuri had his archers point arrows at Elspeth.
Venser nodded. “Mirrodin will continue to suffer unless we find this person,” Venser said.
“Then we will suffer,” Ezuri said. “And to be honest with you, Mirrodin’s suffering has allowed me this position of leadership. So, let her suffer more, Mirrodin. I could not have risen as I have without the Phyrexians or the Vanishing.”
“That is blasphemy!” Koth said.
“Oh, hush, Koth, son of Kamath
,” Ezuri said. “We know of you and yours. You have no standing with us. If, indeed, you have any with your own people.”
“Mirrodin will find herself again soon, when all machinery has been cleansed from her face and bowels,” Ezuri said. “Our decline started with vedalken tinkering. If they had left the inner working of Mirrodin a great, natural secret instead of mucking around and making her into a machine.”
Venser yawned. “Mirrodin is metal, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Mirrodin is alive,” Ezuri said, and then a sneer crossed his face. “We have no need of artificers here, my friend. Tinkering has got us to this impasse. Phyrexians are tinkerers.”
“They are not artificers,” Venser said, unconcerned by the red face of the elf. “Artificers create.”
Elspeth, who had been standing a bit back from the rest, stepped forward. She spoke simply, with no expression on her smooth face. “We are here in this place to help, for the good of this plane. If you force my hand, I will be compelled to slay you all. You are not thinking about the good of your plane, about what is good for all. Only for yourselves. So, for you own good, I will be compelled to teach you humility and discipline at the edge of my sword.” She held her sword up, glittering, in the vast room of piled boulders.
All of Ezuri’s force nocked arrows and pointed them at Elspeth. “Suit yourself,” Ezuri said, but his voice betrayed a certain unease.
“This will not go well for you,” Koth said offhandedly.
“What would a coward know?” Ezuri said. “You leave your people alone and undefended. Your home is overrun, rock man. Your people are scattered and they died calling your name, but you were away on your merry travels.”
Koth was instantly bright red. “You might slay me, but I will kill at least three quarters of your numbers. And you first,” he said, pointing at Ezuri.
“Oh really?” Ezuri squinted and spat at the nearest rock. He stepped forward.
“Shall we see?” Koth said.
Elspeth nodded. “Ready.”
Ezuri turned to one of his men and seized his bow. He turned back to Koth and Elspeth.
“Gentlemen!” Venser bellowed. “Wait.” The artificer opened his hand and a bright flash popped. Venser rushed forward and knocked the bow from Ezuri’s numb fingers.
Taken by a sudden terror caused by Venser’s magic, the other rebels turned and ran. Yet Ezuri did not run. He stood looking from Venser to Elspeth. “You will bring the Phyrexians storming up,” Ezuri said.
“That has already come to pass,” Elspeth said. She was gasping between words to keep her battle lust abated. “You should flee to your home and prepare for the worst.”
But the elf did not seem convinced, Venser thought. As long as his hand did not stray to the sword on his belt he would live.
He stared at them a moment longer, before turning on his heel and following the other rebels.
Venser sat down hard on the nearest boulder. All of a sudden, he felt a familiar pinch in his brow. His stomach tightened. His skin began to shiver. He felt like he was succumbing to the onset of a sudden sickness, but he knew he was not. It was a familiar feeling and he knew its cure. He also knew what would happen if he did not cure it within the next hour.
He began patting the many pockets sewn into the leather tunic under his loose-fitting armor. His britches were similarly accoutered and he felt those as well. The vial was in a pocket sewn onto the back of his pants. Koth’s eyes were fixated on Ezuri’s last position. The vulshok was still as red as fire, and grumbling under his breath. Elspeth watched as Venser drew out the vial.
“Leave me,” Venser said. “Let me have my peace.”
“Why?” Elspeth said, forgetting all about Ezuri, who she had only minutes before been willing to kill.
Venser shook his head, his patience waning. His stomach ached and he could feel the mana on his brow bubbling and seething for what he was holding in his hand. As soon as the white warrior left he would be able to …
“You want what’s in that bottle, don’t you?” Elspeth said.
Venser said nothing.
“You should see yourself. Your skin has gone to the color of ash. Have you seen that your left hand is trembling?”
Venser knew that more than his hand would start shaking if he didn’t have what was in the bottle.
“Leave!” Venser yelled suddenly. He did not know he would yell. Yet when he opened his mouth it was indeed a yell that came out. It didn’t stop there. He continued to yell with such force, spittle came out of his mouth. “I will make that metal in your armor writhe like a snake and melt itself through your very flesh.”
Elspeth blinked at his words. “What is in that bottle?” she said.
Venser’s head was suddenly pounding. It always happened so quickly. “I will give you to the count of five before I begin working with your armor. I am an artificer—it is easy for me to talk to the metal in you. One, two, three.”
Elspeth put up her hands and began walking backward. “What will happen to you when you use all that is in that bottle of yours?”
“I will use the next one.” Venser mumbled, working on the cap of the vial.
Keeping their distance, Elspeth and Koth watched as Venser took a sip from the bottle. He tried not to be greedy, but when his need reached the point it was at, it became difficult to keep composed. One sip was enough. He felt the raw mana course through him and his senses tightened and then bloomed and he could feel the energy of the metal of that place pumping all around him. He felt as if the power in him was circling his head and tapering up toward the sky.
“I feel better now,” Venser said.
Elspeth raised one of her eyebrows.
Venser put the small vial back in its pocket. He patted it and pulled a deep breath.
“What is that fluid?” Koth said.
“It’s a personal concoction,” Venser said.
Koth nodded.
“It contains the extract of the sap of a corkscrew tree from the plane of Zendikar,” Venser said. “Plus minerals rendered from certain material pulled from a disintegration hollow I know of in Dominaria, and something from Mirrodin, as a matter of fact.”
“Yes?”
“Moth extract, it is called.”
Koth’s mouth tightened. “Blinkmoths. There not many of those left on Mirrodin anymore. They were harvested to decimation, I have heard. But who knows these things—all I’ve heard are old stories. Rumors.”
“Of what?”
“Of the vedalken, the indigo experimenters, who became obsessed with that fluid, and the power they believed it brought. They still exist deep in the Lumingrid where the Knowledge Pool ripples. But they delved too deep, the myths say. This was so long ago. I would not ever touch what is in the blinkmoth.”
“You are not me,” Venser said, patting the vial through his armor.
“Clearly.”
To the center of Mirrodin, down holes riven through solid metal, along runways both twisted and forgotten, moved Geth—commander of the Vault of Whispers. He scuttled in his bulky exoskeleton of barbed alloy, ducking low-hanging veinlike tubes that had torn free from the wall and hung varicose in the dim passage.
Geth’s skull, surrounded up to his ears with a body that glinted and grew, turned neither right nor left. He knew the way to the throne room.
He imagined what he would report when questioned about the weekly progress. All fairly routine, a similar meeting to many of the others: good progress, pockets of resistance that will shortly be absorbed. Issues with furnace-level discipline, suggest harsh punishment. No significant problems encountered. Geth felt his mouth grin, a feeling that was becoming more and more difficult as his Phyrexian transformation continued. Skin is the thing he lacked. The skin that was left on his face was hard to move, leaving him with a permanent expression of stretched rage. He shrugged. It had always been his favorite expression anyway. It was what he’d become, and he was great.
Glissa the meddler would be th
ere, asking him questions that she already knew the answers to, testing him. Imagine that he, the Lord of the Vault, would be weak to the words of the likes of her. A former elf. It was she who told him to find a solution to the problem they were having fully assimilating the red ones. Him? What control did he have over how phyresis overtook, or didn’t, as the case was? Why didn’t she turn her dripping eyes and ask the tinkers, the cutters in their halls of blood and blades? She was always consulting with them anyway. Ask them.
He was Geth—Lord of the Vault. His job was to bleed Mirrodin until she was pale and then fill her full of the black oil. Make her one of the chosen.
And his job was almost complete.
He neared the final passage, never his favorite. He struggled between the wet tube works, the barbs from his new body catching on stringy parts and stopping him until he found the part caught and freed his body. It smelled like emptied bowels. Glissa had designed the passage, he was sure. She had made it just for him. She made it impossible for him to arrive clean, without being covered in recyclate and stinking like a festering corpse.
Whereas Glissa was always clean and shining when Geth arrived, and that day was no exception. Geth was sure she had a special passage all to her own.
He entered the hall and fell to one knee and bowed to the nascent Father of Machines on his throne. Glissa was in her usual place at the base of the high throne, and Geth did not look at her.
“Ah,” Glissa said, projecting her voice so the golem would be sure to hear, if he was listening, which Geth doubted. “Our lord of the Vault has arrived.” She clearly hated him at least as much as he hated her.
“I am here to give successful tidings,” Geth said.
The chancellor minion scurried over to him, tink-tink-tinking the metal floor with its claws. The creature’s robe was still rotting off its miserable little body, Geth saw. The hood it wore was still low over its eyes, showing only its stubby, cleaverlike teeth. A book was clutched in its metal claws.
“Maybe, Lord, you are not familiar with the time The Father of Machines called this meeting?” It said, opening the book and moving one fingertip down the page.
Scars of Mirrodin: The Quest for Karn Page 8