The Darksteel Eye (14 page)

“So the mycosynth are killing Mirrodin?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“What does this have to do with the elf girl?”

“She has something we need. Something inside her,” explained Memnarch. “We must have it.”

“What does the elf girl have, my lord?”

“A piece of divinity,” said Memnarch, not looking away from the window. “A gateway to another plane of existence. Memnarch wishes to cross over, to acquire this gateway.”

“You wish to procreate with her, my lord?”

“No, Pontifex,” scolded the Guardian. “We wish to make her part of our being. To use her to become more.”

The vedalken’s jaw dropped. “Please, my lord, I beg you. Take me.”

“What?” Memnarch turned to glare at Pontifex.

Pontifex dropped to his knees. “Please. You must. I will do anything. I will sacrifice myself and all of the vedalken on
Mirrodin if that is what it takes.” He grasped at his god’s crablike legs. “I am ready. My Guardian. Use me. Make me part of your being.”

Memnarch stepped back, and Pontifex fell forward, landing on his belly without the Guardian’s limb for support.

The Guardian looked down with a disgusted look on his face. “For all that you vedalkens cherish knowledge,” he said, “you have such a limited understanding of how things work.”

Pontifex let his forehead rest on the ground. His world was crumbling. First the Synod and now his god had lost faith in him.

Glissa was surprised by the speed at which the leveler made it through the trees. The heavy underbrush was making it difficult for her to run. She very nearly fell flat on her face a number of times. It seemed ages since she’d been on a hunting party.

Even with her rusty recollection of how to move through the Tangle, she kept up a good pace. How then could this leveler outpace her?

Deeper and deeper into the mass of metal trees they flew. As the canopy grew thicker, Glissa had been forced to let Bosh fall behind. He could take care of himself. Slobad was a different matter.

For the past several minutes, Glissa had been steadily losing ground, relying on long clearings to give her a glimpse of where the metallic beast was heading. Here, though, near the deep center of the forest, such clearings were few and far between. The elf wondered if she’d lost the trail.

Leaping over a stump and ducking around a tangled bramble of razor vines, Glissa stopped to listen. Closing her eyes, she slowly isolated all the sounds around her, tuning them out one by one as she had done while hunting with the other elves. The sounds of wind and rustling foliage went first. Then the scampering of vermin and small game. With an
uncanny accuracy, Glissa pinpointed two larger creatures within just a few yards from where she was standing. From what she could tell, one was a vorac, walking on three legs with a limp. The other—

Glissa’s eyes popped open. “A wolf.”

Gripping the hilt of her sword, she slowly turned to stare into a pair of brilliant yellow eyes, slit down the center by brown, almond-shaped pupils. The creature took two casual steps toward her, coming up within an arm length.

Glissa looked up at the beast. The bottom of its jaw started where the top of her head left off. Its shoulders, neck, and legs were covered in dappled brown and gray fur. Its face and shins were much like her own, covered in tarnished metal that ended in spikes, several of them broken or worn completely to a nub. Patches of pink skin showed through bare spots and along what Glissa assumed were the remnants of old, healed wounds. Four very large, very sharp tusks jutted from the creature’s mouth, each tipped in silvery metal.

“Looking for something?” asked the wolf.

Glissa was amazed. “Who are you? What do you want? You talk?”

The wolf began to circle the elf, still keeping an eye on her as it moved. “Yes,” it said. “So do you.”

“I’m an elf,” replied Glissa. “You’re a … a—”

“A wolf.” The creature completed her sentence.

“My father used to tell me tales about wolves, but I’ve never seen one. At least, not until now.” She followed the creature around as it circled, keeping her shoulders squared to the beast. “Are you real?”

The wolf chuckled. “Yes. Very much so.”

“I thought wolves were just made-up creatures. Things parents told their children about to keep them good.”

“Well,” observed the creature calmly, “either you’re having some sort of hallucination, or I’m really here.”

“Did Memnarch send you?”

“Who?” The wolf continued to pace.

“Or the vedalken?” Glissa gripped her sword, ready for a fight. “Did Pontifex order you to kill me?”

“No one orders me to do anything.”

Glissa narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have time for this. If you’re going to try to kill me, get on with it.”

The wolf cocked its head. “I haven’t decided yet if you deserve to die or not.”

Glissa drew her blade from its sheath. “That doesn’t help me.”

“I don’t suspect it would.” The wolf stopped its pacing. “Why are you here?”

Glissa’s fear and awe of the mythical creature standing before her gave way to another kind of terror. “Slobad! I’m trying to find my friend. A goblin who was abducted by a leveler.”

“A leveler? You couldn’t catch a leveler this deep in the Tangle?”

Glissa scowled. “Listen, I don’t have time to discuss with you the finer points of forest tracking.” She held out her sword. “If you’ve seen him, now’s your chance to tell me.”

The wolf stepped back in surprise. “Are you threatening me?”

“Only if you’re threatening me.”

The wolf tilted its chin, looking across its long nose at Glissa. “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Al-Hayat.” The wolf made a shallow bow with its front legs.

Glissa stared. “Al-Hayat. That was the name my father used to give to the leader of the wolves. You
can’t
be …” She shook herself. “My name is—”

“Glissa. Yes, I am aware of who you are.”

“Look, Al-Hayat, if that’s really your name, if you know where my friend is, then please tell me. If I don’t get to him soon, he’ll likely be dead.”

The wolf nodded. “You know not how true are your words.” Al-Hayat pointed toward a mound of tangled brambles around a fallen tree. “The goblin has been buried. He is under that stump.”

*  *  *  *  *

Memnarch unhooked himself once again from his infusion device. Serum flowed freely through his body, and he was at peace again. This was the third time he’d taken the serum on this day.

The Guardian crossed to where his scrying pool had been. The events in the recent past had spurred him to improve upon his viewing techniques. One pool would not be enough to keep track of the comings and goings of all the players.

So far, everything was on track, but he needed to collect more data, so he had recently installed this new device—the Eye.

Constructed from a magical alloy called Darksteel, the Eye was nearly indestructible. The device was the most technologically advanced and magically sensitive creation Memnarch had ever produced. Because of the impervious nature of Darksteel, it had to be created and forged in the very same moment. Once the metal solidified and the magical spell that fused the molecules together subsided, Darksteel was harder than anything in existence. It couldn’t be cut, carved, etched, melted, or even scratched. Consequently, Memnarch had found only limited uses for it, though weapons and armor for his servants could be forged from it.

The Eye was the most complex item Memnarch had ever created from Darksteel. It had taken him several long moon cycles just put together the frame.

In appearance, the Eye was very much like his scrying pool, but it provided six times the viewing pleasure. What was the sense of having six enhanced eyes if he couldn’t use them all at the same time?

On the outside, the Eye looked like two three-sided pyramids fused together to form a dark, towering, elongated diamond. One side lay open, providing Memnarch access. But once inside, the door closed, and each of the six surfaces lit up with a magical spell, allowing Memnarch to see into even the remote corners of Mirrodin—all at once.

In the center of the Eye, a console rose from the floor which allowed Memnarch to adjust what he saw. Each of the mirrors was tuned to the eyes of a particular creature on the surface, or sometimes in the interior, of Mirrodin. By attuning his mind to the Eye, Memnarch could see different parts of the plane, viewing things through different servants’ eyes. Though he had six mirrors, he had many more eyes with which to see.

One of those mirrors was connected permanently to Malil. What the metal man experienced, so too did his creator. Memnarch looked into that mirror now.

“He has become more cunning,” said the Guardian. “More violent too. Memnarch thinks he must be fighting the serum. A natural reaction. You remember when we first tried the serum. Yes, yes you do. Memnarch never fought the new power. Memnarch surrendered.” The Guardian scanned his attention across the other mirrors. “He will learn to embrace the gift, or it will destroy him. We shall see.”

Four of the remaining five mirrors showed him images of the razor grass planes, the swamps of Mephidross, the mountains in the
Oxidda Chain, and the Tangle. The pictures darted and moved, projected back to Panopticon through the eyes of the myr, humanoid creatures with birdlike heads and well-articulated limbs. Some of them were made of precious metals—gold, silver, and platinum. Others were made from iron, lead, or even nickel, but all of them were developed by Memnarch solely for the purpose of providing him with the tools to observe his grand experiment. They were programmed to watch, and they did their jobs well.

The last mirror showed the placid Quicksilver Sea rolling gently around the mushroom-shaped fortress of the vedalken—Lumengrid. Memnarch passed over this image. In time, the fortress would play an important role in his plan. For now, though, his attention was focused on the Tangle.

*  *  *  *  *

“What!” Glissa ran in a circle around the fallen tree, trying to look for any indication of fresh digging. “How could he be buried under that stump?”

Al-Hayat explained. “He wasn’t abducted by a leveler, as you thought. He was carried off by a beetle who plans to use his soft flesh to feed its offspring.”

Glissa’s heart leaped. That’s why she’d lost sight of him. He was underground, but how long could he survive down there?

Sure enough, as she came around the back side of the brambles, she saw a large pile of freshly disturbed ground. Metal shavings and big chunks of heavy minerals had been discretely piled up behind the stump.

The elf dropped to her knees, but razor sharp vines hung over the pile, making it impossible for her to reach it without cutting herself to ribbons. Standing back up, she lifted her sword and hacked down on the vines.

Sharpened brambles parted before her blade, but when she pulled back for another swing, they popped back into shape. Her blade could hold them down or cut off little shreds, but it would never be able to clear them all away. Her weapon was useless.

A heavy pounding shook the ground. From around a tall tree stepped the iron golem, Bosh.

A glimmer of hope entered the elf. “Help, Bosh, quick,” shouted Glissa. “Slobad’s trapped under this stump.”

Without a word the golem took hold of the entire pile of debris, lifting free not only the fallen tree but the brambles as well.

Glissa dropped once again to the ground and began digging away the piled-up earth. The metal shavings cut the fleshy parts of her hands, but she frantically pawed at the ground. Though she pushed and pulled with every ounce of strength she had, the pile remained nearly the same size. She wasn’t even making a dent.

“Bosh, help,” she shouted. “He’s going to die if he doesn’t get some air.”

A large furry paw came from nowhere, knocking Glissa to one side.

“What the—” The elf looked up at Al-Hayat.

“Leave this to me,” he said, and the wolf began to dig.

Glissa got to her feet and dusted herself off. The wolf dug swiftly into the mound of loose earth, tossing it away many times faster than the elf ever could have hoped to. Al-Hayat stuck his great snout into the hole and pulled it back out—Slobad’s limp body dangling between his front teeth. The goblin was covered in scrapes and bruises.

Once again, Glissa’s heart dropped. “Is he—?”

The wolf lowered the goblin to the ground, and Glissa rushed to his side. Placing her hand along his neck, she felt for a pulse.

“He is still breathing,” said the wolf.

Glissa nodded. “He’s alive, but just barely.” She turned to Al-Hayat. “Can you help him?”

“Me? What makes you think a wolf can cure a dying goblin?”

Glissa turned her attention to Slobad’s unconscious body. “Until only a minute ago, I thought wolves were just stories.” She shrugged. “If you’re a make-believe creature, who says you can’t heal a goblin?” She shook her head. “Now I really do sound like a crazy elf.”

The wolf gave a throaty chuckle.

“You’re right.”

Stepping over both the kneeling elf and the prone goblin, Al-Hayat pushed his muzzle into Slobad’s belly. The great beast growled, a deep, resonant sound that shook the ground and the goblin.