Jess Lebow - The Darksteel Eye

“Let’s go then!” shouted Glissa.

Bosh grabbed Slobad and deposited him once again on his shoulders, then the group was off. Glissa rode Al-Hayat, and Slobad held onto the iron golem’s collar for dear life. They skirted the edge of the razor grass field, galloping at full speed.

Bosh’s huge metal feet pounded out a drum beat as he ran. Al-Hayat moved silently, with a fluid grace of an organic creature. Glissa squeezed the great forest beast with her knees and clutched handfuls of fur, trying to stay on his back. They narrowly outpaced the metal golem, running beside the small patch of razor grass.

Looking up into the sky, Glissa’s heart plunged into her stomach. “They’re coming right for us.”

The first few strides had moved them past the splinter group of gliders, but the other half had seen them try to run. They dived now to intercept. A deep, hollow whistle followed, louder the closer they came.

“They’re going to ram us,” she shouted.

Al-Hayat planted his front feet and came to a sudden, abrupt halt. Glissa couldn’t squeeze hard enough with her knees, and her rear end lifted off the creature’s back. If not for the solid grip she had on his hair, she would have been tossed right over.

Bosh came stomping up right beside.

“Why are we stopping?”

Glissa watched the gliders getting closer. They were almost on top of the foursome. There was nowhere to go. In seconds they would be smashed into the ground or pushed into the razor grass and cut to bits.

“For this,” said the wolf. Al-Hayat closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

To Glissa it felt as if the wolf were vibrating. She couldn’t hear what he said, but she could feel every syllable. Looking into the sky, she could see the gliders, make out their construction, recognize every detail on the warriors’ faces. She drew her sword.

“I won’t die like this,” she shouted, and she lifted her blade into the air.

Al-Hayat stopped his rumbling and opened his eyes. A swirling green ball of energy shot out from the wolf, striking the razor grass field. Like the magic he used to cure the goblin, the spell settled onto the metal foliage in a puddle nearly as large as the creature who cast it, soaking into the ground as if it were water.

The whistling noise the gliders put off grew to a horrific screech, and the vedalken guiding them pulled back, bringing forward charged lances with glowing blue heads. The gliders cast their shadow over the group, blotting out the converging moons. The magical blades swung down on Glissa, Al-Hayat, Bosh and Slobad.

The patch of razor grass touched by the wolf’s spell grew up to meet the vedalken’s halberds. The sharp blades climbed high over the travelers, reaching farther in the air than the elf’s extended blade, overtopping even the iron golem. Glissa felt a warm splash as three of the glider pilots were skewered by the still-growing grass. She ducked her head, shielding herself from anything that might fall from the sky, and hoping that Al-Hayat’s magic wouldn’t let any of the gliders get through.

Gurgling screams and cries of pain filled the air, as the three front glider pilots were smashed from behind by their comrades, forcing them deeper onto the reaching spikes. The misfortune of the vanguard saved the rest of the flight from certain death, and the remaining pilots pulled up, landing on the plain before the foursome.

The companions wasted no time, engaging the pilots as they unhooked themselves from their artifact wings. Glissa slipped sideways off of Al-Hayat, charging out from under the growing razor grass to slash a vedalken warrior across the gut while his arms were still enmeshed in his backpack.

The wolf followed, snapping up a blue-skinned, four-armed warrior in his mouth and champing down, making the vedalken look like nothing more than a tasty snack. The warrior’s powered lance gleamed brightly, falling from its wielder’s hands as he was summarily devoured by the wolf. Its bright blue beam mixed with the colors of Mirrodin’s many moons as it reflected off the plain, turning the swirling brown light into something closer to purple.

The sound of metal clashing on metal rose over the plains. Bosh and Slobad came out from under the razor grass. The iron golem pounded a pilot into a pile of broken glider, flesh, and bones, which sizzled on the hot hexagonal plates. The goblin stayed near the golem, taunting the vedalken into attacking, then letting the big metal man do all the work.

For having been backed into a corner, thought Glissa, the opening few moments of this battle were going quite well.

Another heavy shadow passed over the winged warriors, momentarily blocking out the mixed colors of the overhead moons. The temporary shade was accompanied by a deep, hollow whistle.

The second group of gliders had arrived.

* * * * *

Pontifex landed on the plain behind his elite guards. This was preposterous. Three glider pilots killed by a patch of razor grass. Razor grass! Had none of these trained soldiers grown up on Mirrodin? What child didn’t know enough not to get caught up in those killing blades?

The vedalken lord shrugged his glider from his shoulders and unhooked his sword from his hip. Unlike most conventional blades, Pontifex’s was less like a sword and more like a kris-knife. The sharpened length jutted out from a straight, leather-wrapped hilt, but from there it began to curve. The blade formed an S, as if it were a slithering snake, finally ending in a deadly jagged head.

Next to him, Councilor Orland was having trouble unfastening his glider from his shoulders. The clod had obviously never been in battle before, living a soft life inside Lumengrid. Pontifex thought briefly about stabbing the man in the gut, right here on the open plain, while his arms were tangled. But he stayed his own hand. The time would come when he could do that in a much more private setting. Judging from Orland’s twisting and wrenching display as he tried to free himself from the glider, it wouldn’t be too hard to kill the bumbling politician even if his hands were free.

Marek and his group of gliders would land and join the fight in moments. The two dozen pilots Pontifex had come to ground with were circling the elf girl and her comrades, but their numbers had dwindled. Already six were down, including the three who had been killed by the growing razor grass. The vedalken lord didn’t want to have to wade in himself, but if it came to that, he would. Nothing was going to stop him from getting that elf.

Somehow that girl had tarnished his image as a leader of his people. She had stormed through their fortress, committed the sacrilege of swimming in the Pool of Knowledge, and escaped without punishment.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Somehow that bitch had managed to get between him and his god, had managed to make him insignificant in the eyes of the Guardian. For that she must die.

* * * * *

Glissa fought for her life.

The vedalken carried halberds-long thick blades attached to even longer poles, so that a warrior could reach out and attack an opponent from a distance. The heads of these weapons coursed with power, and two came right for her legs as a pair of warriors leaned in. Her back up against the razor grass field, all she could do was bat them away. Again and again the sharp, glowing blue points came at her, and each time she knocked them away.

Bosh leaned out with his long arms, able to match the vedalken warriors with his reach. Glissa felt the impact as his hand hit the ground, a smashed foe underneath. He swung down with his other fist, punching a guardsmen in the face. The warrior was thrown, loosing his grip on his weapon and falling on his back. Despite the heavy impact, the soldier got to his feet, dazed and shaking his head but still alive.