Jess Lebow - The Darksteel Eye

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 Glissa 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.