Jess Lebow - The Darksteel Eye

Still Memnarch didn’t stop his attacks. Wielding the arm like a flail, he beat his creation until it was nothing more than a smoking pile of rubble. Standing over the ruined device, he looked down, catching his breath and contemplating the impact of his rage.

After a moment, he closed his eyes and let the arm drop to the floor.

“What have I done?”

* * * * *

Pontifex entered the Synod chamber. Far below, Sodador and Tyrell paced the empty floor. Orland, by contrast, reclined on a padded lounger-a new addition to the council hall. The long, curved walls were silent. The packed crowd that had filled the viewing platforms, watching the previous proceeding, had not been invited to this meeting. Save for the four vedalken councilors, the room was empty.

“Lord Pontifex,” said Sodador, “we’ve been waiting for you for some time now.”

Pontifex leaned against the railing and looked down at the tiny vedalken below. The height made him feel bigger than life. How he wished he were really that large. He would reach out his boot and smash the others into jelly.

He shook himself from his reverie. “Yes, I’m sure you have.”

Orland stood up from his lounger. “Please,” he said, “come down and join us. We have much to discuss.”

Pontifex brushed aside the invitation with a wave of his hand. “I prefer to stand here, thank you.”

Tyrell tossed something to the floor in disgust. “Really Pontifex, your disrespect for this assembly-”

Orland put his hand on the councilor’s shoulder, silencing him. “Lord Pontifex has every right to stand where he wishes. We can accommodate his antics.”

Pontifex nodded his approval, though inside he bristled. He lifted himself into the most regal pose he could muster. Lord Pontifex had never committed an “antic” in his life.

“Fine, fine,” said Sodador, “but perhaps Pontifex would be so kind as to explain his actions to this council.”

Pontifex put his hand to his chest. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You know full well what I mean,” said Sodador. “You threatened a member of this council.”

Orland looked away.

“I did no such thing,” said Pontifex.

Sodador slammed his cane into the hard floor. “What sort of fools do you take us for, Pontifex?”

Pontifex chuckled. “Are there different sorts of fools? I was under the impression that there was only one, Sodador.”

“This may all be very amusing to you, Pontifex!” Tyrell shouted. The chamber amplified the sound, making it boom off the walls and echo through the hall. “But we take the rulership of the vedalken people very seriously.”

“As do I,” said Pontifex in a calm voice.

“I think not,” said Sodador. “You’ve always been focused on your own personal gain, impetuously ignoring the will and well-being of the vedalken people.”

“The will of the vedalken people?” replied Pontifex. “Since when have the vedalken people had a will? Might I remind you, councilors, that the vedalken empire is not-” Pontifex paused as if the words he was about to say tasted bad in his mouth-“ruled by the people.”

“Ah,” interjected Orland, “but it could be.”

“Yes?” Pontifex laughed. “Then why stop there? Why not just dissolve the government all together?”

“One step at a time, Lord Pontifex,” said Orland. “One step at a time.”

Though the vedalken lord could hear every word spoken inside the meeting hall, he was too far from the floor to see the look on Orland’s face. Pontifex felt certain that the newest councilor to the Synod was smiling from ear to ear. The empire ruled by the people? Were these buffoons serious?

“Are you mad?” said Pontifex. “You’re talking about vedalken ruling themselves .”

“Precisely,” said Orland.

“Do you have any idea what sort of mayhem would ensue?”

Orland went back to his lounger. “What you call ‘mayhem’, Lord Pontifex, others call freedom.”

Pontifex was flabbergasted. “Freedom? Aside from the members of this Synod, there are few creatures on this plain who could even handle such a responsibility.” He laughed. “Frankly, I have my doubts about you three.”

“Your objections have been noted,” said Tyrell, “but we are departing from the topic here.”

“Oh?” Pontifex rolled his neck, trying to relieve the frustration he felt from having to deal with such imbeciles. “And what is the topic of today’s meeting?”

Sodador slammed his cane into the ground once again. “Your inexcusable behavior toward another council member.”

Pontifex again feigned surprise. “My behavior? I have done nothing even approaching inexcusable .”

“Then perhaps you’ll explain your actions toward Councilor Orland,” said Sodador. “I believe you grabbed him by the collar and threatened him.”

Sodador looked at Orland, who was now looking at the floor. Then he turned his gaze back up at Pontifex. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Pontifex looked down on Orland. The young idealist had run to Tyrell and Sodador as soon as they’d arrived home. The newest councilor talked tough, but he had no temperament for real violence. This was a good thing to know.

“Why, Orland,” he said, “if the fighting out on the plain was going to make you so uncomfortable, I never would have agreed to bring you along.” He rolled his fingers over the railing, gripping it tight. “The battlefield is no place for a soft politician.”

Sodador and Tyrell looked at Orland. He shrugged.

“Lord Pontifex,” said Tyrell turning away from the other two councilors, “are you denying that you threatened Councilor Orland?”

“Threaten Orland?” Pontifex put both hands on his chest, appearing to be affronted by the notion. “Why, Orland, is that what you’ve been saying? That I threatened you? And to think all I was trying to do was keep you safe from harm’s way.”

“Don’t play your games with us, Pontifex!” shouted Sodador. “You’ve been opposed to having a fourth member of the Synod since you disposed of Janus. This council has always been ruled by fear and deception. But we’re not having that any more. The days of backstabbing and corruption are over. It’s time we did things a new way.”

“How very admirable,” replied the vedalken lord.

“Things are going to change, Pontifex,” said Tyrell. “Whether you like it or not.”

Lord Pontifex lifted his cape, wrapping it around his shoulder. “We shall see.” He turned and exited the assembly hall.

* * * * *

The rolling hills that had seemed to go on and on, as if they would never end, finally began to flatten out. The interconnected hexagonal metal plates of Mirrodin’s plains gave way to a mass of corrupted and tarnished tubes, pipes, and vines. To Glissa it looked like a much maligned and twisted version of the Tangle. Chimneys rose from the ground, belching smoke. Like trees, they had branches and spikes reaching for the sky, but where these same sorts of growths would be whole and green in the Tangle, those in the Dross were riddled with holes and black with decay.

Here, too, everything was shorter. The first time she had been here, Glissa had felt very tall, but as she and her companions entered the darkened area, she realized that a viscous mucous covered the ground, gobbling up the first few feet of anything growing from the earth. Nothing here was shorter than in the Tangle. It just appeared that way because everything was partially covered by the swampy liquid.

The convergent moons of Mirrodin had gone down long ago, leaving the Glimmervoid in complete darkness. Bruenna and the few wizards who hadn’t returned to Medev had cast several small light spells to guide the way to Mephidross, but when they arrived, the magic was no longer necessary.