He turned back to his servant, continuing his tour of the device.
“Here is the delivery system,” he explained, rubbing a smear mark from the brightly polished chrome.
“Delivery system?”
Memnarch spun on Malil, his legs clicking against the tile. “Yes, the delivery system.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You see what Memnarch must deal with? How he lacks the intellect to understand?”
Malil lowered his eyes to the floor. “I see.”
Memnarch scrutinized his servant. Malil was tall by elf standards with an ordinary pair of legs and matching arms. He had a wide, strong chin, that mimicked that of a human and narrow, gently sloping shoulders. Except for the fact that he was made entirely of metal, Malil could pass for one of the humans on the surface.
Memnarch turned away, toward the window. At one time, he had looked just like Malil. At one time, he too had been made entirely of metal. The thought made him sad. He looked down at his hands. A line of red liquid seeped from the edge of his fist where he had slammed it against the device.
Memnarch touched the spot with his finger. He actually bled! Memnarch, the Guardian of Mirrodin, was bleeding! His sadness turned to anger.
“Is this what you intended for me?” He held up his bleeding fist. “When Memnarch was made, was this what you envisioned?”
Malil shuffled forward a step. “Master?”
Memnarch looked up at his servant. “Silence! If Memnarch wanted you to speak, Memnarch would have addressed you.”
Malil stepped back, remaining silent.
Memnarch looked back down at his arm. “This is not what the creator intended. Is it?” Memnarch shook his head. “You who made Mirrodin then placed it in Memnarch’s custody did not want this.”
He listened but heard nothing.
“Has Memnarch not been faithful?”
He listened again.
“Of course. Of course. So why have you forsaken Memnarch?”
Memnarch paced the lab. He ran from the room, then he paced back the way he had come, his feet making a high-pitched grinding noise on the tile as he spun.
“You have not?” he continued. “Memnarch’s perfect body, the body you gave Memnarch, created for Memnarch, is slowly turning to flesh. If this is not your wish, then whose? If you had not wanted this, why is it happening? Has Memnarch failed?”
Memnarch shook his head. “No. No, Memnarch could not. Memnarch would not. Memnarch has been given the task of protecting Mirrodin, of caring for it until the creator himself returns. Memnarch has done that. Memnarch has done everything you have asked of him-and more!”
“Master?”
Memnarch looked up.
Malil blinked, watching him. “Master? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he said then smiled. “Why would not Memnarch be all right?”
The scrying pedestal in the middle of the laboratory began to change colors, wavering in a dark blue. Memnarch scuttled over to it, lifting his considerable girth off the floor so as not to drag it along behind him. Settling down before the metal pool, he looked into the silvery liquid. Ripples formed at the center of its perfect circle, spreading out in rings toward the edge of the basin.
Images began to form, images of a gigantic metal tunnel.
“The blue lacuna.” Memnarch brought his head closer to the basin. “Someone is coming down the blue lacuna, coming to see us.”
Malil crossed the room and stood beside his master, gazing down into the pool.
More images began to form-fuzzy pictures, and they were moving fast. Memnarch squinted, focusing his attention on the scrying pedestal. The images grew clearer. They were bipedal and moved upright. There were several figures, perhaps two dozen, maybe more.
“Vedalken,” he said.
Malil shifted his weight. “Why would vedalken be coming now?”
“A good question.” Memnarch waved his hand over the pool. “Memnarch has not granted them an audience.…” His voice trailed off. “They seem to be chasing something. We do love a good chase.” He stared into the scrying pool. “This is most unusual.”
The wavering silvery liquid suddenly grew crystal clear. A tall, slender female elf appeared. Her arms and lower legs were, like most creatures of this world, covered in thick metal that seemed to grow from her skin as if it were a part of her body. Her medium-length hair was held back by a strip of tanned hide, and she wore a leather jerkin that covered most of the rest of her body.
“She is here,” gasped Memnarch.
“Who, Master?”
Memnarch looked up from the pedestal. His skin tingled with delight. His bones ached with excitement, and his mind raced over all the work he still had unfinished.
“She is here,” he repeated. “The one.” He turned to Malil. “The elf girl.”
Malil straightened to attention. “What are your desires, my master?”
Memnarch rubbed his hands together, and he ran his tongue over his dry, parched lips. “Bring her to us.”
Malil bowed his head, turned on his heels, and exited the same way he had come in.
Memnarch leaned down over the silvery pool once again. “Memnarch had not expected you so soon.”
* * * * *
Malil marched at double speed along the long, curved corridor. His path led him in a gentle downward spiral-a long way to go to get from Memnarch’s laboratory to the next level.
As he descended, he ran over the scene with Memnarch in his head. He’d spoken of the elf girl before. Malil didn’t claim to understand everything. He knew only those things Memnarch told him and the things he’d witnessed for himself, but both of those were considerable.
Memnarch’s regular scolding repeated itself in his ears, “You do not need to know everything. You need only follow Memnarch’s directions.”
The metal man redoubled his speed. Stepping off the causeway, Malil entered the observation platform. This room, by design, was completely empty, and the outer walls were made of one contiguous piece of magically curved glass. From here, he could see the entire interior of Mirrodin.
Out the window, at the center of the plane, a huge ball of blue-white mana floated above everything. Below that, the ground curved up in every direction, encircling the glowing sphere and eventually meeting itself on the other side, forming both the floor and the ceiling of the interior. Pointy chrome towers, called mycosynth, rose from the ground, reaching up like gnarled, sharpened fingers grasping for the ball of power above them.
Malil crossed the open chamber to a spot at its very center. There a red circle marked the floor, and the metal man stepped onto it.
“Ground level,” he said.
The room filled with the hum of magic, and the floor descended, slowly at first then picking up speed. It slowed and finally stopped. Malil walked down a short ramp, stopped at a waist-high railing, and looked over the edge at a legion of metal warriors.
Each was identical. They had curved heads, each with a singular glowing yellow eye in the center. Their arms came from their sides, growing wider and thicker as they extended, ending in gigantic, razor-sharp blades. The warriors’ torsos were armored with metal plates, interlocking over the other so that they could move independently without exposing their delicate insides to harm. Where a human or elf would have legs, these warriors had two wheels tipped with heavy spikes sharp enough to puncture even the strongest metal. On their backs, every one had a short, trifold sail, which they used to steer themselves across the vast open expanses of Mirrodin.
The metallic killers crouched, quietly ready and loyal, prepared to stay where they were for an eternity or cut down an army at a moment’s notice.
Malil smiled. “Open the gates,” he shouted. “The Guardian wishes us to bring back an elf.”
CHAPTER 2
Glissa ran. She ran with all of her might, all of her being it seemed. The earth before her sank down and down. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought this great hole in the ground through which she descended led right through the middle of Mirrodin and out the other side. Of course, that couldn’t be the case.