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.
Tiny motes of light coalesced around the wolf’s face, growing in size and number as they circled. The twisting mass of magical energy formed a brightly lit ring that circled Al-Hayat’s head. The wolf went silent, and the ring dropped from the air as if it were suddenly pulled to earth by gravity. The light seeped into the goblin’s skin, and the forest creature stepped away from his patient.
“I have done all I can do,” he said.
Slobad’s body jerked, followed by a tremendous hacking cough. Metal shavings and small chunks of mineral sprayed from the goblin’s mouth, and he sat up.
“Where Slobad, huh?”
Glissa gathered him up in a huge embrace. “You’re in the Tangle, running from a band of levelers who just attacked the Tree of Tales.”
Slobad nodded. “Whew,” he said, “Good. Goblin dozed off, huh? Dreamed Slobad eaten by giant bug.”
CHAPTER 9
Glissa held Bosh’s hand in both of her own. It was so big, she could hardly get all five of her fingers around one of his. Carefully, the elf pulled shards of razor vine from the fleshy parts of the golem’s palm.
“It hurts,” said the golem.
“I’m sorry,” replied Glissa. “If I had realized that the fleshy parts had spread so far, I wouldn’t have been so quick to ask you to move that stump.”
“If you hadn’t, Slobad would have died.”
Glissa smiled. “You’re right. You did a brave thing, Bosh, especially knowing that you’d get hurt.” She pulled another large chunk of razor vine from his palm. The wound was deep, and Bosh’s hand filled with blood.