Orland squirmed in Pontifex’s grip. The vedalken lord, using his superior height, lifted the councilor up off of his footing, forcing the politician to stand on his toes or be strangled by his own robe, now bunching around his neck.
“Thank you, Marek, but no little elf is going to get between me and the Guardian of Mirrodin.” He shook Orland. “Neither is an elected Synod councilor.” He finally took his eyes off of Orland, loosening his grip on the man’s robe and letting him get his feet back under him. “Kill her.”
Marek didn’t even blink before he turned and sprinted toward the melee. Pontifex watched him as he rallied his men and headed off, following his orders to the letter.
“He’s good, Marek is,” he said to Orland, who was now trying to sooth his damaged throat. “Very good.”
CHAPTER 11
Blood covered the plain. Nearly a dozen vedalken lay dead or dying on the ground-half the number who had swooped from the sky to press Glissa, Slobad, Bosh, and Al-Hayat back against the razor grass field.
Glissa herself had received nasty cuts on her cheeks and one across her breast. They stung and bled, but they weren’t painful enough to distract her, so she ignored them. Slobad was the same. He’d taken a thump to the head, but that was about it, as the small goblin did his best to stay away from the sharp ends.
Al-Hayat, on the other hand, was bleeding from the nose and throat. The wolf fought on, grabbing away halberds with his teeth, chewing soldiers to bits, bowling warriors over where he had the chance. He stood at the front of the foursome, growling and pushing his fur out to make himself look even bigger than he already did.
Lunging forward and snapping his teeth closed, the great forest creature reached out and caught another one between his wicked fangs. The vedalken gurgled out a cry, and the wolf began shaking the blue-skinned creature from side to side. Blood sloshed in a fan-shaped wave out across the other warriors, and the guardsman let out a scream more desperate and frightened than any Glissa had ever heard.
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.