“One who’s trying to hide this.” Glissa grabbed Slobad’s arm and turned him toward the shield she had found.
The goblin’s eyes grew as big as his head. “Is that …?” Slobad walked over to the rune-inscribed artifact, touching it lightly with his fingers.
“The last piece of the Kaldra Champion,” finished Glissa.
Slobad licked his lips then looked over his shoulder at the elf. “You still have helm, huh?”
Glissa nodded. Fishing around inside her pack, she pulled out the helm. Slobad reached out both of his hands, taking it from her.
“You’ll need this as well.” The elf lifted her sword, admiring the sharpened edge. Turning it around, she offered the hilt of the Kaldra Sword to Slobad.
The goblin took it but scowled. “If Slobad take your blade, what crazy elf fight with, huh?”
Glissa bent down and picked up a dark-bladed sword stuck in the piles of metal disks. “I’ll find something.”
The goblin nodded then turned and began digging out the rest of the Kaldra Shield.
* * * * *
Damn that stupid metal man. Pontifex turned aside the attacks of a leveler then laid his palm on the creature’s hide. With a thought, he released a flood of blue mana into the artifact beast, freezing its joints.
Stepping around the now-inoperative killing device, Pontifex closed in on Malil.
The vedalken lord brandished his halberd with a practiced flare. “I’ve been waiting for this for a very long time.”
Malil stood motionless, his greatsword in his hand by his side. “You fail to see the bigger picture, Pontifex.”
“No, Malil, it is you who fail to see.” Pontifex took a fighting stance one long step away from his opponent. “Do you really think Memnarch will recognize the sacrifices you made to bring him the elf girl? Do you think you will be rewarded for your hard work?”
Malil stared back at the vedalken, unmoved. “Memnarch wants her alive. I am not here to quibble with you over who brings her to him. I do not care about your childish jealousies.” He lifted his sword. “I have my instructions, and I will abide by them.”
His hand flew from his side. His blade flashed in the pale light of the Vault, but Pontifex was fast and caught the tip of the metal man’s sword with the shaft of his polearm.
“As I said before-” a smile grew on Pontifex’s face-“I have waited a long time for this.”
Tossing Malil’s blade back at him, Pontifex wove the head of his halberd in a lightning-fast pattern before the metal man’s eyes.
Malil studied the moving blades. Pontifex watched his eyes follow the pattern.
Lunging forward, Malil tried to take advantage of an opening. This was what the vedalken lord had been waiting for. As the blade came forward, Pontifex changed the pattern, catching Malil off guard.
The metal man’s strike slipped past Pontifex’s halberd. The vedalken dodged, getting inside his opponent’s reach and driving the point of his weapon into the crease between Malil’s shoulder and arm.
Malil pulled back, Pontifex’s polearm still stuck in his joint. His left arm had been immobilized by the strike.
Pontifex released his halberd and retrieved a short sword from inside his robe. “You have only four limbs,” he said, showing off his own six-limbed body. “I have three more blades.”
* * * * *
Bruenna was in the fight of her life. Levelers swirled all around. She fought off a vedalken with each hand. Over the course of the past day, these odds had been common. Though she used every trick and skill at her disposal, the assault was overpowering, and all she could do was keep herself alive, never having the opportunity to counterattack. Without the chance to strike back, all would be lost. It was only a matter of time.
The only other remaining wizard fared the same. He fought only to keep himself alive.
She traded blows with the two warriors, wielding a sword in each hand, moving back and forth as if she and her opponents were involved in an intricate dance. Her foot caught on something on the fog-covered ground, and she nearly tripped. Checking the floor, she took a step sideways, trying to avoid whatever it was that she’d stepped on.
When she lifted her eyes, the two vedalken were gone.
Fighters all around her continued to clash, but she was now without an opponent. Scanning the battle, she saw why. A new challenger had arrived.
“Well, well, well. Bruenna,” said a far-away, watery voice.
The human prepared herself for a fight. “Marek.” The head of the vedalken elite guard had also been in charge of the human enslavement process inside Lumengrid. The sprawling vedalken fortress that resided below the waves of the Quicksilver Sea had been built on the backs of forced labor.
Bruenna and her tribe had been enslaved by this monster. It had been Marek who had overseen the beatings and punishments meted out to those who did not work hard enough.
“I should have known I’d meet you here,” she said, “in the bowels of Mirrodin.”
The vedalken took a step toward the wizard. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Bruenna began gathering mana. “Only that a creature like you deserves to die in a place like this.”
“And what exactly is a ‘creature like me’?”
Bruenna narrowed her eyes. “One who doesn’t understand the value of human life.” Lunging forward, she jabbed at the vedalken’s midsection.
Marek dodged away, easily turning aside her attack with the haft of his halberd. This was what the wizard was hoping for, and she reached up, touching the warrior’s facemask with her open palm and casting her spell.
Icicles formed on the metal frame of Marek’s helmet, and the serum inside turned bitter cold then froze solid. As the liquid turned to ice, the glass plates, which enabled Marek to see out, shattered.
Marek thrashed about, dropping his halberd and grabbing hold of his head, now trapped inside a block of frozen serum. Bruenna took advantage of the blinded, frantic slaver and drove the tip of her sword deep into his body.
Marek fell back and disappeared into the fog.
* * * * *
Malil pulled the head of Pontifex’s halberd from his arm. The vedalken’s petty jealousies were getting in the way. For the love of Memnarch, all he wanted was another dose of serum, another burst of enlightenment. Surely that was not too much to ask for.
Malil’s life on this plane had been relatively short in comparison to Pontifex’s. He’d had the opportunity to see many strange and interesting things. He’d also had the occasion to fight. Most of the time it was in doing Memnarch’s bidding, and never had it been against a skilled opponent. So he’d never really had the opportunity to fully test his own capabilities as a warrior.
Until now.
Tossing Pontifex’s blade to the ground, Malil took three quick steps. His metal body had been made to react to emergency situations by making him thrice as strong and thrice as fast-but only for a short distance. This had been Memnarch’s way of making Malil capable of getting himself out of trouble, should the situation arise.
Malil had never needed this function before, but it seemed as good a time as any to try it out.
His body moved in a blur. In three steps, the metal man managed to get around and behind Pontifex.
The vedalken lord tried to spin, but he wasn’t nearly fast enough. Malil punched the four-armed lord squarely in the back, sending Pontifex to his knees. Raising his greatsword into the air, the metal man looked down on the back of the vedalken’s bent neck. He could cut right through it and be rid of this childish fool.
The Vault of Whispers rumbled, and dust cascaded from the ceiling.
“Stop this fighting, and bring me the elf girl.” The words filled the cavernous chamber, seeming to come from everywhere at once.
Malil lowered his sword. “Yes, my lord.”