Every thumb in the chamber pointed up.
“Congratulations, my friends,” he said, lifting all four of his arms in the air in celebration. “Welcome to the new Free Republic of Vedalken.”
* * * * *
The trip to the Quicksilver Sea had taken no time at all. Pontifex and his soldiers had climbed aboard Malil’s levelers. The vedalken’s four hands made it easy for them to hold onto the killing devices’ steering tails and hides. The remains of the elite guard had ridden the whole way atop the swift metallic beasts.
Crossing over the rippling ocean with the aid of Pontifex’s magic, they entered Lumengrid. Inside, the halls were quiet, save for a handful of low-level functionaries carrying on mundane business. When the vedalken citizens saw Pontifex and his retinue, they disappeared into doors or around corners.
“What’s going on here?” demanded Pontifex.
“The people are afraid of the levelers,” replied Marek.
Pontifex was irritated. “I am their lord. They should not cower from me.”
Just then another vedalken stepped out of an alley, his attention focused on a memo in his hands. When he looked up and saw the group, his eyes opened wide, and he tried to dart away, but Pontifex grabbed him by the front of his robes.
“Why do you run, citizen?”
“I … I …”
“Where has everyone gone?” shouted the vedalken lord.
The vedalken swallowed hard. “They’re in the People’s Assembly Hall.”
Pontifex released him, and the vedalken citizen stumbled backward, dashing away as fast as he could.
“The Assembly Hall,” said Pontifex. A cold chill ran over his skin. “Orland.” He took off, dashing down the corridors, running straight for the inverted cone-shaped hall near his own chambers. There could be only one reason-
Turning the corner, Pontifex burst through the doors of the People’s Assembly Hall.
“Pontifex? What a surprise.” Orland stood on the floor at the bottom of the chamber. Sodador and Tyrell near him, a look of contentment on their faces.
“Don’t you mean ‘Lord Pontifex,’ Councilor Orland?”
Around the outside of the room, arrayed on the viewing platform, all of the vedalken elected representatives were in attendance. They stared at him, their expressions ranging from shock to amused silence.
“No, Pontifex,” said Orland. “There are no more lords among the vedalken.”
“What are you talking about, Councilor?”
“We have taken a vote.” Orland waved his hands in the air, indicating all the vedalken in the room. “The Vedalken Empire is no more.”
Pontifex laughed. “That’s preposterous. If there is no more empire, then why are you all still here? The people and the empire are one and the same.”
Orland nodded. “How right you are, Pontifex. Only, we prefer to call it a republic.”
“Oh, please,” spat the former vedalken lord. “Who will lead the people? Who will make the laws and instill order in the masses? Surely you don’t think the representatives can rule?”
A loud rustling sound filled the chamber as the assembled citizens shifted and scowled, reacting to Pontifex’s words.
“Actually,” replied Orland, “that’s exactly what we think.”
Pontifex beat his hands against the railing. “This cannot happen. I will not allow it. I am still the leader of the Synod. Nothing happens in Lumengrid without my approval!”
“No, Pontifex,” said Sodador, “the Synod no longer exists. We’ve formed a parliament. The elected representatives now have all the power.” He took a step, leaning heavily on his cane and limping. “In fact, you’re the only one here without a vote.”
Pontifex looked around the room. How could they do this to him? After all he had done for the empire, this was how he was rewarded. He had dedicated his life to the service of all vedalken, and now he was cast out.
Tyrell stood up from the bench where he sat on the floor of the chamber. “Now, for the next piece of business,” he said. “I bring before you a resolution of imprisonment.” The older statesman held out a piece of metal parchment, holding it at arm’s length and leaning his head back to view what was written on its surface. “Wherein: The Free Republic of Vedalken has found citizen Pontifex to be within the jurisdiction of this governing body and its limits of prosecution and retributive justice. And Wherein: This parliament has found the former lord of the empire to have committed numerous crimes against the people. Let it be resolved that free citizen Pontifex be immediately apprehended and imprisoned, to await trial and punishment for his repeat offenses against the republic and its denizens.”
“You’re imprisoning me?” shouted Pontifex.
Orland nodded. “Yes.”
The door behind him opened, and a pair of armed guards burst in. One leveled his halberd at him. The other produced a set of four manacles.
Pontifex narrowed his eyes, glaring down on the three former councilors standing on the floor. “You will not get away with this,” he said. “Mark my words, I will make you all pay for this treachery.”
Turning around, he lowered his eyes to the ground and stuck his arms out straight, presenting his wrists for shackles. As the guard moved to take him custody, Pontifex lifted his head. He finished mouthing the last word of a spell, and a jet of brilliant blue energy shot from each of his hands.
His spell struck both guards. Pontifex lifted his arms over his head, and the guards shot into the air, their arms flailing, their legs moving as if to run, but both were held fast by powerful magics.
A gasp escaped the lips of the collected representatives, filling the Assembly Hall with the booming noise of a million whispers.
Spinning around, Pontifex lifted the two suspended guards over his head and looked back down at Orland. Their eyes met. The former vedalken lord hurled his fists toward the floor. Both guards shrieked. Magnified by the chamber, it bounced off the walls, overtopping the collective gasp. Both vedalken fell.
Orland jumped away, but the older Tyrell and the lame Sodador were not so quick. The falling guards landed atop the two councilors, and the crunching sound of bones breaking replaced all other noise in the hall-amplified a hundred fold.
Pontifex smiled as he looked over the rail. Only Orland remained moving. The other four lay on the ground in a broken pile, their blue blood mixing as it seeped out onto the floor in a large puddle.
Pontifex pointed at Orland. “You’re next, councilor,” he said. “If it’s the last thing I do, you will be next.” He turned and darted from the People’s Assembly Hall.
* * * * *
Glissa and the others marched through a forest of mycosynth. The going was slow, as the mossy ground grabbed at their feet. The tall spires made travel difficult as well. It was like navigating through the dense Tangle, only here the growths were less predictable. Several times the entire group marched through the mazelike mycosynth, only to find a dead-end and be forced to retrace their steps.
Pushing deeper into the forest, Glissa nearly lost her balance as she tried to avoid stepping on a squirming critter beneath her feet.
“What the …?” Glissa slipped back, but Bosh managed to catch her in his meaty palm. She looked over her shoulder at the golem. “Thanks.”
Bosh nodded, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a grin.
“Bosh,” she shouted, spinning around and grabbing hold of one of his fingers. “You smiled.”
“I did?”
“Uh huh. Here, kneel down.”
Glissa reached up, and the golem bent down. Her hand touched his face. It was soft and squishy. Though it retained its metallic look, there was no doubt, the golem’s face had turned to flesh.
“When did this happen?”
Bosh shrugged. “Just now.”
Glissa ran her hand along his cheek. “Your face is almost all flesh.”
The golem sighed. “Yes.”
“Well,” said the elf, “at least now you won’t always look so dour and serious.”
“Is that good?”
The elf smiled at him. “Yes. Very.”
At this the corners of Bosh’s mouth bent up again.
Another of the creatures that had tripped Glissa brushed against her leg. The animal was rectangular with very angular edges-no curves or organic irregularities at all. It had two skinny arms with three opposable digits attached to each, and its movements were smooth and swift, as if it traveled on wheels.
The creature moved back and forth between diamond-shaped objects embedded in (or perhaps overgrown by) the glowing mossy ground cover. Each time it reached one of this things, it fondled it with its fingers, then moved on to another, as if it were adjusting something or tending a plant.
Glissa reached down and grabbed the beast off the ground. It was the same metallic color as Bosh, but it too was soft and pliable. On its underside, as Glissa had guessed, there were three little wheels, and they spun now, trying to get free of the elf’s grip. Its arms too reached back and began pinching at her skin.
“Ow.” Glissa put the creature down. “What is that thing?”
“It is a grendle,” replied Bosh.
“A grendle?”
The golem nodded.
“What do they do?”
Bosh shook his head. “I do not know. I have only vague memories of them.” He looked down on the little creature. “They were made by Memnarch.”
From all around, more grendles came out from behind the towering mycosynth monoliths. They moved in a pack, touching and prodding the diamond-shaped boxes on the ground then moving on. They didn’t seem to mind Glissa or the others, simply moving around the obstructions where they stood.
“If Memnarch made them,” asked Glissa, “how did they become fleshy? Can he create organic creatures?”
Bosh shook his head. “No. They began as metal constructs.” He pushed a finger into his own skin. “They are like me, made from metal turned to flesh.”
Slobad knelt down to get a closer look. He poked at one, pulling his finger out of the way when it snapped its little hands at him. “These all flesh, huh? You only part flesh.”
Glissa scratched her head, then she looked up at the mana core. “Maybe something here in the interior causes metal to turn to flesh.” She scanned the mycosynth. “If this is the source, then it would make sense that these creatures would transform faster.” She shrugged. “Maybe they’ve been like this for a long time.”
“Look at this.” Bruenna was several steps away, standing at the base of a monolith. She poked at something on the ground with her toe.
Glissa walked over. Bruenna was looking at a grendle. Only this one was unmoving, and it looked pale and stiff.
“It’s dead,” said the wizard.
“From what?”
Bruenna looked up into Glissa’s eyes, then glanced up at Bosh. “Old age, presumably.”
Glissa understood immediately. “We need to go.” She grabbed Bosh by the hand. “We need to get you out of here as fast as we can-before you end up like them.”