Completing his somersault, the one-time vedalken lord came up to his feet, the front of his robes drenched in blue blood.
Marek stood for a moment longer then dropped to his knees. The lengths of Pontifex’s matched blades were buried to the hilt in his chest.
“Mar-” Pontifex tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t work, and a sharp pain ran down his spine as he tried. Touching his throat, he felt a long gash where Marek’s halberd had been. Looking down at himself, he realized that the blood on his robes was not Marek’s. It was his own.
His head felt light, and the mana core seemed to grow brighter, nearly washing out all color, turning everything to a hazy white. Marek toppled forward. Pontifex could see the ends of his blades protruding from his back.
The head of the vedalken elite guard shuddered once then fell still.
Pontifex slumped down beside his one-time friend, his vision narrowing, his thoughts drifting away before he could finish them. A warm, soft buzz filled his whole body. It seemed to brush aside the pain in his throat and the anguish in his heart.
What have I done?
Slowly, the last leader of the vedalken Synod lowered his head to rest on his friend’s shoulder and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER 24
Glissa awoke to someone poking at her head. The elf sprang to her feet, spinning on her attacker, mana already drawn.
“Whoa, crazy elf!” shouted Slobad. “Take it easy, huh?” He waved his hand in front of her face. “Slobad.” The goblin flashed her a toothy grin.
Glissa relaxed, funneling the mana into a rejuvenating spell that immediately found the throbbing pain in the back of her head.
On the ground beside her lay Pontifex and Marek. Their blood mixed and pooled together below them.
“What happened? How did Marek get here?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” said Bosh. “They were both dead when we arrived.”
Glissa shrugged, feeling the back of her head. Her spell had significantly reduced the bump, but it hurt when she pressed on it. “I had a fight with Pontifex. The last thing I remember was getting hit on the head.”
“Maybe Marek saved you?” said Slobad.
Glissa smiled. “Not likely.” She looked around. The Kaldra Champion stood behind them, towering over the other three. “Where’s the other wizard?”
“He went after Bruenna.”
In the chaos, Glissa had forgotten. Immediately she felt the urge to give chase, go find her friend and rescue her from whatever fate awaited her when the thresher stopped and let her free. But Bruenna’s image arose in her mind. Glissa could see her shaking her head, saying, “Finish what you have started-for the good of all.”
Bosh handed Glissa her new blade. “You might need this.”
She took it, gratefully. “Thank you.”
Grabbing hold of Pontifex’s hoverer, she hopped on. “It’s time we paid Memnarch a visit.”
* * * * *
In the distance, a four-legged, bird-headed creature stalked the elf and her companions. It crouched low behind a mycosynth monolith. From its hiding place, the myr could see where they headed, but it did not pursue-not yet.
Also in its field of view were several other artifact creations just like itself. They were a pack. Five in all, they hunted the elf.
Back in Panopticon, Memnarch watched her through the Eye as she headed to his palace.
* * * * *
As they approached the glistening tower, Glissa couldn’t help but be amazed. Though she knew it was made of steel, aluminum, and titanium, parts of Panopticon looked like sparkling crystals.
Memnarch’s fortress climbed high into the air, higher than any other structure on the interior. Where each of its five walls joined the next, the line was so sharp and straight, it looked as if it would cut through flesh like a razor. The top rose to a needlelike point, perched atop a room made entirely of glass, opened to the world for all to see in-and for those inside to see out.
From a distance, the tower looked like just one more perfectly formed mycosynth monolith. Up close, it looked more like the scepter of a giant king. Its base was thick and heavy. Its top was adorned with a hefty jewel. Its sides were intricately designed to give off a regal air of power and grace.
A pair of wide doors on the ground floor opened up, and Glissa stopped. She looked up at the Kaldra Champion, then she looked at Bosh and Slobad.
“You ready?”
All three nodded.
The doors lay open, the light of the mana core reflecting off the edges, not penetrating into its depths. Then the darkness beyond began to move. Shadows coalesced into nightmares, and an army burst forth, their shiny hides reflecting back the interior sun’s blinding rays.
“Levelers,” said Glissa and Slobad in unison.
Glissa stepped off the hover hoverer and drew her sword. In a flash the metal beasts were on them. Scythe blades rang out, and the elf parried blow after blow. Catching the tip of her darksteel sword in a joint, she pried free a bolt. After so many fights with these beasts, she knew where to hit them to do the most damage.
Her strike was clean, and one side of her foe sloughed to the ground. Its left half now unarmored, Glissa reversed her stroke and cut deep into the device. That was all it took, two strokes, and the leveler was dead.
Across the way, Slobad loosed his crowbar. Hopping into the air, he jumped over the razor blades of the attacking horde to land atop a leveler. With a practiced flare, the goblin tore into the killing device, taking apart its metal hide in a blink and disabling it with a twist of his hand. Then he was off, leaving the lifeless hulk to rust on the battlefield.
Behind them, Bosh beat the metal devices into the ground. He kicked holes in their hides and tore their insides out. He smashed their vision crystals, blinding them before he dented in their heads, and he ripped their steering sails off. Without them, the levelers could only turn right, and they spun in place, looking like ballerinas dancing a deadly ballet on the battlefield.
Towering above them all was the Kaldra Champion. With each of his great magical fists he smashed a leveler flat. With each of his feet he stomped them into foil.
It was a massacre of titanic proportions. For each victim these killing devices had claimed on the surface of Mirrodin, the elf, goblin, golem, and champion visited five blows upon their heads. The battlefield rang with the screeching of metal, and the ground was piled with debris.
The fighting stopped. The levelers, usually fearless and unrelenting, retreated. Behind them, the gates to Panopticon lay open, and a pair of figures emerged. One was bipedal. His skin shone brilliantly under the glare of the mana core.
The other walked on all fours, not like a wolf or a lion, but more like a spider with only four legs. Unlike his counterpart, this one did not sparkle or reflect the blinding light. Instead he looked a pale blue, as if he were made of flesh instead of metal.
As the pair marched toward them, Glissa recognized the shorter, two-legged creature. “Malil.”
The other bore a striking resemblance to the metal man. Not in his body or even his face-for this creature had six eyes, each covered with a deep blue lens-but in his mannerisms. They were like a father and his son. Each looked different, but both came from the same lineage, carrying the same build, the same set of ancestors-and the same scars.
The levelers parted, and the two creatures stopped a handful of steps from Glissa and her companions.
“I have watched you for so very long, Glissa,” said the spindly legged creature. “At times I have wondered if we would ever meet face to face. Now here you are.”
Glissa gripped her sword. “Everyone seems to know me, but who are you?”
The creature lowered his head and front legs in an elaborate bow. “I am the Guardian of Mirrodin, keeper of all you see.” He stood up. “You may call me Memnarch.”