From the distance more levelers advanced. Before Glissa, a crescent-shaped portion of the ground was clear of levelers and rubble alike. It was as if the elf’s anger had created a giant gust of wind that had blown everything back, but it had been more than that. Where her spell had touched a leveler, it had been destroyed.
Bosh reached down and scooped up the young elf where she stood. He continued on, Bruenna flying beside him.
Slobad looked at the elf with wide eyes. “How you do that, crazy elf?”
Glissa looked down at her hands. “I don’t know. I just … did.”
“Think you can teach Slobad that trick? Make taking apart levelers easier, huh?”
“Yes, it would,” replied the elf, “but I still haven’t figured out how to do it myself. It just sort of happens.”
Bruenna swooped down closer to Bosh. “Where to?”
Bosh lifted his face, pointing with his chin. “Just over that rise. There’s another entrance to the blue lacuna.”
Glissa wrinkled her forehead. “The blue lacuna?”
“The tunnel we came down,” explained the golem. “It is called a lacuna.”
“I know that, but you said the ‘blue lacuna.’ Are there different colors?”
“There is a red one and a blue one but no green.”
“How you remember all this stuff, huh?” asked the goblin. “Dross finally leak from your rusty head?”
“The Pool of Knowledge,” interjected Bruenna, nursing her injured leg as she flew. “The pond we jumped into that led us down here.” She grimaced. “I told you, my father was right. The vedalken have a way of putting all of what they know-everything every single one of them knows-into the serum inside. Our swim through must have revived Bosh’s memories.”
“Yes,” replied the golem.
“Wait.” Over Bosh’s shoulder, Glissa watched the surviving majority of the leveler battalion start to regain their composure and line up behind the strange metallic man. “We can’t go back into the tunnel … the blue lacuna. The vedalken are inside.”
“This entrance should bring us back to where the tube spilt into two paths. If we are lucky, we will avoid them.”
Bosh headed up a slight incline, and Glissa turned. Just ahead, barely visible in the near distance was the opening to the tunnel the golem spoke of. She looked back to the levelers.
“Better hurry,” she said. “They’re gaining again.”
CHAPTER 3
Malil sat atop his leveler, stunned. How had the elf done that?
Memnarch would not be happy.
“Form up,” he shouted.
The broken line of levelers obeyed his command. Despite the spell the elf had cast, most of Malil’s army was still intact, if scattered. In a few moments, the killing devices were in formation and ready to roll.
Someone else emerged from the blue lacuna.
“Pontifex,” said Malil. Spinning his leveler, he once again ordered the pursuit. “After them.”
The mob of metallic creatures rolled on. Malil, atop his killing device, stayed put. Instead of the sound of wheels tearing at the metal soil he heard the voice of Memnarch inside his head.
“Bring the vedalken to us. We want an audience with Pontifex.”
Here, inside the interior of Mirrodin, the Guardian could speak to Malil, no matter where he was. From what the metal man could tell, Memnarch could see through his eyes as well. No doubt the Guardian had been watching the whole encounter with the elf. There was no way for Malil to be sure of this, no indication inside that told him when this was happening. For all he knew, Memnarch could be watching constantly. Malil behaved at all times as if this were the case, just to be safe.
Malil urged his leveler forward-toward the opening of the blue lacuna.
* * * * *
Pontifex stepped from the tunnel. With the head of a broad-tipped spear, the tall, slender vedalken shielded his eyes from the mana core’s glow. Bright purple spots clouded his vision.
A team of warriors filed out behind him.
“Marek, where is that elf?” he shouted.
The four-armed bodyguard shrugged. “I don’t know, my lord.”
Pontifex had to catch that elf. He needed that elf.
The spots began to fade, and for the first time he saw the leveler horde. The killing devices rolled up and over a curved pile of wreckage, speeding off into the distance.
“Follow them,” he ordered.
The army of skinny, blue-skinned, four-armed beings behind him took off double time without a word, the heads of their spears gleaming in the preternatural light.
To Pontifex, the interior of Mirrodin was a wondrous place. He had been here many times before on official visits to Memnarch, but this time was different. This time he came as the newest leader of the Synod. This time, he hadn’t been invited.
The thought of being chided by Memnarch tugged at the back of his thoughts. The freedom he took in coming here with his warriors was exhilarating.
As if his thoughts had been broadcast across the interior of the plane, Malil, Memnarch’s personal servant, appeared, riding his leveler toward the vedalken.
Malil was new. Memnarch had created him some time between the last two blue moon cycles and the current convergence, and Pontifex had only encountered him once before. Still, there was no mistaking whom he served. Atop his lithe metal body, Malil had the face of his creator. From the shoulders up, every curve, nuance, and gesture was replicated exactly.
Talking to Malil produced mixed emotions for Pontifex. Malil was a servant, but he looked so much like Memnarch that it was hard to look him right in the eye. Though he was unsure if it were true, Pontifex assumed Memnarch could hear everything Malil could. Certainly, the guardian of Mirrodin could see everything on the plane from inside Panopticon. Why wouldn’t he be able to hear what his servant heard?
This annoyed Pontifex. He was the most respected researcher on Mirrodin, and now he was the leader of the vedalken Synod. Why should he have to speak to an intermediary? He hadn’t before. Now, instead of talking directly to his lord, he had to get past a mere servant. The whole process was humiliating.
Malil pulled up and stopped his leveler. “Greetings, Lord Pontifex.”
“I have no time for pleasantries, Malil,” replied the vedalken lord. “Where is the elf?”
“She is headed for the second entrance to the blue lacuna.” The metal man who looked so much like the Guardian of Mirrodin pointed toward the receding column of levelers.
Pontifex spun toward his army. “Halt,” he shouted.
The order worked its way up the line of marching warriors, the words echoing in different voices all the way to the front. The line stretched out and finally stopped. Marek returned to Pontifex’s side at a sprint.
“Your orders, my lord?”
“They’re headed back up the lacuna, through the other entrance,” Pontifex snarled. “Go back up this way and cut them off at the break.”
“Yes, my lord.” Marek spun and ran back to the other soldiers, shouting orders as he did.
Pontifex turned to the metal man. “Thank you, Malil, you’ve been very helpful. Now, if you’ll excuse me I-”
“The Guardian has requested your presence,” interjected the metal servant.
“The Guardian has frequently requested my presence.”
“The Guardian has requested your presence now.”
Pontifex narrowed his eyes at Malil. “Surely my lord has seen that I am in pursuit of the elf.”
“Yes,” replied Malil, “but now he requires to speak to you. He has sent me and the levelers to capture the elf. Your help is no longer needed.”
“My help is-” Pontifex cut himself off. Gripping his four hands into fists, he took a deep breath then continued. “Of course, I’ll report to his lordship at once.”
“I shall escort you to Panopticon.”
Through gritted teeth, Pontifex said, “As you wish.”
* * * * *
Malil led Pontifex up the lift. The two rode in silence. When they reached the observatory, Malil spared a glance out the window. In the distance, he could see his levelers, a column of rust rising into the air marking their progress.