by Martha Carr
Gu’urs took a step forward, jerking down the lapel of his officer’s jacket with a sneer. “I didn’t give it. And I don’t plan to.”
“That’s not very diplomatic of you.”
“Who the hell are you, Nightstalker?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Maleshi shot him a small, bitter smile and nodded toward the frozen magicals around the clearing. Those standing closest to their raug commander stepped back. “If I can hear the whispers from here, it’s hard to imagine you haven’t picked up on them.”
The raug looked her up and down in contempt. “Maleshi Hi’et defected centuries ago. I heard she didn’t make it very long after that.”
“Really? The general’s dead, huh? Look at that.” She stuck her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “No invitation to the party, and I still haven’t heard about my death. These lines of communication have some serious flaws in them, don’t you think?”
“I’m done listening to your shit, nilsch úcat—”
“And I’m done explaining myself, raug!” The Nightstalker’s voice rang across the clearing with terrifying intensity. “If you can’t keep your shit together for a friendly chat, I’m more than happy to do this the hard way. For you, of course.”
Gu’urs ran his thick gray tongue along the edge of his stained teeth and growled. “Hi’et or not, I’ll bring your head back to the Crown on an iron spike.”
“See, that’s just a waste of everyone’s time.” Maleshi stepped forward and pointed at the stacks of crates. “I want this explained. Go.”
“I don’t take orders from you.” Gu’urs’ empty hand flared with a crackling spell of gray and red light.
“This is the only warning you get,” the Nightstalker spat. “Don’t waste it.”
The terrified magicals watching their commander threaten the greatest O’gúl general to lift a finger for the Crown glanced nervously at the spell in Gu’urs’ huge hand. A ripple of tense, uncomfortable foot-shifting passed around the clearing.
A low chuckle rose in the raug’s throat. The next second, he hurled the crackling mass of gray and red energy at the Nightstalker intruder.
Silver light exploded in the clearing before the spell left the commander’s hand. Maleshi accelerated to Nightstalker speed, growling with her fists clenched at her sides as she stepped around the hurtling ball of slow-motion magic. “It’s always the tough lessons, isn’t it? Put all the hard work on me. Sure.”
She reared back and swung a fist into the underside of the raug’s jaw, then slipped back into normal time to watch him fly.
Gu’urs roared. The crackling silver light streaking across his chin and jaw and down the outside of his throat turned that roar into a shriek. The huge gray and red magical slid across the ground when he landed. Thin streams of smoke rose from his gray flesh.
At the tree line, Cheyenne blinked. “Jesus.”
Corian shook his head. “Just Maleshi.”
The Nightstalker ex-general stomped across the flattened grass toward the raug commander and only stopped when she was almost on top of him. She studied the sharp black jacket with the Crown’s military sigil over one shoulder and clicked her tongue. “New getup. I see her style hasn’t improved any.”
A strangled croak rose from the fallen raug as he struggled to push himself up off the ground. He only managed to sit up, blinking heavily and swaying a little. Spit flew from his obscenely swollen lower lip.
“You’re dead.”
“So you’ve told me.” Maleshi gave him that grimacing tight-lipped smile again and pointed at another stack of metal crates. “Now tell me what she’s ordered you to smuggle Earthside and why, and I’ll make sure you don’t end up in a hole in the ground. I promise it’ll be much harder for you to come back from the dead than it was for me.”
“Traitor!” The cry rose from within a group of terror-stricken skaxen and wide-eyed goblins as a streak of orange flame hurtled across the clearing.
Maleshi hissed, stepping deftly out of the line of fire. She dropped into a crouch and sneered at the battered Gu’urs. “You need a better handle on your peons, Commander. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Another brilliant flash of silver light exploded around the Nightstalker woman, then she disappeared.
Screams rang out one after the other, silver light flashing everywhere at once while the Crown’s soldiers struggled to comprehend what was happening. Spells and shouted commands flew in all directions, most of the magic reaching the source of silver light seconds after the speeding Nightstalker had moved on. Bodies flew or dropped with no apparent rhyme or reason. Two ogres rushed to Gu’urs’ side to help their commander to his feet while General Hi’et wrought havoc on their operation.
Cheyenne ripped the pendant off her neck and shifted into her drow form. “We gotta get in there—”
“Wait.” Corian grabbed her arm, and the halfling turned to glance down at his fingers clamped around her bicep. She didn’t have to say she could break those fingers in an instant if she wanted to. The Nightstalker released her and nodded toward the chaos in the clearing. “Just wait.”
After he said it, she still took a step forward toward the fray. Persh’al, Byrd, and Lumil followed suit, each of them summoning magical attacks to step in if needed.
Two orcs worked at the opposite side of the clearing to pry open one of the crates with red handles. As spells flew, crackling against the black pillars of the portal ridge and throwing up sprays of grass and dirt every few seconds, Maleshi’s flashing silver light was one step ahead of everyone.
When the orcs straightened from hunching over the open crate, one of them hiked a massive tube of black metal up onto his shoulder, steadied by his fellow orc.
Cheyenne clenched her fists. “That’s a fell launcher.”
“No, it’s not.” Corian took off running into the fight, followed by the other three O’gúleesh. The halfling had no choice but to join them.
One orc slammed a charge into the back end of the black weapon on his fellow orc’s shoulder and shouted something unintelligible. The launcher exploded in a flash of red light and thick gray smoke, almost knocking the orc backward into another stack of crates.
A high-pitched whine filled the air as the projectile zipped around the clearing, zoning in on the disappearing, reappearing Maleshi Hi’et in her element.
“Tracker!” Corian shouted.
Maleshi knocked aside two skaxen flying toward her with claws outstretched, then disappeared again. The launched tracker zipped and turned, following her trail of silver light until it finally hit home.
The Nightstalker woman let out a piercing scream as electric red energy shivered up and down her body, rendering her immobile. Corian darted into enhanced speed and made it toward the orcs who’d shot the damn thing before they had a chance to reload. Silver claws flashed in the sunlight and the orcs clutched at their throats and dropped, then the Nightstalker disappeared again.
“Bring her down!” the raug commander bellowed.
The ogre on his left saw Lumil coming for him and had enough time to lift a forearm against her first punch. The goblin sent the fist swirling with magical light into his gut and dropped him.
Persh’al’s green whip slashed at the loyalist trolls trying to flee the clearing. He snagged first one and then the other by the ankles, dragging them back across the ground before landing a set of knockout punches.
Byrd’s orange flames seared loyalist after loyalist, and Cheyenne hit the goblin he’d missed with a crackling sphere of black and purple energy. The goblin went down with a cry, Byrd turned to shoot the halfling a grateful nod, then Cheyenne darted toward Mattie.
The Nightstalker had recovered from the electric attack and spun to shoot a massive bolt of silver lightning at the ogre thundering toward her. It struck him in the shoulder and rocked him backward, but he continued toward her.
A slavering skaxen leaped onto the stack of crates behind her, his boots hitting it with a metallic clang. As he kick
ed off from his perch, claws outstretched toward Maleshi Hi’et’s neck, Cheyenne darted into drow speed and unleashed her whipping black tendrils. They coiled around the suspended skaxen’s neck and chest before she slammed him into the stack of crates.
After the top crate toppled, it hung there in slow motion, and Maleshi/Mattie turned toward the drow halfling with a feral grin. “Look who’s gettin’ the hang of things?”
Cheyenne retracted her lashing tendrils and studied her former professor’s feline face, alight with battle fury. “You okay?”
“I appreciate the check-in, Cheyenne.” Mattie stepped toward the frozen ogre and whipped her hand out by her side. Flashing silver claws like thin steel blades shot from her fingertips, and she grabbed the ogre by the front of his black uniform shirt. “But I got this. Just another fight on the playground.”
She jerked the ogre toward her and sent those vicious, four-inch claws slicing into his side below his thick ribs. Then she released him and turned back toward the halfling. “Fun, right?”
Cheyenne stared at the ogre, who hadn’t yet realized what had happened to him. “I don’t even wanna know what kinda playground you grew up on.”
“A lot rougher than this, I’ll tell you that much.” The Nightstalker stormed across the grass toward the raug commander, his swollen jaw frozen mid-shout.
Corian joined them and headed for Maleshi, jerking his chin at her. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”
“Oh, is that what you do? Give warnings?”
“You know what I mean.”
Maleshi pointed at the raug. “I know we’re about to get some answers. You ready for this?”
Corian gave her an exasperated glare, and the ex-general laughed.
Then she turned back toward Cheyenne. “We got this, kid. Feel free to step on out of this little bubble. It’ll go a lot faster that way, yeah?”
“What will?” The halfling glanced at the Nightstalkers, one with light-brown fur, the other pitch-black and gray. Their glowing eyes were startlingly similar.
“Just a little trick I learned in the Upper Aegúrs. Magical zip-ties and whatnot. And yes, before you ask, it requires an extra spell we don’t have the time to teach you right now.” Maleshi shot Cheyenne a pert smile and nodded once.
And that’s me being dismissed.
“Sure.” The halfling nodded and slipped out of drow speed. The clearing flashed every few seconds with blazing silver light, and Cheyenne turned slowly to watch the results in real-time. “Holy shit.”
Chapter Eighty
In under two minutes, Corian and Maleshi had made the rounds of every single O’gúl loyalist in the clearing. When the Nightstalkers fell back into real-time, Maleshi stuck her hands on her hips and surveyed their work. “Four centuries of Earthside hiatus, and I still got it.”
Corian eyed her sideways and snorted.
Persh’al slapped a hand to his bald blue head and smacked his lips. “Seeing this never gets old.”
He stepped toward the Nightstalkers, joined by Byrd and Lumil. The goblins stared at the Crown’s goons, who were sitting or lying in various positions around the clearing, hands bound behind their backs by shimmering magical light.
“Death to traitors!” A troll leaning against a stack of crates beside the part of the portal ridge Cheyenne had destroyed sneered and leaned forward. He spat a fat glob of spit and dark blood toward the Nightstalkers half a dozen yards away.
Lumil sent a swift kick into his side as she passed. “Next time it’s your face, asshole. Shut it.”
When the group of rogue magicals gathered in the center of the clearing, Maleshi nodded at the raug commander lying on his side, his thick gray wrists also bound behind his back. “Don’t worry, Commander. I still have respect for the old laws. We’ll start with you in a bit. Excuse me.”
Gu’urs grunted and craned his neck to glare at the Nightstalker as she stepped past him toward the portal ridge. Taking a deep breath, Maleshi scanned the spires of black stone jutting twenty feet or taller. She leaned away to follow the long stretch of the ridge moving out to the west, then nodded. “I’ve still got it.”
Corian stepped forward. “I can—”
“No. Thank you.” The ex-general didn’t turn around to address him before she raised both hands and extended them toward the jutting ridge. “This won’t take long.”
Cheyenne glanced at Corian and found his jaw working beneath the tufts of brown hair fluttering at the sides of his face. Those silver eyes didn’t leave Maleshi.
A soft whisper of an O’gúleesh incantation fluttered from the Nightstalker woman’s lips. She closed her eyes and reached out for the energy she hadn’t felt in centuries. Not until it started looking for me several weeks ago. And now I know why.
Pale, opalescent light tinged with faded pink emerged from her hands. It wavered in front of her, then erupted toward the portal ridge and the wall of dark light. A huge crack split the air, echoing madly against the metal crates. Then the dark wall of the new Border portal took on the same pinkish light.
Maleshi let out a long breath, studied her handiwork, and nodded. “There’s our proof.”
Cheyenne studied the glimmering wall. “What was that?”
The ex-general turned and dusted off her hands. “Just closed the portal for now.”
“You can do that?”
The woman grinned at the drow halfling and spread her arms. “Of course I can. But it wears out even faster than that pendant of yours, kid.”
Corian glared at the magical wall Maleshi had made and hissed in frustration. “Shit.”
“Almost.”
Cheyenne looked at her mentor and frowned. “I can’t see any way that closing the portal is a bad thing.”
He shot her a sidelong glance before gazing at the glistening pink wall again. “It’s not. But she wouldn’t have been able to seal it—”
“Temporarily, mind you.” Maleshi pointed at the other Nightstalker as she turned that feral grin on the raug lying at her feet.
Corian stared at her before continuing, “That wouldn’t have been possible with a cast portal.”
“Or even a forced rift in the Border.” The ex-general folded her arms and wiggled her eyebrows at the disarmed and magically trussed Commander Gu’urs.
“Great.” Cheyenne smoothed her drow-white hair back from her forehead with both hands. “The Crown didn’t open this one.”
“Nope. Just using it to her advantage.” Maleshi tilted her head and kept grinning when the raug struggled uselessly against his bonds.
“Then this is the worst-case scenario.” The halfling glanced at Corian, and the Nightstalker closed his silver eyes. That was all the confirmation she needed.
“We’ll get to the part about all of us being seriously screwed later, kid. Right now, I have questions for our friends. That includes you, Commander.” Maleshi lowered herself into a squat beside the raug’s head and tapped his red-streaked gray temple with a firm, threatening finger. “I want to know what you’re keeping in here.”
“Too bad, nilsch úcat.” The words were far less threatening through Commander Gu’urs’ mashed lower jaw, but he got the point across well enough.
“This is how it’s gonna go. I ask you what the Crown’s doing sending a whole crew across with all this...gear. You tell me. Then I go through everything you and your peons brought with you, just to double-check that you’re being straight with me.” Her finger froze on the raug’s temple, and her hand slowly lifted away as one devastatingly sharp claw slowly elongated from her nailbed. She pressed hard enough to leave a divot in the commander’s thick gray skin, but that was all.
She’s about to skewer the guy’s brain. Cheyenne opened her mouth to tell her friend to wait, but the back of Corian’s hand pressed against her shoulder made her look up at him instead. The Nightstalker averted his gaze and slowly shook his head.
Maleshi twisted her claw in that divot in the commander’s gray flesh. “I’m sure even a raug
can easily imagine how different the scenarios will be at the end, depending on what you tell me right now.”
Gu’urs’ glowing orange-brown eyes narrowed as he sneered up at his captor. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but you’ve lost all your power. General.”
Maleshi removed her bladelike claw from the commander’s forehead, retracting it with a soft noise like sheathing a knife and looked around the clearing. “Yes, that’s exactly what it looks like to me. All your men tied up like prize radan ready for the spit and a nice, hot, Deaden-Day feast. You got me, Commander. Completely powerless.”
Byrd let out a low chuckle but shut up immediately when Lumil shot him a threatening glance.
“All right. What’s in the crates?”
“Your fucking doom.” The raug glared at his interrogator even as a slow, swollen smirk spread across his bruised lower lip. Then he took a deep breath and roared, “It’s the death torch for any of you who tells this nilsch úcat a fell-damn—”
The back of Maleshi’s hand cracked across the raug’s splintered face, cutting him off. “I’m sure we all understand what happens here. And you’re out of chances.”
When she stood, the group of rebel magicals who’d come to crash this O’gúl smuggling party stepped back from the ex-general’s blazing silver gaze, including Cheyenne and Corian.
The halfling watched her former professor stalk across the clearing toward the closest stack of metal crates. She was right. Two different people.
When Maleshi reached the crates, those flashing silver claws elongated from her fingertips. In one swift stroke, the Nightstalker woman slashed through the three locks on the crate’s lid with a grating squeal of ruptured metal. The locks gave way, and she shoved the lid open to let it fall back on its hinges. “Corian.”
It was a command, and Corian went obediently to the ex-general’s side. Together, they peered into the open crate. Hissing, Corian reached inside and pulled out a long chain of black metal links. He turned, the link on the end whispering across the grass, and flicked the chain like a whip. The links clicked together and locked into place, unfolding and rearranging until he held what looked more like an extra-long crowbar than a chain.