The Drow There and Nothing More (Goth Drow Book 3)

by Martha Carr

“Think that’s why they’re leaking out Earthside?”

  “Maybe. I don’t have the focus to try to figure that one out right now.” He leaped sideways and knocked into her when another geyser spewed black smoke. “And now I’m all jumpy. Sorry.”

  “We’re good.” Cheyenne pointed ahead and nodded. “That kinda looks like a doorway.”

  Persh’al squinted up ahead, and a grin broke across his blue face. “Yes, it does. Let’s get the hell through it.”

  They broke into a run toward the dark, shimmering outline that was a relatively rectangular shape—a door without any walls or support.

  I bet it doesn’t even touch the ground.

  The light coming through the doorway was less gray than the rest of this place, and it only grew brighter as they approached.

  “We have to run forever too?” Cheyenne panted.

  “Time and distance, kid. Not really things here. Just like that tree, we’ll be there before we—”

  The ground exploded in front of them and sent them both flying back through the smoke. A grating shriek shook the air, and the thick black smoke poured from a new fissure in a billowing wave.

  “Dammit!” Persh’al pounded his thigh and pushed himself to his feet. He cracked his green whip and snarled at the creature coalescing from the smoke. “This better be the last one.”

  “We can take it.” Cheyenne summoned two more black spheres and launched them at the glowing red eyes in the center of the smoke creature.

  The thing darted straight up at the last second, avoiding her attacks, then dove in a roaring column toward Persh’al. The troll cracked his whip at it, but his magical weapon went right through the new monster without any effect. His eyes widened just before the barreling stream of smoke hit him square in the chest, and the rest of the monstrous shape coalesced around him.

  “Fuck!”

  “Persh’al!” Cheyenne sent another attack at the top of the smoke monster swirling around the troll. Shit. Goes right through it.

  “Get this thing off me,” the troll shouted. “It’s— Ow!” A flash of green light burst from within the smoke, and the bodiless creature roared.

  “I’m trying.” Cheyenne sent another telekinetic wave toward the cyclone wrapped around Persh’al, which was growing tighter by the second. It blew the smoke away for a mere two seconds, long enough for her to catch a glimpse of the troll clawing at two thick, glistening tentacles coiled around his neck. He snarled and gasped for air, then the smoke drew in on itself again and hid him.

  I’ll go through the list, then.

  Cheyenne darted toward the smoke creature and sent black tendrils of whipping magic through the smoke, feeling for Persh’al. She felt the tug when her magic caught something, and she pulled.

  The black cloud roared and tossed her aside, and she lost hold on what she hoped was Persh’al and flew sideways. Before she reached the ground, a stream of black darted out of the funnel around the troll and wrapped around her upper arm before jerking her forward. Cheyenne growled at the slicing pain tearing through her bicep and somehow managed to dig her feet into the ground. The creature pulled her closer anyway, and she grabbed the now-hardened tentacle with her other hand. “Fuck you.”

  She didn’t have to think about which ability to use next, and she barely thought about the Nimlothar seed bound to her body before her hand erupted in black flames. The tentacled smoke-creature screamed, and Persh’al screamed with it. Cheyenne dug her fingers into the in-between monster’s flesh and sent the black fire racing across the appendage. The vortex of black smoke materialized into a snarling mass of tentacles and glistening black flesh before the fire consumed it.

  In two seconds, the entire thing was in flames. The creature let out another piercing screech before it shattered into fragments that blew away in the next gust of wind.

  Persh’al was on his knees, his fists pressed into the ground as he fought to draw in the air he hadn’t been breathing.

  “Hey. Come on.” Cheyenne offered him a hand up again, and his grip slipped from hers. She grabbed his arm instead and hauled him to his feet. “Persh’al. Hey, you okay? Look at me.”

  The troll’s eyelids fluttered, but he finally focused on her face and blinked slowly. Then he nodded and reached up to touch his throat. “I’m good. Shit, man. That was new.”

  “Yeah.” The halfling glanced at the doorway, which was now six feet in front of them, and pulled him with her. “Come on.”

  He stumbled forward and croaked out a chuckle. “That was the black fire, huh?”

  “That was the black fire. Guess I’ll start with that one next time.”

  “Did you know you weren’t gonna burn me up too?”

  “I had a hunch.”

  Persh’al choked out another laugh, which cut off when another small, hand-sized tentacle snaked around the corner of the doorway. He blasted it with a ball of green flames and grabbed Cheyenne’s hand, jerking her quickly behind him as he darted through the doorway.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The return of things like gravity and visible ground beneath them made them stumble when they burst through the portal. Persh’al let go of Cheyenne’s hand when he tripped on a loose stone, but he caught himself and straightened. “Fuck that place, man. Gets worse every time.”

  “Wasn’t as bad as fighting those things on the other side, though.”

  “Yeah, easy for you to say. You weren’t one being choked by a whatever-the-hell-that-was.”

  “True.” Cheyenne smiled innocently when he shot her an exasperated glance.

  With a wry chuckle, he stepped toward her and extended a hand. “But you were the one who fried that thing. Thanks.”

  “Hey, if I don’t have a guide over here, I’m screwed.” She shook his hand, and when he released her grip, the troll stood beside her and looked out over the expanse of land where they’d crossed over.

  “Oh, man.” He scratched his head and frowned. “Looks like this place is screwed too.”

  “Ambar’ogúl has deserts too, huh?”

  “Not like this. At least, not naturally.”

  The ground stretched flat and barren in front of them, the earth split and cracked as far as they could see. Two trees emerged from the dead landscape to their left, dry and gnarled. One of them had cracked and fallen halfway against the other, which looked like it was about to crumble anyway. All of it was a charred, dusty black.

  Cheyenne blew strands of her white hair out of her face and scanned the open ground. “You sure we made it out?”

  “Very funny.” Persh’al turned and pointed to the blackened, partially split boulder behind him. “That’s not moving. If we were coming back the same way when we cross over again, that rock would still be here.”

  “Right. No smoke, either.”

  “Well done on your first crossing, kid. Welcome to Ambar’ogúl.” He smacked her arm with the back of his hand, and Cheyenne flinched away from him with a hiss. “Whoa. That’s a nasty one.”

  She glanced down at her arm where the smoke-tentacle had grabbed her and grimaced “Shit.”

  The thing had burned a hole in the sleeve of her hoodie and through some layers of skin. Her purple-gray flesh glistened in the bright sunlight streaming down on them, the edges of the burn charred black like the dead land around them. Kneeling, she shrugged off her backpack, careful not to knock the other strap against the fresh wound. Then she unzipped the bag and pulled out the jar of darktongue salve. When she unscrewed the lid, the scent of rotting strawberries overwhelmed them both.

  Persh’al stared at the brown jar and scratched his chin. “Smells like darktongue.”

  “It is.”

  “You, uh, you ever use that stuff before?”

  She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

  He chuckled. “Want some help?”

  “Thanks, but that might get you a drow hand around your throat instead of a tentacle.”

  The troll raised his hands and t
ook a step back. “Fair enough.”

  Cheyenne dug her fingers into the jar and twirled the thick, stretchy white goo around her hand. “You mind ripping that hole open a little more, though?”

  “Sure.” He leaned forward and gently peeled the singed fabric off her arm. Cheyenne gritted her teeth as he yanked once and widened the shredded hole. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. That’s just a warmup, right?” Her smile was tight and forced as she stared at the open wound, then she blew out a quick breath and went for it. Her arm burned worse than the tentacle when she smeared the salve across it. A growl escaped her, and she choked it back.

  “It’s cool, kid.” Persh’al glanced around. “Nobody out here to hear you—”

  “Fuck!” She hunched over her knees and clenched her eyes shut as the salve did its work patching up her arm. Tears squeezed out of her eyes, and she sucked in slow breath after slow breath through her nose. “This is taking forever.”

  “Nah. You’ll be all right.” She didn’t fight him when he reached down to take the jar from her and screwed on the lid. “Just to keep this in one piece.”

  “Yep.” The pain slowly died, and she took another deep breath before looking at the bluish-green sky. “The sun over here kinda looks the same.”

  “Two moons, though.” He handed her the jar, which she shoved back into her pack before running a hand across her newly healed flesh. “We got a long way to go before we can stop again. You ready?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Cheyenne pushed to her feet and shrugged her backpack on again. Then she turned to take another look at the portal disguised as a cracked boulder. The scarred black earth stretched around them for miles, but a tall mountain range rose in the distance. “You sure this wasn’t a desert?”

  “Used to be a lake.” Persh’al nodded, and she turned to follow him across the dry, shriveled ground. “Not much of anything left here now.”

  “This is the rot.”

  “What?”

  Cheyenne shook her head. “Heard it in a prophecy. Something about cutting out the rot.”

  “Huh. Makes sense. I mean, either the lake caught fire, dried up instantly, and the flames ate away the bottom, or the life was taken right out of this place by something else.”

  “Something else like the Crown?”

  “I wish I knew the answer to that one, kid. I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet.”

  They walked across the charred lakebed for an hour before they reached the edge of the basin. After a steep climb up crumbling dirt and rock that broke away beneath their fingers, Persh’al dusted off his hands. “Been a while since I’ve hiked like that.”

  Cheyenne snorted. “That was pretty easy.”

  “Uh-huh. Your face says somethin’ else.”

  She wiped at her forehead and flicked beads of sweat off her hand. “It’s the middle of the day in what’s basically a desert. And I’m wearing all black.”

  “You did that to yourself.” With a crooked smile, he turned away from her and pointed down the other side of the elevated basin. A round dirty-brown dome rose from the sea of short, scrubby brown grass below them, with two smaller rectangular outbuildings on either side. “That’s where we’re headed first. Should be able to get something a little faster than our own two feet.”

  Cheyenne cocked her head. “I doubt that.”

  “Okay, faster than my two feet, halfling. Unless you wanna pick me up and run superspeed in no particular direction.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  The climb down the other side of the dry basin was a lot gentler and easier, though Cheyenne had to stop halfway to the bottom to take off her hoodie and stuff it in her backpack. The sound of metal banging on metal and magicals shouting at each other greeted them when they reached flat ground. When they got closer, half a dozen square huts came into view on the other side of the huge domed building. “You know what this place is?”

  “It says it right there on the wall—oh.” Persh’al chuckled and dropped his hand. “I keep forgetting you can’t read this stuff. It’s a waystation, more or less. And a small village, looks like.”

  “But you haven’t been here before.”

  “When that desert was still a lake, kid, this valley down here was all farmland. I’ve been here before, but not like this.”

  The rectangular outbuildings were open at one end, and Cheyenne caught a glimpse of a huge ogre standing inside, smacking a huge wrench against a piece of machinery that looked like a small fishing boat hovering two feet off the ground. When he saw the drow and the blue troll approaching, he chucked the wrench into the machine and stared at them.

  Two dirt-smeared goblins walked quickly between the dome and the second outbuilding on that side, dragging a rope net with a pile of metal boxes and machine parts behind them. They slowed down when they saw the two, and the goblin woman on the right frowned.

  “Doesn’t look like they’re happy to see visitors,” Cheyenne muttered.

  “They probably aren’t, but they’ll do business.” Persh’al pointed toward the door cut into the side of the dome. A short, grizzled orc with a long black braid spilling down his back shoved out the door just before they reached it and paused at the sight of them. His lips curled in a snarl before he stalked away, not bothering to hold the door. “Okay, hopefully they’ll do business. Let me do the talking, and I’ll take care of it.”

  “No problem.”

  Persh’al grabbed the handle and opened the door for them again, gesturing for Cheyenne to enter first. It was much darker and cooler inside, lit by small fist-sized lamps floating at different heights beneath the rounded ceiling. They passed a few crooked tables and wobbly chairs as they headed toward the horseshoe bar toward the back. Two of the tables were inhabited by other magicals, all of them dirt-stained, sweaty, and glaring at the unannounced visitors.

  The goblin woman behind the bar was too busy polishing a metal canister with a dirty rag to look up at the newcomers. She squinted at the thing, rubbed it again, and nodded toward the array of items spread out on the bar beside her. “Look through all that first. New shipment just arrived, but I promise you it ain’t fancy.”

  “We don’t need anything fancy,” Persh’al said. “Just looking for a working zip and some water. If you have any.”

  The goblin thunked the canister on the bar and looked up. Her eyes widened when she saw Cheyenne, and she set both hands down on the bar and leaned forward. “You sure about that?”

  Persh’al asked, “Which part?”

  “Any of it.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” He removed his pack and set it at the edge of the bar. “We got a long way to go. Could use a little help.”

  “Help don’t come cheap, troll.” The goblin woman scratched her head, wiggling the ratted, dusty coils of yellow hair piled on it. She watched him dig into the front pocket of his pack, then glanced at Cheyenne. “But I bet both of yous know that already, doncha?”

  Cheyenne stared right back at the goblin until the other magical sniffed and looked away. What’s that about?

  “Oh, sure.” Persh’al pulled out a thick black case the size of Cheyenne’s cell phone and popped it open. “Not fancy and not cheap. We’re not picky, either.”

  The goblin’s eyes widened when Persh’al flicked out a thin piece of blue-tinted plastic the same dimensions as the case and set it down on the bar. She licked her chapped lips and glanced at Persh’al, then leaned sideways and barked, “Cork! You got one of them skiffs up and runnin’ yet?”

  An orc sitting at one of the tables scratched his chin, flaking off a layer of dust crusted on his face. “Maybe.”

  The goblin woman raised her eyebrows at Persh’al and shrugged.

  He swiped another thin card of blue plastic off the top of the stack in his black case and set it down on the first. “How ‘bout now?”

  “Yeah.” She chuckled and slid both thin cards across the bar. “We got somethin’ for yous. Still want th
at water?”

  “As long as it won’t kill us.”

  A wheezing laugh escaped her, exposing yellow-stained teeth. “You’re in the Outers, lugahw’o. Anything could kill ya.”

  Persh’al rapped his knuckles on the bar and nodded after her. “Better make it two.”

  Cheyenne shot him a confused frown. “You’re paying for water?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a start.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Cheyenne drained the last of what this place called water and dropped the copper cup on the table with a grimace. She swiped at her lips and pulled out grainy bits of sand and a blade of brown grass. “This is the best your plastic money could buy, huh?”

  “It’s a skyvein alloy, kid, not plastic. And I’m fairly sure this is the good water.” Persh’al swirled the rest of his around in the cup and smacked his lips. “At least she didn’t try to sell us grog instead.”

  “I guess.” She glanced around the domed building, feeling the other magicals’ eyes on her even before she met their gaze with a deadpan stare. “Feels off in here.”

  “Yep.” He sat back in his chair and eyed the table of orcs across the room. “That’s because you’re here. Nothing personal.”

  “What?”

  A dented metal chair scooted back across the floor, and an orc with a long, webbed scar covering one massive bicep lumbered toward them. He pulled out a chair at their table with one hand and guzzled sloppily from a cup in his other hand, then took a seat with the strangers. “Cork’ll be out there fixin’ yous up with that skiffer for a while yet. Don’t get twitchy, nah.”

  Persh’al nodded. “We’ll wait.”

  “Uh-huh. I see you do.” The orc fixed his yellow eyes on Cheyenne and leaned forward over the table. “I ain’t seen a mór edhil since I was a crawler, yeh. What you doin’ all the way out the Outers?”

  Cheyenne eyed his slowly growing sneer. At least I understood most of that.

  Persh’al slapped the table and gestured toward the halfling. “This mór edhil wanted to see what was up is all. Help doesn’t come cheap, isn’t that it?”