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

by Martha Carr

  “That troll family.” Cheyenne frowned at the devastation. “They said they were driven out of their home and made the crossing a year ago. The radan disappeared, and things got bleak. They didn’t give me specifics, but I’m sure they would have mentioned something like this.”

  Persh’al muttered something and shook his head. “In just a year Earthside.”

  “Is time different over here?”

  “Not that different, kid.”

  The skiff skimmed above the broken land, sending small, unseen creatures skittering through the long white-brown grass in their wake. Persh’al took them to the right and toward a thicker forest that didn’t look nearly as bad as the first. However, the closer they got, the more wrong everything felt.

  The trees still had their leaves, but they pulsed with dark light like a heartbeat. So did the trunks and the roots that had pulled up out of the ground, as if they were trying to remove themselves from the source of the sickness. Persh’al slowed the skiff to a crawl, and the air around them filled with a wet, slurping sound, almost in perfect sync with the sickly pulsing of the trees.

  “That’s a river, right?” Cheyenne pointed through the forest at the slowly moving surface of shimmering black liquid. Where the river broke over protruding rocks, green foam built up around the obstacles, some of it trailing downstream.

  “Not anymore.” Persh’al pressed his lips together and took them along the edge of the forest—close enough to see what it had become, but not too close. “I can’t believe this. Things have been bad enough to send refugees across the Border, but I haven’t heard anything about whatever this is.”

  “It’s happening too fast.” The halfling’s nostrils flared when the scent of rotting meat wafted toward them on a cool, slightly humid breeze. That’s the opposite of refreshing.

  “Must be. I’ve never seen a change like this happen so quickly.”

  A huge dark shape lumbered away from the riverbank ahead of them. Persh’al moved the skiff out of the way to avoid the thing, groaning when they got close enough to see what it was.

  The animal looked like a cross between a cow and a buffalo, with a gigantic rack of black antlers growing from its skull. The antlers were twisted and misshapen, ballooning into clubs in the middle and at the end, and they weighed the creature’s head down on one side so that it moved with its head perpetually twisted. The thing snorted when they passed, staring at them with three glassy black eyes and a fourth as disgustingly yellow as the sludge oozing from the other forest across the valley. A fifth limb protruded from its chest, dangling there without muscle or bone to give it purpose.

  “Shit.” Persh’al ran a hand down his cheek and turned the skiff away from the tree line and back out into the valley’s open brown grass.

  Cheyenne couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the mutated creature. Two smaller beasts with blood-red snouts and what looked like claws instead of antlers sprouting from their heads stepped up behind the huge male. “Please tell me those aren’t the radan my neighbors were so nostalgic about.”

  “Those aren’t radan.” Swallowing thickly, Persh’al clenched his jaw and dropped both hands in his lap, letting the skiff take them where it would across the abandoned valley. “Mutated, sure, but I’d go so far as to say they don’t even have half of the original makeup anymore.”

  “Nothing mutates that quickly.”

  “Nope. Not even in a world where magic is the norm, kid. Fuck with genetic code in nature, and you’re way outside the realm of magic the way it’s meant to be used.”

  Cheyenne nodded. “So, things are bad.”

  “Right now, I’m okay with that understatement.”

  They approached a group of buildings barely hanging on to their frames. The roofs had crumbled in, doors broken, rubble strewn all over the place. The fence posts of what had once been livestock pens and stables were splintered and hanging sideways as if the animals had known what was happening and tried to outrun it.

  Persh’al slowed the skiff again when they got closer, and they saw the bodies—four of them tossed against each other, purple skin and scarlet hair fluttering in the reeking wind. “Shit. These magicals were still living out here.”

  “Until not that long ago.” Cheyenne scanned the wreckage of the half-dozen buildings forming a semi-circle beside them. “Looks like somebody came through and tore everything apart.”

  “Yep. So, this is the new normal out here, huh? The Oronti Valley reduced to this farm and the other four we saw?”

  “Didn’t get close enough to see what was left.”

  Persh’al returned his hands to the control panel and scowled. “Yeah. I think we’ve seen enough of this one too.”

  The skiff’s low hum stopped, let out a metallic screech, and sputtered out.

  “What?” The troll ran his hand over the panel, bringing that green light to his fingers again, but the controls didn’t respond. The skiff slowed to a stop and came in for a smooth landing on the long grass three yards from the last outbuilding and fell silent. “Dammit. That orc took my veréle and gave us half of what we paid for.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That’s what I gotta check?” With a growl of frustration, Persh’al leaped over the side of the skiff and stepped around the hull toward the back. He pressed a button on the side panel, which clicked in protest and didn’t budge until he kicked it open and got to work.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Cheyenne stood and got out of the skiff, gazing around the empty valley. “The thing picked a great place to break down.”

  “Nah, we’re all right.” The troll squatted, grunted, and rummaged around inside the open panel. “I mean, yeah, I wanna get out of here ASAP, but we’re on our own. Don’t worry, kid. I just need to tighten this—”

  A piece of metal snapped, wires sputtered, and pieces clanged around in the mechanical opening.

  “Tighten it, huh?”

  Persh’al chucked the broken piece onto the grass. “Too tight for these useless pieces. That’s what I get for buying from a bunch of scrappers. I’m honestly amazed it got us this far, and it’s crap without that part. So…” He stood, dusted off his pants, and spread his arms. “You can hike, right?”

  “Across an open valley? Sure.”

  “Great.” The troll bent over the back of the dead skiff and pulled on his bulging pack. The strap caught on something underneath, and he fought to free it.

  A crunch of broken wood and the rustle of dry grass reached Cheyenne’s ears, and she turned slowly toward the outbuildings. That’s not just the wind.

  “Hey, kid. Wanna take a look in here and see what I’m missing? I can’t get this—”

  “Shh.” She hushed him so softly, she thought he might not have heard. Another soft rustle of grass pressing against the earth reached her, and she scanned the space between the buildings, searching for movement.

  Persh’al glanced at her and slowly straightened. “Not all alone, are we?” he whispered.

  Cheyenne slowly shook her head and leaned sideways, waiting for the next slow footstep.

  The wall of the building in front of her shattered when a sizzling yellow ball of magic crashed through the rotting slats. She ducked and caught a glimpse of two narrowed yellow eyes through the hole in the wall before a bolt of bright orange whizzed over Persh’al’s head. He leaped aside and whirled, flicking his wrist to summon the sparking green whip.

  Someone let out a raw, warbling battle roar, and four magicals barreled toward Cheyenne and Persh’al from between the buildings—two orcs, a troll who barely looked old enough to call himself full-grown, and a skinny yellow-green magical barely four feet tall with pointed ears and yellow fangs.

  The yellow guy screamed and slashed his hand through the air as he darted toward Cheyenne. She lashed out with her black tendrils, curling them around his arm to toss him away from her. A bright yellow dart shot down at her from the sky and barely missed her hand. “What the—”

&nbs
p; A rusty, dirt-coated orb bobbed in the air six feet above her, its multiple layers spinning in opposite directions. The gangly yellow magical slid across the dirt where she’d tossed him and motioned again with a flick of his wrist. The floating orb darted behind Cheyenne and blasted her with another dart as the magical shot yellow sparks at her head.

  The halfling raised a shield in front of her and turned to launch her purple sparks at the floating orb. They crackled against the metal ball, which let out a shrieking whine and dropped to the ground, covered in purple light.

  The yellow magical screamed again and leaped to his feet. “Get your own, mór edhil!”

  “What?”

  One of the orcs crashed into the side of the building in front of Persh’al with a grunt, then pushed away and kicked at nothing but air. The ground erupted in front of Persh’al, and a steel plate rose and jerked toward him. The troll leaped aside and cracked his whip at the flying saucer-thing, sending it right back at its owner like a frisbee.

  The troll kid whipped around the buildings, tossing disks of light and riding another sheet of metal that clicked and squeaked.

  Cheyenne spun and watched him sail past her. Kid’s got a hoverboard. What is this?

  The disks of blue light sailed over her head when she ducked and buried themselves in the wood of the shed. The kid veered back around to head toward her and pulled more disks out of a pouch to get in more target practice. His first projectiles pulled themselves out of the wood to join the others, and eight flashing disks sailed toward Cheyenne, spinning and whirring.

  She raised a shield at the last second, and the slicing metal pinged against the black surface. Then she leaped aside and sent two churning black orbs into the disks, catching six of them at once. They split in half, while the other two changed course to head for Persh’al, and Cheyenne heard the hum of the kid’s hoverboard behind her seconds before he leaped from the thing and knocked her to the ground.

  With a shout, she pushed the kid off and wrapped him in her black tendrils. He struggled violently, kicking and bucking on the ground as she held him in place. “Cut it out, kid! What are you doing?”

  “Go feed off the Mother’s tit, yeh,” he spat. “She got lots more for her mór edhil spawn!”

  “Cheyenne!” Persh’al blasted the second orc back with a bolt of green light, then sent his whip after the two disks racing toward him. He only got one, and Cheyenne slipped into drow speed.

  The second disk slowed inches from his nose, spinning in suspension and pulsing with blue sparks shooting from the center out to the razor-sharp edge. She released one handful of her tendrils from around the tied-up troll and reached out to grab the disk. It buzzed briefly between her fingers and shuddered.

  When she slipped back into normal time, the troll was expecting to see her forehead split by his metal weapon. Instead, he saw her raise the disk in one hand and crush it. Metal shards and hair-thin wires flew out around them, peppering the kid’s face. “Bitch!”

  “Hold that thought.” Cheyenne kept him there, wrapped in her tendrils, and launched a volley of purple sparks at the weird yellow guy leaping at her on all fours. Her attack caught him in the shoulder, and he spun out of the air. Screaming, the yellow magical shot both hands toward her, and a spray of metal darts burst not from his hands but from somewhere up his tattered, dirt-crusted sleeves.

  She leaped aside and released the kid from her coiled black whips. He spun into the air and raced toward her at the wrong moment. The dozen metal darts from his yellow-skinned friend pierced his back and sent him to the ground, his scarlet eyes wide with pain and disbelief.

  “Urae!” The yellow magical snarled and focused on Cheyenne again. “Always takin’. We’ll take back!”

  He lunged at her, and Cheyenne lifted a shield. The yellow magical smacked into the shimmering black surface with a clang, his long, dirt-smeared face smashing against it at the same moment that Persh’al’s next attack hit him square in the back. The sandwiched magical slid down Cheyenne’s shield before dropping to the ground, and she stepped back to search for the next attack.

  None came.

  “Damn.” Persh’al opened his hand. The green whip disappeared, and he took a step back to eye the two orcs he’d taken down. One of them had gotten his own flying metal plate stuck in his neck, and the other had been tossed head-first into the next building over, everything below the waist dangling out of the hole made by his head and shoulders. He grunted, kicked once to find the ground too far beneath him, and passed out.

  “Oh, man.” Cheyenne stepped toward the troll kid lying on his side, scarlet eyes still open in surprise and a dozen points of steel protruding from his chest. “I threw him out of the way, and he just kept coming.”

  “Not your fault, Cheyenne.”

  She grimaced and shook her head. “Yeah, but I was part of it.”

  “Sure. Attacked by a tiny group of desperate raiders who relied way too much on broken tech and had no idea how to fight together.”

  Persh’al rolled the short-circuited metal ball beneath his shoe. “Junk. That’s what they’re puttin’ their faith in these days.”

  Cheyenne pulled herself away from the troll kid’s dead eyes and turned. “Fighting with machines. So, that’s a thing for everyone on this side, not just the loyalists and their shipped crates?”

  “Oh, yeah. This is newer tech, but it worked like shit ‘cause they treated it like shit. Looks cobbled together, too. They’d be better off if they learned how to fight without it. Come on. We’ll leave the other two to wake up on their own, but we should hurry.” He stopped by their failed skiff and grabbed his pack, snorting when it lifted freely this time.

  Cheyenne grabbed hers and headed past the small farm but stopped when he whistled. “I thought we were going that way.”

  “We are. With that much gear on them, I seriously doubt these guys walked all the way out here on their own. If they have a skiff or a shuttle or hell, even extra hoverboards, we could use ‘em.”

  The halfling followed him around the outside of the buildings arranged in a horseshoe. The four raiders had built a camp here after going through everything the troll family had and chucking it into piles. Two skiffs were pulled up along one side of the farthest building, and Persh’al turned away from the closest one with another low whistle. “They’ve been out here a while.”

  Rubbing his hands together, he summoned the green light between his palms and cautiously set them down on the dented skiff’s control panel. The thing popped and let out a growling cough, then hummed to life and lifted two feet off the ground.

  “Excellent.” Persh’al heaved a massive burlap sack out of the back of the skiff and threw it as far as he could. The top burst open with a puff of black dust and what might have been carrion flies.

  “Jeeze.” Cheyenne scowled and breathed through her mouth. “They’ve been riding around with a dead body in the back seat?”

  “Not a dead magical. Definitely at least one rotting corpse of something in there.” With a grimace, he slung his pack into the back and climbed in. “Come on, kid. We’ve got places to see. I honestly don’t know who we’ll find. We’ll play that by ear.”

  The halfling turned toward the last two breathing raiders and shook her head. “We can’t steal their skiff and leave them out here.”

  “Oh, yes, we can.” Persh’al patted the bench beside him, glanced at his hand, and wiped it off on his pants. “They attacked us, and they wouldn’t hesitate to steal all our stuff and leave us here if the roles were reversed. Only difference is, they’d slit our throats while we were unconscious just for fun, and who knows what else. I’ve seen raiders and scrappers do nasty shit to anyone who gets in their way.”

  She shrugged. “Still.”

  “Hey, two of them got taken out, one by the skinny-ass gremlin and the other by his own gear. That leaves two raiders and one skiff. They’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

  Cheyenne eyed the last skiff and pressed her lips together.
Valid points. Fine.

  She dropped her backpack beside his and climbed over the edge. Persh’al studied the control panel, which had even fewer symbols to help him steer. He hummed in indecision, then pressed both hands down on the metal, and they took off at a slow but steady pace toward the other side of the Oronti Valley.

  “What is that, anyway?” Cheyenne nodded at the control panel.

  “There are many possible answers for that, kid.”

  “I mean, what you did with your hands? What those guys back there did. All the gestures and whatever. Are those spells that work with the tech or what?”

  “Uh, sometimes.” Persh’al chuckled and lifted his hands to peer at the mostly unmarked panel. “If you know your gear, you don’t need any help. It melds with your magic and is basically like a projection of yourself. Most magicals don’t get that far, especially out here. No training and no time to improve when you’re desperate for an extra boost to take whatever you can get. I’m sure our little surprise party had a few other pieces strapped on ‘em somewhere. Personally synced, right?”

  “So, anyone can do it.”

  “Sure! Anyone with magic.” He turned to see the halfling studying the control panel and the soft glow emanating from between the poorly welded seams. “Think you found a new hobby?”

  Cheyenne shot him a blank stare before returning her attention to the edge of the valley. “I just wanna know how this works.”

  “Uh-huh. I know the feeling. Kinda itches, doesn’t it?” The troll chuckled and stuck his hands in his lap as the skiff soared across the dry grass. “I’ll tell you what. When we get to the city, I’ll find you some toys.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “You can stop trying to turn this into a kiddie field trip. I’m fairly sure we’re past that point.”

  “Very funny. We can call it gear or tech or whatever, but I’m talkin’ about the good stuff. The finely tuned artistry of cutting-edge O’gúleesh tech. My fingers are tingling just thinking about it.” Persh’al wiggled his fingers at her, and she swatted them away with a snort.