by Martha Carr
Cheyenne watched him guzzle half the thing down in one breath and raised her eyebrows.
When he looked at her now, it was a lot easier to forget the unnerving sensation of racing across open ground without walls or a floor beneath them. He grabbed the other bottle and raised it toward her. “Want one?”
She glanced at the map blinking at the corner of the controls and shrugged. “We got another half hour. Sure.” With a final swipe at the panel, she sent the drawer back into the unseen wall again.
Persh’al cringed when she stepped across the invisible floor toward him, but he swung his legs down off the second seat so she could settle beside him. Then she took the tin bottle of mudshine and cracked it open. “You know what, kid?”
“What?” Cheyenne sniffed the bottle and rubbed her nose.
“When you next make the crossing to this side and get your hands on another activator, remind me not to freak out about it, huh?” He chuckled and shook his head, lifting his bottle toward her in a toast. “I guess you do know what the hell you’re doing.”
“You mean, with all this? Please. This was just for fun.” She tapped her tin bottle against his and took a long, fizzy drink.
“Just for fun.” Persh’al stared blankly at the field and the approaching forest in front of them, then downed the rest of his mudshine. “I should’ve kept that second bottle for myself.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
The shuttle’s system took over when they approached the closest Grimmer city, an expanse of nearly black ramshackle buildings rising haphazardly from the field fronting the forest on their left. The sun had set now, and Cheyenne stared up at the glittering dome of stars in Ambar’ogúl’s night sky. Then the walls regained their opaque solidity, and the stars were replaced by the smooth metal ceiling. The music cut off, and the shuttle slowed considerably.
“Guess that means we’re getting close.” She stood and walked slowly toward the controls with a steadying hand against the wall.
“Yep. That’s a relatively safe assumption. Probably the only one we’ll have out here.”
“That mudshine was supposed to lighten your mood, Persh’al. Not turn you into a pessimist.”
“This is me in my lightened mood, kid.”
Cheyenne studied the data moving swiftly across the console and cocked her head. “If you say so. We’re five minutes out from the Grimmer transport station.”
“Excellent.” The troll belched and folded his arms.
“How come there aren’t any other stops on the route?” She turned to face him, leaning against the edge of the console. “We passed other towns back there. None of them had a station.”
Persh’al let out a noncommittal hum and closed his eyes. “These things were built to unite the territories. You know, ‘cause they’re all so spread out. I’m pretty sure the shuttles were just for show. Dignitaries could travel back and forth on a straight line to the capital to show the rest of the world that they supported the Crown by zipping across Ambar’ogúl instead of casting portals in secret or whatever.”
“Huh. And Grimmer sent dignitaries.”
“Well, I mean, back before this place was known as a happy hub of theft, violence, and debauchery, yeah. I’m sure they sent someone.”
Cheyenne’s fingers drummed on the edge of the console. “When did they turn to the Dark Side?”
He looked at her. “Ha. Right around the time L’zar Verdys decided he was fed up with his life the way it was going and had to make a change. He calls it ‘an inspired improvement.’ Most people wouldn’t agree with that.”
“So, he wasn’t always a manipulative asshole trying to overthrow the Crown, huh?”
“Oh, he’s always been a manipulative asshole.”
They both chuckled, and Cheyenne ran a hand through her hair. The chains around her wrist clinked against the thick silver cuff keeping her tethered to her drow form and made her pause. “What did he do before that inspiration struck?”
Persh’al stared at her, then quickly looked away and shrugged. “Not sure. That was a long time ago.”
“Huh. Too long ago for you to remember?”
“Yeah. We live a long time on this side, kid. At least, we used to before the new Cycle brought us to where we are now. A lot happens, and most of it isn’t worth remembering.”
Cheyenne narrowed her eyes and studied the blue troll’s jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared blankly at the front of the shuttle. I call bullshit. “But you have such a long memory, right?”
“What?”
“I heard you say that twice today. And everyone else in L’zar’s secret little Hangivol hideout didn’t call you out on it, so it’s gotta be mostly true.”
Persh’al’s orange eyes flickered. “I didn’t know L’zar before he became what he is now.”
“But you followed him once he took up this whole rebellion thing after Maleshi left.”
“Like I said, kid. Some things aren’t worth remembering.”
She was about to keep pressing, but the shuttle slowed, shuddered, and jerked to a grating halt beneath them, knocking her hip against the control panel.
Persh’al nearly spilled out of his seat, but his hand clamped on the back of it, and he pulled himself up again. “Not much of a smooth landing with these things.”
“Yeah, time will do that, won’t it?” Cheyenne stared at him and pursed her lips. What is he not telling me?
“Sure will.” Clearing his throat, the troll stood and reached behind the row of seats for both their packs. He tossed the backpack to Cheyenne, then strapped his much lighter pack over his shoulders and turned toward the shuttle door. “Back on our feet, right? We get to take a nighttime hike through the woods. Woohoo.”
He passed his hand over the door, his palm glowing with green light, and it slid open. Cheyenne followed him out, pausing in the doorway to gaze at the cabin and the blinking data flashing across every surface in her vision. She gave the metal wall a little pat and jumped the two feet onto the soft grass. I’ll be back. Can’t stop that from happening now. This won’t be the last time I get to play around with O’gúl tech.
The door slid shut again with a stuttering hiss, and she glanced around the open land in front of them. The transport station in Grimmer was apparently just a raised platform at the base of a small hill, the forest running alongside them on the left. Cheyenne and Persh’al turned when the shuttle’s high whine returned, then the thing accelerated back the way they’d come.
“Looks like someone programmed an immediate return,” she muttered.
“Smart. Nobody wants to give Grimmer an open invitation to the capital, or they didn’t, anyway. Any of these people set foot in Hangivol, it’d be like open season for the Crown to snatch ‘em into the walls and bag ‘em for whatever she’s doing.” Persh’al shook his head and turned toward the woods. “Not our problem right now.”
“But it will be.” Cheyenne cast a final glance over her shoulder at the quickly receding blue glow of the shuttle. “When I come back with L’zar and his coin.”
“Your coin, kid. But yeah, then it’ll be our problem.”
They trudged through the forest, which fortunately hadn’t been touched by the poison that had taken the far half of the Outers. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and twigs crunched underfoot. Something small and dark flitted from the branches and swooped toward the ground, followed by a squeak that cut off abruptly.
Cheyenne stared at the deflated pack thumping against Persh’al’s back. “What did you smuggle across the Border in that thing?”
“In what thing?”
“Your pack.”
He snorted. “Oh. Basic plans, kid. Personal messages from L’zar. Schematics, I think.”
“Of what?”
“Uh, the center of Hangivol.” An unsure chuckle escaped him as he ducked beneath a low-hanging branch in their path.
“He has schematics of the Crown’s palace.” Cheyenne scowled at the thick vegetation growing wild through the trees. “How d
oes L’zar—”
“We already told you, the drow have been passing their trials in the Crown’s Nimlothar court for a long time.”
“You were around when the new Cycle turned, weren’t you?”
Persh’al nodded. “Oh, yeah. Spent half my life in the old Cycle that should’ve lasted a hell of a lot longer than it did and the other half darting around under this bitch of a Crown’s new reign.”
“L’zar’s not that much older than you.”
“Ha. Drow live a long-ass time, kid. He doesn’t look it, good for him and everything, but he’s got a few thousand years on me.”
Bingo.
“Then there’s no way in hell L’zar had to pass his trials in front of the Crown. Not the one who’s sitting on the throne now.”
Persh’al paused, his boots crunching on fallen twigs, and glanced up into the treetops. “You’re right.”
“Then how does he have schematics of her—you called it something else earlier.”
“The Edhilór. The center, basically.”
“Sure. That. If he wasn’t summoned or whatever to pass his trials at the last Nimlothar in front of her, he had to get blueprints of that place some other way. I seriously doubt you can just Google ‘blueprints of the Crown’s Edhilór in Hangivol.’”
“Well, Google doesn’t exist over here, so you’re right again.”
“So how did he get them?”
Persh’al glanced at her over his shoulder, then picked up the pace through the woods. “Jeeze, you’re pushing this, aren’t you?”
“When I wanna know something, I push. When I still don’t get answers, I get pissed off. That’s not easy information to come by, so how the hell did he get it?”
“I didn’t say the schematics came from L’zar, kid. You put those pieces together on your own.”
Cheyenne stopped and glared at the back of the troll’s mostly shaved head, his limp mohawk fluttering. “Because they fit.”
Persh’al walked a few more paces before realizing she wasn’t behind him. He turned and cocked his head. “Just because a thing makes sense, it doesn’t mean it’s the truth. That works the opposite way too, you know. Things you can’t logically fit together aren’t automatically impossible, which I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.”
She folded her arms. “You’re deflecting again. Cut it out.”
“I’m trying to make a point. Most of the time, you’re right on target. Maybe even ninety-nine percent, which is creepy and makes me feel weird. But don’t let it go to your head. If you get all cocky and start jumping to conclusions, that opens a big-ass door to seriously screwing up. People get hurt that way. People die for assumptions.”
He’s still hiding something. “I’ve figured that out too. Why won’t you just give me a straight answer?”
“I will. Guess who else spent centuries inside the Edhilór, memorizing it from the inside out?”
Cheyenne bit her lower lip and held the troll’s orange gaze. Damn. Maybe he’s right. “Maleshi Hi’et.”
“Tada!” Persh’al spread his arms and gave her an exaggerated bow before spinning around and tromping back through the trees. “She finds another piece, and it fits too, doesn’t it?”
Scowling, Cheyenne grabbed the straps of her backpack and trudged after him. I don’t jump to conclusions, not when I can feel something’s off. But it makes sense.
The ground angled upward in a shallow incline, and they kept climbing. The halfling studied the forest around them, listening for the rustle of branches or the sharp snap of twigs that didn’t come from Persh’al’s loud stomping. He really doesn’t know how to be quiet.
Then it hit her. “Wait. You said, ‘Guess who else.’”
“What?”
“As in, Maleshi isn’t the only one who knows their way through the Crown’s Edhilór. L’zar does too, doesn’t he? I was right.”
“Endaru’s balls, Cheyenne.” Persh’al craned his neck and slumped his shoulders, grunting at the thin slivers of starlight falling through the branches. “You’re still goin’ on about that?”
“Yeah, because you said—”
“I know what I said, and it’s a figure of speech, okay? Just drop it already. You have your answer.”
“Shh.” Cheyenne reached out toward the troll and froze.
“Don’t shush at me like I just stopped wearing diapers.”
“No, I’m serious, Persh’al. Stop.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously,” she spat in a harsh whisper. “Shut up.”
The troll stopped moving and scanned the trees around them.
Cheyenne cocked her head and let her enhanced drow hearing find the sound she’d heard. What is that? Whispering? Crying?
She blinked and nodded toward the top of the hill. Persh’al cringed when she moved swiftly toward him, making almost no sound in the underbrush. He stared at her feet with wide eyes and whispered, “How do you do that?”
“Practice. Be quiet.” Leaning toward him, she pointed up the incline through the trees. “Someone’s up there. It sounds like a lot of someones, but I don’t know how many.”
The blue troll swallowed thickly. “How ‘bout a ballpark?”
“A dozen, maybe.”
Persh’al glanced up the hill and squinted. “We’re coming up on a Border portal the Crown hasn’t squeezed to dust in her grip. It’s not one of hers.”
“How do you know that?”
“Her thugs are louder than I am, and we would’ve been stopped at the bottom of the hill.”
Cheyenne took a deep breath, watching for movement. “So, these are magicals trying to cross Earthside too.”
“Refugees? Probably, yeah. Unless the Crown has a bunch of silent-footed drow waiting to pounce on anyone who thinks it’s safe.” The troll glanced at her feet again and scowled. “Is it the shoes?”
“I’m quieter barefoot.” She paused to listen again. “That’s someone crying, or trying not to.”
“Yep. My bet’s on refugees, then. Just in case, though…”
A miniature orb of her black energy materialized in her palm, sputtering black and purple sparks. Cheyenne put her hand behind her and nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Persh’al moved a lot more silently as they crested the hill. The trees thinned out, and Ambar’ogúl’s two crescent moons spilled silver-blue light on a group of magicals huddling around a large black boulder on the hilltop. Three more climbed toward the boulder from the opposite side of the hill, whispering to each other and trying to be as silent as possible.
“Maji.” A small orc boy tugged on his mother’s sleeve.
“Quiet.”
Across the clearing, two orc women clung to each other and stared with fearful eyes at moving shadows in the dark forest around them. The younger one whimpered, and her companion wiped at the tears on her cheeks before drawing her closer.
“Maji, look. Someone else came too.” The orc boy pointed at Cheyenne and Persh’al at the edge of the woods. His mother turned slowly, saw the newcomers watching them from between the trees, and shrieked.
“Shit.” Cheyenne dissolved her energy sphere and raised her hands.
The orc men who’d brought their families to the portal out here in Grimmer turned toward the supposed threat. One of them rushed toward the mother and her young child with a shout, summoning a huge ball of green flames in both hands. The others took up the cry of alarm. The orc women screamed and huddled behind each other, and Cheyenne and Persh’al found themselves staring at a line of five orc men with magical attacks raised and at the ready.
“Whoa, whoa. Hold on.” The halfling kept her hands raised and stepped slowly from the trees.
“Cheyenne,” Persh’al whispered fiercely.
“Everything’s okay.” She said it loud enough for everyone to hear. “See? I’m not here to cause any problems.”
The orcs’ eyes widened when Cheyenne stepped fully into the moonlight,
and they shifted on uncertain feet. One of them snarled at her and raised the crackling glow of his green attack even higher. “You can’t stop us!”
“Zilder, no!”
“Stay behind me!” The orc men moved closer together, blocking Cheyenne from the women and children.
Jesus. Everybody hates a drow. “I’m not trying to stop you,” Cheyenne muttered, looking each of them in the eye and nodding. “I promise.”
A skinny orc with one arm in a sling of dirty rags growled, shifting back and forth in anticipation. “Your promise means nothing to us, mór edhil.”
“Okay. That’s fair.”
“Cheyenne,” Persh’al whispered. “I’m not fighting these magicals.”
She stopped walking forward and said through clenched teeth, “Neither am I. Get over here.”
“What are you doing?” Another orc’s green-fire attack flared to twice its starting brilliance, making the others beside him blink and lean away from the blaze.
“Just trying to show you what’s going on. You don’t have to take my word for it, but a drow traveling with a troll might change your mind.” Cheyenne nodded slowly, watching the orcs scan the dark forest they couldn’t see with their bright magic flaring in their faces. “A troll… Dammit, Persh’al. Come on.”
He groaned behind her. “All right, all right. I’m coming out!”
The underbrush rustled and snapped as he stormed through the tree line and trudged up to stand beside Cheyenne, both hands raised too. She shot him a sidelong glance, and he shrugged.
The skinny orc’s attack spell sputtered out, and he leaned forward, squinting at them. “He’s blue.”
Persh’al rolled his eyes. “And you look like you couldn’t lift your own shoe.”
Another orc chuckled. His neighbor shot him a warning glance, and he shut up immediately.
“Why are you traveling with a blue troll?”
Cheyenne met the gaze of the largest orc man who’d spoken and gestured toward the black boulder behind their families. “Same reason you brought everything you could fit into a few bags to take with you.”
“You want to make the crossing?”