by Martha Carr
The surface of the portal rippled like a giant pool of black sludge. Sparks flew in every direction, and a dark hand emerged from the other side.
“Cheyenne! Something’s coming through!”
The halfling tore another chunk out of the war machine, making it shudder and momentarily pause in its rumbling advance across the clearing. “In a second.”
“I think now’s probably better.” Ember jumped in her chair when the tank’s next blast hit Cheyenne’s large shield and sent her sailing through the air. The halfling landed on her back four feet from Ember and skidded across the grass with a snarl.
The hand coming out of the chanting portal reached out farther, dark nails glinting against slate-gray skin. The chanting intensified until it almost drowned out the sound of the battle. The rest of the arm followed, then came the tip of a dark boot poking out from beneath the hem of a black robe rippling like water. A figure cloaked from head to toe in swirling black emerged from the portal, leaning forward against the force of magical laws that should have made this impossible between two worlds.
“Cheyenne!” Ember glanced at her friend, who was too busy blasting black energy spheres into another ogre barreling toward her to pay attention to the warning. The figure stepped fully out of the shimmering portal and turned its head. Ember gaped at the two glowing golden eyes within the hood’s black pool and thought she felt her heart stop.
The figure turned away from her and headed toward Cheyenne, stepping slowly forward as it hovered an inch above the grass. The dark hand that had emerged through the portal now reached for the drow halfling as the chaos of battle raged.
She won’t make it.
A rush of fierce energy bloomed in the center of Ember’s chest and she shouted something unintelligible beneath the noise, awed by the words flowing out of her as if her voice had taken on a life of its own. Purple and pink light burst around the fae, surrounding her in a halo of shimmering magic as she reached out with both hands.
That light hurtled toward the dark figure approaching Cheyenne. The glowing golden eyes within the hood locked onto Ember a second before the fae’s magic pummeled the black cloak enshrouding the stranger. A shriek of rage and pain filled the clearing, and the figure hurtled back into the massive portal, hissing and twisting within the billowing folds of the whipping black robe. The chanting voices screamed, and the shuddering dark portal from Ambar’ogúl snapped shut with a resounding boom. For a brief moment, the battle in the clearing paused at the startling sounds and the hideous tremble shaking the ground.
Cheyenne sent a wave of earth and jagged shards of stone at the orc bearing down on her. He slid across the ground and roared when the ground opened and swallowed him beneath her manipulation, burying him in two seconds. Then she whirled to face the portal that was no longer there and saw Ember.
“Holy shit.”
The fae stood two feet in front of her wheelchair, surrounded in pulsing violet light that whipped her violet-streaked hair away from her pink-tinged face. Then her arms dropped by her sides, and her legs gave out beneath her before she crumpled to the grass.
“Go on,” Persh’al shouted, nodding toward Ember as his whip cracked around an orc loyalist’s leg and brought the magical crashing to the ground. “We’re almost done here.”
Cheyenne darted toward her friend and slid to her knees in the grass. “Ember. Hey. You okay?”
Ember blinked her large, luminous violet eyes and shook her head. “Yeah, I’m just…fuck.”
“Uh-huh.” The halfling let out a wry chuckle despite the situation and studied her friend, who was now in full-on fae mode. “You were standing.”
“And now I’m not.” A small, unsure smile spread across Ember’s lips.
The rolling O’gúl tank let out another fiery red burst of magic that hit the ground a foot behind Ember’s wheelchair. The chair went sailing, and Cheyenne threw a shield up behind her friend to keep off most of the dirt chunks and small rocks rocketing toward them.
“I’ll be right back.” The halfling lurched to her feet and ran toward the war machine. The activator identified three more weak spots, and Cheyenne swiped her hands through one after the other. Fragments of black metal and blue chips and panels of thin steel mesh ripped away from the machine and flew across the clearing. A piece that looked like one of the floating spy orbs in Wildhaven burst from the machine’s side, and Cheyenne sent it into the head of a skaxen loyalist about to throw himself on her. The orb cracked against his skull with a hollow metallic ring, the loyalist dropped, and the activator lit up with the final attack directive.
Cheyenne focused on the pulsing blue light emanating from the machine’s torn side and opened fire with her crackling black energy spheres. They penetrated the metal hull one after the other as the machine’s forward-facing windows opened and sprayed the ground with more pellets of red magic. The halfling stepped forward and pushed against the pressure she felt in the earth. Another rippling wave of dirt and buried stone hurtled away from her foot and hit the war machine, toppling it and exposing the undercarriage. The activator went haywire, blaring an alarm in Cheyenne’s vision and zeroing in on the final target beneath the O’gúl tank.
She roared with effort, and instead of sparking black orbs flying from her hands, she sent a column of black energy in an endless stream at the exposed heart of the war machine. The contraption sparked and let out a low whine that grew to a shriek before it exploded mid-air. Blue light and metal shards sprayed in every direction, peppering the clearing and burying themselves in the ground, the trees, and any magical not quick enough to get out of the way.
Cheyenne fell to her knees and summoned a shield in front of her. Persh’al screamed as a shard of metal ripped through his side and sent him spinning to the ground. Somehow, when the halfling tossed a hand toward her friends and L’zar’s loyal followers, she pulled enough shields into place to protect the rest of them from the shrapnel. Metal pinged off walls of dark light as the Crown loyalists cried out, unprotected from the barrage.
Breathing heavily, Cheyenne gave herself a moment to collect her thoughts before looking at the smoking, sputtering remains of the war machine. Nothing but the spinning top remained, its blue lights blinking in random bursts before they died.
Then she got to her feet and faced the others. Her shields dropped, Byrd rushed to Persh’al’s side, and low groans of pain and disorientation rose from the last of the O’gúl loyalists taken down by their own malfunctioning machine.
A bolt of silver raced across the clearing and stopped in front of the dismantled tech. Corian gazed down at the wreckage, then met Cheyenne’s gaze and nodded.
The halfling turned, stumbled, and righted herself before hurrying to Ember’s side again. She knelt in the grass. “Sorry.”
Ember barked a laugh. “For what?”
“That last distraction.” Cheyenne gave her a crooked smile, then glanced up at where the looming portal from Ambar’ogúl had opened beside them. “You got rid of the other big one, didn’t you?”
“I guess.” Ember shrugged and stared at her unmoving legs. “I have no idea what happened. I just did it.”
“That’s a start. Thanks, Em.”
The fae blinked at her friend and let out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah. Anytime.”
“I’m still a little lost with the whole fae-Ember look. You decide at the last minute to slip that ring on for the magical fight?”
Slowly lifting both hands, Ember turned them toward Cheyenne and shook her head. “No ring.”
“No ring! Whoa.” The halfling gave her friend another once-over. “Was that on purpose?”
“I don’t think so, and I don’t know how to turn it off.”
“Well, maybe the ceremony turned it on. For good.”
Ember swallowed and stared at her glowing pink hands. “Guess we need to find me a different illusion charm, then.”
Cheyenne snorted, then Maleshi’s sharp order cut through the clearing.
&n
bsp; “Line them up!”
She turned to see General Hi’et, silver eyes blazing and no less terrifying in the ripped pink cocktail dress, shoving a bound goblin loyalist to his knees. Shit.
“I’ll be right back, Em.”
“Yeah.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I just need to sit for a minute.” The fae snorted at the unintended irony, and Cheyenne pushed to her feet again and headed toward Maleshi.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Byrd, Lumil, and Corian had gotten busy rounding up the surviving loyalists bound with flickering ropes of crackling silver magic. Over two dozen magicals with the bull’s head emblem on them somewhere, either pendants or patches, had survived the battle they’d brought to the Nós Aní ceremony. They snarled and struggled against their bonds, but Lumil was ready with her supercharged magic of spinning red symbols around her fists. One blow with those was enough to keep the prisoners quiet. Most of them, though, shot vengeful looks at Gúrdu, who was standing guard over the line of loyalists on their knees. The raug grunted and sneered at them, crunching on something that looked an awful lot like a tiny dry-aged hand before Cheyenne looked away.
She stopped next to Maleshi. I hate to assume what she’s thinking, but I can’t let this happen again.
“So, what now?”
Maleshi shot her a brief glance before snarling at the last loyalist Lumil shoved onto the grass. “Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Good. You can stand down, Cheyenne. We’ll handle this.”
Cheyenne glanced at Corian as he marched across the clearing to join the general. “No one made it out of the clearing.”
Maleshi nodded curtly. “And no one will.” Her silver claws slid out of her fingers with an ominous whisper, glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
“Wait a minute.” Cheyenne stepped in front of the nightstalker war general, forcing Maleshi to look at her. “You can’t do this.”
“This isn’t your decision to make, Cheyenne.” The general’s dark upper lip twitched into a sneer. “I’ll only ask you to step aside once.”
“Ask all you want.” The halfling clenched her fists and held the woman’s glowing silver gaze. “I’m not moving.”
“These magicals are prisoners of war,” Maleshi snarled. “If we don’t deal with this threat right now, directly, we might as well paint a target on our chests and tell them to go ahead and open fire.”
“They can’t do anything right now.” Cheyenne gestured behind her at the bound magicals on their knees, most of them spitting and hissing curses. “Which makes them much less of a threat than when they were trying to kill us.”
Maleshi let out a low growl and leaned toward the halfling. “Cheyenne.”
“You gave me your word that we’d leave the past behind us as long as what happened at the first portal ridge didn’t repeat itself. If you give the order to kill these loyalists on their knees, I will stop you, and then you and I are done.” Cheyenne clenched her fists and leaned toward the general in turn, staring her down. “I really don’t want that to happen.”
The nightstalker woman scowled and took a long, deep breath through her flaring nostrils. “What else do you suggest we do with them? We don’t have our own Chateau D’rahl.”
“No, but I know the people who do.” Cheyenne turned to shoot the lined-up prisoners a fleeting glance. “And I’m willing to bet that none of these assholes are gonna show up in a certain system on this side.”
Maleshi snarled. “You want me to hand our enemies over to a bunch of Earthside-born playing with fell weapons?”
“We all have the same enemy at this point. Right?” Cheyenne cocked her head. “Right?”
The general studied the halfling and hissed. She lifted a hand between their faces, her eyes narrowing as she made sure Cheyenne saw the glinting, razor-sharp points at her disposal. Cheyenne hissed right back and shot a burst of purple sparks from the fingertips of both hands.
I can play her game. And she’ll cool off. She’d better.
A low chuckle devoid of humor rose from Maleshi’s throat. Her deadly claws retracted, and she leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “Make the call, Cheyenne. If your other friends fail to contain this as effectively as I would have, whatever happens afterward is on your hands.”
“At least it’s not more blood.”
“No. Not today.” With a snarl, Maleshi spun away from her and stalked across the clearing. Her fingers moved quickly, and a new portal opened yards in front of her.
Corian shot Cheyenne a wary glance, then took off after the general. “Maleshi, wait.”
She whirled on him and slashed her hand toward his face. A burst of silver light flared between them with a screech like blades meeting. When the light faded, Corian’s claws were locked with Maleshi’s. She snarled at him. “Not now.”
“We might not have another chance,” he muttered.
Cheyenne looked away from them and tried to focus on the line of kneeling loyalists in front of her instead. I’m not supposed to be hearing this.
Her activator flashed a command for lowering the volume, and she flicked her finger to accept it. Corian’s voice traveled to her as a muffled, muted drone. Look at me. I’m choosing not to eavesdrop ‘cause I can help it.
The nightstalkers’ tense conversation continued, then Maleshi jerked her hand away from him, sparks flaring between their claws, and disappeared through her portal. After it closed, Corian stood perfectly still, his back rigid.
“I heard about those two,” an orc growled. “Looks like they’re still—”
Lumil’s blazing red fist cracked into his face and dropped him. A broken piece of tusk flew over three prisoners and bounced in the grass. “Anyone else need help keeping their fell-damned opinions to themselves?”
“That doesn’t count for me, right?” Persh’al wheezed out a laugh and grimaced. He sat halfway between the line of prisoners and Ember, who was holding his side as Byrd knelt and propped him up in the grass. “’Cause this shit really hurts, man.”
“Corian,” Cheyenne shouted.
The nightstalker spun, saw Persh’al covered in blood, and headed toward the blue troll.
A black burst of light enshrouded the line of bound, kneeling prisoners. Every one of them erupted in screams of agony, doubling over and shaking their heads, then staring blankly at the sky without blinking.
Cheyenne spun to face them. “What’s happening?”
Corian joined her, his jaw clenching and unclenching beneath the tufts of tawny fur lining his cheeks. He stared at the screaming magicals and swallowed. “I’ll let him explain that to you.”
L’zar stepped out from between the trees beside Ember. “I don’t remember you complaining this much about flesh wounds, Persh’al.”
Persh’al twisted around as far as he could and snorted when he saw the drow stepping toward him. “It’s not complaining if it’s the truth, man.”
“Oh, sure. You’re squawking like that to get my attention.” L’zar knelt beside his friend. “What’s the magic word?”
The troll chuckled. “Bastard.”
“Hmm.” L’zar ripped the last piece of shrapnel from Persh’al’s side and tossed it to the grass as the troll roared in pain. “Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”
Persh’al glared at the drow’s grinning face. “Just fucking do it.”
L’zar slapped his palm against the wound, the blue troll screamed, and gold light flared beneath the drow’s hand. When the healing finished, L’zar jerked his hand away and stood. Byrd slipped out from behind Persh’al and got to his feet. The troll fell onto his back in the grass, gasping, and blinked at the clear blue sky.
Byrd stared at him.
“Just leave me here, man. I need a second to bask in not dying.”
The goblin shook his head and went to join Lumil, who was pacing in front of the line of prisoners.
“Did I hear you say something about calling
in a special cleanup team?”
Cheyenne glared at her father as he moved casually toward her, his hands clasped behind his back. The kneeling prisoners had given up screaming in lieu of whimpering and moaning, hanging their heads as they sagged where they’d been left in the clearing. “What did you do to them?”
“No one can know I’m with you, Cheyenne.” He shot her a sidelong glance before his gaze flickered back toward the prisoners. “Not until it’s time.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“About what?”
“Murdering these prisoners after they’ve been captured.” Cheyenne’s anger burned through her veins alongside her drow magic. “I just made a promise to Maleshi I seriously hope I won’t have to keep.”
L’zar chuckled softly and closed his eyes. “I’m not killing anyone. Not right now, at any rate.”
“So, what did you do?”
He turned to his daughter and gestured at the prisoners. “We now have a few dozen deaf, mute, and blind loyalists to hand over to your friends in black. I sincerely hope they’re more competent than they’ve proven to be so far.”
“What?” Cheyenne stared at the moaning loyalists kneeling in a neat, submissive line.
“It might have been better for them if you’d let General Hi’et do things her way, but you made your choice.”
“This isn’t okay.” The halfling shook her head, clenching her fists as she ran through all the possibilities of what was in store for the loyalists. “You might have killed them anyway, just on a longer timeline.”
“Not at all. They’ll regain what they’ve lost once they set foot in their homeland again.”
“How are they gonna make the crossing if they can’t see, huh?”
“Well, that’s something someone else will have to deal with, isn’t it?” L’zar met her gaze again. “You took responsibility for these magicals when you stayed Maleshi’s hand. The general has thousands of years of experience in weighing the pros and cons, Cheyenne, and there’s a singular truth in all of this that she’s come to understand very well. And she’s not the only one.”