by Martha Carr
“I’d recognize that fancy little lock-beep anywhere.” Corian stepped aside and nodded for her to enter. “Come in.”
The halfling stepped into the not-so-abandoned warehouse and looked around. The place was mostly empty, except for tables set up in a square missing one of its sides. Those tables were covered with computer monitors and mice and keyboards, neatly bundled wires trailing to the various power sources. She saw three main towers through all the dangling mess and figured there were probably more.
Sitting at the center table was a troll, his skin more blue than purple, with a foot-tall neon-orange mohawk jutting from his shaven scalp. He turned slowly in the desk chair, his orange-red eyes widening when he saw the halfling standing there. “By the fell-damn Crown…”
“Cheyenne, this is Persh’al.”
She jerked her chin at the odd-looking troll. “Hey.”
“Ha. ‘Hey,’ she says. That’s it.” Persh’al chuckled and shook his head, leaning back in the chair again. “Yeah, you’re L’zar’s kid, all right. Corian, is this—”
“Probably.” The Nightstalker gestured at the two open chairs on either side of Persh’al. “Let’s get to it.”
Cheyenne took the closest chair, and the troll wheeled back from the table so all three of them could form a little circle for their chat.
“Heard you got a message,” the troll said.
“Yeah. Straight from L’zar.” The halfling leaned forward and slid her hands down her thighs. “He said there was an unregulated breach, and he thinks the Crown’s behind it. Corian, he wanted you to grab whoever you think can handle it to go check things out. ASAP.”
“ASAP, huh?” Persh’al smirked.
“His words. Yeah.”
The troll spun again and rolled the chair forward to pull something up on the screen. The monitor flashed to life, and all Cheyenne saw were a bunch of scrolling symbols in blue and green. That’s not any kind of code I know.
“I had a feeling this was what he meant when you called me, Corian. See this?” Persh’al pointed at a random floating symbol.
The Nightstalker nodded. “The damn breach.”
“Yep. I noticed this six months ago. It’s popped up every now and then. The most frequently wasn’t any more than twice a week. But two days ago…” The troll typed several quick commands, and the scrolling characters moved way too fast for Cheyenne to follow. “Every two hours on the fucking nose.”
“Shit.”
“You can say that again.”
“What is it?” Cheyenne asked.
Both magicals stared at her. Persh’al’s head jerked back. “Huh. Still got a lot to learn, doncha?”
“Ignore him.” Corian leaned around the back of the troll’s chair to meet Cheyenne’s gaze. “It’s a new Border portal.”
The halfling nodded. “Without a rez attached, right?”
“Okay.” Persh’al slapped his hands down on his thighs. “I rescind my previous judgment.”
“How’d you know about that?” Corian asked.
“I met someone who made the crossing through that portal.” And that’s as much as I’m saying. I made a promise.
“And you didn’t think that was an important thing to share at any point in the last week?” Corian folded his arms, his silver eyes blazing.
“As far as I know,” the halfling retorted, “it’s none of my business. You want me coming to you with every little thing I notice that seems off? Fine. But it’s a long list.”
“This isn’t a little thing, Cheyenne.” Corian nodded at the monitor again. “Any sign of how it got there?”
“Not a spore.” Persh’al shrugged. “We should go check it out.”
“Yeah. You wanna make the calls?”
The troll frowned. “It’s just the two, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“On it.” Persh’al stood and stalked across the warehouse toward a small room in the far corner. A door closed behind him, and his muffled voice filtered into the warehouse’s main room a few seconds later.
“He’s calling in backup, huh?”
Corian looked at her and tilted his head. “Something like that.”
“So, what now?”
“Now, Cheyenne, we wait. Once our backup gets here, we go figure out what the hell has L’zar Verdys so spooked.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the door to the warehouse burst open. Two goblins marched in, grim-faced and ready.
“Corian.” A goblin man with huge gages in his turquoise ears stepped forward and held out his hand. “Long time, man.”
“Too long.”
“Damn.” A goblin woman with the shiny scar around her neck glanced around the warehouse and stuck her hands on her hips. “This place hasn’t changed a bit in the last fifty years.”
“Not true.” Persh’al pointed at her. “I added two more tables.”
“Sorry. Nice tables.” The goblin woman rolled her eyes and froze when she noticed Cheyenne sitting on one of the chairs. “There’s a blast from the past.”
“Indeed.” Corian stepped back and gestured toward the goblins. “Cheyenne, this is Byrd and Lumil.”
“Holy shit.” Byrd leaned forward and extended his hand toward the halfling. “I can tell who your old man is, even when you look like a human.”
Cheyenne gave his hand a quick shake. “Okay.”
“You know who your old man is, right?” Lumil stepped forward to shake the halfling’s hand next, her smile glistening beneath light-orange eyes.
“Don’t we all?”
The magicals had a good laugh at that, then Lumil shot Corian a questioning glance. The Nightstalker shrugged, and the goblin woman turned back toward Cheyenne. “Have you met him yet?”
“Yeah.”
Byrd blinked. “In person?”
She nodded. “Mostly.”
The goblins shared a look of surprise, then Lumil pushed back her thick, floppy yellow hair, which was cut short but still long enough to fall over her eyes. “Huh. That drow bastard actually did it.”
“Well, stick me through and roast me over a battle pit.” Byrd shook his head in disbelief. “Corian, you know this was gonna happen?”
“I hoped it would.” The Nightstalker nodded at Cheyenne. “We all did.”
I’m sick of all this cryptic shit. “Okay.” The halfling stood. “Somebody better tell me what the hell’s going on and why you’re talking about me like I’m not here.”
“Oh.” Lumil shot Corian a conspiratorial wink. “She doesn’t know yet.”
“She doesn’t know,” Byrd repeated, nodding slowly at the halfling. “Well, shit. Took him long enough, didn’t it?”
“Good to know we didn’t throw ourselves over the fell-damn Border for another failed attempt, huh?”
Cheyenne’s eyes grew wide. “What?”
“All right, now,” Corian started, but the goblins talked over him.
“At least a dozen, Cheyenne,” Lumil said. “So many fucking kids. And still, you’re an only child.”
“Oh, man. Low blow.” Byrd snorted. “The point is, kid, your old man was flailing in the dark trying to overturn the crone’s prophecy. Basically, you know, he’s trying to find an heir.”
“Byrd.” Corian scowled.
“She’s got a right to know, man. She’s it.”
Lumil shrugged. “L’zar spent hundreds of years trying to find a loophole. Went around in disguise. Abandoned his responsibilities. Had the kids raised in secret to try to keep them safe. But of course, only a drow can train another drow through the trials, isn’t it?”
Cheyenne glanced at Corian, who shook his head and dropped his gaze to the dusty warehouse floor.
Lumil waved a hand. “And every time that stupid little dark-elf box changed hands from father to spawn, poof.”
Byrd mimed hanging himself from a noose, which got him a glare and a warning growl from Lumil. He glanced down at the scar around her throat and shrugged.
&nbs
p; The halfling folded her arms. “The Cuil Aníl?”
“Damn, girl.” Byrd laughed. “You pick up quick.”
“Yeah, and I’ve picked up that legacy box more times than I can count. No poof.”
“That’s what we’re saying.” Lumil grinned. “All of L’zar Verdys’ potential heirs dropped like flies the minute he chose to hunt them down so they could complete their trials. The four of us?” The goblin woman gestured toward herself, Byrd, Corian, and then Persh’al, who watched the whole thing with wide eyes. “We came with him when he finally decided the only way to keep you safe was to lock himself up in that fucking joke of a prison.”
“Those idiots.” Byrd snorted and shook his head.
“Right?” Lumil nodded and folded her arms. “Man, it’s like he saw the future and didn’t need a prophecy for any of it.”
“Future of what?” Cheyenne glanced at the gabbing goblins, gritting her teeth.
“You, halfling.” Byrd jerked his chin up at her. “He found a fucking way to blast right through the prophecy. You’ve met him. Spoken to him. Touched the damn drow box. And if you’re dead, you’re really good at pretending not to be.”
“You’re an idiot.” Lumil punched Byrd’s arm.
“And yet, here we are?” The goblin spread his arms and playfully leaped aside when Lumil pulled her fist back even farther for a second blow.
Cheyenne’s vision blurred, the rest of her focus turning inward. That was what I saw in my dream. All those bodies. He tried to get them through the trials, and they all died. Just like the oracle said. Her gaze flicked toward Corian. The Nightstalker tilted his head in recognition and raised an eyebrow.
“I’m still here because he didn’t come to find me,” she muttered. The goblins quit screwing around, and all eyes settled on the drow halfling. “He knew I’d come to him.”
“He hoped you would,” Corian said, his low voice echoing through the warehouse. “There were and still are a lot of moving parts to this, Cheyenne. We all had our roles to play. We still do. Obviously, you blaze your own trail, kid. By the time you and I met, I thought I’d be guiding you through the trials and telling you about L’zar at the same time. You did half the work for me.” He chuckled wryly, but no one else did. “And we still have a long way to go.”
“Especially with you know who tearing through the whole fell-damn—” Byrd stopped abruptly when he caught the Nightstalker’s death stare.
Cheyenne was putting the pieces of this screwed-up puzzle together now. “How many drow are there in Ambar’ogúl?”
“What?” Persh’al suddenly perked up at that. “Oh, thousands. If you can find ‘em.”
“What about the O’gúl Crown?”
The goblins exchanged another wary glance, then turned toward Corian. No one said a word.
The halfling stepped forward and narrowed her eyes. “That’s who’s looking for me, isn’t it? The drow are running things over there. That’s why she’s got the last Nimlothar. The Crown is a drow who doesn’t want me to open that legacy box. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Cheyenne.” Corian shook his head. “Another time—”
“Why won’t anyone fucking tell me who she is?” A burst of purple light flared behind Cheyenne Summerlin’s human eyes. The three magicals standing before her took a step back. Persh’al rolled away in his chair. The warehouse sounded abandoned now.
A soft ding rose from the center computer monitor. Persh’al shoved his chair over to study the scrolling symbols and nodded. “Yep. There she is again. Trouble at the unmarked Border, kids. Time to do a little digging.” The troll rubbed his hands together and spun before storming across the warehouse and out the front door. Bright, morning sunlight spilled into the dark room before the door shut again with a bang.
The goblins followed him out, mumbling to each other until Lumil shoved Byrd against the metal door. It opened under his weight, and he laughed before they went back to bickering again.
The halfling stared at her Nightstalker mentor. “You and L’zar. You’re trying to keep the Crown from finding me, aren’t you? She doesn’t want me to finish the trials.”
“We need to go.”
“Is it because I’m his kid or Bianca Summerlin’s?”
“The O’gúl Crown doesn’t give a shit about human politics, kid.”
Cheyenne scoffed. “I’m talking about the human part. Halflings aren’t supposed to start the trials at all, are they?”
Corian met Cheyenne’s gaze and took a deep breath. “A lot of moving parts, Cheyenne.”
“Just tell me. Please.”
“I will.” Nodding, the Nightstalker stepped toward her and leaned in closer to whisper, “You know when.”
Then he walked away from her toward the door.
“I’m ready now, Corian,” she shouted after him, her black fingernails digging into her palms. “You know I am.”
“Not for this.” He stopped to open the door and nodded toward the overgrown parking lot. “But I know a drow halfling who’s ready to take on whatever’s sending alerts to Persh’al’s system every two hours. If you can sucker-punch a Nightstalker, kid, you can handle just about anything.”
Chapter Seventy
“Are we there yet?”
“Seriously, Byrd? You’re over five hundred years old, and you still haven’t quit being the annoying toddler in the back seat?”
Cheyenne Summerlin turned toward the goblins sitting beside her in the back of Persh’al’s SUV, smirking. The goblin woman punched Byrd in the shoulder and rolled her eyes.
Byrd flinched and scowled at Lumil. “I don’t know why we have to drive a fell-damn car to this new portal. We could’ve been there in two seconds instead of two hours.”
“You think I like being stuck next to you for the entire drive? Four hundred years listening to you whine, and I still can’t get rid of you—”
“Shut up.” Persh’al slapped his hands on the steering wheel and grunted. He jerked down the rearview mirror to eye the goblins talking beside Cheyenne, his eyes flicking between the road and the mirror. “Don’t make me come back there and carve you both a new victory scar, huh? It’ll be my mark, not yours.”
“She started it. Ow! What’s wrong with you?” Byrd leaned away from Lumil, his nostrils flaring as he grimaced.
Cheyenne scrunched farther against the door behind Persh’al and stared out the window. If I was stuck with someone for four hundred years, I’d probably end up hitting them too.
“Less than five minutes,” Corian muttered from the passenger seat. Persh’al nodded silently and returned the rearview mirror to its regular position.
“Use your brain, man,” Lumil whispered, though everyone in the SUV could still hear her. “We’re scouting the area, so pay attention.”
“I would if I had my own window.”
“Shit, use mine. You can still see, can’t you?”
Cheyenne rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes with a deep breath as the goblins kept bickering beside her. Just change the conversation.
She looked quickly toward the front of the car. “What are we scouting for?”
Persh’al replied, “There hasn’t been a new Border portal in...huh. I can’t even say how long. Longer than I’ve been watching ‘em, that’s for sure.”
“So, you guys don’t know what we’ll find.” The halfling glanced out the window at the trees passing by on the long dirt road that apparently led to the middle of nowhere.
“Not really.” The troll in the driver’s seat shrugged, then shot Corian a quick glance. “But it’s enough to send up a blaring alarm through my system every two hours, and that’s a good enough reason to take precautions.”
“What kind of system is that?” Cheyenne sat back in her seat and watched the rearview mirror in case he looked into it again. He didn’t.
“The kind I know you can appreciate, kid.” Persh’al smiled, his irritation with the goblins momentarily forgotten. “Built it myself.”
; “Okay, cool.” Cheyenne waited for more and kept pressing when he didn’t offer anything else. “But unless a new Border portal opens up with its own wi-fi, I don’t get how you’d see a blip on any kind of system.”
The goblins stopped their fierce whispered spat to turn and look at her. Byrd smirked. Corian stared straight ahead in the passenger seat.
Persh’al’s head tilted from side to side as his proud smile widened. “Well, it’s pretty damn easy when part of that system’s set up to trace high levels of magical activity Earthside. Sends it all back to me.”
Cheyenne blinked. “How the hell does that work?”
“You know, kid, if I had my gear from back home, I’d rip the whole thing apart just to show you how it works.” Persh’al chuckled. “This stuff we’ve got Earthside? Rudimentary at best. I nearly pulled my hair out, trying to get human technology to work with magic.”
“What’s left of your hair,” Lumil muttered. She and Byrd shared a snigger.
“Hey, I shave this thing every other day on purpose.” The troll pointed at his blue scalp covered in orange dots and the huge, spiked, bright-orange mohawk that almost reached the roof of the SUV. “You might wanna consider checking out a barber, Lumil. Looks like a cat used your head for a permanent bed.”
Lumil snorted and waved him off.
The halfling ignored the banter and leaned forward. “I’ve heard things about O’gúl tech.”
“Oh, you have, huh?” Persh’al nodded. “Let me tell ya, kid. Ain’t nothin’ like what we got over there. Unless it’s all been destroyed in the last few hundred years.”
Corian turned toward the troll with a small, discerning frown. “It hasn’t.”
“Yeah? You sure about that?”
“I’ve had reports.”
“Uh-huh. You can have your secrets, Nightstalker. I know you’re good for ‘em.” Persh’al chuckled without taking his eyes off the road.
Cheyenne studied Corian’s stoic, expressionless profile. So I’m not the only one he won’t talk to. At least the guy keeps his promises. Sitting back against the seat, she nodded and looked at the rearview mirror. “I’d still love to see how you built a rig that searches for magic.”