by Martha Carr
“Don’t move,” a guard shouted behind Cheyenne. “You don’t have permission to step through that portal!”
“Yeah, you’ve never seen a drow before.” That’ll change. Cheyenne flipped the guard the middle finger as she spun to face the blinding lights and green fellfire. Grinning, she leaned back and let herself fall off the cliff toward the crashing waves.
She never hit the water. All the breath was squeezed agonizingly out of her lungs, and her awareness returned with the feeling of both knees pressed against something hard and her hands buried in a substance half sponge, half cold mist. Choking for breath, she snatched her hands away from the invisible ground of the in-between, focusing only on that first raw, searing inhale. Then she looked up at the place between worlds she barely recognized. “Holy shit.”
“See this?” Ember offered Cheyenne a hand up but glared at Venga. “This is what happens when you screw around with too much magic and not enough magical space!”
“Incredible.” Venga gazed around them, taking it all in. Not that there was much of anything to take in. The entire in-between was now coated with thick black smoke.
Or maybe all the light’s gone, and this isn’t smoke. Cheyenne let Ember help her to her feet as she caught her breath. Maybe it’s absolute nothing.
“There.” Persh’al pointed at the opposite doorway for this Border portal. “Don’t ask me how it got that close, but there’s our exit.”
“Everybody move.” Maleshi stalked forward, sneering at the blackness swirling around them. Their vision blurred with every step, the darkness sometimes blocking the other magicals from view, only to reveal them again the next second. But the outline of dampened light around the portal doorway remained bright enough to see at any given moment.
“Somebody’s shrunk this place,” Lumil muttered. “I don’t like being in a box.”
Venga hissed at her. “This is nothing like being in a box.”
“Well, sure. I meant metaphorically.” The goblin rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. “Asshole.”
“Picking up the pace would probably be our best bet,” Persh’al muttered. “You know, with shifters at three o’clock and everything.”
“Really?” Cheyenne squinted through the blackness, looking for in-between monsters. “You sure? ‘Cause I don’t—”
A pair of burning red eyes materialized in the black smog two inches from the halfling’s face.
“Holy flying shit!” She leaped back and blasted the thing with two orbs. The ground shook beneath them as the shifting monster bellowed. Cheyenne slapped her hands over her ears and blinked against the tears welling in her eyes.
“Yep, loud as fuck!” Ember grabbed her friend’s arm and tugged her to the doorway. “Can’t stop now, Cheyenne.”
The halfling stumbled across the spongy, slurping ground, throwing energy spheres and purple sparks at anything with red eyes that moved.
Lumil bashed at the giant pincer sweeping toward her and splintered the hard carapace into thousands of tiny pieces. The in-between monster shrieked and withdrew. “You’d think these things would grow a few brain cells and learn to recognize us by now.”
“No brains, asshat!” Byrd unleashed green fire at a swarm of black, glistening wings flapping overhead. “And yeah, I might be talking about you too!”
Persh’al reached the doorway first, his sparking blue whip writhing from his clenched fist, and turned back to wave the others forward. “Come on! Let’s go!”
A thick tentacle lashed at him from the top of the doorway. He cracked his whip into the shimmering black flesh and split the thing clean in half. The severed end thumped on the ground, and he kicked it away with a grimace. “Fucking disgusting.”
Ember and Cheyenne hurried toward him and the shimmering doorway. The halfling turned to blast more energy spheres at the point of a razor-sharp beak dropping toward Venga. Her attack splintered the beak, but the creature simply rearranged itself and spilled a nest of writhing tentacles from within the dangling husk that had been its mouth.
Venga roared and shoved two scaly fists into the wriggling mass. His other two fists rose high above his head, palms open, and jagged claws extended. Green light flashed across his all-black eyes as he shouted a spell, and the tangled tentacles hovering over him burst to smithereens in his grasp.
“Everybody through. Come on!” Persh’al waved them forward again, lashing every striking black appendage until the space in front of the doorway glowed a constant blue.
Byrd and Lumil darted through the doorway first. Then Maleshi raced past, skidding across the ground as she slashed at a striking tentacle and split it into five ribbons with her claws. Venga stalked toward them, throwing up plumes of black smoke with every heavy step and tossing incoming black monsters aside with all four arms.
Corian darted through the doorway, dragging Venga the rest of the way with him. Ember tugged Cheyenne’s arm to get her to move. “Persh’al, come on!”
“Go!” He stepped in front of the doorway and cracked his blue whip at a spider-like creature with a dozen red eyes at the center of not eight legs but nineteen. His whip lashed leg after skittering leg before any of the sharp, barbed ends had the chance to stab their intended targets, namely Cheyenne and Ember.
The fae finally managed to pull Cheyenne through the doorway, and they stumbled across the portal exit two seconds before Persh’al. The blue troll shouted as a severed spider’s leg morphed into a barbed claw, and he dove through the doorway to skid unceremoniously on his stomach across loose, charred dirt. The in-between monster shrieked and retreated through the doorway, and then it was over.
“I really hate those things.” Persh’al shoved himself off the ground and slapped the coarse dirt off his clothes. “Now what?”
Corian pointed to their right. “Now we get the hell away from here and that.”
Everyone followed his gaze to see the blight’s black tendrils snaking across the land, sucking the life from the few rare scraps of plant life remaining this far in the Outers. Venga scratched his hairless head with one hand and stroked his scaly chin with another. “That’s it, then?”
“That’s it.” Ember glared at the necromancer. “Feel free to let inspiration strike. We could really use suggestions from the magical who created that.”
“Come on.” Maleshi nodded at the portal she’d just conjured, then looked over her shoulder at the quickly approaching blight. “I hope I don’t have to tell anyone how important it is to be quick about it!”
The magicals slipped through the shimmering oval of dark light. Less than ten seconds after the general’s portal disappeared with a soft pop, the snaking tendrils of the blight’s corruption spilled across the soil. It cracked the earth beneath it, filled the empty spaces with black, oozing sludge, and kept going.
Chapter Eighty-Five
“Anyone else think it’s weird that the crossing took less than five minutes?” Ember straightened her sweater and gazed at the shimmering magical dome surrounding the capital city of Hangivol in front of them.
“My guess is the in-between acts rather like the Outers these days,” Corian muttered. “With ever-changing boundaries.”
“You’re not complaining, are you?” Lumil grinned at the fae.
“Not even a little. I was under the impression that the portal doorways were farther apart, that’s all.”
“They usually are.” Maleshi lifted her chin and stared across the dark silhouettes of Hangivol’s rising towers in front of them. “And this city usually isn’t on fire.”
Cheyenne squinted at the green and purple flames that looked like they were engulfing the highest towers in the center of the city around the Heart and the Crown’s fortress. Thick pillars of smoke billowed into the night sky, which was just starting to grow lighter with the coming dawn. “That’s not the city burning.”
“Oh, joy,” Byrd muttered flatly. “Then what’s burning?”
“That look like the Sorren Gán’s fire to anyo
ne else?”
“Huh.” Maleshi cocked her head. “Good eye, kid.”
“That thing kept its promise, huh?” Ember folded her arms. “I honestly didn’t expect it to.”
Venga studied the fae, his black eyes glistening in the starlight. “Am I to believe you summoned a Sorren Gán to your will and sent it to Hangivol?”
Ember scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous; that was L’zar. But you better believe that giant fiery asshole with wings came here to clean up your mess, necromancer.” She pointed at him. “Anything goes wrong with the Sorren Gán feasting on magical leftovers, that’s on you.”
“Indeed.” He glanced at her one more time and stalked toward the city. “When we’ve achieved our purpose here, I would very much enjoy speaking to such a creature.”
“Hey, if you can make yourself smell like a drow, Venga, you’re probably in,” Cheyenne said while the goblins sniggered at her comment.
“Perhaps raising your ancestors would grant me an audience with the Sorren Gán,” Venga replied. “You know, the dead ones.”
“Oh.” Cheyenne shrugged. “I guess that’d work too.”
“We need to make this as quick as possible,” Corian muttered. “Not because we’re running out of time, but to give Bianca a—”
“I think we all know what’s at stake, Corian. Thanks.” Cheyenne forced herself to look straight ahead. “This time, we can just roll into the fortress without having to be sneaky or fight off the Crown’s army to put any drow coins on a damn altar, right?”
“That’s it, kid.” Maleshi flexed her fur-covered hands and let out a low growl as they stalked toward the city center and the rising towers of the inner circle around the fortress. “And this round, the Spider can’t do shit to lift a finger against us.”
Ember grinned. “I like that part.”
“Yeah, it has a certain ring to it, huh?”
* * *
The group made their way up the various levels of Hangivol’s circular tiers. None of the O’gúleesh who lived here bothered them, and there wasn’t a single Crown soldier in sight.
Cheyenne nodded at a group of ogres standing at the entrance to a tunnel breaching the level’s outer walls. Feels a lot safer now that L’zar’s not with us. Big surprise, right?
The entrance to the Crown’s inner circle was unguarded, and the rebel group walked swiftly across the dark courtyard where Hangivol’s drow citizens lived. Maleshi reached toward the closest door, intending to open it with a spell. Venga beat her to it by stalking over to the sheet of metal and bashing it inward with two fists. The general lowered her hand and glared at the sheet of metal wobbling and clanging on the floor, ripped off its hinges. “You realize we’ve taken the Heart by surprise once already, don’t you?”
Venga flicked his forked tongue at her. “Of course, General. But breaking down even one of the Spider’s doors pleases me very much.”
Maleshi rolled her eyes and gestured at the now-doorless opening. “By all means, then. As you were.”
Everyone else followed the necromancer inside, and they moved swiftly down empty corridors of stone and metal crafted to look like stone. Cheyenne stuck her activator behind her ear and studied the scrolling lines of code racing across the surface of every wall in green, blue, and yellow. “Doesn’t look like anyone knows we’re here.”
“Or they haven’t started talking about it through the system yet,” Corian muttered. “Either way, I particularly enjoy the silence.”
“You’re right.” Ember gazed from the walls to the high ceilings of the corridor and down the other side. “You’d think it would be super-creepy to walk into a place this big with this much nasty dark magic in it, but it’s peaceful.”
“Not for long, Em. I wouldn’t count on it.” Cheyenne studied the lines of code scrolling across the black metal walls and reached out to an access point illuminated by her activator. Using that, she sent an encrypted message to the Four-Pointed Star, which was hopefully still stationed somewhere beneath the city.
We’re early. Come join us for the new Cycle.
The activator alerted her ten seconds later that the message had been received, and then she got her reply.
Expect our arrival.
Cheyenne smirked. At least they were ready to roll with the punches and change up a few things on the timeline.
Not having to follow L’zar down hidden route after hidden route through the Crown’s fortress meant they cut their time to nearly a quarter of what it had taken them the first time. Sooner than she expected, Cheyenne found herself staring up at the tall, vaulted ceilings of the courtyard at the Heart. The magical dome over the city spilled gray light into the courtyard, barely illuminating the twisted, gnarled Nimlothar tree sprouting from the burst stone at the Heart’s center.
The courtyard was empty.
Cheyenne approached the last Nimlothar and frowned. “This thing looks a lot worse off than the last time we were here.”
“Not much of a surprise.” Maleshi studied the tree’s almost-bare branches and its few fluttering leaves, pulsing weakly with purple light. “This thing’s been used a lot more than it should have been for Ba’rael’s magic. It might be taking a necessary break from overloading itself.”
“Used?”
Corian turned from gazing up at the stone walk on the upper story and met Cheyenne’s gaze. “How do you think that leaf got through the portal in your mom’s backyard, kid?”
Cheyenne’s nostrils flared. “She’s been stealing magic from the tree?”
“’Stealing’ might be a strong word,” Maleshi said. “From what I understand, a Nimlothar will lend its power to a drow—any drow, regardless of what their intentions are.”
“Just because the tree has no idea it’s being robbed, it doesn’t mean it’s not being robbed.”
“No one’s arguing in her defense, kid.” The general spread her arms. “I’m just saying that tree is giving of itself willingly because it doesn’t know any better.”
“Look at it.” Cheyenne reached toward the twisted bark, then pulled back her hand. “It doesn’t have anything left to give.”
“Not true.” Corian folded his arms and glanced at Maleshi and Cheyenne. “There is plenty more left in this tree. It just has to be used the right way.”
The halfling gazed up the length of the twisted, gnarled trunk. “What do you know about using this the right way?”
“Don’t forget who I’ve been bound to for centuries, Cheyenne. I’ve learned at least as much from him as he’s learned from me.” With a curt nod, the nightstalker approached the Nimlothar and gently set his hand on the twisted bark. Faint purple light pulsed beneath his touch. “We still have to move quickly if we want to make this work. For everyone.”
“Kinda hard to give the Spider my terms when there’s no Spider in sight.”
Corian blinked at her, then nodded at the tree. “Put your hand there.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to summon the Spider together, Cheyenne. I imagine that’s as far as I can take you before you face the rest of it on your own. Now close your eyes.”
With her hand on the rough bark, which vibrated slightly beneath her palm, the halfling did as she was told and took a deep breath.
“Call her to you—silently, aloud, it doesn’t matter. Just call her.”
Sure. Just call the drow who’d rather kill me than step down. No problem.
Still, Cheyenne forced herself to picture Ba’rael Verdys’ face. Beside her, Corian muttered a spell in O’gúleesh, and the Nimlothar’s purple light grew stronger and pulsed faster.
“Say her name, Cheyenne.”
She took a shuddering breath. “Ba’rael.”
The doors burst open at the other side of the courtyard, and in stormed a scowling Ba’rael Verdys, the Crown of Ambar’ogúl, cloaked in thick black robes. Behind her was Ruuv’i, glancing dubiously from one of L’zar’s rebel magicals to the next.
Of course, he’d be with her. Th
at’s better for me, though, isn’t it? I’ll only have to state the terms once.
Ba’rael stopped when her golden eyes settled on her niece’s hand resting against the Nimlothar. “Giving up so soon, Cheyenne? You still have plenty of time.”
“But you don’t.” Cheyenne removed her hand from the tree and stepped in front of it, almost as if she were protecting the Nimlothar from yet another mad drow ruler. “I’m surrendering the rest of my fortnight to offer you my terms right now, Ba’rael. The new Cycle turns today.”
“Oh.” The Crown tilted her head, then let out a lilting chuckle. “Such a grand speech for an infant.”
“I’ll start then.”
“Yes, by all means.” Grinning, Ba’rael looked over her shoulder at Ruuv’i, who did nothing but scowl at the visitors to the Crown’s court. Then his gaze fell on Venga, and when Ba’rael saw the fear in her Nós Aní’s eyes, she spun. A shuddering breath wracked her chest.
The necromancer erupted in booming laughter, his voice echoing through the Heart. “Ba’rael. You worry too much.”
“I most certainly do not.” The drow woman swallowed and spared Cheyenne a quick glance. “I worry exactly the right amount. Child, what chewed through your brain and convinced you it was a good idea to bring this death-dealer back to my gates?”
Cheyenne raised her eyebrows. “Mostly just to see that look on your face. And because we all know how much you hate it. And because he’s useful. To me.”
“You foolish—”
“You screwed with the wrong drow, Ba’rael.”
The Crown snarled. “L’zar’s not even here!”
“I’m not talking about L’zar. Shouldn’t be that hard to pick up on.” Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “You know, I could just let Venga kill you right now. That’d solve all my problems. You’d be out of the way, and we’d have a new Crown just like that, no votes and no arguments. Having a necromancer on the throne might take some getting used to, but it’s better than—”