Quote the Drow Nevermore

by Martha Carr

  “Fuck.” Persh’al rubbed the side of his mostly shaved head and stared at the bar of metal in the Nightstalker’s hand. “How’d they even get that across?”

  “Deactivated,” Maleshi muttered, scanning the crate’s contents.

  “More like never activated in the first place.” Corian flicked the metal bar again with a twist of his wrist, and the pieces folded back on themselves before the metal links fell loosely toward the ground once more. “Can’t bring O’gúl tech across the border, but they can send the parts. And these are old parts.”

  “How much of this crap did they bring?” Lumil eyed the half-dozen stacks of crates in front of the Nightstalkers before stepping across the clearing to eye the other stacks and the scattered crates that hadn’t yet been organized.

  “Doesn’t matter how much they already sent Earthside.” Persh’al joined the Nightstalkers and peered into the open crate, shaking his head. “Only how much more they’ll try to push through after this.”

  Cheyenne took a tentative step toward the Nightstalkers and the troll. First time I’ve felt this out of my element. “What is it?”

  “Machine parts.” Maleshi stiffened, then stepped quickly back and eyed the black handles on the crates in this stack. “Open the others.”

  Corian grabbed the handle of the open crate and yanked it onto the ground. Dozens of thick black chains spilled across the grass like metal snakes before he slashed his claws against the locks of the next crate. Sparks flew, the lid rocked back on its hinges, and he pulled out a black metal sphere the size of a basketball.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Persh’al took another metal sphere and ran his hand over it before finding the almost invisible button on the side. He pressed it with a little click, and the sphere opened in his hand. He dropped the thing as the mechanisms whirred and spun and flipped into place. When it was finished, the resulting part looked like a curved black metal shield.

  Or the shell of one of those beetle-things.

  Persh’al shook his head as he stared at the unfolded part. “What were they thinking? Just throw a bunch of un-activated parts across the border and hope those idiots know how to put it all together?”

  Corian stared at the troll. “You’re good, Persh’al. But the chances that you’re the only O’gúleesh Earthside who figured out how to meld human tech to magic are low.”

  “This isn’t human tech, man.”

  “Then they’ve got someone who figured out how to activate this shit with operational magic. Can’t be that different.”

  “It’s completely different, Corian. Nothing Earthside conducts the same way. If I tried to close a circuit with riverchrome over here, I’d blow my fucking head off.”

  Cheyenne left them to argue the semantics of magic and otherworld tech, her attention captured by Maleshi’s march across the clearing toward the crates with the gray handles. She had to pass the raug commander on her way there, and she shot him a scathing glare.

  Gu’urs chuckled again through his mashed mouth and widened his orange-brown eyes. “She’ll rip this world apart to get to you, mór úcare. You know she will. I can see it in your eyes.”

  The halfling stopped inches from his face and hunkered down. The raug’s eyes narrowed, spit dripping in a long string from the corner of his slack mouth, and what little sneer he’d managed faded.

  “Obviously, she has no idea who my friends over here are.” Cheyenne glanced around the clearing and the incapacitated soldiers of the Crown strewn across the grass. “Her first mistake was underestimating what we can do. If she wants me that badly, asshole, go tell her to make the crossing and find me herself.”

  The commander chuckled again, but it caught in his throat as his spittle spilled down the back of his mouth. “You’re the one who’s making the crossing, as a vassal of the Crown or in a box. Your choice.”

  Angry purple sparks crackled at the tips of the halfling’s fingers, and the raug leaned away as far as he could with his wrists bound behind him. “I’m staying right here.”

  She jerked toward him, and a sputtering hiss of surprise leaped from the commander’s swollen mouth as he flinched. Cheyenne stood swiftly and walked toward Maleshi.

  The Nightstalker woman had already opened three of the five crates marked with gray handles. The first two had been tossed aside, their contents spilling over the grass as the woman sifted through the third container.

  “What’s in those?” Cheyenne stopped behind her former mentor and glanced at the tiny black squares littering the ground.

  Maleshi poured a handful of the metallic pieces back into the upright crate and shook her head. “Batteries, more or less.”

  “Batteries.” The halfling approached the crate to look inside. She picked up one of the small metal squares the size of a quarter and turned it over in the afternoon sunlight. “These look like circuit boards for the first cell phones ever.”

  “This is one of those reverse situations where size really doesn’t matter, kid. Humans over here think they’re smart for cramming the best technology into tiny, fragile pieces. But these? If we were in Ambar’ogúl, one of these could power the state of New York.”

  Cheyenne dropped the chip back onto the thousands of others filling the crate. “Someone figured out how to make O’gúl tech work over here.”

  Maleshi let out a quick, mirthless laugh. “This shit was old news when I still wore the crest on my shoulder. The Crown’s going old-school for this.”

  “That’s supposed to work over here?”

  The Nightstalker woman wrinkled her nose. “Compared to what the Crown had at its disposal when I still served, using this tech is like a structural engineer building a high rise out of Legos. These bastards know something we don’t. They wouldn’t waste a massive shipment of disassembled parts and power chips on nothing more than a hunch.”

  “And weapons.” The halfling nodded at the single open crate with red handles. The giant launcher the orcs had fired at Maleshi lay on the ground beside it.

  “And weapons.” The Nightstalker woman grimaced in bitter frustration and went to the red-handled container.

  “This crap…” She lifted a smooth metal cylinder half the width of a soup can and tossed it in her hand. “We stopped using these halfway through my prematurely ended term of service.”

  “But it worked.”

  “Yes, it did.” Maleshi’s shoulder blades drew together at the still-fresh memory of the projectile unleashing its attack across her back not half an hour ago. “This is more magic and less tech. Blood magic, but on a race-wide scale.”

  “Okay.” Cheyenne folded her arms and frowned at the canister in the Nightstalker’s hand. “Pretend I’ve never been to Ambar’ogúl and don’t know a thing about race-wide blood magic.”

  The Nightstalker snorted and jiggled the canister. “These things are loaded with potions, kid. Fire one of these, and it’s like a heat-seeking missile. Only in this case, it’s seeking a magical race and the specific magical signature that goes with it. If Corian had been any closer when they fired this thing, it might’ve gone for him instead. You never know. This shit is unpredictable at the best of times. Packs a punch, too.”

  “You look pretty okay to me.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice being shot at, kid. A lot of practice being shot, too.” Maleshi’s silver gaze dropped to the halfling’s right hip for a split second. Then she gazed around the clearing at the dozens of crates and shook her head. “This isn’t everything. They’ll try to get more across. Maybe not today. Maybe not after my seal breaks over that portal wall. But they will try, and we don’t have the kind of resources or manpower we need to keep them from succeeding.”

  Cheyenne frowned at her friend, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. “We can’t just walk away and let them keep bringing this over.”

  “We can’t stop them either, Cheyenne.”

  “Bullshit. There have to be thousands of O’gúleesh on this side who would stand
up to fight this. I’m pretty sure those born Earthside wouldn’t want a foreign monarch shipping weapons and machine parts into our world. That’s part of why the FRoE’s around, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe.” Maleshi shrugged and stared at Corian and Persh’al, still arguing on the other side of the clearing. Lumil and Byrd stalked back and forth in front of the O’gúl soldiers, their magic at the ready as they kept an eye out for any idiot stupid enough to make a move. “But this portal can’t possibly be the only one popping up around the world on its own. And I have a feeling it won’t be the only one spilling the in-between out on this side.”

  “But this one’s right here.” Cheyenne stared at the Nightstalker as Maleshi made her way toward the arguing O’gúleesh. “We make a stand at this one because we know about this one. Hey, don’t walk away from me.”

  Maleshi whirled, her silver eyes glinting fiercely. “I’ve always loved your spirit, kid. You’re a lot like me, and I seriously appreciate your dedication to acting in the moment, based on what you know right now. But today, while we’re here, I wouldn’t repeat the mistake of telling me what to do.”

  The halfling swallowed. “I’m not one of your soldiers, Mattie.”

  “But I’m the one calling the shots, so let me take care of it until we know more and can put together another plan.” That feral grin spread across the Nightstalker ex-general’s face again before she shot Cheyenne a devious wink. “And relax, huh? There’s more than one way to skewer a drow.”

  Chapter Eighty-One

  “We need to figure out where they were planning to take this shipment.” Maleshi, Corian, Persh’al, and Cheyenne huddled in the center of the clearing while the goblins kept up their patrol over their O’gúleesh prisoners.

  “And which asshole figured out how to make all this crap work over here,” Persh’al added. “Put me in a room with whoever it is, and I’ll have every single piece of information stripped from his brain. Only need half an hour.”

  Corian shot the troll a warning look. “One step at a time, friend.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the one step ahead that gets me excited.”

  “Don’t get too excited just yet.” Maleshi glanced over her shoulder at the tied-up magicals who served the Crown. “I don’t think we’ll get anything out of them.”

  “We should try anyway.” Corian cocked his head with a dangerously playful smirk when the ex-general raised an eyebrow. “I used to trust your judgment implicitly, General, but we’re both four hundred years out of practice with that one.”

  Maleshi hissed out a laugh. “At the very least, it might be just as fun as tying them all up in the first place.”

  “Nah. I like this part better.” The Nightstalkers exchanged vicious knowing glances before splitting away from the huddle and taking off toward opposite sides of the clearing.

  Cheyenne stepped after Maleshi toward the far side of the clearing with the weapons crates, but Persh’al stopped her with a loud clearing of his throat.

  “I’d sit this one out if I were you, kid.”

  “Are you telling me whatever those two are about to do is worse than that shitshow of a fight you and I barely had time to join?”

  The troll cocked his head with a one-armed shrug, the tips of his gelled orange mohawk dropping unnervingly close to the halfling’s face. “Yeah.” He nodded at the closest group of loyalist prisoners. “For them.”

  “Time for interrogations, huh?” Cheyenne folded her arms and turned to see Corian squat, his fur-tufted fist clutching the front of a sneering goblin’s uniform shirt.

  “You gonna have a problem with that?”

  “Not really. I’ve seen it before.”

  Persh’al jerked his chin with a curious smirk. “And you were the one asking the questions, weren’t you?”

  The halfling shrugged and didn’t say anything else. Durg’s the only one who told me something useful.

  A low chuckle rose from the troll as he shook his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.”

  “Why? ‘Cause I’m too cheery to interrogate anyone?”

  Persh’al snorted. “’Cause you’re too much like him.”

  She grimaced and glanced across the clearing at Maleshi, who shoved a snarling orc onto his side before looming over him and grabbing his shirt with both hands. “We can stop talking about how much I have in common with a guy I don’t even know.”

  “I’d say it’s a pretty good time to get to know him, wouldn’t you? Especially after all this.” The troll gestured across the clearing, flinching when Corian sent his fist hurtling into the goblin’s ribs.

  Cheyenne watched the Nightstalkers working their interrogation techniques on either side of the clearing. “They’re doing this for him, aren’t they?”

  “That’s part of it.” Persh’al sniggered. “Kinda funny, though. L’zar’s in that joke of a prison right now to keep you safe, and it’s the only thing keeping the Crown from coming after him.”

  The halfling raised an eyebrow. “After everything I’ve seen in the last few days, I’m not sure Chateau D’rahl could stand up to something like this. Or to magicals like Corian and Maleshi, if they really wanted to get to him.”

  “Of course not. That’s the thing, though, kid. The Crown wants L’zar out of the way, and for now, he’s doing all the heavy lifting for her. These forces won’t lift a finger to go after him while he’s locking himself up.”

  On the far side of the clearing, Maleshi had given up on the orc and now played Nightstalker roulette with two hissing, snarling skaxen. The orange-skinned, rat-faced magicals sneered up at the ex-general without a word, even when she zapped them one at a time with flashing silver darts.

  Cheyenne shrugged. “Well, I started the trials, and I’m still alive. If L’zar really wanted to help, now would be the time for him to slip on out of prison and come fight with us.”

  “Maybe.” The troll stroked his hairless chin. His gaze darted toward Corian when the Nightstalker lunged to the next trussed-up loyalist, catching the startled troll by surprise before barking questions into the magical’s face. “If I had to guess, Cheyenne, I’d say L’zar’s still doesn’t know what’ll happen when he does break out again. He eventually will. He has to. But he won’t until he’s sure it won’t hurt you.”

  “I’m not worth the entire world on this side of the Border.” The halfling shook her head. “If he can stop this from happening, be a part of this rebellion or whatever instead of hiding behind bars, that’s what he should be doing.”

  Persh’al turned to look at her with a sly, crooked smile. “You’re the only one who’s gotten this far, kid. That’s a big deal.”

  “Well, thanks, but that doesn’t do shit for all the monsters spilling out of a new portal and the Crown smuggling weapons Earthside.”

  “Not yet.” The troll folded his arms and returned his attention to the Nightstalkers, who were still making threats and roughing up their O’gúleesh prisoners. “But if we play our cards right, it will.”

  Byrd and Lumil only had to step in once and bash several of the stupider prisoners back down while Corian and Maleshi interrogated Commander Gu’urs’ soldiers. Now, the Nightstalkers had made their way toward each other along the line of tied-up loyalists until they met in the middle in front of the last two.

  All this time to watch their friends get beaten up and screamed at. One of them will talk.

  Cheyenne watched intently. The final two magicals—a troll woman with a black band tattooed across her face from one temple to the other and an orc missing one ear—looked intimidated, at least, if not terrified.

  “Down to the wire now, aren’t we?” Maleshi loomed over the tattooed troll and slowly cocked her head. “You have the chance to change the ending for your entire squadron right now.”

  “The ending’s already been written, nilsch úcat.” The troll woman spat at Maleshi’s feet, her coarse laughter cut off by the Nightstalker’s fist connecting with her face.

  “The
ending is what we make it. Who was supposed to get this shipment?”

  A smear of dark, almost purple blood covered the troll’s lower jaw. “It came from the Crown, and it goes to the Crown. All of this...this entire world—” The troll coughed and spat again, this time to get the blood out of her mouth. “She takes whatever she wants, General. If anyone knows that, it’s you.”

  Maleshi dropped into a squat, her forearms propped on her bent knees. “That’s exactly why I left. But I’m sure you already figured that one out.”

  “You can’t stop her,” the one-eared orc growled. “She’s seen more of the days to come than you know. Nothing will stand in her way.”

  The Nightstalker woman glared at him, her upper lip curling into a sneer. “That cursed drow isn’t the only one with Oracles in her pocket.”

  Corian shot her a quick glance of surprise, but she ignored him.

  The orc cackled. “Uh-oh. Somebody forgot to slip that little detail into the pillow talk, huh?”

  The tied-up troll woman beside him guffawed and leaned back against the metal crate behind her. “That’s the trouble with Nightstalkers. Too many furballs, and this one’s trying to turn herself into a queen, ain’t she?”

  Both magicals burst into another round of sneering laughter.

  Cheyenne turned toward Persh’al and frowned. “A queen?”

  The blue troll grimaced. “A female cat with a new litter. The bad joke’s been tossed around for a long time back home.”

  The halfling’s eyes widened before she turned back to watch the Nightstalkers. “Cats in Ambar’ogúl…”

  “A whole city of ‘em, kid. At least, there were before I crossed over.”

  One more reason not to cross the Border.

  The cackling cut off abruptly when Maleshi sent a hand-sized ball of silver light into the troll-woman’s chest. It rocked her backward, her head slamming into the crate with a hollow, metallic bang. Then the ex-general grabbed the troll woman’s uniform shirt and jerked her prisoner forward again. “Four hundred years, and no one’s come up with anything original. Who’s supposed to get this shipment? We know you’ve got someone Earthside who can make this old junk work, human tech or not.”