The Drow There and Nothing More (Goth Drow Book 3)

by Martha Carr

  The other magicals shuffled their feet and exchanged wary glances.

  “You can’t know that.” An orc missing half an ear grimaced, his thick lower lip curling around two thick tusks painted black.

  “Persh’al said to look closer.” The raug snorted and waved a red-clawed hand at Cheyenne. “And you idiots closed your eyes. Open them and see who stands before you.”

  The old one left Cheyenne’s side and headed back through the wide-eyed magicals. His thumping cane stopped in front of the massive black table, where he lowered himself into a chair and closed his eyes with a long, growling sigh.

  The catlike woman with five tails cocked her head and pointed at Cheyenne. “Tell us who you are.”

  The halfling lifted her chin. “Cheyenne Summerlin.”

  Persh’al cast a wary glance at the suspicious crowd, then hurried over and stopped beside her with his back to the others. He leaned slightly toward her and whispered, “I know you don’t like the way it tastes, kid, but you gotta tell them what they wanna hear. Your name doesn’t mean anything in this room, but you know the name that does.”

  She shot him a sidelong glance. “Are you kidding me?”

  He met her gaze and raised his eyebrows.

  This is my coming-out party, huh? Guess it had to happen sooner or later.

  With flaring nostrils, Cheyenne looked away from the blue troll beside her and folded her arms. It was a lot easier to say the words she hated when she was staring at the far wall of the chamber instead of the hungry eyes of suspicious magicals.

  “My name is Cheyenne Summerlin. And my—” She swallowed and grimaced. Just fucking say it. “My father is L’zar Verdys.”

  Her words echoed through the chamber, and no one moved.

  Persh’al nudged her with his elbow as a slow, triumphant smile spread across his lips. “Nicely done.”

  Cheyenne shook her head and kept staring at the back wall.

  “Persh’al,” the black-and-red magical growled. “What is it?”

  The blue troll stepped forward, gesturing at the scowling halfling. “You heard the drow. This is what happens next.”

  “He did it?” A troll with rings of jagged black tattoos encircling his arms glanced at Persh’al and Cheyenne. “He broke through?”

  “Endaru’s balls, man. Come on. You’ve got Foltr’s seal of approval and heard it straight from Cheyenne’s mouth. This is L’zar’s kid standing here. How much more proof do you need?”

  The magical hidden within the black cloak reared back and bellowed with laughter. The startling sound seemed to break the others out of their shocked silence, and everyone started yelling.

  “That fell-damn drow should have come himself!”

  “Why’d you bring her here?”

  “We need to move now!”

  Glancing slowly away from the back wall of the chamber, Cheyenne cocked her head and looked at Nu’ek. The golra stood like a hulking statue at the side of the chamber, her red-furred arms folded. Then she met Cheyenne’s gaze and gave a small, barely imperceptible shake of her head.

  L’zar left them all here and expected everyone to sit tight and wait for his signal. He should’ve expected chaos.

  “All right, hold on.” Persh’al raised his hands to quiet the others down, but it was useless.

  “Right here in the city, Persh’al? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Not the last time I checked.”

  “If she’s spotted here, we lose everything!”

  “She won’t be.”

  “We need L’zar. Does his daughter know the first thing about what’s required of her?”

  Persh’al clenched his fists. “You know what? If you’ll just shut up and listen to me, I’ll tell you.”

  “We’ve been waiting quietly for centuries! If L’zar’s not here to tell us himself, what the hell are we supposed to do?”

  The shouting continued, and Persh’al dropped his hands. He looked at Nu’ek, and the golra rolled her eyes. Then she stomped her clawed foot, her talons shrieking on the stone floor and sending up a spray of sparks, and roared. The chamber shook, knocking dust loose from the ceiling, and everyone stopped.

  “Shut your useless mouths and sit down!” Nu’ek growled, her wings stretched to their full span as she glared at the magicals who said they were loyal to L’zar’s cause. “If you want your fell-damned answers, now is the time to listen. You know who we serve.”

  One by one, the magicals shot her scathing glances and turned to take their seats around the massive black table. Foltr the raug sat motionless in his chair, clawed hands folded over the top of his gnarled cane, his eyes still closed. No one said another word, and Persh’al returned to Cheyenne’s side, lowering his voice. “That didn’t go quite like I expected, but I think they got the message.”

  Cheyenne frowned at him. “What are we doing here? They want L’zar, not me.”

  “Just hang in there with me, kid. All right? I’ll take care of the rest.” He nudged her arm. “Some entrance, though, huh?”

  She snorted. “Honestly, I thought we were gonna have to fight our way out of here.”

  Persh’al shrugged and gestured for her to follow him to the massive black table with the others. “We still might. But at least we'll get a chance to fill them in on what’s happening first, right?”

  “Oh, sure. I feel so much better.” Her deadpan glare had the opposite effect and made him chuckle.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “So, L’zar’s spawn finally lived to tell the tale.” The second quill-covered magical folded his arms and sat back in his chair, staring at Cheyenne. “Did she pass her trials yet?”

  Foltr cracked his cane on the floor and leaned forward. “She wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t.”

  Cheyenne snorted. “She can speak for herself. If you have a question, why don’t you look me in the eye and ask?”

  The aging raug let out a soft grunt of amusement, and the other magicals around the table shot the halfling fleeting glances.

  Even these guys don’t want to look at me.

  “I still don’t understand why you brought her here.” The horned magical with the red and black flesh stuck his black tongue between his teeth and bit down in disgust. “Right under the Crown’s nose, Persh’al. I think you’ve spent too much time letting your brain rot in that other realm.”

  “Hey, it’s the last place the Crown will look for her.” Persh’al opened his pack on his lap, paused, and scanned the faces around the table. “And we needed to see what’s been going on before all the other pieces get put into play.”

  “Things have changed since the last time you were at this table.” The cloaked figure spread his gloved hand on the black wood in front of him and hissed softly. “Not for the better.”

  “Yeah, we picked up on that pretty quickly.” Persh’al pulled two large metal lockboxes from his pack and slid them toward the center of the table. “These are straight from L’zar. Do whatever you want with them once Cheyenne and I leave.”

  “That’s why you’re here?” the black-tusked orc asked. “To bring us cheap gifts?”

  Persh’al glared at him with narrowed eyes. “Not so cheap when I tell you L’zar’s putting everything in motion. The next time you see him, he’ll be standing right next to his daughter. Maybe before she claims the last rite, maybe after, but he’s coming.”

  “What is he waiting for?”

  “We hit a roadblock, all right?” Persh’al glanced at Cheyenne and rolled his eyes. “It’s probably hard to get real-time updates down here in this fancy dark cave, but in case you haven’t heard, there are new portals opening, maybe as we speak. Who knows?”

  A nervous murmur passed around the table, and the old raug shifted in his seat to face the blue troll, leaning over the top of his cane. “Explain that.”

  “I can’t.”

  “It’s the Crown,” Cheyenne said. All eyes focused on her, and Persh’al cleared his throat. “At least, that’s what we thi
nk.”

  When she looked at him for clarification, he gestured for her to continue and sat back in his chair. “You take this one, kid. I’m tired of talkin’.”

  “Continue,” Foltr growled, his orange-brown gaze flicking across her face.

  Guess I’m stepping into this role, whether I like it or not.

  Cheyenne took a deep breath. “When we crossed over today, everything had been destroyed—the land, the wildlife, all of it. Pretty nasty stuff.”

  “Where was this?”

  Persh’al thumped a fist on the table. “In the Outers, Jara’ak. Where do you think?”

  “Let the Aranél speak!” Foltr thumped his cane again and glared around the table. “The next dae’bruj to open their mouth out of turn will spend the rest of the evening rubbing valdishwort all over an old raug’s aching joints. Are we clear?”

  Cheyenne glanced at the raug’s gnarled hands sprouting white-gray hairs and the layers of orange-tinted dirt beneath his clawed nails. I wouldn’t wanna rub anything into that cracked skin.

  When the aged magical looked at her again and nodded slowly, she returned the gesture and frowned. “What does that mean? ‘Aranél.’”

  Foltr chuckled and shot Persh’al a knowing smile. The blue troll leaned toward her and muttered, “A term of endearment. Mostly.”

  “Uh-huh.” She scanned the amused expressions around the table and cocked her head. “We weren’t sure what was happening in the Outers until we got closer to Hangivol. Whatever the Crown’s doing here, it’s spilling death and decay everywhere beyond the city, and it’s starting to leak out of Ambar’ogúl. Making new portals. Spilling things onto Earth that aren’t supposed to be anywhere but between worlds.”

  A muscular goblin with gold rings piercing the elongated backs of both ears narrowed his eyes. “None of this sounds like anything that would concern L’zar.”

  “Well, it does when the Crown’s using those new portals to smuggle war machines across the Border,” Persh’al snapped. “The bitch already has a bounty on Cheyenne’s head. She hasn’t found L’zar’s kid, and she won’t until Cheyenne and L’zar are standing right in front of her at the Rahalma. That’ll be a lot harder to do if the Crown consumes the resources we have on Earth first.”

  “Leave Earth to itself,” the quilled woman shouted. “We have enough here to deal with.”

  “Leave Earth to itself?” Cheyenne leaned forward over the table. “That’s not an option.”

  “You might be L’zar’s daughter, Aranél, but no one here has sworn fealty to you. That other realm is useless and weak. If the Crown takes it before we finish what we started, it hardly makes a difference.”

  “There are billions of people in that other realm!” Cheyenne slapped her hands on the table and lurched to her feet, snarling. “We’re not leaving them unprotected.”

  “What has Earth done for us?” Another orc jabbed a meaty finger at Cheyenne and grunted. “Taken the one drow who can make a difference on this side while we try to hold together the last crumbling pieces of an old Cycle that didn’t sow terror and death.”

  Cheyenne gritted her teeth, itching to unleash her magic, which burned hotter than ever through her blood. “It’s done a lot more than that. Without ‘that other realm,’ I wouldn’t be here. You’d have one more nameless child of L’zar Verdys lying dead at his feet. Or maybe none.”

  “You’ve got a weakness for the humans, Aranél.” The black-and-red magical sneered at her. “That didn’t come from L’zar. Was it your fool mother, then?”

  “Watch it.”

  “Raised you as an Earthside-born drow, taught you to defend the weak because she’s forgotten what blood runs through her veins?”

  Fury boiled through Cheyenne’s body, and she didn’t even try to stop the purple sparks flaring from her fingertips. The magicals sitting closest to her leaned away, except for Persh’al and the old raug. “Earth is my home, asshole. You have a seriously fucked-up misconception about what humans are worth, and what they’re capable of.”

  “See? You’ve grown too attached.”

  “I’m attached because I’m one of them!” A flare of black flames burst from within the drow halfling’s eyes, her purple sparks crackling across her skin like an electric current before quickly disappearing.

  The sixteen other magicals gathered around the table stared at her with wide eyes.

  “Is this true?” a goblin man asked, lowering his hand. He’d been picking his teeth.

  Persh’al sighed. “It’s—”

  “No, I got this,” Cheyenne snapped, jerking her hand out toward him and gesturing for him to wait. “I’m not full human, but my mother is. And I’ll tell you right now, if I had to choose between her and anyone else in this room, I’d choose her every time. Not because she’s my mother, but because that human could take down entire armies with a few well-placed words and a little leverage. I don’t give a shit who’s sworn loyalty to L’zar or to me. We’re not sacrificing Earth just to make you feel like L’zar hasn’t wasted your time.”

  The cloaked magical with the glowing red eyes started laughing again, his form flitting between a humanoid shape and a swarm of black specks swirling above his chair. The black-and-red magical with the small horns studding his scalp hissed at the halfling but didn’t argue again.

  “Well.” Foltr leaned back in his chair and lifted his cane to set it across his lap. “There’s no denying who fathered this one, is there?”

  A round of low, tense chuckles rose from the gathered magicals.

  “You can sit down, kid.” Persh’al nodded when she glared down at him. “You made your point.”

  Cheyenne sank into her chair and folded her arms. I lost my shit. Apparently, that’s what it takes for them to smarten the hell up.

  “You’re not wrong about the portals.” Nu’ek, too large for any of the chairs around the table, took a slow step forward from where she’d been at the side of the chamber. “If they’re opening on the other side on their own, things are worse here than any of us knew.”

  “It’s bad enough already,” the quilled woman added.

  “We figured as much.” Persh’al nodded and gazed around the table. “We were at Wildhaven when Nu’ek found us. The peacekeepers aren’t contained to high-end restaurants and Uppertech nightclubs, are they?”

  “No.” The black-tusked orc grimaced with distaste. “It’s everywhere. The Crown’s lost her mind, and she’s taking the whole fell-damned city with her.”

  “We hear about the outernóre making the crossing in droves,” the cloaked magical added, fully materialized for the conversation. “That’s been causing enough problems, but what other choice do they have? They’re starving. Terrified. And of course, she won’t lift a finger against the raiders now taking everything that’s left in the Outers. They don’t even have the means to buy their way into the city where everyone else thinks it’s safe.”

  “And those with any veréle are moving as close to Hangivol as they can get, if not right into it.” A troll woman with a thin silver chain dangling between a stud in either ear shook her head. “The fell-damned Mother’s drawing her blinded children ever closer under the guise of luxury and safety, but this place is a madhouse, and the Crown’s made it impossible to leave.”

  “I’m guessing it gets worse above Uppertech,” Persh’al muttered.

  “Of course. The lower levels don’t have it as bad as the inner circles.”

  “What about once you’re inside the city?” The blue troll scanned the faces gathered around the table. “We watched a guy get eaten by a wall just for calling out truths. Granted, he was louder about it than he should’ve been, but if most magicals are too afraid to be that loud, I’m trying to figure out why the Hangivol Exodus hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Oh, we can all come and go as we please,” Nu’ek replied. “If you’ve got business outside the city, sure. As long as you bring it right back.”

  Persh’al’s eyes narrowed. “And nobody
has much business outside a city doing all the business with itself.”

  “The Crown abandoned the Outers.” Foltr grunted. “From Simmara all the way to Teridól would be seeing the same by now if it weren’t for their stewards. They walk as tight a rope as we do, trying to placate her while keeping their wards safe within the territories.”

  “But here,” the troll woman added, “O’gúleesh can do whatever they want whenever they want. Tech runs most of the grunt work these days, and the fortunate Hangivol-dwellers are living it up on every level outside the Edhilór.”

  “What’s her reasoning for handing everything over to the pawns?” Persh’al asked. “I know fell-damned well it isn’t to keep up her dazzling reputation.”

  “Total control disguised as complete freedom.” Nu’ek folded her arms. “And access to an entire metropolis of magic she can draw from at will.”

  “Right. And that’s causing the blight.”

  “Causing it. Perpetuating it. Maybe even trying to hide it. But as long as the tainted river of pleasure flows through Hangivol, those living here have fewer reasons to look any farther than the next poison they all call privilege,” the black-tusked orc growled as he swept his hand across the table. “Unless you let the act slip. Even a whiff of dissatisfaction brings the Night and Circle down on your head.”

  Persh’al’s eyes widened. “The Night and Circle?”

  “No honor left in serving the Crown, lugahw’o.” The raug dipped his head toward the blue troll and closed his eyes.

  The table fell silent, then Persh’al chuckled and shook his head. “I wonder if they’ll change their tune when General Hi’et lights the deathflame under their asses.”

  “General Hi’et abandoned her post,” the quilled man muttered.

  Cheyenne frowned at him. “Well, she picked up a new one Earthside.”

  “What?”

  “She would never!”

  “General Hi’et is gone.”

  The surprise and uncertainty buzzed around the table, and Cheyenne glanced at Persh’al. “When was the last time you sent updates over here?”