by Martha Carr
A swift rustle of leaves came from behind the tree, then a twig snapped farther to the left. The halfling stepped backward on her bare feet, having removed her shoes once she realized Corian was playing a game of “sneak around the woods.” Even with the darkness in the woods and the trees blocking out all the starlight, she didn’t need her eyes to find the Nightstalker. She could hear him. And I know he can’t hear me.
Pine needles drifted down to the forest floor about six yards in front of her. Cheyenne stepped around the other side of the tree she’d almost knocked down after Corian’s last sneak attack, then glanced at the closest boulder. Just a stone’s throw away. That might have a whole new meaning after this.
She focused on the buzzing line of enhanced magic flowing through her, her mind quickly settling on the image of the Nimlothar seed. Another shower of pine needles fell from the tree up ahead, and the halfling reached out toward the boulder. An unseen pressure clicked into place around her fingers, and she grabbed it before hurling the entire rock—moss, dirt, roots, and all—halfway up into the tree.
The air exploded with the crack of stone on wood, and the upper half of the tree crashed to the forest floor. A streak of silver light leaped from the falling tree, and all the needles and branches and leaves sprayed into the air. Cheyenne spun and shoved the air. A line of spiked stone erupted from the forest floor and shot after the retreating silver light.
Just before it hit, Corian stepped aside, slipped out of his enhanced speed, and threw a bolt of silver lightning at the halfling.
“How the hell—” She dodged the attack, which left the tree behind her one lightning bolt away from falling over.
“You won’t unlock another ability by throwing rocks into trees, kid.”
“Rock? Did you see—” An earsplitting crack rose from below them, followed by a long, drawn-out echo of the same boulder crashing down the hillside. “You ever hear a rock do that?”
“Stone ogres throw rocks, Cheyenne. You’re half-drow. Fight me like you’re half-drow.”
“I am!” She flung another black energy sphere at him, and the Nightstalker all but disappeared in a flash of silver light. With a frustrated roar, the halfling followed the darting light. Then she slipped into drow speed and saw him jogging across the hill above her.
When he saw her, the Nightstalker winked and picked up the pace.
That’s it. Cheyenne shoved the ground again, sending another rippling wave of spiked earth up the hill toward him as fast as he ran. Then she slipped back into normal time and reached out with the black tendrils whipping from her hands. Corian darted away from the coiling ropes of drow magic, but she wasn’t aiming for him. The tendrils curled around the farthest earthen spear as it erupted from the ground, jerking Cheyenne after it.
The Nightstalker darted to the left again, and Cheyenne swung around the opposite side of the rock spear. Corian dropped out of Nightstalker speed and frowned, exasperated. She reached out and felt the ground reply to her command; a massive crack split across the forest floor, drawing Corian’s attention and cutting him off. Then the halfling dove back into hyper-speed, her bare feet skidding on the loose pine needles and leaves a few feet higher than her frozen mentor. Her tendrils retracted and she ran toward Corian, cocking back a fist.
He joined her in the realm of super-speed one more time, turning around to look up at her. He did it just in time to see the purple-gray fist hurtling through the air before it smacked him in the jaw. Cheyenne’s blow sent the Nightstalker to his knees and then skidding backward across the loose earth, his deadly silver claws dragging through the dirt to slow him before he reached the massive crevice she’d opened behind him. They both dropped back into normal movement, and Cheyenne took a staggering step to keep from sliding down the mountainside.
For a moment, the only sound in the forest was the cascading rush of more leaves and needles tumbling down the hill, plus the occasional rock thwacking against a tree. Corian’s bowed head didn’t move as he clung to the mountainside on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.
Oh, shit. I fucking hit him.
Then a low chuckle rose from the hunched Nightstalker. Two seconds later, he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Cheyenne took another step up the hill. No way! I socked the sanity right out of this one.
“Well played, Cheyenne. That was…” Corian nodded and flashed her that predatory grin again, his silver eyes blazing even as he blinked heavily. “Very well played. What the hell made you think of that?”
The halfling shrugged. “Four out of five times, you darted left.”
“Ah. If you’re saying I’ve become predictable, I have failed you.”
“Not really. I guessed.”
He laughed again and pushed to his feet. The corner of his mouth had split open under her fist, and in the darkness of the woods, it was impossible to tell the color of the blood trickling toward his chin.
Silver wouldn’t surprise me.
The Nightstalker dabbed the corner of his mouth with two fingers, glanced at the blood, then dropped his hand. “That’s not fighting like you’re half-drow.”
“You’re right.” The halfling let out a chuckle and spread her arms. “That was me fighting like Cheyenne Summerlin.”
“Huh.” His silver eyes narrowed for a split second, and his smile widened. “I think you’re on to something.” Corian sucked in a hissing breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been hit like that.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
He pointed at her. “Your head’s the perfect size just the way it is, kid.”
When he turned around, they both studied the long, jagged rift that could have cut the mountain in half if Cheyenne had ripped it farther. “Should I do something about that?”
“I’m not gonna stop you. As long as whatever it is doesn’t involve your fist in my face.”
With a snort, the half-drow centered her focus on the purple Nimlothar seed, let out a long breath, and opened her hands. Almost instantly, she felt that magical pressure in the air, the resistance just waiting for her to reach. Cheyenne hooked her fingers around its edges and curled both hands into fists again.
The ground trembled. Another tree snapped somewhere and toppled to the forest floor before sliding down the mountain. The fissure stretching in front of her slowly shrank, bits of pine needles and twigs shivering over the edge of the crevice and falling into darkness.
The halfling’s arms trembled, her hands aching as if she’d been hanging from them for minutes. Finally, the massive crack closed with a muffled thump and a groan of earth and rock somewhere far beneath their feet. The ground rocked, sending Corian and Cheyenne sliding down the loose layer of vegetation.
She stopped herself by falling on her ass and digging her fingers into the ground. Better than passing out. That was close. Shaking off the next wave of dizziness, she looked and couldn’t find where that huge crack had just been.
“Yeah.” Corian wiped the side of his mouth again and nodded. “It’s a lot easier to tear things apart than to put them back together, isn’t it?”
Cheyenne shrugged. “Guess you gotta really mean it.”
“No truer words, kid.” He offered her a hand, and she didn’t hesitate to take it. “I think we’re done for the night.”
“Seriously? You’ve spent hours throwing me around a field and Alcatraz and now Yellowstone, and you can’t keep going after one punch to the face?”
“Not my drow trials. And as the person guiding you through yours, I’m calling the shots.” As the Nightstalker opened another portal on the side of the mountain, Cheyenne found her legacy box in a pile of leaves.
It was cold to the touch, without any of its expected flashing lights or whirring, turning parts. Really? I finally hit the Nightstalker, and still nothing? She shook the leaves out of her black Vans and stepped back into them.
Corian watched her return to him and the open portal with a grin, gesturing for the halfling to proceed.<
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Cheyenne raised an eyebrow, then stepped briskly through the shimmering oval of dark light.
He snorted. “Yeah, you’ll be using that look all the time soon enough.”
“What?” She stepped over the ring of candles in his unfinished basement apartment, looking at him over her shoulder.
“Nothing.” A surprised chuckle escaped him. “You hit me really hard, you know that?”
“Go drow or go home, right?”
“Well, now it’s both.” Corian gestured around the basement, then his gaze fell on the basket of her magical supplies and the hardened leather case. He nodded toward them and rubbed the corner of his mouth again. “It’s probably too much to assume you’ll be happy with a raincheck on those spells.”
“One point for the Nightstalker.” Cheyenne walked toward her supplies and grabbed the basket by the handle.
“Just leave it there. The floor makes a better workspace than anything else.”
Frowning, the halfling flicked her gaze toward the only piece of furniture in the basement—that crappy, wobbly folding card table. “Clearly.”
“You say that like you’ve got a better setup at your place.”
A sharp laugh burst out of her. “I do.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll believe it when I see it.” Corian hunkered down on the floor, eyed the basket of magical items, then sat all the way. “Not that I plan on seeing where you live.”
“What, you’re not into coming over for pizza and beer after beating each other up on the training field?”
He smirked. “Not with you.”
“You know, somehow, that feels like a compliment.”
Shrugging, the Nightstalker didn’t clarify one way or another before he got to work emptying the basket and laying out all the materials on the concrete floor. He paused before picking up the brown glass jar Yadje had given the halfling.
“Healing salve.” Cheyenne nodded, then her damn forearm started itching again. Grimacing, she rubbed it through her hoody sleeve and crossed her legs beneath her. “It’s supposed to be pretty decent.”
He unscrewed the lid and took a little sniff. “Woah. Yeah, kid. ‘Pretty decent’ is a serious understatement. This has darktongue flower in it. Or it’s mostly darktongue, judging by the smell.” The lid went back on, and Corian tilted the jar back and forth. “This isn’t easy to come by. Where’d you get it?”
“From a friend.” Frowning, Cheyenne took the jar from him and opened it to smell for herself. “Jeeze!” Wrinkling her nose, she screwed the lid on tight and set the jar aside. “Smells like rotting strawberries.”
“Well, most O’gúleesh would pay an arm and a leg to get their hands on some of those rotting strawberries.”
“For real?”
He nodded. “How much did your friend charge for that? Big jar.”
“Nothing.”
Corian choked and leaned over his lap. The choke became another laugh as he shook his head. “I can’t for the life of me figure out how you find yourself in these situations, kid.” When he looked at her, his glowing silver eyes narrowed above a smile that was half nostalgic pride and half sadness. “Then I remember who your drow half came from.”
“We can skip the part where you tell me I’m so much like L’zar, blah, blah, blah.” The halfling waved him off. “I’m not interested.”
“Me neither.” They stared at each other, then the Nightstalker clapped and turned back toward the supplies. “So. I’m assuming you brought the spellbook that started this hairbrained new venture of yours.”
“Dude, you’re hairier than me.”
His eyes flicked toward her face. “It’s fur.”
“Uh-huh.” She grabbed her backpack from beside the shelf and dragged it across the floor toward her. The loose stack of Mattie Bergmann’s handwritten pages was in relatively good shape still when she pulled it out and thumped it on the floor between them. “Here it is.”
“Jesus, Cheyenne. I hope you don’t expect me to help you with all of this tonight.”
“Well, you just gave me more ammunition.”
“Don’t pretend you have enough energy left for more than one or two of these.”
Smirking, the halfling flipped through the first few pages until she found the personal illusion charm. “I wanna start with this one, and maybe get some ward pointers from you before I bail for the night.”
“We’ll see.” Corian took the piece of paper from her, stared at her, then glanced down at the spell. Two seconds later, the paper fluttered to the floor as his fingers shot open like he’d just grabbed a hot poker. The Nightstalker hissed something in O’gúleesh, then his glowing silver eyes widened. “Where the hell did you get this?”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
“Why do people keep asking me that?” Cheyenne glanced at the piece of paper resting on the floor in front of Corian. “I told you already. I got that whole book from a friend. I mean, it’s not really a book, but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”
“Cheyenne.” The Nightstalker slowly put his finger on the loose paper touching his shin and cleared his throat. “Do you know who wrote these spells?”
“You’re sounding an awful lot like the Grinch Who Stole the Potions Shop.”
“What?”
“Never mind. My friend wrote those down. Then she made me copies, obviously, and gave them to me.” Cheyenne tapped her temple. “Said she pulled it out of here and wanted to put it down for posterity or whatever.”
“Yeah, I bet she did. You and your friends. Pshh. There something you’re not telling me?”
“Probably. Care to be a little more specific?”
Corian studied the illusion charm instructions, then thumbed through the rest of the spellbook, pausing here and there to take a better look at whatever caught his attention. Then he shook his head. “You mentioned the name Maleshi.”
“Yeah, and you told me to shut up about it.”
“Yes, I remember.” Biting his bottom lip, he warily removed his hand from the spell stack and scratched behind one pointed, fur-tufted ear. “And now, obviously, you’re ready to have that conversation.”
“Because Maleshi gave me her spellbook.” The halfling studied every tick in her mentor’s face as he took his sweet time to respond. I knew it. Mattie was talking to herself.
“How the hell did you become friends with Maleshi Hi’et?”
“Well, we’re not that close.” Cheyenne raised her eyebrows and shrugged.
“Maleshi. Huh. Earthside, off the grid.” He shook his head, blinking furiously as his feline nose wrinkled in confusion. “And she never reached out to any of us.”
“Yeah, she’s even more hush-hush than you.” Cheyenne snorted. “So, you can imagine how much fun it is trying to get her to say anything about anything.”
“I don’t have to imagine, Cheyenne. I know.” Slowly, Corian broke out of his musings and looked at her. “I know Maleshi very well.”
“From back home, right?”
“Hmm.” A bitter smile spread across his closed lips. “Yes. Everyone back home knows who Maleshi Hi’et is. Even if they never met her, I can promise you they’ve heard the name.”
The halfling squinted. “Let me guess. Escaped convict?”
“Please. Not every role model in your life follows that story.”
Just let that one go, Cheyenne. He’s obviously wrapped up in the past. “Then why is she here hiding from everyone but me?”
“I can’t tell you why she chose to reveal herself to you. My guess is she was tired of being on her own for, oh, the last few hundred years. But she most definitely is not an escaped convict. Or a convict at all.” Corian stroked his chin and stared at the spellbook again.
Cheyenne leaned toward him and, in a much softer voice than she expected, said, “You know I won’t go anywhere until you tell me who she is.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. I just didn’t think this would come up as a topic of conversation before you passed the trials. Or
ever, to be perfectly honest.”
“Okay. Well, it is.” She gestured for him to continue. “So, keep being honest.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat again and took a deep breath. “Maleshi Hi’et was a decorated, high-ranking general and war veteran. A brilliant strategist. An unstoppable force on the battlefield. Maybe even the Crown’s most valuable asset, at one point.”
The halfling blinked. “She told me she trained orcs.”
“Ha. Yeah, that too,” Corian said. “Maleshi was, ah…she was…”
“Don’t worry, you painted a clear enough picture.” I’m still struggling to stick Mattie’s face on it, though.
“Well, at any rate, I assume she got fed up with what her position had become under the Crown’s command. One day, she was with us. One of us. And the next, she just up and left without a word to anyone. People still say Maleshi was the spark that ignited the O’gúl rebellion.”
The halfling swallowed and shook her head. “I just heard you say ‘rebellion.’”
“There’s nothing wrong with your hearing, kid.” The Nightstalker shot her a condescending frown, then caught himself and looked away.
“What rebellion?”
“Now’s not the right time.”
She scoffed and slapped her knees. “This bullshit again, huh? I’m pretty sure the right time to explain the rebellion is at the end of a conversation about the Nightstalker who started that rebellion.”
“What happened after she left her post has nothing to do with her.”
“I really did punch you too hard.”
“Cheyenne.”
The gentle, firm command in his voice sounded so much like Bianca Summerlin, it sent a jolt of disbelief through the halfling. She couldn’t move.
“If I could predict with one-hundred-percent certainty what’s going to happen once you complete the drow trials and inherit what’s rightfully yours, I would tell you everything I know in an instant. Trust me. The pieces will fall into place. You will get your answers and the bigger picture, but it can’t happen all at once. You have to be ready for it, yes. And so many other things have to be ready for it too.”
