by Martha Carr
“Think you got it out of your system?” he asked.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Maleshi squeezed his hand even tighter and cocked her head. “The pits are open now, vae shra’ni. We’ll just have to let things play out.”
Laughing, Corian released her and headed around the open pit toward L’zar and Cheyenne. The halfling stared at him in disbelief, a chill racing down her spine even as her eyes told her he was fine.
She slit his throat. She killed him. And the fire?
L’zar and Corian clasped forearms and shared a brief, sturdy hug, slapping each other on the back. The drow chuckled. “Looks like you needed that.”
“Maybe I did.” Corian turned toward Cheyenne and raised his eyebrows. “You’re looking a little pale even for a drow, kid.”
Cheyenne looked him up and down. “You’re okay.”
“Better than okay. I know you felt it. The deathflame.”
“I don’t know what the hell I felt.” She lurched toward him and grabbed his arms, staring at the spot on his neck Maleshi had sliced open minutes before. A hard lump formed in her throat, and she forced it away as she stared at the nightstalker. “I thought you were dead.”
“I could have been. If I’d yielded.” Corian tapped the underside of her arms and cocked his head. “I’m pretty sure this is the closest you get to giving hugs, but you’re digging into my arms.”
“Shit. Sorry.” She released him immediately and ignored L’zar’s laughter. All around them, the liberated magicals got back to their celebration. The drums kicked up again, and the sound of metal slicing through metal ripped through the air as the metal covers over the other five fighting pits in Vedrosha were ripped off and destroyed. Cheyenne ignored it all. “Will someone please tell me what the hell happened? I can’t wrap my head around this.”
Smiling, Corian stood beside her and looked down into the fighting pit. “That was the deathflame, kid. One version of it, at least. You might say it’s a kind of lifeforce running through this world. Keeping us sane. Whole.”
She snorted. “You didn’t look whole when you were bleeding out in the sand.”
“That’s part of the tribute.” Corian tugged his rolled-up shirtsleeves back down over his arms. “The fighting pits have been fueling the lifeforce magic of Ambar’ogúl since the beginning. We fight. We spill each other’s blood in the pits. Those of us willing to walk through the deathflame heal the land, which heals us in turn.”
“Wait.” Cheyenne scanned the sandy bottom of the pit, from which Corian’s dark blood was gone without a trace. “Fighting. That’s what keeps this entire world running?”
“Something like that, yeah. In the pits, at least. We all get an extra boost when a fighter refuses to yield and chooses the deathflame instead.”
“And you have to almost die for that to happen?”
“It varies.” Corian chuckled. “Maleshi doesn’t end any battle without giving the people a good show.”
“Jesus.” Cheyenne rubbed her mouth and stared at the perfectly white sand.
Laughing and cheering with the other citizens around them, Maleshi joined Cheyenne and Corian and thumped a hand down on the nightstalker man’s shoulder. “What a way to kick off these two weeks, huh?”
“It’s relatively satisfying, sure.”
Maleshi grinned at Cheyenne. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re all insane.”
“Ha! Probably. But we stay true to who we are, and that might make us saner than anyone else. That bitch should never have sealed these up.”
Cheyenne frowned and glanced at the magicals dancing past them, whooping and roaring in excitement as they headed toward the other open pits to watch more fights. “That added to the mess the Crown made of this place, didn’t it?”
“Oh, you told her?” Maleshi shot Corian a sidelong glance, and he dipped his head in humble acknowledgment. “I bet he didn’t mention who came out of that fight with another victory under his belt, huh?”
“Corian won the fight?” Cheyenne’s eyes widened as she glanced at them.
“I would have if he’d yielded. He never does.” Maleshi tossed her dark hair out of her face and folded her arms. “Takes a lot of balls to get your ass whooped by an opponent and then again by the deathflame. The victory’s his. I’d say he earned it.”
“How does that even work?”
Corian cocked his head and grinned at the halfling. “Imagine the darktongue salve spread all over your body, kid.”
“Yeah, I remember when that happened pretty clearly, thanks.”
“And inside your body. Swimming through your veins and up into your head. If you’re willing to choose that for the benefit of Ambar’ogúl.”
Cheyenne nodded slowly and glanced into the pit again. “Of course you get the victory.”
“Cheyenne.”
She looked at Maleshi, who was smiling at her. “What?”
“You look a little pale.”
Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “That’s what happens when nobody tells me not to worry about my friends trying to kill each other. Hey, leave it up to the green flames turning Corian into a bonfire. No big deal.”
“Okay.” Corian chuckled. “Admittedly, we could have prepared you for that. Can’t blame us too much for getting caught up in the moment.”
“That’s what you call it, huh?” Cheyenne snorted. “I almost lost it.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, kid, however unnecessary.”
“Obviously.”
Maleshi lifted her chin and studied Cheyenne. “I’m more interested that she called us friends.”
The halfling brushed away locks of white hair that had fallen out of her bun and folded her arms. “Yeah, don’t let it go to your head. You’re already swimming in deathflame insanity.”
The nightstalkers burst out laughing.
“Come on. The whole day’s a celebration, Cheyenne. Might as well make the most of it.” Corian turned and nodded in the direction of the crowd swarming toward the other newly opened fighting pits. “Maybe you’ll appreciate our O’gúl brand of beauty if you’re not worried about two friends killing each other in the ring.”
“That’s a hell of a maybe.” With a final glance into the pit beside them, Cheyenne followed the nightstalkers toward the other pits to join the celebration. This world is ass-backward sometimes, but those two are looking especially chummy right now.
“Cheyenne!” Ember floated through the streaming magicals, grinning and shaking her hands beside her head in excitement. “Did you see that?”
“Corian getting his throat slit? Totally.”
“Oh, my God. That was amazing!” Ember laughed when Cheyenne scowled at her. “Not that Corian got this throat slit. That part sucks. I mean the fight. The fire. All of it. That’s the fucking deathflame!”
“Apparently, yeah.” Despite her shock, Cheyenne couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s passionate reaction. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Of course I am! Come on, don’t tell me you don’t feel all this. I don’t even know what to call it.” The fae pointed at her friend and chuckled. “Happiness isn’t the right word, but holy shit.”
“They’re free, Em.”
“Yeah. I think I was going for ‘connected,’ but free works too. This whole thing is a lot bigger than I thought. What you did yesterday. Ah!” Ember pumped a fist and bobbed over the heads of the crowd before settling back down into her hovering position an inch above the metal floor.
“Was that a jump?”
Ember rolled her eyes. “I’m still working on that part. Doesn’t quite feel the same as doing it with my own leg muscles, but I can’t complain.”
Laughing, Cheyenne moved through the crowd with her friend, leaning away when Ember let out a shout of excitement with everyone else. Guess battle rage is contagious on this side. Can’t be all that bad as long as nobody takes it too far.
Chapter Eleven
A goblin and what looked l
ike a giant hamster with bat wings and fangs got the first fight in the closest re-opened pit. The crowd of celebrating magicals had split among the six fighting pits in Vedrosha to watch the show. Others left the excitement to take to the streets of the lower levels again, dancing and drinking and celebrating in their own way now that they’d been satisfied by watching the first pit fight in centuries.
Cheyenne grimaced at the flying hamster thing darting around the goblin. “Any idea what that is?”
Ember grinned at her and shrugged. “Who cares? They’re about to start!”
The fae girl pumped her fists, surprisingly into the fight and the raucous energy spilling through Hangivol. Cheyenne shoved her hands in her pockets and found herself studying the magicals around her fulfilling some primal O’gúleesh instinct. Instinct for madness. That was the legacy I claimed yesterday with that damn coin.
A hand settled lightly on her shoulder, and she turned to see L’zar behind her, gazing over her head at the crowd. “Perfect time for us to slip away, Cheyenne. They won’t even notice we’re gone. Come on.”
“Yeah, okay.” Pretty much anything sounds better than being caught up in this right now. Cheyenne nudged Ember’s arm. “Em.”
“Yeah.” The fae girl turned her head but didn’t look away from the fight.
“I’m stepping out with L’zar for a second.”
“Yeah, sounds good. Have fun.” Ember roared with everyone else when the magicals started fighting. “Get him!”
Cheyenne slipped away from her friend and followed L’zar’s tall, erect figure as he practically floated through the spectators without a levitation spell. The magicals parted around them as they made their way out of Vedrosha and back into the main metropolis of the lower levels. Like they know we’re coming and step away without even seeing us. I bet he’s got some kind of spell for that too.
When they emerged from the crowd, L’zar paused to let her catch up. He rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and smoothed his hair away from his face before it fell around his shoulders again. “Gets loud out there, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t think you’d have a problem with crowds.”
He cast her a sidelong glance. “Only when they stop serving a purpose. This way.”
They walked down the main avenue circling the lower level, where O’gúleesh freely brawled, drank, danced, and gathered in the street without fear of the Crown’s ever-watchful gaze. A yellow-skinned gremlin leaped in front of them, cackling, and removed a ratty top hat from his head of frazzled gray hair. “A drow in Ritfarrin.” The gremlin bowed low, leering up at L’zar and Cheyenne.
“And a gremlin.” L’zar mocked the other magical’s low bow, wiggling his head in lieu of removing a hat.
The gremlin cackled again and raced away from them, firing green sparks into the sky.
L’zar chuckled. “I like the ones who don’t bother to remember who I am.”
“Because they either love you or hate you, right?”
“Or they make fun of a drow in the lower levels and count themselves lucky to get away with it.” L’zar clasped his hands behind his back and walked swiftly down the avenue. “Have you been to the Goldsmile dens?”
“I’ve seen them.” Cheyenne stared at his profile and slowly shook her head. “If you’re taking me to a drug den in the middle of an O’gúl riot, I’d rather jump into one of those fighting pits.”
“Good. If you were anyone else, I might have given you the option of trying out one of Hangivol’s finer vices. I hear the service has improved since the last time I was here.”
“Yeah, because everyone’s getting wasted on whatever they can to forget about how shitty things are.”
“How shitty things were.” L’zar raised an eyebrow when he glanced down at her. “You’re changing all that now.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Really?” He swept his arm in a wide gesture toward the celebrating streets, every store empty or nearly empty as Hangivol’s citizens forgot their everyday grind to revel in the turning of the new Cycle. “Does this look like nothing to you?”
“This looks like magicals taking a hard-won break from being ground into the dirt by the drow who are supposed to protect them.”
“And you are changing all that.” L’zar kept moving, dipping his head and smiling at the magicals who crossed their paths.
A hunched ogre wearing more scars than clothing stepped out a doorway in the shadows between the metal buildings and held out a sealed flask. He wiggled it so they’d hear the liquid sloshing and leered at them. “Two drow beyond the Heartland, eh? Either of you care for a little augur spice?”
“Ooh. Tempting.” L’zar danced away from the ogre with a little bow, then peered into the darkened doorway behind the magical. “You open for business?”
“Making the most of this fortnight before we see how the Cycle turns.” The ogre chuckled darkly. “You’re welcome to come in and look around.”
“Hmm.” L’zar bit his lip, paused, then shook his head. “Another time, perhaps. I know where to find you.”
“You always do.” The ogre bowed at the waist and disappeared into the darkened doorway again.
Cheyenne watched until even his bright yellow eyes disappeared, then hurried to catch up with her father. “I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say he was hawking illegal stuff.”
“That wasn’t hawking, Cheyenne. That was astutely seizing a business opportunity.” L’zar said, “He’s a darkseller. Deals in stolen items.”
“Oh, so you’d be a regular customer, then.”
“Stolen organic items.”
She snorted. “What, like nightstalker blood and gremlin toes? Maybe skaxen whiskers just for fun?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Skaxen whiskers are useless.”
“You’re serious.”
They veered around three brawling trolls on the side of the street, and L’zar looked over his shoulder to watch them a little longer before facing forward again. “Of course I’m serious. You hit the other two right on the head, though.”
Gross. Cheyenne grimaced and tried not to think about a jar of severed yellow toes being rattled around in the ogre’s hand instead of the flask.
L’zar stopped abruptly, leaned back, and peered into another dark alley between buildings. “Here we are.”
He didn’t wait for her to realize he’d doubled back, and Cheyenne spun to look for him before catching a fleeting glance of his white hair disappearing. Rolling her eyes, she hurried after him. “You gotta give me a heads up before you disappear into dark spaces.”
“You won’t need a heads up if you keep up.” L’zar turned another corner, winding his way through the maze of dark alleys.
Gritting her teeth, Cheyenne jogged to catch up with him and had to keep jogging so she wouldn’t lose him after every turn. How can he be moving this fast and walking normally at the same time?
Her activator pulled up fewer and fewer data streams from within the metal walls as they moved deeper into the lower levels. Then L’zar stopped beside a wall on their right and reached out to press his hand against it. Metal sections peeled away beneath his touch, clinking and folding together like a slinky made of square pieces before a doorway revealed another covered dark passage beyond.
Cheyenne looked at the thin lines of gray light filtering through the tops of the buildings around them. “We couldn’t have walked here from the outside?”
“What, you don’t enjoy navigating a maze?” L’zar gestured toward the opening. “You get points for a keen sense of direction, Cheyenne, but this does not lead back to the outer limits.”
She eyed the dark passage and lifted her chin. “Where does it lead?”
“I’m about to show you, aren’t I? Hurry up. The wall won’t stay open much longer.” He stepped into the passage, and the metal pieces started to unfold and close up the hole.
Cheyenne leaped forward and squeezed through the moving pieces with half a second to s
pare before the wall sealed once more. A ball of pale violet flames burst to life in L’zar’s hand to light the way for them as they continued down another series of twisting, turning corridors. Shadows danced across the walls, and Cheyenne slid her hand along them when she realized the activator wasn’t picking up anything here. Feels like stone.
“No tech in the walls down here, huh?”
“No magicals, either.” L’zar lifted his hand to illuminate the walls, peering closely at one before continuing. “No one wants to go where we’re going.”
“Oh, wonderful.”
He chuckled. “Why waste technology on a place you know no one’s going to visit? Of course, there’s not much on the outside stopping others from getting in.”
Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “Right. Just what’s on the inside that makes them wanna stay out. Care to enlighten me about that?”
“Not really.”
The tunnel headed slightly downward but nowhere near as far as the tunnels leading into the Four-Pointed Star’s secret bunker. Then L’zar snuffed out the purple flames in his hand and exited the tunnel, stepping aside to let Cheyenne through.
“Whoa.”
They stood in a small courtyard made entirely of black stone. It looked much like the courtyard in the heart of the Crown’s fortress, but this one was the size of a small house. Two twisted, gnarled trees grew from the cracked stone floors, their branches coiling in every direction. From the branches hung potted plants, tendrils, and leaves overflowing from the tops in shriveled black threads. Bottles of dark-colored glass dotted the courtyard, filled with shimmering liquids and lights of every color, though they were all muted and tinged with a darkness that made Cheyenne’s skin crawl.
“Looks like someone failed at their gardening attempts.”
“Not at all.” L’zar clasped his hands behind his back again and walked slowly across the courtyard, reaching up with one extended finger toward the closest potted plant hanging from a tree branch. The shriveled black vine pulsed with sickly green light like an electrical current and lifted away from the pot toward L’zar’s finger. He smiled thinly and removed his hand before the plant could make contact. “This is how they’re supposed to be. The magical responsible for flora in here is very good at what she does.”
