The Drow Grew Stronger (Goth Drow Book 4)

by Martha Carr

  “I wouldn’t call it that.” Cheyenne frowned. “Sounds more like a bloodbath.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it was.” L’zar closed his eyes. “I would have loved to see it with my own eyes.”

  Of course he would. She snorted and shook her head. “So, there’s nothing special about drow that keeps Ambar’ogúl running, right? Like, the whole world won’t fall apart if a drow doesn’t sit on the throne?”

  Corian cleared his throat and looked at her. “Absolutely not, except that a drow has ruled as the Crown for as long as any of us have lived. Even Foltr.”

  “Then I can choose someone to take my place, and they don’t have to be a drow.”

  L’zar chuckled. “I assumed you already realized this.”

  “Well, now I know for sure.”

  “It’s possible.” Corian scratched his neck beneath one twitching ear. “We might find ourselves hung up on a few technicalities, changes we’d have to make to reorient the source of magic from the drow to any other race. Keep in mind, kid, Hangivol was built by drow for drow. The last Nimlothar lives within the Heart.”

  “I’m not cutting down that tree so someone else can sit on the throne without it.”

  The nightstalker gave her a gentle smile. “No one’s asking you to.”

  “Good.”

  “The old laws would still stand for anyone who took your place if they agreed.”

  Cheyenne said, “Yeah. Apparently, that’s gonna be the hard part.”

  “Indeed.” L’zar chuckled, half growl and half hum of amusement. “If the next drow in line to turn their own new Cycle doesn’t want to claim it, I can’t imagine anyone else who would.”

  She stared at her father and his crooked smile. Someone will want it. There has to be someone else, ‘cause it sure as hell won’t be me.

  When neither offered anything else, she shrugged. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “Hmm.” Corian pressed his lips together and fought to hold in a laugh. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

  “If we’re looking at changing the ruling race for this entire world, are the O’gúleesh gonna have a problem with a Crown who isn’t a drow?” A massive crack split the air, and Cheyenne looked over her shoulder to see the group of raugs blasting pulsing yellow and orange light at a central point in the air in front of them. The spellcasting wasn’t finished yet. She turned back toward her father to continue.

  “Not particularly.” Corian stroked his chin.

  L’zar clasped his hands behind his back and dipped his head. “No, I imagine most would be thrilled by the prospect at this point.”

  “Right.”

  “No one expected the drow to excel in their rulership, kid.” The nightstalker glanced briefly at the growing spell behind her. “As it turned out, once the chaos settled after Sylra’s rule, of course, every drow Crown since has done a remarkable job of running this world, with a surprising knack for maintaining balance. Justice and violence. A measure of tolerance for dark magic amidst maintaining the lifeforce of Ambar’ogúl, not to mention that all the technological advancements were made under drow rule. It didn’t take long for the rest of the O’gúleesh to fall back into their regular pattern of going about their daily lives and not giving a shit who sits on the throne.”

  “Seriously?” Cheyenne snorted. “Those raugs over there have been holding a grudge against Maleshi for centuries, and you’re telling me nobody cared about the drow conquerors staying in power?”

  “You’re comparing a personal slight with a world-wide shift, kid. Not the same.” Corian wiped another smile off his face and nodded. “The past Crowns generally leaned toward letting what used to be the other sovereign kingdoms run things however they wanted, just as separate territories instead.”

  “Generally.” L’zar scoffed. “Until Ba’rael the Spider.”

  Cheyenne shot him an exasperated look. “Then everything went to shit.”

  “Obviously.”

  “So that’s what I need to do.” A small smile flickered at the corners of the halfling’s mouth. “Abdicate to someone who isn’t a drow and make sure this doesn’t happen again. Break the cycle and turn a new Cycle with someone else.”

  “If that’s still your decision when we get to that point, then yeah.” Corian nodded. “But I’d strongly recommend putting it up for a vote among the Four-Pointed Star at the very least. Putting someone on the throne to wash your hands clean is one thing. Putting the right magical on the throne takes a bit more finesse.”

  “What makes someone else the right magical? ‘Cause I’m clearly not.”

  L’zar clicked his tongue. “I disagree. Of course, that’s my personal opinion.”

  “Yeah, you have a lot of those.”

  “The right magical for the job is someone who can hold their own, Cheyenne.” The nightstalker raised a fist between them. “In a fight. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now how important that is to O’gúleesh everywhere, no matter where they come from or what they’ve been doing for the last few thousand years.”

  Cheyenne shrugged. “Goes without saying.”

  “Almost. Anyone who can stand against a challenge from their seat in Hangivol will make the magicals in this world fairly happy. For a few hundred years at least, give or take. If it’s not a drow, maybe that’s even better. But if some power-hungry O’gúleesh gets it in their head that the next Crown isn’t strong enough to face a challenge—and there will be challenges—we could end up with another new Crown who forced their way onto the throne through violence, instead of someone who stood up because they wanted to serve Ambar’ogúl, not themselves.”

  With a frown, the halfling nodded. “Then we’re right back where we started.” She turned to look at Maleshi, who prowled back and forth behind Lumil and Byrd. All three of them stared at the growing raug spell.

  L’zar laughed. “Absolutely not.”

  “What?” Cheyenne peered at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “It’s written all over your face, kid.” Corian glanced at the sky and shook his head. “The general returned to help us tear Ba’rael off the throne, and hopefully, she’ll stay to help us clean up this mess the Crown left behind, but she’s done too much as Hand of the Night and Circle to get more than half the magicals’ support. The other half would despise her as much as they despise Ba’rael, if not more.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I’m fairly certain.” Corian raised an eyebrow. “Feel free to make her an official offer, but you’d be wasting your time.”

  Cheyenne studied his amused expression and jerked her chin at him. “What about you, then?”

  “Nice try.” He nodded at L’zar beside him. “You know I’m tied to the Weaver. Wherever he goes, I go, and once he steps foot across the Border again, he’s never coming back here.”

  L’zar snorted. “A day that can’t come soon enough.”

  “Fine. Then I’m working with narrowed options, aren’t I?” Cheyenne folded her arms and gazed blankly at the empty air between Corian and L’zar. Minus the physical ability to fight, Bianca Summerlin would make the best Crown this world has ever seen. But she’d strangle me before stepping foot in this place. The thought made her hiss a brief laugh, then she looked at Corian again.

  His silver eyes flashed. “If you want advice on how to choose your replacement, kid, we can sit down and hash that out later.”

  “Later better be soon, right? I have less than two weeks to find someone who wants this enough to take it.”

  “Or you’ll be stuck here, ruling Ambar’ogúl on your own until you do find someone else.” L’zar widened his eyes, his head wobbling as he fought back a laugh. “That’ll be a lot harder to do with all the extra responsibilities resting squarely on your shoulders.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Don’t spend your energy worrying about that until it comes to pass, which I’m confident it won’t.”
>
  Corian shot L’zar a sidelong glance, and his brow darkened with a concerned frown. “Cheyenne, you have to keep in mind that any of this is only possible if the Crown accepts your terms.”

  “She will.” L’zar tossed a dismissive hand toward his Nós Aní. “When I’m finished putting those terms together for you to offer her on a silver fucking platter, Cheyenne, she won’t have a choice.”

  “Not true.” Corian scowled at the drow thief. “And you know it.”

  “She could still choose to fight me, right?” Cheyenne glanced at them. “If she refuses the terms?”

  “Yes, and we need to avoid that possibility at all costs.”

  “Why?” The halfling tilted her head. “You don’t think I can take her?”

  Corian chuckled wryly. “Do you?”

  “Your spellwork is atrocious, Cheyenne.” L’zar smiled and nodded like he was congratulating her instead of calling out her faults. “That needs to change.”

  “Sure. Any takers on a mentor for that?”

  Both the drow thief and his nightstalker Nós Aní looked away from her. Corian’s lips twitched in and out of a smile. “Maybe you should go to your first mentor for that one. She did, after all, pen the most user-friendly spellbook I’ve ever seen.”

  Cheyenne glanced at Maleshi again. “She gave me that stack of spells and told me to go home and figure it out on my own time.”

  “Mattie Bergmann told you that. I think Maleshi Hi’et will have a different answer.”

  “Great.” Cheyenne studied the general’s slow pacing, which was clearly fueled by an anxious urgency to get to their destination. Yeah, I’m ready for this long-ass spell to be over too. “Then I guess I’ll have to ask for some pointers.”

  “It’s a good start.” Corian ran a hand through his hair. “And this time, you two know enough about each other to hopefully make that training a little easier on you both.”

  She shot him a scathing glance. “I can learn.”

  “I look forward to seeing you prove it.”

  Without warning, the flashing lights of the spell and the raugs’ chanting, which had grown to a chorus of shouted words in O’gúleesh, stopped.

  Cheyenne turned around to see a dark, shimmering oval of light spreading in the air where the raugs had been concentrating their focused blast of magic. “Is that the doorway?”

  L’zar rubbed his hands together and stepped past her toward the raugs. “I sure hope so.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Foltr rested both gnarled gray hands on the twisted knob at the top of his staff. “Nothing quite like tapping into the source with your own kind.”

  Cazerel turned from the shimmering window of dark light in front of them and smiled crookedly at the aged raug. “Has it been long for you, old one?”

  “Longer than I care to admit,” Foltr rumbled, then nodded at the open doorway, “Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me. We’ve reached the end. Healer!” Cazerel’s massive frame spun quickly to face Ember. “Come. I want you at my side to lead these friends of Hirúl Breach through the doorway.”

  Ember’s wide violet eyes flicked from the dark window to the raug chief’s face. “Go ahead. I’m right behind you.”

  A booming laugh escaped him, and he thumped a fist against his chest before waving her forward. “Come, come. I wouldn’t lead you to the deathflame willingly. There’s no danger for you, Healer. Only honor.”

  When Ember shot Cheyenne an unsure glance, the halfling nodded slowly. “While we’re here.”

  “Right.” The fae girl swiped her fingers across the crawler’s control panel and moved the skittering machine toward the raug chief.

  Cazerel grinned at her, his chest quivering in silent laughter. “This pleases me very much, Healer. Now you will see what no one has seen for centuries. Excluding me and mine, of course.”

  “Of course.” She widened her eyes and looked at Cheyenne one more time before she disappeared through the doorway at Cazerel’s side.

  The raug warriors snickered and shook themselves like huge, hairless horses twitching beneath buzzing flies before they followed their chief through the open portal.

  Maleshi growled and stalked toward Cheyenne, Corian, and L’zar as the goblins and Foltr passed through the portal and disappeared. The general scowled at the dark window of light and shook her head. “This feels different.”

  “It’s a raug portal, General.” L’zar dipped his head toward her in a mocking bow and gestured toward the doorway. “Of course, a nightstalker wouldn’t recognize it.”

  “I thought only nightstalkers could open portals.” Cheyenne stared at the doorway, the other side of which was shrouded in darkness and impossible to make out.

  “On their own.” Corian shot her a quick glance and shrugged. “Another reminder not to mess with more than one raug at a time. Especially not a whole tribe.”

  Maleshi hissed at him, “Keep your reminders to yourself.” She didn’t give him time to respond before stalking toward the portal and disappearing.

  Cheyenne nudged the nightstalker’s shoulder with a loose fist. “Nice one.”

  “I misspoke.” He cleared his throat. “She knows that.”

  “Clearly. Hence the pissed-off storming away from you.” When she noticed Corian’s warning glance, she took a deep breath and turned toward the portal. Here I am running my mouth and screwing up the nightstalkers’ little secret. Shut up, Cheyenne. “Guess they’re waiting for us on the other side.”

  “Then let’s not keep them waiting, hmm?” L’zar strode casually toward the portal and disappeared.

  Corian licked his lips in restrained agitation and stared at the doorway. “Don’t let yourself slip up like that again.”

  “He didn’t pick up on anything.” Cheyenne waved toward the portal. “He’s too excited about blackmailing his sister with his surprise nephew. Honestly, don’t you think you’d both feel better if you let it out in the open and told him?”

  The nightstalker swallowed thickly and didn’t look at her. “I won’t tell you again.”

  He took off. Rolling her eyes, Cheyenne headed quickly after him and stepped through the raug portal as Corian’s back foot disappeared in front of her.

  The same squeezing pressure she’d felt every time she’d crossed the Border between worlds overwhelmed her. Cheyenne gasped for a breath that didn’t come and her mind reeled. No way those raugs opened a brand-new Border portal. No one said anything about crossing the in-between.

  Then she was through, stumbling forward and wheezing when her lungs finally filled with air again. When she looked up, she knew immediately that she wasn’t in the in-between, but everything had changed.

  “Whoa.”

  Corian cleared his throat beside her and tilted his head. “Not what I expected either if we’re being perfectly honest.”

  She frowned at him. “Are we?”

  He shook his head and headed after their party. Everyone else had slowed down to let the rest of them catch up, and the group now stepped cautiously across the ground as a single blob of magicals in a sprawling valley hidden from the rest of Ambar’ogúl.

  Cazerel turned around to grin at the band of rebels who’d followed him here. “Now you see. Only the raugs could bring you here. Remember.”

  Ember gazed around the open valley that had replaced the forest on the slanting mountainside where they’d waited for the portal to open. Her mouth fell open. “This wasn’t here before.”

  “It is always here, Healer. Only accessible to those who know the way in.”

  “Which now includes us,” Cheyenne muttered. “Where are we, exactly?”

  “A different plane.” Maleshi’s silver eyes moved slowly across the sprawling valley. “Don’t get too cocky about it, kid. It doesn’t include us.”

  “What?”

  “That isn’t a portal we can open whenever we want,” Corian added. “The chief speaks only for the raugs.”

  “You can’t get
back here on your own?” Cheyenne walked beside him, squinted against the bright sunlight reflecting off the white stone surrounding the valley and running through the center of it.

  “Not without a band of raugs and that spell.”

  “Which he refused to give us.” She grimaced. “Awesome.”

  The magicals made their way down the gently sloping hillside toward the center of the valley. Cheyenne would have thought the place was empty if it weren’t for the squat buildings of white stone scattered around them, interspersed with huts made of white mud and straw. Huge columns of stone rose in an unrecognizable pattern across the valley, some of them supporting stone roofs without any walls. Around the central ring of buildings were massive statues carved in more white stone, O’gúleesh magicals in various poses of welcoming, warning, and suspended battle.

  Looks like Ambar’ogúl’s version of ancient Greece.

  Cheyenne looked at the closest statue as they passed it—a fae woman draped in flowing silk, one hand extended toward the sky as the other pointed straight at the place where the raug portal had spat them into the valley. “Who are these guys?”

  L’zar snorted, though his golden eyes shimmered in delight as he looked everywhere but at the statues. “A bunch of dead O’gúleesh meant to remind the living of what’s better left forgotten. For most of them, anyway.”

  “What’s that?”

  When he turned toward his daughter, the eager, crazed grin had returned. “That this place exists.”

  Ember drummed her fingers on the rim of the crawler’s body as it moved slowly one leg at a time. “I’m feeling out of place here in this thing.”

  “No one will hold it against you, Healer.” Cazerel chuckled. “And when you no longer have need of a machine, you’ll forget all about it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Cheyenne glanced at the back of the crawler and her friend’s purple-streaked hair. She’s right, though—no other tech in this place. No metal. She reached up to touch the activator coil attached behind her ear to make sure it was there. I’m not picking up on anything. “Kinda feels like we went back in time.”