The woman grinned at the drow halfling and spread her arms. “Of course I can. But it wears out even faster than that pendant of yours, kid.”
Corian glared at the magical wall Maleshi had made and hissed in frustration. “Shit.”
“Almost.”
Cheyenne looked at her mentor and frowned. “I can’t see any way that closing the portal is a bad thing.”
He shot her a sidelong glance before gazing at the glistening pink wall again. “It’s not. But she wouldn’t have been able to seal it—”
“Temporarily, mind you.” Maleshi pointed at the other Nightstalker as she turned that feral grin on the raug lying at her feet.
Corian stared at her before continuing, “That wouldn’t have been possible with a cast portal.”
“Or even a forced rift in the Border.” The ex-general folded her arms and wiggled her eyebrows at the disarmed and magically trussed Commander Gu’urs.
“Great.” Cheyenne smoothed her drow-white hair back from her forehead with both hands. “The Crown didn’t open this one.”
“Nope. Just using it to her advantage.” Maleshi tilted her head and kept grinning when the raug struggled uselessly against his bonds.
“Then this is the worst-case scenario.” The halfling glanced at Corian, and the Nightstalker closed his silver eyes. That was all the confirmation she needed.
“We’ll get to the part about all of us being seriously screwed later, kid. Right now, I have questions for our friends. That includes you, Commander.” Maleshi lowered herself into a squat beside the raug’s head and tapped his red-streaked gray temple with a firm, threatening finger. “I want to know what you’re keeping in here.”
“Too bad, nilsch úcat.” The words were far less threatening through Commander Gu’urs’ mashed lower jaw, but he got the point across well enough.
“This is how it’s gonna go. I ask you what the Crown’s doing sending a whole crew across with all this...gear. You tell me. Then I go through everything you and your peons brought with you, just to double-check that you’re being straight with me.” Her finger froze on the raug’s temple, and her hand slowly lifted away as one devastatingly sharp claw slowly elongated from her nailbed. She pressed hard enough to leave a divot in the commander’s thick gray skin, but that was all.
She’s about to skewer the guy’s brain. Cheyenne opened her mouth to tell her friend to wait, but the back of Corian’s hand pressed against her shoulder made her look up at him instead. The Nightstalker averted his gaze and slowly shook his head.
Maleshi twisted her claw in that divot in the commander’s gray flesh. “I’m sure even a raug can easily imagine how different the scenarios will be at the end, depending on what you tell me right now.”
Gu’urs’ glowing orange-brown eyes narrowed as he sneered up at his captor. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but you’ve lost all your power. General.”
Maleshi removed her bladelike claw from the commander’s forehead, retracting it with a soft noise like sheathing a knife and looked around the clearing. “Yes, that’s exactly what it looks like to me. All your men tied up like prize radan ready for the spit and a nice, hot, Deaden-Day feast. You got me, Commander. Completely powerless.”
Byrd let out a low chuckle but shut up immediately when Lumil shot him a threatening glance.
“All right. What’s in the crates?”
“Your fucking doom.” The raug glared at his interrogator even as a slow, swollen smirk spread across his bruised lower lip. Then he took a deep breath and roared, “It’s the death torch for any of you who tells this nilsch úcat a fell-damn—”
The back of Maleshi’s hand cracked across the raug’s splintered face, cutting him off. “I’m sure we all understand what happens here. And you’re out of chances.”
When she stood, the group of rebel magicals who’d come to crash this O’gúl smuggling party stepped back from the ex-general’s blazing silver gaze, including Cheyenne and Corian.
The halfling watched her former professor stalk across the clearing toward the closest stack of metal crates. She was right. Two different people.
When Maleshi reached the crates, those flashing silver claws elongated from her fingertips. In one swift stroke, the Nightstalker woman slashed through the three locks on the crate’s lid with a grating squeal of ruptured metal. The locks gave way, and she shoved the lid open to let it fall back on its hinges. “Corian.”
It was a command, and Corian went obediently to the ex-general’s side. Together, they peered into the open crate. Hissing, Corian reached inside and pulled out a long chain of black metal links. He turned, the link on the end whispering across the grass, and flicked the chain like a whip. The links clicked together and locked into place, unfolding and rearranging until he held what looked more like an extra-long crowbar than a chain.
“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
