The world sped up again as she dropped out of drow speed. Green fire hurtled through the house. Durg flew backward over the arm of the couch with a bellow. Beneath his cry of pain and surprise, Cheyenne heard the crunch of his shoulder, dislocated by her little nudge at hyperspeed.
The orc collected himself enough to scramble back across the couch, his left arm dangling at his side before he cradled it against his stomach with another roar. “You weren’t even part of it,” he growled. “I don’t know who you are, and I wasn’t gonna try to find out after that night, but now I’m gonna hunt you down like a fucking animal.”
Cheyenne grimaced and headed after him as he pushed himself off the couch, spit flying from between his giant tusks. “You just don’t have your head on straight, Durg. I beat you to it.”
With a last-ditch effort to fight her off, the orc raised his other hand and lit the living room with crackling shards of dark-orange light. The halfling lashed out with her black tendrils from both hands. Half of them pinned Durg’s arms to his sides, making him howl in pain when the tendrils jerked his dislocated shoulder. The other half whipped across his face before coiling around his thick neck and tightening. It took everything she had not to clench her fist, draw the whips of her magic even tighter, and break his neck.
Durg let out a strangled croak, his dark-gray tongue darting out from between his huge lips and those nasty-looking tusks.
“See, from what I hear, you’re just another thug running around trying to scare the shit out of innocent magicals who made the trip out here. Rough ‘em up for ‘protection money.’ Isn’t that what you called it?”
The orc’s mouth opened and closed, but only choking gurgles came out.
“Because the ones who want to make a life for themselves Earthside are traitors. Right? They gave up on Ambar’ogúl, and you figured you’d follow them out here and make them pay for it. Not too bad if you line your pockets a little or put some halflings in the hospital, huh?”
His eyes bulged, and he managed to croak out one word. “Stop…”
“I’m just getting started.” She took a step toward him, taking in every bit of his terrified face as her tendrils tightened around his neck. “You almost killed her, asshole, but you didn’t. Right now would be a really good time to pray to whatever O’gúl gods you want that you’re half as lucky.”
“I…I can’t…” The croak that came out of Durg’s gaping mouth this time sounded a lot quieter and weaker.
Cheyenne stepped toward him and drew back her fist again, ready for another swing. Before she could follow through, the orc crumpled at her feet, jerking her toward him by the black tendrils connecting her other hand to his neck. The halfling stumbled forward with a grunt and released him from her magic. The tendrils withdrew, and she stepped away from the pile of knocked-out orc lying between the coffee table and the couch. A hiss of disappointment escaped her, and she shook out her hand, her fingers aching from the tight fist she’d made and hadn’t gotten the chance to use. The clink of the chains knocking against her wrists was the only sound in the living room above the low hum of Cops playing on the TV.
“Shouldn’t have squeezed so hard,” she muttered, then nudged the orc with the toe of her shoe. “Shit.”
Turning away from Durg, the halfling tried to calm her breathing and decide what she was going to do next. That was too easy. And not enough.
She scanned the living room, her drow magic humming through her with every heartbeat. The back of the orc’s brown leather couch was covered in woven blankets that looked a lot like what she’d seen being sold at the magical market in Rez 38’s Q3. Instead of framed pictures on the wall, the guy had hung long, draping tapestries in dark reds and blues and black. When she caught sight of the tapestry on the wall just above the TV, she froze.
On a blood-red background striped with dirty white was the shape of a bull’s head in black. The eyes were red, all the other lines marking the features of the animal’s face done in shimmering silver thread. But the shape was unmistakable, even with the three jagged daggers stuck through the center of the bull’s head and the slashes at the corners of the tapestry.
Looks like somebody else has a problem with whatever the bull represents. At least he didn’t put it on a damn chain around his neck.
She stepped toward the opposite wall and the tapestry over the TV to get a better look at those daggers. The blades were curved in undulating lines, all the more painful when they were ripped out of whatever poor sucker found one buried in his flesh. Cheyenne leaned closer to be sure it was real blood dried like a smear of dirt on one of the blades. Not just decorative.
“Huh.” Turning around again, she eyed the unconscious Durg and felt a little better when she saw his chest rising and falling slowly. Okay, I kicked his ass. Now I have something even better.
Chapter Ten
The first thing Durg Br’athol saw when he came to were those glowing golden eyes looming over him. He couldn’t see the face they belonged to, because the hissing, sparking ball of black and purple magic
