One by one, the magicals shot her scathing glances and turned to take their seats around the massive black table. Foltr the raug sat motionless in his chair, clawed hands folded over the top of his gnarled cane, his eyes still closed. No one said another word, and Persh’al returned to Cheyenne’s side, lowering his voice. “That didn’t go quite like I expected, but I think they got the message.”
Cheyenne frowned at him. “What are we doing here? They want L’zar, not me.”
“Just hang in there with me, kid. All right? I’ll take care of the rest.” He nudged her arm. “Some entrance, though, huh?”
She snorted. “Honestly, I thought we were gonna have to fight our way out of here.”
Persh’al shrugged and gestured for her to follow him to the massive black table with the others. “We still might. But at least we'll get a chance to fill them in on what’s happening first, right?”
“Oh, sure. I feel so much better.” Her deadpan glare had the opposite effect and made him chuckle.
Chapter Forty-Nine
“So, L’zar’s spawn finally lived to tell the tale.” The second quill-covered magical folded his arms and sat back in his chair, staring at Cheyenne. “Did she pass her trials yet?”
Foltr cracked his cane on the floor and leaned forward. “She wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t.”
Cheyenne snorted. “She can speak for herself. If you have a question, why don’t you look me in the eye and ask?”
The aging raug let out a soft grunt of amusement, and the other magicals around the table shot the halfling fleeting glances.
Even these guys don’t want to look at me.
“I still don’t understand why you brought her here.” The horned magical with the red and black flesh stuck his black tongue between his teeth and bit down in disgust. “Right under the Crown’s nose, Persh’al. I think you’ve spent too much time letting your brain rot in that other realm.”
“Hey, it’s the last place the Crown will look for her.” Persh’al opened his pack on his lap, paused, and scanned the faces around the table. “And we needed to see what’s been going on before all the other pieces get put into play.”
“Things have changed since the last time you were at this table.” The cloaked figure spread his gloved hand on the black wood in front of him and hissed softly. “Not for the better.”
“Yeah, we picked up on that pretty quickly.” Persh’al pulled two large metal lockboxes from his pack and slid them toward the center of the table. “These are straight from L’zar. Do whatever you want with them once Cheyenne and I leave.”
“That’s why you’re here?” the black-tusked orc asked. “To bring us cheap gifts?”
Persh’al glared at him with narrowed eyes. “Not so cheap when I tell you L’zar’s putting everything in motion. The next time you see him, he’ll be standing right next to his daughter. Maybe before she claims the last rite, maybe after, but he’s coming.”
“What is he waiting for?”
“We hit a roadblock, all right?” Persh’al glanced at Cheyenne and rolled his eyes. “It’s probably hard to get real-time updates down here in this fancy dark cave, but in case you haven’t heard, there are new portals opening, maybe as we speak. Who knows?”
A nervous murmur passed around the table, and the old raug shifted in his seat to face the blue troll, leaning over the top of his cane. “Explain that.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s the Crown,” Cheyenne said. All eyes focused on her, and Persh’al cleared his throat. “At least, that’s what we think.”
When she looked at him for clarification, he gestured for her to continue and sat back in his chair. “You take this one, kid. I’m tired of talkin’.”
“Continue,” Foltr growled, his orange-brown gaze flicking across her face.
Guess I’m stepping into this role, whether I like it or not.
Cheyenne took a deep breath. “When we crossed over today, everything had been destroyed—the land, the wildlife, all of it. Pretty nasty stuff.”
“Where was this?”
Persh’al thumped a fist on the table. “In the Outers, Jara’ak. Where do you think?”
“Let the Aranél speak!” Foltr thumped his cane again and glared around the table. “The next dae’bruj to open their mouth out of turn will spend the rest of the evening rubbing valdishwort all over an old raug’s aching joints. Are we clear?”
Cheyenne glanced at the raug’s gnarled hands sprouting white-gray hairs and the layers of orange-tinted dirt beneath his clawed nails. I wouldn’t wanna rub anything into that cracked skin.
When the aged magical looked at her again and nodded slowly, she returned the gesture and frowned. “What does that mean? ‘Aranél.’”
Foltr chuckled and shot Persh’al a knowing smile. The blue troll leaned toward her and muttered, “A term of endearment. Mostly.”
“Uh-huh.” She scanned the amused expressions around the table and cocked her head. “We weren’t sure what was happening in the Outers until we got closer to Hangivol. Whatever the Crown’s doing here, it’s spilling death and decay everywhere beyond the city, and it’s starting to leak out of Ambar’ogúl. Making new portals. Spilling things onto Earth that aren’t supposed to be anywhere but between worlds.”
A muscular goblin with gold rings piercing the elongated backs of both ears narrowed his eyes. “None of this sounds like anything that would concern L’zar.”
“Well, it does when the Crown’s using those new portals to smuggle war machines across the Border,” Persh’al snapped. “The bitch already has a bounty on Cheyenne’s head. She hasn’t found L’zar’s kid, and she won’t until Cheyenne and L’zar are standing right in front of her at the Rahalma. That’ll be a lot harder to do if the Crown consumes the resources we have on Earth first.”
“Leave Earth to itself,” the quilled woman shouted. “We have enough here to deal with.”
“Leave Earth to itself?” Cheyenne leaned forward over the table. “That’s not an option.”
“You might be L’zar’s daughter, Aranél, but no one here has sworn
