She stopped next to Maleshi. I hate to assume what she’s thinking, but I can’t let this happen again.
“So, what now?”
Maleshi shot her a brief glance before snarling at the last loyalist Lumil shoved onto the grass. “Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Good. You can stand down, Cheyenne. We’ll handle this.”
Cheyenne glanced at Corian as he marched across the clearing to join the general. “No one made it out of the clearing.”
Maleshi nodded curtly. “And no one will.” Her silver claws slid out of her fingers with an ominous whisper, glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
“Wait a minute.” Cheyenne stepped in front of the nightstalker war general, forcing Maleshi to look at her. “You can’t do this.”
“This isn’t your decision to make, Cheyenne.” The general’s dark upper lip twitched into a sneer. “I’ll only ask you to step aside once.”
“Ask all you want.” The halfling clenched her fists and held the woman’s glowing silver gaze. “I’m not moving.”
“These magicals are prisoners of war,” Maleshi snarled. “If we don’t deal with this threat right now, directly, we might as well paint a target on our chests and tell them to go ahead and open fire.”
“They can’t do anything right now.” Cheyenne gestured behind her at the bound magicals on their knees, most of them spitting and hissing curses. “Which makes them much less of a threat than when they were trying to kill us.”
Maleshi let out a low growl and leaned toward the halfling. “Cheyenne.”
“You gave me your word that we’d leave the past behind us as long as what happened at the first portal ridge didn’t repeat itself. If you give the order to kill these loyalists on their knees, I will stop you, and then you and I are done.” Cheyenne clenched her fists and leaned toward the general in turn, staring her down. “I really don’t want that to happen.”
The nightstalker woman scowled and took a long, deep breath through her flaring nostrils. “What else do you suggest we do with them? We don’t have our own Chateau D’rahl.”
“No, but I know the people who do.” Cheyenne turned to shoot the lined-up prisoners a fleeting glance. “And I’m willing to bet that none of these assholes are gonna show up in a certain system on this side.”
Maleshi snarled. “You want me to hand our enemies over to a bunch of Earthside-born playing with fell weapons?”
“We all have the same enemy at this point. Right?” Cheyenne cocked her head. “Right?”
The general studied the halfling and hissed. She lifted a hand between their faces, her eyes narrowing as she made sure Cheyenne saw the glinting, razor-sharp points at her disposal. Cheyenne hissed right back and shot a burst of purple sparks from the fingertips of both hands.
I can play her game. And she’ll cool off. She’d better.
A low chuckle devoid of humor rose from Maleshi’s throat. Her deadly claws retracted, and she leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “Make the call, Cheyenne. If your other friends fail to contain this as effectively as I would have, whatever happens afterward is on your hands.”
“At least it’s not more blood.”
“No. Not today.” With a snarl, Maleshi spun away from her and stalked across the clearing. Her fingers moved quickly, and a new portal opened yards in front of her.
Corian shot Cheyenne a wary glance, then took off after the general. “Maleshi, wait.”
She whirled on him and slashed her hand toward his face. A burst of silver light flared between them with a screech like blades meeting. When the light faded, Corian’s claws were locked with Maleshi’s. She snarled at him. “Not now.”
“We might not have another chance,” he muttered.
Cheyenne looked away from them and tried to focus on the line of kneeling loyalists in front of her instead. I’m not supposed to be hearing this.
Her activator flashed a command for lowering the volume, and she flicked her finger to accept it. Corian’s voice traveled to her as a muffled, muted drone. Look at me. I’m choosing not to eavesdrop ‘cause I can help it.
The nightstalkers’ tense conversation continued, then Maleshi jerked her hand away from him, sparks flaring between their claws, and disappeared through her portal. After it closed, Corian stood perfectly still, his back rigid.
“I heard about those two,” an orc growled. “Looks like they’re still—”
Lumil’s blazing red fist cracked into his face and dropped him. A broken piece of tusk flew over three prisoners and bounced in the grass. “Anyone else need help keeping their fell-damned opinions to themselves?”
“That doesn’t count for me, right?” Persh’al wheezed out a laugh and grimaced. He sat halfway between the line of prisoners and Ember, who was holding his side as Byrd knelt and propped him up in the grass. “’Cause this shit really hurts, man.”
“Corian,” Cheyenne shouted.
The nightstalker spun, saw Persh’al covered in blood, and headed toward the blue troll.
A black burst of light enshrouded the line of bound, kneeling prisoners. Every one of them erupted in screams of agony, doubling over and shaking their heads, then staring blankly at the sky without blinking.
Cheyenne spun to face them. “What’s happening?”
Corian joined her, his jaw clenching and unclenching beneath the tufts of tawny fur lining his cheeks. He stared at the screaming magicals and swallowed. “I’ll let him explain that to you.”
L’zar stepped out from between the trees beside Ember. “I don’t remember you complaining this much about flesh wounds, Persh’al.”
Persh’al twisted around as far as he could and snorted when he saw the drow stepping toward him. “It’s not complaining if it’s the truth, man.”
“Oh, sure. You’re squawking like that to get my attention.” L’zar knelt beside his friend. “What’s the magic word?”
The troll chuckled. “Bastard.”
“Hmm.” L’zar ripped the last piece of shrapnel from Persh’al’s side and tossed it to the grass as the troll roared in pain. “Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”
Persh’al glared at the drow’s grinning face. “Just fucking do it.”
L’zar slapped
