Chapter Nineteen
After catching her breath, Cheyenne slowly pushed herself up off her knee and stepped cautiously toward the chasm she’d created and mostly sealed again. She glanced at the closest magicals staring at her in awe and admiration and shrugged. “I wouldn’t get too close to all this.”
Someone barked a laugh and quickly covered it.
She walked around the jutting destruction in the middle of the marketplace’s avenue and stopped to pick up a piece of one metallic black leg that had been pinched off. Then she grabbed one of the odd-looking gears that still flashed a muted silver light and stuck that in her pocket. I know exactly who’s gonna tell me what the hell this thing was and why it was here.
Her black Vans whispered across the dust-covered stone as she skirted around the staring awestruck magicals lining the storefronts. They were still pressed against each other to get out the way, but now they were avoiding the halfling who looked like a full drow, not the inexplicable metal monster.
Cheyenne found Ember right where she’d left her and crouched beside her friend. “You okay?”
The fae blinked quickly and leaned forward to stare at the crumpled mess of earth down the tunnel. “I’ve just been sitting here. Are you okay?”
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Smirking, Cheyenne turned and found Yurik. “Hey. Bring her chair, huh?”
The goblin dragged a palm across his forehead and glanced at the destruction over the buried machine, then darted toward the other side of the avenue to grab the wheelchair.
“What the hell did that thing want?” Ember stared at Yurik as he half-rolled, half-carried the wheelchair toward them.
“Mass destruction. A pile of bodies.” Cheyenne shrugged and slipped one arm around Ember’s back while the other hooked under her friend’s knees. “I’m not trying to sound cocky or anything, but there’s a good chance it was here for me.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.”
With a snort, Cheyenne lowered Ember into her chair and nodded. “At least you’re not scattered all over the ground too.”
“I’m pretty grateful for that.” Ember grabbed the armrests and shifted into a more comfortable position. Without thinking about it, she kicked one heel against the footrest and shoved herself farther back into the chair. Then she froze. “Holy shit.”
“Did you just straighten that leg by yourself?”
Ember’s mouth opened and closed without any sound as she stared at her foot. “If you saw it, I’m not hallucinating.”
“I hope not.” Cheyenne grinned. “Somebody said something about fae being great healers, didn’t they?”
The fae girl barked a laugh and gripped her wheels. “One step closer, I guess. Sort of.”
“Hell yeah, you are. We can freak out about that later. Right now, I think we need to—”
A single hollow bang echoed through Peridosh. The halfling straightened and shot an exasperated glance at the orc with his fist hovering over a metal shop door. He pounded it again, then again, and the other O’gúleesh lined up along the avenue picked up the same rhythm. They hit and kicked and thumped their fists against anything metal they could find, throwing up an earsplitting ruckus.
“Woah.” Ember stared at them. “What’s happening?”
“No clue. Come on.” Cheyenne turned toward the back end of the tunnel and the waiting elevator.
Ember and the FRoE agents followed, and the metallic banging rattled the air even faster.
“Okay, I get it!” Cheyenne whirled around and spread her arms, gazing over the eager faces of the magicals giving her an O’gúleesh standing ovation. “Woohoo. Yeah! Let’s hit stuff!”
She snatched up a broad, shallow metal bowl that had somehow been left untouched on a skaxen’s table and thumped her fist against it several times. When she dropped it back onto the table and rolled her eyes, the skaxen pressing himself against the wall of the shop behind him threw his head back and cackled. His fist kept thumping the metal door beside him anyway. The laughter was picked up by a handful of other magicals as they stomped and punched and smacked their approval.
Shaking her head, Cheyenne turned back toward the end of the tunnel and rolled her eyes. When she caught up with Ember, the fae laughed and shot her a sidelong glance. “You look like an insane person.”
“Guess it runs in the drow side of the family.” The halfling shot a skeptical glance over her shoulder. Even the O’gúleesh who stared at her with terrified eyes instead of flashing her eager grins kept pounding away on whatever metal they had at hand. “I’m sick of them doing this every single time, and I have no idea what it means.”
“Sounds like applause.”
“Well, clapping and whistling and maybe not looking at me like I’m a walking piece of meat would be a hell of a lot less creepy.”
Tate jogged to catch up with them, and Yurik turned to follow the halfling and her friend. “Does this happen everywhere you go?”
“Only when there are a bunch of O’gúleesh around. You know, the ones who weren’t born here.”
“So weird.” The troll man turned to frown at the magicals still pounding on steel and silver and iron. “Oh, shit. Bhandi! What the hell are you doing?”
Bhandi had found someone else’s private tankard of whatever booze they preferred and was knocking it back. She chugged and pumped her fist in the air with the same rhythm, which also happened to match the loud rhythm of so many fists and boots hitting metal.
“Seriously?” Yurik raced toward her, snatched the tankard out of her hand, and set it down on the table. “Sorry.”
The grinning orc didn’t even look at the tankard. He didn’t seem to notice Bhandi at all as he held his metal folding chair in one hand and smashed his fist into it over and over, enlarging the
