The Drow Grew Stronger
Goth Drow™ Book Four
Martha CarrMichael Anderle
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2020 Martha Carr and Michael Anderle
Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design
http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected]
A Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US Edition, August, 2020
eBook ISBN: 978-1-64971-109-0
Print ISBN: 978-1-64971-110-6
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Free Books
Author Notes - Martha Carr
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Connect with The Authors
Other Books By Martha Carr
Books By Michael Anderle
The Drow Grew Stronger Team
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Angel LaVey
Daniel Weigert
Deb Mader
Diane L. Smith
Jackey Hankard-Brodie
John Ashmore
Kerry Mortimer
Larry Omans
Paul Westman
Peter Manis
Veronica Stephan-Miller
If we’ve missed anyone, please let us know!
Editor
The Skyhunter Editing Team
Dedications
From Martha
To everyone who still believes in magic
and all the possibilities that holds.
To all the readers who make this
entire ride so much fun.
And to my son, Louie and so many wonderful friends who remind me all the time of what
really matters and how wonderful
life can be in any given moment.
From Michael
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
To Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
To Live The Life We Are
Called.
Chapter One
This can’t be real. None of this is actually happening right now, is it?
Cheyenne Summerlin stalked through the corridors of black stone, blinking at the bright code scrolling across the walls. Grimacing at the distraction, she reached behind her ear and ripped off the silver activator coil. The code flickered and disappeared with the buzzing pinch that still made her eyes water. She jammed the activator into her coat pocket and kept moving.
Beside her, L’zar Verdys moved with long, purposeful strides away from the Heart at the center of Hangivol. The drow thief stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back and a daring, infuriating smirk on his dark-gray lips.
“Look at this,” he muttered, gesturing toward the crowd of snarling magicals gathering in the wide archway of a branching corridor on their left. “They look happy, don’t they?”
Cheyenne stared expressionlessly at the Crown’s servants and attendants cramming into the archway, who were shoving each other against the black walls. “Happy enough to jump out and try to rip us to shreds.”
“Oh, they could try, yes.” L’zar raised his eyebrows at the sneering, hissing magicals glaring at them, a multitude of races, skin colors, and facial features. He didn’t even bother to lower his voice when he passed a foot from the archway. “Then they’d find themselves at the foot of the deathflame with nothing but oblivion to greet them there.”
A slavering rat-faced skaxen drew her head back and spat violently at L’zar. The drow’s fingers flicked toward the furious servant in a fraction of a second, sending the foamy wad of spittle flying back toward its owner, where it landed with a grotesque smack. The skaxen screamed and reeled away from the corridor, clamping both clawed orange hands to her eye and pushing through the crowd to withdraw the way she’d come. No one else said a word.
L’zar clasped his hands behind his back and kept up his brisk but unhurried pace through the Crown’s inner fortress in the center of Ambar’ogúl’s capital. “You know, for the first time, I think I like the way things are headed in this place.”
On the other side of Cheyenne, Ember Gaderow snorted. “Because no one can do anything to stop you.”
The drow chuckled and cast the fae girl a sidelong glance. “They wouldn’t have been able to anyway. The only difference is they know it now. It’s about time the willing slaves in this place pulled their heads out of their beloved Crown’s ass and opened their eyes to the truth.”
And he thinks the truth is that he’s much better than she is. I’m still not buying it.
Cheyenne and Ember shared a quick glance, and the fae girl shrugged.
They followed L’zar down too many twisting corridors for Cheyenne to count until they finally stopped at two broad metal doors the same black as the walls, stretching a full twelve feet up to the equally black ceiling. The drow turned toward his daughter and her fae Nós Aní and dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Ladies, I believe our reception awaits.”
“What are you talking about?” Cheyenne stopped when he slammed both hands against the doors and pushed them open into the room beyond. The Crown might not be able to do anything to him, but I sure as hell can.
L’zar marched into the room as the massive doors thumped against the walls. Dozens of low black metal tables lined the wide, tall room, each of them with matching benches like picnic tables. Every surface was cluttered with every type of magical and non-magical weapon imaginable, daggers, maces, clubs, swords, throwing stars, axes spears. Mixed in with these were the same floating metal orbs the Crown had sent out into the
