The Drow Hath Sent Thee
Goth Drow™ Book Five
Martha Carr
Michael 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 / jcalebdesign@gmail.com
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 support@lmbpn.com. 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, October, 2020
eBook ISBN: 978-1-64971-212-7
Print ISBN: 978-1-64971-213-4
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
Free Books
Waking Magic
Author Notes - Martha Carr
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Connect with The Authors
Other Books By Martha Carr
Books By Michael Anderle
The Drow Hath Sent Thee Team
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Peter Manis
Diane L. Smith
Veronica Stephan-Miller
Deb Mader
Paul Westman
Kerry Mortimer
Angel LaVey
Jackey Hankard-Brodie
Larry Omans
John Ashmore
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
“The Crown! The Crown!”
Fists and swords pounded against chests and plate mail in harsh, echoing rhythm with the chant.
Cheyenne Summerlin stood in the center of all of it and could only focus on the pain lancing through her chest just below both shoulders. Worse than that was the searing agony bursting over and over through her hip. She gritted her teeth and let Ember hold her upright a little longer in the center of the Heart’s courtyard. This is either ghost pain from that bullet, or something’s seriously wrong.
“You okay?” Ember muttered, hovering beside her friend as every magical in the courtyard knelt, thumped, and chanted their allegiance to the new O’gúl Crown.
“Yeah, Em.” With a grimace, Cheyenne met her Nós Aní’s gaze. “Any chance you could whip up some quick healing for me? Can’t really make my first and last decree as Crown if I can’t think straight.”
Ember gazed at the magicals staring fervently up at them both. They growled their chant, some of the orc guards hissing and snarling as they said it, but she thought she saw them smiling now and then around their thick yellowed tusks. “Uh-huh. Hang tight.”
“If I hang on any tighter, I’m gonna end up crushing you.” Cheyenne looked at Maleshi and Corian, who both remained on their knees and stared at her with wide, glowing silver eyes. Seeing that feral grin of victory on both nightstalkers’ faces made this whole thing that much weirder. Without L’zar present, they’re the craziest-looking ones here. How enlightening.
She sucked in a sharp breath when Ember settled her free hand over one of the deep, thick holes Ba’rael’s purple darts had left in the new Crown’s flesh. A soft golden light bloomed beneath the fae girl’s palm, and warmth instantly spread up and over Cheyenne’s shoulder. It was gone the next second, and Cheyenne snarled at the new flare of intensified pain bursting through her shoulder. It almost knocked her sideways, but Ember kept a firm grip on her friend’s arm and steadied Cheyenne as she staggered.
“What?” The fae’s unnaturally wide luminous violet eyes grew even wider. “What’s wrong?”
“That wasn’t supposed to make it feel worse, was it?”
“It feels worse?” Ember peeled the shredded fabric of Cheyenne’s shirt away from her shoulder and winced. “Kinda looks worse too.”
The black streaks in the half-drow’s flesh that had appeared almost instantly with the wound were darker now, snaking away from the thick hole trickling blood and moving up across Cheyenne’s collarbone and farther across her chest.
“Awesome.” Cheyenne swayed, her eyelids fluttering, and tried to shake off the dizziness. “I don’t wanna be the one to say there’s something up with your healing, Em.”
“There’s nothing wr
ong with my healing.”
“So, I’ll go with the shitty poison that bitch pelted into me.”
“Hey, I healed the real blight right out of a raug chief, okay?” Ember nodded and gave her friend’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll figure out how to heal you too.”
“I’m right behind you.” Ember nodded and released her grip on her friend’s arm.
“Cool.” Cheyenne faced the magicals kneeling in front of her and tried to roll her shoulders back. The pain intensified, and she gave up any attempt to straighten out of her slump before she staggered toward the much smaller group of L’zar’s rebels and the members of the Four-Pointed Star. She stopped in front of Persh’al, who grinned up at her and dipped his head. “Persh’al.”
“Cheyenne.”
Kneeling beside him, Elarit looked the new Crown over from head to toe and dipped her head too. A small, close-lipped smile bloomed on her lips beneath the delicate silver chains draping from ear to ear across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose.
Yeah, sure. Now she’s happy to see me.
Cheyenne swallowed and forced herself not to fall right on top of the troll couple. “Dude, you gotta stand up for this.”
Persh’al blinked. “What?”
“I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re on your knees, man. Come on.” She gestured weakly for him to stand and spared a brief glance at the other kneeling magicals surrounding them. Give ‘em a show, right? Not sure they’ll love it, but they’ll have to suck it up and deal.
The blue troll glanced at his long-distance girlfriend, and Elarit gave him a barely perceptible shrug. Frowning, Persh’al finally cocked his head. “You okay, kid?”
“We can talk about that later. This is a little more important.”
“Okay.”
Maleshi glanced at the new drow Crown and the blue troll, then pushed to her feet and thrust her hand in the air. A bolt of crackling silver lightning raced from her outstretched fingers straight up through the center of the courtyard, past the nonexistent ceiling, and into the dull gray sky over Hangivol. “Silence! The Crown speaks!”
The general’s shout echoed against the stone walls of the courtyard. The banging on metal and stone stopped instantly, and the Heart fell eerily silent.
Cheyenne raised an eyebrow at the general, who grinned again and dipped her head in a small bow.
“Right.” Trying to ignore the countless pairs of eyes settled intently on her, Cheyenne clenched her fists at her sides against the growing agony in her shoulders and hip and returned her attention to Persh’al. “I can think of a million reasons right now why it’s a good thing L’zar couldn’t be here for my weirdly anticlimactic victory. If we can even call it that.”
Persh’al grinned, oblivious to what was coming next.
Cheyenne cocked her head. “Number one on my list, though, is this. You want the job, or what?”
“Huh?” The blue troll’s yellow eyes widened, then he burst out laughing. The sound of it raced across the courtyard, bringing confused sniggers and chuckles from some of the other gathered O’gúleesh.
She let him have his moment and slowly turned her head to look at both nightstalkers beside her. Maleshi’s small smile faded, and Corian stood abruptly as he realized what was happening.
“Cheyenne.” He approached her for more of a private conversation, and the stern curiosity on his face cut Persh’al’s laughter short. “Are you sure?”
“You just won, kid,” Maleshi added as she joined them. “All this is yours. There’s no rush. Plus, you look like you’re hurtin’ a little.”
Corian scratched behind his pointy, tufted ear. “We haven’t even had a chance to set everything in motion yet. Make it official.”
Persh’al’s orange mohawk wobbled as he looked quickly at the halfling and the nightstalkers acting as her advisors. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Come on.” Cheyenne tried to shrug, and the pain flaring beneath her shoulders made her hiss. “Look, we all knew I was coming into this with no desire whatsoever to be the Crown over here. I don’t want it, and there’s no point in me keeping it longer than this.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Persh’al slapped a hand against the shaved side of his orange-speckled head. “You want me to take the…” He gulped and couldn’t finish.
Cheyenne looked him dead in the eye and nodded. “Yeah.”
The blue troll blustered and fidgeted before stepping away from her and turning mutely toward Elarit. The troll woman raised an eyebrow before looking at Cheyenne again with a whole new appreciation.
“Still needs a vote, though,” Corian muttered.
“Sure.” Cheyenne peered around the troll at the Four-Pointed Star rebels and raised her voice as much as she could. Quickening pulses of searing heat radiated through her shoulders and across her hip. “That’s what we’re doing right here right now. I choose Persh’al Tenishi as the new O’gúl Crown. To turn his cycle after mine, or whatever.”
Maleshi snorted.
“Anyone opposed?”
L’zar’s band of rebels against the old Crown got slowly to their feet. When Nu’ek rose, her massive hirsute body blocked most of the kneeling orc guards behind her. The Golra jerked her chin at Cheyenne and snorted. “Tell us, then.”
Cheyenne absently reached for her blazing hip, snarling and immediately withdrawing her hand when it brushed the purple dart still protruding from her flesh and pants. “Tell you what?”
“Tell us why.” The ogre Sakrit nodded. “Explain your choice.”
“Right.” Clenching her eyes shut against the pain, Cheyenne took a deep breath. They better make a damn decision soon. I can’t keep standing here like this. “Persh’al’s the best choice, and yeah, I honestly believe that.”
The blue troll grinned at her and folded his arms.
“He knows his way around, and I don’t just mean in Hangivol. We spent a lot of time in the Outers, and he knows how to deal with O’gúleesh everywhere. Even when we made the crossing Earthside, he didn’t give a shit about fighting off those things in the in-between on his own. All he cared about was getting a dozen refugees safely across the Border, because that was what they wanted, and they couldn’t do it alone.” Cheyenne nodded at Persh’al. “You like to make plans. Good ones. And you know how the system works over here, all the tech and the rewriting history in the walls, or whatever the hell that’s supposed to be.”
The courtyard was quiet as everyone hung on the new Crown’s words.
Cheyenne wracked her brain for anything else that would get her point across. I shouldn’t have to defend my choice. If he wants it, it’s his.
She weakly cleared her throat. “Persh’al hasn’t once strayed from doing his part to get us here, even when he hated what he had to do. We’ve all made sacrifices, right? Some of us more than others. This troll made sacrifices too, and now he’s here. He’s not half-bad in a fight, either.”
Persh’al chuckled. “You’re kinda startin’ to grow on me, kid.”
Trying to smile back at him, Cheyenne swallowed and immediately corrected herself when she started swaying on her feet again. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll do something to screw that up.”
“Not after this.”
The magical made of swarming black specks coalesced into his humanoid, black-cloaked form and fixed his glowing red eyes on her from the center of his seemingly empty hood. “I can’t speak for the others, Cheyenne, but I will say I prefer the Black Flame on the throne.”
A murmur of assent passed through the other members of the Four-Pointed Star. Nu’ek, Sakrit, Elarit, and of course Persh’al were among those who didn’t openly agree with the swarming magical’s sentiment.
Cheyenne bit her lip
to bring her focus away from her hip. Someone could stab me in the back right now, and I wouldn’t feel it over this bullshit. “You know what? I’m only going by what I prefer right now, and this troll’s a damn good replacement.”
Maleshi chuckled and raised an eyebrow as she surveyed the rebels’ reactions.
With a rolling growl, Nu’ek took one giant step forward, the click of her claws on the stone floor of the courtyard echoing sharply around them. “I stand by the Crown’s decision.”
“Yep.” Sakrit stepped forward and thumped a fist on his chest. “A new Cycle turns.”