Tuma and Stronius rode north over mountain trails long unused. It had been along this very route one year before that the Skrall had fled from their last fortress. The vicious attacks of the baterra had driven them south through the Black Spikes to the borders of Bara Magna’s great desert. Now two of their number were going back.
“This is madness,” Stronius said. “You realize that.”
No one else in the Skrall legions would have dared speak to Tuma like that. But Stronius was an elite warrior known for saying whatever was on his mind. His services to the Skrall led Tuma to be a bit more tolerant of his outbursts than he would have been otherwise.
“Then turn back,” Tuma said calmly. “I did not order you to accompany me.”
“I wasn’t going to let you ride up here on your own,” Stronius replied. He turned from Tuma to look at the path ahead. “I have a duty to protect the life of my leader. And your life is doubly at risk here.”
“Baterra and... ?”
Stronius shot Tuma an annoyed look. “Baterra pale beside those you would visit, and you know it.”
“We share a common enemy,” Tuma said. “They will be... reasonable.”
“We abandoned them to that enemy,” Stronius snapped. “They will be merciless.”
The two rode for most of two nights and a day. They ran into no baterra, so far as they knew. If the rocks or the trees were their enemies in another shape, well, those enemies chose not to attack. Now and then, they paused at the sight of Skrall armor littering the path where one of their warriors had perished during the long retreat.
Dawn was still a few hours away when they veered sharply eastward. All of the Skrall fortresses in this region had been destroyed by the baterra long ago. Logically, no one here should have survived the last year. But logic had nothing to do with who Tuma was seeking.
Stronius was the first to feel it – an electricity in the air, an oppressive feeling that seemed to slow all movement. His mind felt dull, his body sluggish. He turned to shout a warning to Tuma and it felt like it took an hour to perform that simple action.
Tuma felt less of an effect than Stronius, being a little further away. He spotted a robed figure atop some nearby rocks, wielding a wooden staff. “You!” he shouted. “Tell her I want an audience!”
The robed figure’s head tilted, as if puzzled by the request, then the mysterious being disappeared among the rocks. A few minutes later, Stronius felt his head clear. He glanced at Tuma, who nodded once. Side by side, the two rode on.
The sky darkened. From every side of the pass, more robed figures peered down at the two Skrall. Their faces were hidden, but Tuma could feel their hatred just the same.
Up ahead, a half dozen more figures blocked the way. Beyond them, a seventh sat on a crude throne carved from part of the mountain itself. “Dismount,” she ordered, in a voice that was surprisingly soft. Tuma tensed. He had not realized this one had ascended to leadership. His hope of surviving this journey dwindled considerably.
He and Stronius both got off their rock steeds. The seated figure then said, “The weapons of warriors are not allowed here.”
“No,” Stronius replied immediately. “An elite warrior never surrenders his weapon.”
The robed figure shrugged. “Then he can surrender his life instead.”
Pain exploded in Stronius’ head. It was worse than anything he had ever felt, worse than anything a blade or a Thornax could do. Yet no weapon had ever touched his body. The pain tore a scream from him as he dropped to his knees.
“Stop!” Tuma shouted. “We came here in peace!”
A chorus of whispers came from every side. The sound chilled Tuma as he realized what he was hearing was laughter.
“You came here out of fear,” the seated figure said. “Just as you abandoned us out of fear … just as your kind banished us millennia ago, out of fear. You stink of it, Tuma, despite your mighty legions, despite your conquests. You are a warrior made of straw.”
Tuma took three steps forward, ready to ram his sword into his tormentor. That was as far as he got before the pain hit him too. But he did not leave his feet, not even as the agony increased beyond all imaginable limits. He had made a vow long ago that he intended to keep – he would never kneel before the Sisters of the Skrall.
As quickly as it had appeared, the pain vanished. Tuma saw Stronius slowly standing back up again. He noted the elite warrior’s club still lay on the ground.
The figure on the throne rose and removed her hood. She wore no helmet or armor. Her face was a dark gray in color, wizened and weathered. Tuma knew appearances were deceiving. Though her body might seem feeble in comparison to a Skrall warrior, the energies at her command were more devastating than any sword or axe could ever be.
“You did not fall,” she said to Tuma, matter of factly.
“I prefer to remain standing,” the Skrall leader replied. “That is why I am here.”
“You risked your sanity and your life coming here.” She gestured at the other robed females. “They would see you dead, and worse than dead... I see no reason to deny them.”
Tuma gave the slightest of shrugs, an acknowledgment that the female who faced him could do what she claimed – not an easy admission for him to make, but an honest one. “I thought you were a seeker of knowledge,” he said. “If you kill me, you’ll never learn what I came here to offer you.”
“You have nothing we want,” the female answered dismissively. “And we have nothing left to give you in return.”
She resumed her seat , her gaze never leaving Tuma. She stared straight into his eyes as she addressed her assembled people.
“Kill them,” she said. “Kill them both.”