Tuma woke with a start.
Sleep had been welcome, but the dreams it had brought had done nothing to soothe his spirit. Now he sat up in his darkened chamber, staring out the window at the starlit sky of Bara Magna.
He had never been one for deep thoughts, doubts, or reflection. His class within Skrall society—those intended by nature to be leaders and the fiercest of warriors—did not place great value on looking inward or backward. Life was simple: move ahead, conquer, secure what you have taken, and then move on. It was this which had made the Skrall such feared warriors in the Core War, and which helped them to survive as a tribe after the ensuing calamity.
Cut off from their homeland after that global disaster, the Skrall resolved to tame the lands in which they found themselves—the volcanic, unstable, and dangerous territory north of the Black Spike Mountains. Tuma led a large troop of warriors and Rock Tribe Agori into the mountains where they built a series of fortresses and created an empire of their own. They thrived there for many thousands of years. Although some parts of it remained too treacherous even for them to explore even after tens of thousands of years, they became the undisputed masters of their empire.
Then everything changed. A new breed of warriors appeared—silent, lethal shapeshifters who struck from thin air and then vanished again. Skrall warriors died by the score, as did the other members of Tuma's upper class until only he remained to lead the tribe. These shapeshifting machines struck at the Skrall again and again, eventually cutting them off from sources of supply. While planning a last-ditch defense, Tuma was stunned to see a Skrall wagon carrying a load of wood into the fortress. The "wood" turned out to be disguised Baterra, and the garrison promptly found itself under attack.
The battle went badly for the Skrall. Although it went against his nature, Tuma finally assembled the Skrall army and the Rock Agori and led them south through the Black Spikes to new territories and safety. They arrived at the border of the Bara Magna desert and found the abandoned city of Roxtus. Tuma ordered the city to be occupied and fortified.
Tuma got up and walked out of his shelter. Even in the middle of the night, the city of Roxtus was busy. Skrall patrols were constantly on the move, while Bone Hunters rode up to the gates with captive Glatorian and Vorox to sell. Agori prisoners taken in the desert were hard at work building new walls and repairing Skrall weapons and armor. The work never stopped…it couldn't be allowed to, Tuma knew.
Even with this new base, he was not content. He had learned many things during those last battles, when fighting raged from the Maze Valley to the very heart of the Skrall camps. His people could never hold too much territory, be too well defended, or hesitate for even a moment in their march of conquest. Although the desert had little to offer in terms of resources, it did grant its owner one thing every leader wanted—space. Space in which to fight. And one day they would fight again, Tuma was certain…one day, the things that stalked the northern mountains would follow them here. When they did, he was determined to be prepared for them. The best strategy would be to seize as much of the desert as possible and force the killers to move across a vast territory with no cover. This would allow the Skrall armies room to maneuver and trap their enemies.
For now, though, he could focus his attention to the south. The villages of Bara Magna were scattered, their relations with each ranging from indifferent to tense. It was doubtful they would be able to mount much resistance if the Skrall attacked now, but "doubtful" was not good enough. Tuma was not going to risk a two-front war, with the Glatorian and Agori in front of him and his other old enemies behind. When the Skrall were ready to strike, Bara Magna must be ready to fall.
The leader of a Skrall patrol appeared before him. Tuma eyed him for a moment, noting the damage to his sword and shield. The warrior had seen combat this night.
"Report," snapped Tuma.
"Bone Hunter attacks have isolated Tajun," said the Skrall. "Your representative has met with the Hunters to argue against their plans for a raid on Vulcanus in several days' time."
Tuma smiled. "And so guarantees the Bone Hunters will go ahead with it. Very good. And have their plans been drawn up?"
The Skrall nodded and produced a roll of parchment from his pack. He handed it to Tuma, who unrolled it and scanned its contents. After a moment, he looked back at the warrior. "The Bone Hunters do not know we have this copy?"
"No, leader," said the Skrall.
"You realize, if I find out you are lying…or even mistaken…your head will decorate the walls of Roxtus?"
"Yes, leader."
"Who did you battle tonight?" asked Tuma.
"A Glatorian from the fire village and a pack of Vorox, leader," reported the Skrall. "We had paused our Rock Steeds north of the Skrall River when we were attacked."
"You killed them all, of course," Tuma replied.
The Skrall did not answer.
Tuma's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
"They vanished into the sand."
Tuma leaned in close. "Glatorian do not vanish into desert dunes, warrior. Why do I not see the crimson one's armor and sword among your gear?"
The Skrall said nothing. He didn't have to. Tuma knew who he had encountered in the desert—Malum, exiled from the village of Vulcanus, now afflicted with desert madness and living with the Vorox. Malum was the most dangerous kind of warrior—one who did not fear death, for it would seem a comfort compared to the life he lived now. He could be a fierce enemy…which meant he could also be a valuable ally.
"Get fresh Rock Steeds," Tuma ordered, "and take a dozen warriors. I want Malum brought here to me, alive. Do not return without him…I am sure you remember the fate of the last patrol that failed me."
The Skrall nodded. The patrol assigned to find the Book of Certavus among the western ruins had come back empty-handed. They had been reassigned to punishment duty, feeding the two-headed Spikit in their pens. Spikit being always hungry as they were, the feeders inevitably wound up also being the food.
"It will be done," said the Skrall warrior.
Tuma nodded once, a sign of dismissal. As the warrior left, Tuma turned and gazed at the northern sky. Despite how well everything was falling into place, he still felt uneasy. For a moment, he imagined he could hear the shouts of long-dead Skrall and the sound of the invaders' weapons, as if the battles of his past were being fought again.
Not now. Not yet, he said to himself. But one day…after Bara Magna has fallen…the Skrall will take revenge.
X X X
The Skrall patrol moved out at dawn. Their target, Malum, was living with the bestial Vorox now, and everyone knew Vorox were night hunters. During the day, they would be sleeping beneath the sand and prime targets for an ambush.
Despite this, there was a grim silence among the members of the unit. Of all the tribes on Bara Magna, only the Vorox showed no fear of Skrall. Maybe it was because their savage brains were too dull to know fear. Or maybe it was because, living their lives in the wasteland as they did, the prospect of death simply held no terror for them.
The leader of the patrol kept his eyes trained on the dunes ahead. Vorox were notoriously good at covering signs of their presence, when they felt the need to do so, but a good tracker could still spot where they had been. Their tunnels left a telltale disturbance in the sand, as if a miniature cyclone had touched down. Sighting such a thing didn't mean there were Vorox right below ground, since they might have gone down one hole and emerged from another. But a fresh cluster of signs, as yet undisturbed by the wind, meant a good chance Vorox were somewhere nearby. And where they were, Malum would not be far away.
He spotted something up ahead. It looked like roughly a dozen tunnels had been made in a patch of sand beneath an outcropping. It was hard to tell how recent they were, as the rock would have protected them some from the wind, but it was the first sign the Skrall had seen. Even more interesting, there was a natural cave in the slope nearby. Shelter for Malum, perhaps, during the heat of the day?
The patrol leader held up a hand to stop the march. He gestured for half the troop to surround the tunnel entrances, and the others to stay back with him. It was time to set the trap.
Half a dozen Skrall rode up to the outcropping. Once they were there, they kept moving, pacing their Rock Steeds back and forth across the sand. If there were Vorox down there, they would sense the vibrations in the ground. Regardless of whether they thought what they heard was a potential meal or the presence of an enemy—often the same thing—they would come up to investigate.
Naturally, they would not come up the same way they went down. They would spring out of the sand behind the intruders and try to take them by surprise. That was why half the patrol had hung back, keeping their mounts perfectly still. Two could play at the ambush game.
The Skrall waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Twenty.
Some of the warriors were starting to wonder if the Vorox were long gone from this place.
They got their answer, but not in the way they had expected. The ground suddenly opened up beneath the reserve Skrall, sending them and their mounts tumbling down into a pit. The Skrall near the outcropping turned and rode toward their comrades, just as two dozen Vorox emerged from their original tunnels. Howling, they hurled crude swords and spears at the backs of the Skrall riders. One spear found its mark in the side of a Rock Steed, sending mount and rider tumbling down into the sand. The Vorox were on the unfortunate warrior before he could rise, ensuring that he never would again.
Malum appeared at the entrance to the cave, watching the carnage with a smile on his face. After the events of the night before, only a fool wouldn't have expected Skrall retaliation. He'd had the Vorox leave just enough traces to lure the patrol in, without making it so obvious that they would suspect a trap.
The Skrall patrol leader and his warriors had managed to scramble out of the pit, leaving their Rock Steeds behind. Dropping to one knee, they took aim with their Thornax launchers and fired. The explosive, spiked spheres sailed into the ranks of the Vorox, felling a number of the beasts. The still-mounted Skrall turned in the saddle and fired a volley of their own, scattering their attackers.
Regrouping, the Skrall made ready to charge. That was when they heard a chorus of growls coming from behind. At least 50 Vorox had sprung out of the sand some 500 yards behind them. The patrol leader wasted no time, ordering the Skrall on foot to join their comrades on their Rock Steeds. Then they charged, leaving the small army of Vorox in the dust and headed right for the battered first wave and Malum.
"Aim high!" the patrol leader yelled.
The Skrall rode into the midst of the Vorox, striking at them with their blades. The Skrall mounted behind fired their launchers at the rocks above Malum's cave. Their shots brought down a rockslide on the ex-Glatorian, pinning him beneath a pile of stone. Behind them, the mob of Vorox was closing in.
The Skrall upon whose Rock Steed the patrol leader rode slumped over and fell from the mount, a Vorox sword having struck him down. The leader grabbed the reins and urged the steed up into the rocks. Reaching the point where Malum was trapped, he coolly dismounted and aimed his launcher at the Glatorian's head.
"Back to your holes," he shouted at the Vorox, "or he dies."
The beasts might or might not have understood the words—the Skrall weren't sure. But they knew what they were seeing and they comprehended the tone. The Vorox didn't retreat, but they didn't keep attacking, either. They simply stopped and waited.
"We strike now," said one of the Skrall warriors. "Make them pay for what they have done."
"They are vermin, no better than Scarabax beetles," said another. "Exterminate them all."
The patrol leader agreed. He hated Vorox. They were too unpredictable and too dangerous to leave alive. But he had his orders: bring Malum back to the city of Roxtus, alive. There would be time enough later to satisfy the need for vengeance and wipe out the Vorox.
"Enough," he commanded. Reaching down, he grabbed the unconscious Malum by the throat and hauled him out from under the pile of rubble. "We have what we came for. Malum will face Tuma's justice…and so will all these beasts, in time."
Throwing Malum's body over his Rock Steed, the patrol leader mounted up. Once they realized what was happening, some of the Vorox moved to attack, only to be cut down by Skrall Thornax. The rest backed away. Was it sadness in their eyes as they saw the Skrall riding away with their leader? Could beasts of the desert feel such an emotion? Or was it dread of the day the Skrall would return, for all of them?
No one…perhaps not even the Vorox themselves…could say.