Chapter One

Over Eleven Months Before the Atero Championship

The stony valley beneath the Black Spike Mountains was absolutely desolate.

The terrain was so harsh that even the natives to the region, hardy and reckless wildlife, did their best to stay as far away from each other as possible. Most areas within the region lacked the resources to sustain more than one or two animals at a time. Competition was fierce, and after 100,000 years the native creatures developed an understanding of each others’ domains. Nothing crossed these lines without good reason.

Which is why a single Rock Jackal felt relatively secure as it sniffed its way along the ground in search of a meal. Somewhere—it wasn’t sure where—a young Sand Bat had been trapped in the burning sun for too long, taken a nosedive, and lay dying nearby. With its nuzzle to the ground, the scavenger was determined to seek the bat out and end its misery. Knowing how long Sand Bats were—some spanning fifteen feet in length—it would make for a hearty feast tonight.

Weaving its way through the highlands, the gaunt canine made its way toward the mountains, sniffing and listening closely for the sounds of wings flapping and flopping on the ground.

After what felt like hours the creature rounded an outcropping and saw it. The bat had already died and lay in the shade of a towering stone. Stalking forward quickly, the Jackal bit down to retrieve it.

The Jackal turned to run off to its den, but a distant horn froze it in its tracks.

The noise had come directly from the mountains. It looked like a sandstorm, but shifting black creatures could be perceived moving closer.

The canine lowered itself on its front legs and snarled through the bat carcass. Invaders would mean more competition for resources. The Jackal already faced incursion from the other direction: the Vorox tribes, which frequently encroached from the south. It was just its luck that the sand tribe remained scattered and disunited. Combined, their power could drive all other animals from the desert, and now with these black warriors…

This was not good.

A shout from the left caused the Jackal to snap its head in that direction. Some distance away, two black figures mounted atop red steeds and brandishing long spears were riding straight toward it, kicking up dust as they circled around the front of the column. The hound felt a cold feeling on the back of its head and realized the longer it stayed out here, the more jeopardy it was in.

Spinning around, the canine charged at top speed back to the safety of its den.

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Indeed, where the pass between the White Quartz Mountains and the Black Spike Mountains had been uninhabited before, hundreds of black-armored warriors wearily marched in file. The journey had been miserable, and the path long, but as they gazed into the barren expanse before them, they knew they had at last arrived.

At the head of the column, flanked by his lieutenants and sitting atop a green variant of the Rock Steed mount was Tuma. The powerful warrior threw a glance back at the legion of Skrall behind him before looking again at the desolate desert.

He frowned.

So this is Bara Magna, Tuma mused. Where the severed head of the Skrall falls to rest. Can rock be reformed of sand? Can life be reborn out of dust?

He whirled.

“Stronius!”

From behind him, an abrupt clomping of hooves indicated that his highest lieutenant was riding forward at his beckon.

“Yes, Lord Tuma,” Stronius said, appearing beside him. Stronius was a powerful warrior, broad with strength and bristling with confidence, for he had risen through the ranks to be Tuma’s right hand in all affairs of the Skrall. His sturdy mace dangled at his side, for he was never to be seen without it.

“Signal the centurions,” ordered Tuma. “Company halt.”

Stronius pivoted his steed and rode to carry out the command. Tuma slowed his mount to a halt himself, an action imitated by his lieutenants. As the signal went further and further up the legion, each successive century ground to a halt.

Well, if what Tuma led could even be classified as a legion. The few thousand Skrall and various rock tribe villagers were all that was left of what had once been a veritable empire. The rock tribe had long carved out a life in volcanic lands and half of the former Great Frost of Spherus Magna, before the latter had been split in two during the Shattering. During the especially brutal winters, the Skrall were forced to pillage farms of the few Earth Agori to survive the Shattering, a miniscule remnant that had mostly been driven into the mountains. It was a harsh life that only seemed to grow harsher as the years went on, but it was the only one they knew.

But this peaceful existence was undone when the machines called “Baterra” struck. They devastated Skrall patrols and reconnaissance missions sent to destroy them. One after another, they plowed through the ranks of the Skrall, leveling four legions’ worth of warriors. The once-mighty Skrall fortresses in the north were reduced to ashes in the snowy winter. Tuma and the rest of the Skrall were ejected from their homeland, forced to march southward or suffer the same fate.

The trek had been long. Far too often, Tuma had been forced to decide between leaving the slow behind or moving at a snail’s pace and allowing the Baterra to overwhelm them all. Too many had been lost… or worse.

As he mused, the two scouts rode their Rock Steeds up to him.

“Lord Tuma,” the leader saluted. “Reporting in.”

“At ease. What is your report?”

The Rock Steed beneath the Skrall shifted on its feet, but the Skrall held Tuma’s gaze.

“Roxtus is half a day’s march east of here. Several gaps in the mountains to the southeast are wide enough to afford passage.”

“And the city?”

“Abandoned, sir. By the looks of it, any residents abandoned it tens of thousands of years ago.”

Tuma nodded. Many years ago, he had ordered a small patrol to take command of the city and establish relations with the southern villages. This they did, establishing good relations and even occasionally participating in practice matches. Only weeks ago some had entered a great tournament and were well on their way to winning the whole thing before the Baterra attack forced them to return north.

But now it was no small envoy of Skrall here to claim the city. Now it was the whole of the rock tribe, or what remained of it. Turning his steed around, he gestured at his lieutenants.

“The sun is setting, and it is better that we camp here tonight than enter the city in the dark. Have my armor bearer pitch my tent over—”

But Tuma never finished his thoughts. A commotion was ripping through the ranks of the Skrall, and a closer glance revealed the source of the issue: white wolves racing from the direction of the White Quartz Mountains and slamming into the villagers in the center of the procession. Taken by surprise, the Skrall were scrambling to reform against the attack. He followed their path from where they had emerged and saw a lone figure standing above the skirmish. Tuma sighed.

“Circle around behind that figure and cut him off from the wolves. Bring him to me,” Tuma directed the scouts as he spurred his mount. “And by Solis Magna, get me my tent!”

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It took two hours before the Iron Wolves were driven back—a timeframe protracted, no doubt, upon the realization that they had lost their beloved leader. Nevertheless, the Skrall had wounded enough of them that they were sent packing for the time being.

In their wake, they left a dozen dead and over a hundred injured Agori and fighters. It was a devastating blow—one that may have been softened if the Skrall were any less weary. But the wolves had made their point.

It was as fitting a welcome to Bara Magna as any.

Moonrise found Tuma at last in his tent. Only a few weapons and personal effects were out, for there was no need to unpack tonight. A table dominated the room, and upon it rested a map of the northern regions of the Bara Magna planetoid; half of the former Northern Frost, the Forest of Blades, and the volcanic regions with the Valley of the Maze. These regions were distinct and well-charted. However, the further south the map went, the more vague and sparse details were. The expanse of the Great Desert was mostly denoted with rough scrawls and guesswork.

Tuma alone was in the tent—that was, until a white prisoner in chains tumbled in through the front flaps, and two guards scrambled in, struggling to restrain him. Tuma looked up from the map.

“Ah, welcome,” Tuma greeted. “I take it you are Surel. I am Tuma, leader of the Skrall.”

The Ice warrior had been pulled to his knees. He said nothing, merely meeting Tuma’s gaze.

The Skrall leader gestured to the guards. “Leave us. Send for Stronius and our other prisoners.”

As the guards saluted and left, Tuma returned his attention to Surel. “Iron Wolves are no strangers to the Skrall. We have invariably crossed paths whenever we ventured too far south. In hindsight, I am surprised we did not meet sooner.”

“The Skrall have never ventured this far south. Not since the Core War,” Surel responded. “Yet here you are. Infringing on my lands.” He hesitated.

Surel’s words sparked a memory in Tuma. In fact, this was not the first time he had made his way through this very pass. It was quite different from when he’d last been here.

One hundred thousand years ago. Five full legions of Skrall accompanied by two columns of Bone Hunter cavalry had been sent south to rebuff sand tribe incursions in the Core War. The rock tribe had been specifically bred well in advance in anticipation of a war, and had long-since left behind usual tribal structure between mere villager and warrior. They were bred as an army.

Compared to now, Tuma had had fewer lieutenants at the time, but he had been accompanied by four fellow leader-class Skrall, each of whom were far older and far more experienced than he was then. Two were slain during the successive fighting, but the campaign had been victorious, and the Great Desert was held by the rock tribe until shortly before the Shattering.

“…Or do you mean to go further?” added Surel.

“Further. This is all that remains of the rock tribe,” Tuma responded. “Excluding the Bone Hunters that broke from us some time ago.”

“Driven out by Element Lords?”

“No. Not Element Lords. But the desert is more suitable for the rock tribe than the blizzardy tundra, wouldn’t you say?”

Surel said nothing.

As it happened, Stronius chose that moment to arrive.

“I come bearing gifts,” he announced. Behind him, he was accompanied by two earth tribe Agori and guards. The two had been captured by the Skrall on the march south and exploited for whatever knowledge they had of the southern lands.

“Wait outside,” Tuma directed the guards. They bowed and obeyed.

“Vocta. Kaldii. You have served the Skrall well. As promised, we will release you. Tomorrow, you will be accompanied by Skrall guards as far as the Forest of Blades. Surel, I have neither the time nor resources to keep you, and despite your folly today, I do not despise you enough to kill you. You will also be released. Tomorrow, I will claim the city of Roxtus. If I ever smell the hide of an Iron Wolf or hear your passing voice in the mountains, I will not be as courteous as I was today. You and your wolves will be captured and made to be my thralls. My advice? Stay north of the mountains and you will be secure.”

“The White Quartz Mountains are mine,” Surel smiled. “Even if I were to let you keep the Black Spike range.”

Tuma snorted.

“It is your freedom to die on Skrall blades if you choose. In any case, with any luck, we will never see each other again. Guards! Take them away.”

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The three prisoners were hauled out of the tent in short order. Only Tuma and Stronius remained. As the lord of the Skrall studied the face of his subordinate, he saw exactly the expression he’d anticipated.

“I know what you’re thinking,” smiled Tuma. “You think I have grown soft.”

“May I speak freely?”

“Do you ever restrain yourself?”

“Lord Tuma,” Stronius said, advancing. “Letting those three go is a terrible mistake. If the earth tribe were to rally and come south—much less if Surel and his Iron Wolves joined them—it would mean having to defend ourselves on two fronts. Not to mention risking upheaval from the rock tribe Agori that sought Surel’s head after their friends were killed today.”

“You have known me this long, and you think I would make a mistake,” Tuma snarled.

Stronius wisely stepped back.

“Even if the Iron Wolves and the earth tribe united and descended after us, they wouldn’t have the strength to defeat us. Today our warriors were weary, and the Agori were in the open and vulnerable. Once we have secured and rebuilt the walls of Roxtus, and once the villagers are tucked away behind our gates, the earth tribe and Iron Wolves couldn’t possibly hope to overcome a fresh patrol of Skrall.”

“But why wouldn’t you just kill them?”

“Have you learned nothing, Stronius?” Tuma sank wearily into a makeshift chair. “Leaving Surel alive and well means there is an intelligent mind backing the Iron Wolves. He may hate us for a while—a small chance given the respect we showed each other today—but if he does, this will be short-lived once he realizes what’s coming after us.”

“Baterra,” Stronius breathed.

“Indeed. With us out of the tundra, the Iron Wolves will venture further and further north, even as the Baterra trek further and further south. When these inevitably collide, they will strike at his forces, and he will direct his energies at stopping them. It will buy us time as we secure the south. Leaving the earth tribe farmers free serves a similar role.”

Stronius bowed, humbled.

“Forgive me, Leader. It is a wise strategy.”

“Indeed it is. Now, Stronius, were there any Skrall warriors that proved themselves in battle today?”

“There were a few. The most notable one held twelve wolves at bay while some villagers could get to safety.”

“Very good. See to it that it is recorded in the annals of the Skrall. We will promote him to centurion and hold our next Naming Day once Roxtus is secure.”

“Excellent.”

“That is all for tonight, Stronius. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you,”

Stronius started to leave the tent, but then he paused.

“Leader,” he said, turning slightly. “Do you remember the old legend? The premonitions that the Skrall Sisters observed tens of thousands of years back? That one day the rock tribe would face off against the creation of the Great Beings and be broken… only to be remade.”

“I have pondered it for some time now.”

“Well, we’ve faced the Baterra, and the empire of the Skrall was broken—only to march to a new land and rebuild for a new confrontation. I think we’ve fulfilled the prophecy.”

“No,” Tuma rose and stepped forward. “Not exactly. Indeed we have faced the creation of the Great Beings, their silent death. But Great Destroyers though they were, their devices could not destroy us. We were not broken. We have defied the legend and are rewriting it even now.”

Tuma smiled.

“And in the desert of Bara Magna… the legend will be reborn.”