Rick crumpled to the ground, gripping his eyes. He still held the strange raygun in his hand, yet it dropped to the ground as Bors moved closer, the last of the Callistians gone.

“What is wrong, Rick?”

“I can’t see, Bors. That staff—”

“Let me see.” He rested a big hand on Rick’s shoulder and pried a hand away from Rick’s face. Deftly, he teased open one of Rick’s eyelids with his big burly hand. He saw an eye that looked normal to him. “You will recover, my friend. You do not bear any signs of blindness.”

“Still, how am I going to move?” Rick asked.

Bors sighed and toed the raygun toward his friend. “Pick up your weapon. I will find something to bandage your eyes to help them rest.”

Once he had seen to Rick’s eyes and settled the Space Ranger, Bors looked from him to the mountain and tried to find a path. For the first third of the way, Bors thought he saw a trail that twisted around the mountainside in a long series of switchbacks. It would take time to make a sled to drag his friend along or have him hold his shoulder, but Rick could not travel without help.

It was not that difficult to cut the needed wood for a rough litter. The Space Ranger groused about being led around like a “babe in the woods,” yet he was silent when Bors pushed him onto the sled and told him to be quiet. He then turned to the beginning of the trail up the mountain, grabbed the litter, and started to pull.

He’d felt the weight of his arms and legs dragging at him as he constructed the sled, and even more so now as he dragged the Space Ranger on the litter behind him. He knew what was going on. Mother had taken back the strength given to him. Still, he pushed forward, not needing it.

* * *

After several hours of travel, Rick regained his sight, for which Bors was thankful. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could drag his blind friend along. With his strength depleted, he would not have made it much farther.

“I am glad you are awake,” Bors said, exhaustion shaking him after pulling them close to a third of the way up the last switchback.

“What are we going to do?” Rick asked, looking at their position.

“We will rest here, and then we will take the rest of the mountain tomorrow and fight the two witches,” Bors said, settling down on a rock that would do for a temporary seat.

Rick started. “Only one is a witch. The other is—”

“The other is the one you love,” Bors said while digging into the last of the rations Ghurd and his Callistians had sacrificed to speed him on his journey.

Rick nodded. He looked like he wanted to say more but stopped.

Bors took a deep breath as he pulled out the last of the strong alcohol. “She is evil.”

His friend scowled at that. “She is not. I know her heart.”

Bors cocked an eyebrow. “How? You have never—”

Rick settled back, pressing his head against the rock for a moment, looking up at the stars. “Let me tell you about how we first met.”

Bors uncorked the jug and took a long pull of the drink. He gasped at the hideous stuff but swallowed down the liquid fire. “Proceed.”

After the story, Bors nodded. “So, she loves you. What about—”

“I love her as well,” Rick said. “Damn whatever rule or code says I can’t. I love Al’Kara of the Golgoro, and I’ll protect her life to my dying breath.”

Bors tossed the bottle to Rick.

“I couldn’t,” Rick said. “I—”

“A simple oath forbade you from loving her, which you have broken. Can’t your oath about drink be stretched?” Bors asked, smiling at his friend. “Or is your oath more important than—”

Rick took a deep swing of the stuff, and Bors bit his cheek not to laugh as Rick looked ready to spit the content out. “That’s awful!”

“And yet you are drinking it.” He gestured to the bottle. “Have a bit more.”

Rick did and made a sour face.

This time, Bors did let out a laugh as the two finished the last of the noxious rotgut and had the last of the thick oatmeal cakes that Rick produced. “Get some sleep, my friend,” Bors said as he finished the last of the cake. “We have the end of our journey tomorrow.”

***

The drink was stronger than Bors thought, for when he woke, he and Rick were surrounded by the witches’ minions. He tried to stand yet found he couldn’t. He heard the cackling laugh of one of the two red-skinned devil women of the ancient, long-dead race, the Golgoro. He saw the one named Al’Kara, Rick’s beloved. He turned to see his friend was still asleep and already hoisted onto a litter, being carried away.

Bors was not bound but could not move, and he knew it was the powers of the witch. Her right hand had a small burn on the fingertips, and several of her minions looked as though they had burned themselves somehow, their weapons shifting into their left hands. Odd. Something had burned them, as the sickly-sweet smell of scorched flesh hung in the air.

“He still loves you, witch,” Bors said.

“I know. And I will always love him,” Al’Kara said.

“Then, why do—”

She waved her hand. “What would a Northern Tribesman know of honor? Though I don’t know what clan you are,” she said.

“Hidden Mountain.”

“There is no such clan.”

Bors smirked. “And there are no Golgoro for my tribe. You all died an eon ago before the Mountain went into hiding.”

Al’Kara gave him a raised eyebrow. “How can the Mountain go missing?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but she still lives in our hearts, and with her power, I will defeat you and your cousin.”

“If it were up to me, I would kill you now, native scum,” Al’Kara said with a sneer. She quirked her hand, and Bors was lifted and carried to the edge of the trail. He looked down, seeing the long drop.

“But your cousin has need of me?”

“Your sword. None of these minions can take it. Nor can I seem to touch it,” she said, giving him a sneer.

Bors saw something in her eyes when she spoke about not being able to touch the Soul of the Mother. She is afraid. “Then you should take me to see your cousin.”

“Or I drop you and get the sword from your mangled corpse. That could be the reason I can’t touch it, it being bound to you.”

“Are you willing to take that chance?” Bors asked, a smirk still on his lips.

“Al’Kara, you’re better than this!” Rick shouted, waking up and calling out.

“Beloved, please stop,” she said, gesturing toward Rick, and he stopped making sounds. He looked like he tried to scream, yet nothing came out of his open mouth, no sound whatsoever.

Bors and Rick were borne up the mountain toward the large skull top. Yet, before they reached the giant open mouth, the group of Callistians and the witch stopped and entered a secret doorway that led into a metal-framed corridor. The walls were a shiny metal, tinged a light blue, and the floor looked to be made of marble. Yet when he was able to walk, Bors found it to be cool tile.

The two were then brought to the throne room of the witch, La’Haja. Witch Al’Kara must have been under some spell or compulsion that made her help this other devilish Golgoro. If he had to, he would kill them both.

On a black stone throne sat La’Haja, her smile cold. Her eyes shone with the light of the staff she held in her right hand. Bors balked at seeing her with both limbs, having seen Rick’s raygun sever one. The new arm was metallic and gleamed in the lights of the various globes of light that hung in the air above the throne in the large throne room.

La’Haja moved forward on the throne. “Bring the barbarian to me.”

Al’Kara did as asked, keeping Bors from fully touching the floor except for the toes of his hobnail boots that scraped along the tile of the throne room. La’Haja made a fist, and Bors dropped to his knees. He heard the other witch gasp and take several steps back. Then Al’Kara muttered, “I will see to my beloved then,” and her footsteps faded behind Bors.

“Do you think you can kill me?” La’Haja asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” he said.

“How so?” La’Haja asked, an eyebrow quirking. She raised a hand, and two dozen of her guards formed a loose ring around him, these Callistians even larger than the others. A strange miasma exuded from them. Bors’s nose wrinkled at the horrid stench.

“The Soul of the Mother will lend me the strength I need,” Bors said, standing up. He reached for the sword.