An alarmed Simna looked on uneasily. “Etjole, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but don’t think it!”
Halting several feet from the skeleton, Ehomba met vacant eyes with his own speculative gaze. “You said something about us being brave enough to let pass, except there was a problem.”
The bleached skull nodded slightly. “You have dispatched many from the Brotherhood and sent them on their final path to rest. Those who do so must take the place of at least one who has departed our company. If this is done willingly, then the others may live, and will be allowed to quit our presence still citizens of the world of the living.”
Ehomba nodded understandingly. Behind him, Simna was growing rapidly more agitated. The herdsman continued to ignore him. “I have your word on this?”
“Here is my hand on it.” Skeletal fingers reached toward him. “What remains of it.”
Wrapping his own long, weathered fingers around the bare white bone, Ehomba embraced the warm, smooth grip.
“Which of you will come willingly to the Brotherhood?” The envoy was looking past him. He need not have done so.
“I will.”
“What?” Behind him, Simna took a confrontational step forward. “What’s all this ungodly mumbling about? Etjole, what have you promised this—this fugitive from an unhallowed grave?”
Rejoining his companions, Ehomba put both hands on the swordsman’s shoulders. Inclining his head slightly, he stared hard and evenly into the smaller man’s eyes.
Dropping his hands from the other man’s arms, Ehomba looked up at the hulking, hirsute form of Hunkapa Aub. “What about you? Do you believe in me, my hairy friend?”