Fierce. And the Gor’tana were among the fiercest. To run from enemies rather than face death was a supreme dishonour. That was why the shame of his flight now stung Regulus to the quick. Yet, he consoled himself, there would be time enough to regain his honour and his standing amongst the tribes of Equ’un. Time enough for vengeance For now, he would just have to bear the ignominy and survive long enough to plan his return.

Regulus watched in silent vigil as the sun rose over the mountains. He stood over seven feet, his powerfully muscled body silhouetted against the golden light of morning, a mane of thick locks crowning his head and flowing down his back. As he stood there he thumbed the pommel of his sword: five feet of black steel gifted to him by his father at his ascension ceremony. It was his only possession – but all he would ever need.

With no time to build a cairn for Epiak, they had laid him out on the ground. Leandran, the oldest and wisest of their number, had knelt over the young warrior, reciting the words that would speed him on his way, praising Kaga the Creator and Hama the Seeker. With luck, Epiak would make it to the stars before the Dark Walker could intercept him. Once there, Ancient Gorm would assess his worthiness and send him back to the earth either as warrior or slave. Regulus could not guess what the judgement would be. Epiak had fought bravely for days, but after being wounded he had died the quiet-death in his sleep. Only Gorm could decide whether he was worthy to return as a warrior.

The rest of the warparty, now only nine in number, watched along with Regulus. Just nine warriors left to represent the tribe of the Gor’tana. The legacy of his father had indeed been brought low. But Regulus would rise again; he would have warriors flocking to his banner. He was adamant. The glories he was determined to win in the north would re-establish his reputation.

Leandran finished saying his words and stood up. At a signal from Regulus they moved on. There would be no further ceremony – no mourning, no lamenting. Epiak was gone now, off to be judged by Ancient Gorm. None of them could change that. But if any of the warparty desired to avenge Epiak’s death there would be chance aplenty.

They moved north at speed. The warriors had left the grassy plains of Equ’un behind them two days before, moving into the no man’s land of the mountains that separated the southern continent of Equ’un from the Coldlands of the north. The lands of the Clawless Tribes.

Regulus had only been a boy when the Steel King had ridden down from those lands and defeated the Aeslanti. It had been his victory that led to freedom for all the tribes of Zatani, and this victory, this granting of freedom, was the reason Regulus and his warriors were now making their way north. Regulus hoped it would not prove a fool’s journey.

As they moved onward, Leandran came up beside Regulus, his weathered features looking troubled. The old warrior’s head was shaved bald, his limbs thin, his once powerful muscle little more than sinew, but his senses were keen and he could fight as well as any of the younger members of the tribe.