The Zatani saw their chance and took it, the ferocity they had learned over decades of fighting for the pleasure of their Aeslanti masters ensured their victory over the few weary lion-men that returned from Bakhaus Gate. It had been a glorious rebellion, and the Zatani won their freedom after crushing their former overlords.

Regulus was determined to show the people of the Clawless Tribes what a true Zatani warrior could do. He was determined to claim glory and honour for the Gor’tana and for his father. If he and his warparty made it north, if they survived the journey, he would kneel before the Steel King of the Clawless Tribes. Regulus would offer his sword and show this Coldlander chieftain what true power and ferocity was. He would fight for him, destroy his enemies, make him the greatest king the Clawless Tribes had ever known. Then, when Regulus’ reputation was such that word of his deeds had reached as far back as Equ’un, he would return to the grasslands and reclaim his place as chief of the Gor’tana. If Faro still lived Regulus could challenge him for leadership and they would fight, as was only right, with tooth and claw.

Had Faro offered any chance like that to Regulus’ father perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps Regulus would have given fealty to Faro. But not now. Not ever.

All Faro would receive was a painful death.

They left Bakhaus Gate behind them and worked their way north up the valley. There was no time to hunt, no time to eat, and Regulus knew his men were becoming half starved, but they pressed on regardless. There would be time aplenty to hunt once they made it to the Coldlands.

The journey was not an easy one, and the sun had crested the sky by the time they came to the valley’s end, where they were refreshed by a cool wind blowing down from the north. The valley led out onto flat grasslands, with forest in the distance. They were nearing their goal and might well make it before the Kel’tana caught up with them. Regulus finally allowed himself a smile.

Seeing how fatigued his warriors were, he at last ordered them to set up camp. Leandran barked instructions, sending off one scout to hunt down some game and another to search for firewood. Much as Regulus would have liked to help, it would not do for the tribe leader to engage in menial tasks. Crouching down he unfastened his greatsword, rested it across his knees and watched.

As his warriors busied themselves, Regulus felt a presence at his shoulder. Turning, he made out the powerful frame of Janto Sho standing in the shadows, his dark skin making him almost invisible in the waning light. His hair was shaven at the temples, and his remaining locks tied back in a knot. Piercing eyes shone out of the darkness, sky blue in stark contrast to the bright green of the other Gor’tana. For a moment the two men stared at each other, then Janto moved forward to crouch beside Regulus.

‘You think they will accept us, those weak, clawless fools?’ said the warrior, fingering the handles of his twin axes.

‘They were not weak when they defeated the Aeslanti at the gate. And a king who turns away willing warriors is a fool,’ Regulus replied.

‘But what do we really know of them and their ways? They could be our enemies.’

Regulus raised an eyebrow. ‘As once you were mine, Janto of the Sho’tana.’

The dark warrior had no answer to that.

Hunting alone out in the grasslands Janto Sho had found that he himself was being hunted by three rogue Aeslanti. The beasts had stalked Janto for half a day, cornering him when he was too fatigued to flee further. Had Regulus not come to his aid he would surely have been torn to pieces. The pair of them had fought side by side, killing two of the Aeslanti before the last fled. That night they had eaten well of their slaughtered foes, and Janto had pledged his life-debt to Regulus, despite them being from differing tribes. Janto had remained in Regulus’ warparty ever since, waiting for a chance to repay that debt.