Regulus felt his heart drop. This was grave news indeed. He had wanted to offer his blade to the Steel King, the victor of Bakhaus Gate. Such a man might have appreciated the gesture, but now that all seemed lost on the winds.
‘Who has his seat now?’ asked Regulus. ‘Does a son take his place?’
The old man shook his head. ‘He had one daughter. She sits on the throne now.’
‘A daughter?’ Regulus could barely take in the words. ‘A woman sits upon your throne? Wears your crown?’
The old man nodded. ‘The queen, yes.’
This was impossible. Regulus could hardly kneel before a female, less still offer his fealty and his blade. His warriors would never follow him, even if he could bring himself to stoop so low.
‘You all right?’ asked the man.
‘I am, old one.’ But he knew he wasn’t.
Everything he had hoped for had suddenly crumbled to so much dust. Every reason for him fleeing north, coming to this cold, frigid place, had been blown away in a breath.
‘C … can I go now?’
Regulus barely heard the old man’s words as he turned and made his way back up the hill to where his warriors waited.
‘Well?’ asked Leandran.
‘Make camp,’ was all Regulus could say.
‘Why here?’
‘Because I order it. And build a fire. I am getting sick of this cold.’
‘We’ll be seen for miles,’ said Janto.
‘By who?’ Regulus replied, spreading his arms and gesturing to the four horizons. ‘More peasants? They’re hardly going to put up a fight — they can barely raise their chins.’
There was no more argument. As night fell they built their fire from what wood they could find and hunkered around it, wrapped in their furs.
The news that King Cael had been killed was not taken well, especially when they discovered who was his heir.
‘We must turn back,’ said Janto, almost enraged. ‘We cannot serve some … chieftainess.’
‘They call them “queens” in the Clawless Tribes,’ Regulus replied. ‘And we would be warriors, fighting for her and our honour. We would not be serving her.’
‘Even so,’ said Leandran. ‘We have come north to build a fearsome and glorious reputation. What will our enemies in Equ’un say when they learn we act at the behest of a female?’
If Regulus had been hoping for support from the oldest and wisest of their number he was sorely disappointed.
‘When they hear of our victories in battle, of the deeds we have done, it will not matter in whose name we have done them. We are here to fight for the Coldlanders. If this Amon Tugha is mighty enough to defeat the Steel King, then slaying him would be a deed of legend.’
‘I have a better idea,’ said Janto, staring into the flames of the campfire. It gave a daemonic look to his dark features — all blue eyes and fangs. ‘We bend the knee to this Amon Tugha instead. We fight for him against the Coldlanders and their queen. Surely that would bring us the most honour? Not to bow to some woman who wears her father’s crown?’
‘No!’ said Regulus, rising to his feet. ‘I came north for glory. To fight for the man who freed us from bondage, not start a war with his spawn. Battling women is the way of the Kel’tana, of the Vir’tana. That is not my way. I will offer my blade to the daughter of the Steel King. You must each decide now whether or not to follow me. There will be no shame in a refusal.’ Regulus stared at them each in turn. ‘What say you?’
There was a pause as they all thought on it.
‘I reckon we’ve come this far,’ said Leandran. ‘No use in turning back now. One chief’s as good as another.’
Akkula nodded beside him. ‘I’m with you.’
Hagama and Kazul added their voices in support.
Regulus turned to Janto who still stared into the fire. ‘If you wish to turn back south I release you from your life-debt,’ he said.
Janto looked up slowly, glaring from where he sat, his blue eyes blazing in the firelight. ‘Whether I’m released from my debt is not up to you. I’m released when the debt is paid. Where you lead, I must follow.’
Regulus nodded. He had known this all along, but thought it best to give Janto the illusion of choice.
‘Settled then. We go east and offer our spears to the queen of the Coldlanders.’
Janto suddenly reached for his axes. Regulus laid a hand to the hilt of his blade, thinking the warrior had decided to abandon his debt and attack after all. Then he caught a scent on the cold night breeze. It was a raw scent, almost imperceptible, but it was no animal.
The rest of his warriors rose, facing outwards from the fire and brandishing their weapons. Then slowly, almost casually, a figure strode into the light.
He was a Coldlander, a beard about his face, dark hair running down and into the furs he wore on back and shoulders. His hands were held down by his side, palms flat, facing out in the Zatani display of peace. He carried no weapons, yet did not seem to fear Regulus and his warriors.
Janto made to move forward but Regulus laid a hand on his arm, feeling him tense at the touch.
‘Lower your weapons,’ Regulus commanded. ‘This man comes in peace.’
The Coldlander stepped to within a yard of Regulus, then stopped.
‘I speak your language not well,’ he said in broken Equ’un.
‘Then it is fortunate I speak yours,’ Regulus replied in the Coldlander tongue.
The man smiled, relieved that he had been understood rather than attacked. ‘That’s a rare skill for your kind. The name’s Tom. Some call me the Blackfoot, Warden of the South and servant to the Free States and its ruler.’
‘I am Regulus of the Gor’tana.’
‘You are far from home,’ said the Blackfoot.
‘And you are a brave man to enter our camp without weapons.’
The man smiled. ‘Oh, I have weapons, back there somewhere.’ He nodded back into the darkness. ‘Don’t reckon they’d have done me much good against the six of you though, so I thought it best to leave them behind and show I intend no harm.’
Regulus placed his black steel sword down by his side and his warriors seemed to relax.
‘Come, Tom the Blackfoot. Share our fire.’
With that the warriors squatted by the fire, continuing to rub the warmth into their limbs. The Coldlander sat with them, his small frame dwarfed by those of the Zatani.
‘Tell me,’ asked Regulus. ‘What makes a lone man of the north walk into a camp of Zatani warriors?’
Tom glanced around at the six massive figures. ‘I’m a Warden of the Free States. It’s my job to make sure no one’s up to mischief on our lands. When there’s a dozen terrified peasants running through the wilds with tales of black devils abroad, it’s my job to look into it.’
‘Do you think we are “up to mischief”, Tom the Blackfoot?’
Tom shook his head. ‘You boys are miles from home. Miles inside Teutonian lands. I reckon if you were gonna cause mischief it would have happened already, but there’s been no word of any killing. Does lead to the question though — if you’re not here for a raid, what are you doing here?’
Regulus smiled. ‘We are outcasts looking for a new liege lord. Now that your king is dead we will make for your greatest city and offer ourselves to your queen.’
If Tom was surprised at such a bold statement of intent he did not show it.
‘Steelhaven will welcome all the mercenaries it can get right now. But you should watch yourselves, if that’s your intention. That city’s dangerous enough, but I imagine when you turn up it’ll get a sight more dangerous. Foreigners are treated with suspicion, especially now. The place takes no prisoners, and there’s a trick or trap waiting around every corner to snare the unwary. You might find you don’t exactly get the welcome you were hoping for.’
‘Then we will face it as warriors, Tom the Blackfoot. And show how strong the Zatani are in battle.’
‘I bet you will. But it’s not always what you’re facing that’s the problem. Oftentimes you’d be better served watching your back.’