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When Leon learned that, he began seeing such training grounds everywhere, not just in boxed-off fields. The cities had wide, grassy parks and large amphitheaters. Most homes had large front yards in which Leon saw during his journey thousands of Lion tribesmen teaching their children to fight.

This training, as far as he could tell, wasn’t done communally, and the Jaguar confirmed it. The Lions lived in ‘Prides’, small family units centered around the father and primary wife. Polygamy was the norm in the Lion Tribe, with men being expected to have a handful of wives, though rarely more than four. That left many men without potential mates, Leon realized, and it was explained that due to their martial culture, it was hardly a problem—men had three or four wives in large part because seventy to eighty percent of them would die before turning thirty, the age at which they were allowed to legally marry.

Being clued into what to look for, Leon found himself trying to watch every mustering ground and every home he could see. The mustering grounds remained largely empty since the Lions’ army was still on the Sword, but children were constantly being trained in the yards, male and female both, but Leon noted the boys undergoing a significantly harsher training regimen. He even found himself bearing witness to the end of several young men’s lives in an amphitheater as they fought to the death for some reason he couldn’t fathom.

It was a bloody and martial welcome, and it was largely the only one they received. At the border of Lion territory, they’d only had to announce their arrival and several Lions escorted them further, but they hardly spoke to anyone in Leon’s party and maintained their distance. They were hyper-focused on making sure that Leon reached Raichaiti without stopping anywhere else.

Leon honestly wished he could stop and enjoy the Lions’ cities, taking the opportunity to learn more of the Tribe whose support he wished to win, but with the Thunderer likely already in the Tribe’s capital, he ensured that their escort found no reason to hurry them along.

Raichaiti itself didn’t take up any more of a footprint than any other Lion city, though Leon noted that their buildings were constructed much taller. In the center of their city, a massive arena had been built—or so Leon had first assumed until he noticed not only the Tribal Totem in a granite forum adjacent to the arena, but a large group of uniform-clad followers of the Thunderer standing outside of the building’s main entrance.

“Looks like he’s already meeting with the Tribal Council,” the Jaguar observed as they drew closer.

“Then we have little time to waste,” Leon replied as he kept pushing them onwards. It had taken them days to reach the city, and he was eager to get started. The Lions’ support was critical, and he refused to lose it to the Thunderer.

Meeting his group at the outskirts of the city was another group of Lion mages who were led by an eighth-tier mage who looked barely thirty years old by mortal standards, her actual age being impossible to tell. She exchanged few words with nay in Leon’s group, simply making it clear that anyone who didn’t follow her would be considered hostile and be dealt with accordingly. With that, she turned around in the air and led Leon’s party down to the entrance of the arena.

“Warm welcome,” Leon heard Alcander murmur a little bitterly not too far behind him.

“Are they always like this?” Gaius asked one of the Eagle elders accompanying the group.

“No,” the elder replied. “They’ve never been… welcoming, but they’ve never been this hostile.”

“They’d be foolish not to notice what’s happening,” Ipatameni said in response. “A man’s come to the island claiming to be the inheritor of the Thunderbird’s legacy and now the Tribes are picking sides. Everyone is nervous in such times.”

Leon agreed with Ipatameni’s assessment and did his best not to judge the Lions too harshly for their curt treatment, though there was a part of him that didn’t think it was a promising start.

On their descent from the sky, the Lion elder steered them directly to the arena, bypassing the Tribal Totem altogether. Leon felt some disappointment in not being able to stop to pay his respects, but in this case, he felt that respecting the wishes of their escort was more important than showing respect to their Ancestors—and his own.

The arena itself was immense, able to seat a hundred thousand at least. It was covered by a massive, gilded dome, and its outer walls were buttressed with great statues of men and women who Leon didn’t recognize. What he did know was that all those depicted were Lions, easily recognizable after flying over their lands for days by their long, mane-like hair, the lack of armor, and the two-handed weapons that he was learning the Lions favored.

Upon landing in front of the arena, Leon’s group attracted quite a bit of attention. The Thunderer’s people were out in force, and upon closer inspection, their group consisted not just of the man’s uniformed soldiers. Leon noticed three men standing together, all seventh-tier, all dark-skinned and clad in rich silks and velvets with cloaks of black fur. Another small group of mages stood not too far away, also clad in furs but fairer skinned and with long red hair. The men of the second group also sported bushy red beards.

From what he knew of the Tribes, these were the Bisons and the Bears, respectively.

Also standing off to one side were several mages tending to winged horses—pegasi—led by an eighth-tier woman with severe features and a serious expression. A couple of these people seemed about to approach Leon’s group, but with a quick gesture, this woman held them back.

Beside him, Leon heard the Jaguar growl in a low tone, and he realized the man was staring at these people, too.

He was about to ask what was up when one of the red-haired Bears strode forward, blocking their path, and arrogantly shouted, “The usurper shows himself at last! The man who would have all Ten Tribes walk under the yoke!”

Leon gave the man a quick once-over, noting that he was eighth-tier and bore gold rings upon every finger and a gold chain hung about his neck. His clothes were likewise trimmed in gold—and made of silkgrass if he guessed correctly.

“Get out of the way,” the eighth-tier Lioness leading Leon’s party into the arena demanded.

“When the enemy of all our Tribes is here in front of me?” the Bear asked indignantly. “What kind of man would back away after seeing one who would destroy all he’s worked to preserve?”

“You preserve nothing but your own power!” the Jaguar angrily responded, but before he could continue, Leon shot him a look that silenced him immediately, though he didn’t look happy about it.

“Ah, so quickly the whelp has broken you in, Lysander. It al—”

Before the Bear could continue in his tirade, the Lioness darted forward and slammed her fist into the man’s jaw, sending the man flying several dozen feet. The Bear hit the ground hard enough to crack the stone beneath him, but he easily rolled up to his feet, a violent glare in his eye.

“I said get out of the way,” the Lioness furiously repeated. “You are not in your Tribe. Remember that.”

Several strong Lion guards came sprinting out of the arena and, without another word, the Lioness escorted Leon’s group into the arena proper.

Leon had to suppress the urge to smile as they passed the Bears, now silent and silently fuming, and found it easier once they were inside. The arena’s atrium was spectacular, being a massive chamber with statues and frescoes everywhere, colorful scenes depicting Lions victorious in battle that were designed to overwhelm the senses and put the human imagination to shame. It was easily equal to any of the Imperial palaces he’d been inside of, in both beauty and magic for he sensed vast quantities of magic flowing through the arena’s walls powering, among undoubtedly many others, defensive wards that not only prevented him from using his magic senses but also settled about him like a cloak. His aura was suppressed and he suspected the use of his magic here would, at the very least, be severely hampered.

“The Ravens-of-Hail-Hall and the Lions have a good relationship,” the Jaguar said as they were led further into the arena. “They’ve established an anti-magic field around this entire gathering hall. Only down in the sand of the central hall is the use of magic allowed, and even then, only when the Lions allow it.”

“They’re always fighting,” Ipatameni noted.

“Indeed,” the Jaguar agreed.

Through several more opulent halls they were led, gold the most prevalent color and metal that Leon could see used in the arena’s décor. At every door were two sixth-tier guards dressed in golden plate armor, their long, equally golden hair spilling from the back of their helmets, while throughout the halls more guards were stationed in alcoves. Every here and there were seventh-tier Lions, as well, though, unlike the guards, they weren’t obviously armored, dressed as they were mostly in simple tunics, pants, and sandals. All, however, watched Leon’s group passing through their halls with such intensity and scrutiny that despite Leon’s party having no less than six ninth-tier mages in his entourage, he still felt both small and unwelcome.

But he walked with his back straight and face set in stony dispassion, and such was how he walked out into the sands of the arena, to his concealed shock. He wasn’t entirely surprised that it was to the arena itself that they went, rather than some hall or other in the back, but to be out on the sands themselves rather than on an adjacent platform was surprising.

More surprising even than that was who was already there: the Thunderer himself, as well as about two dozen or so his adjutants, not including the woman who’d accompanied him to the Jaguar Tribe just several weeks ago. But that didn’t mean his people were weak by any means; there were several more Bison and Bear elders, all eighth-tier, while there were two pale, skinny men with pitch-black eyes standing with, who Leon identified as likely elders from the Ji Spiders. In total, the Thunderer’s people with him in the sand were of roughly equal number to Leon’s entire party.

Also down in the massive arena’s sand were the stronger Lions in the entire arena. The stands were lightly filled with fifth-tier to eighth-tier Lions, but down in the sand were three men and one woman, all ninth-tier, along with a handful of other eighth-tier women.

As Leon’s group entered, they drew the attention of all in the arena, including the Thunderer and the Lions in the sand. The Lioness escorting them ordered them to wait just a few dozen feet away from the Thunderer’s people and joined one of the ninth-tier Lion men, a hulk of a man with a true mane of golden hair stretching down to the back of his knees, and a full beard covering almost his entire face. He was dressed as simply as all the others, with only an unadorned tunic, pants, and sandals covering his body, but his clothes did nothing to hide his immense musculature or his tremendous aura.

All the other Lions had fanned out behind or around him, with the other ninth-tier Lions to his right and left, but half a step back from him, so Leon assumed he was the Lion’s Lawspeaker. His escort here notably walked past him and stood with the three eighth-tier women directly behind him.

“Ahh, so here he is at last,” the leading Lion said even as the Thunderer’s people glared daggers at Leon’s party. “The last remaining scion of the Thunderbird—or so he claims… I’m glad you’re here, Leon Raime, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you for myself.”

“You could’ve come to Raikos,” the Jaguar of the West growled.

“Lions are not dogs; they don’t come when summoned,” the Lion Lawspeaker retorted with a decidedly unfriendly smile, his teeth practically bared threateningly.

“Leon Raime,” the Thunderer gracefully said, cutting off any further responses from either the Jaguar or the Lion. “It’s good to see you again, for whatever that’s worth. And it pleases me to see Jaguars, Screaming Eagles, and Heart-Stabbing Hawks accompanying you. We’re only missing a few Tribes from this impromptu meeting of the Elder Council.”

While the Thunderer’s people continued to stare at Leon’s party with little warmth, the Thunderer spoke with all the warmth that his people lacked. He smiled at them welcomingly, apparently not at all unhappy with their presence.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” one of the eighth-tier Bears growled.

“My kinsman speaks out of turn,” the Thunderer growled, throwing a glare the Bear’s way, who immediately backed down. “We heard that you were on your way and prepared to greet you.”

“Thank you for your welcome,” Leon finally replied. “I’ve been looking forward to coming to visit my Clan’s old friends, not just the Lions.” He paused a moment and glanced up at the fresco adorning the massive dome sealing the arena from the outside world. It had been enchanted to resemble the sky outside, though the sun was in the wrong position and the colors of the sky were unnaturally saturated—but it was the edges where the dome met the wall where the enchantment truly revealed itself, for they gleamed with gold and glittered with innumerable gemstones. “This place is truly spectacular.”

“Your words honor us,” the leading Lion replied. “Now, I believe introductions are in order, aren’t they? I am Menander, and I speak for my Tribe.”

The other ninth-tier Lions introduced themselves as well, the two men naming themselves as Creon and Thraso, while the woman was Xanthippe, though Leon wasn’t sure how much they’d be speaking since all seemed to be deferring entirely to Menander.

What followed them were several long minutes of Leon’s entourage separating themselves into his retainers and the Tribes who’d followed him, and everyone introducing themselves to the entire arena.

Leon felt like he almost had a heart attack when it was Cassandra’s turn, but to his immense relief, she only spoke her name and that she was his wife, along with Maia and Valeria. He’d yet to properly introduce her to his supporters, wanting to do that in the safety of Raikos, and he didn’t want anyone blurting out that she was an Imperial Princess here of all places.

“Now, then,” Menander said once all of that was done, “now that we all know each other, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Is everyone here?” the Jaguar asked as he cast his gaze around the arena. The seats of honor were in the front, made of marble and trimmed in gold, and that was where everyone in the stands were sitting. However, they filled only a fraction of the available seats.

“Most of our Chiefs and elders are on the Sword,” Menander replied. “That’s where they belong, leading our armies. That’s where we’d be, too, if we didn’t have responsibilities to our Tribe back here.”

Leon detected no small amount of accusation in the Lion’s voice and hoped it was directed at the right person.

“Your attention to duty honors all Ten Tribes, and shames all who do not live up to such standards,” the Thunderer replied.

“I’m not trying to fucking honor anyone,” Menander loudly replied as he began to pace around in front of his comrades. “What I’m trying to do is deal with two people who’ve come to my Tribe seeking our support!” He spread his arms and, addressing those of his Tribe in the arena’s seats, he said, “A would-be King, and… a claimed descendant of our old Kings!”

“I am not—” the Thunderer began, but he was interrupted by Menander.

“SILENCE!” the Lion roared. “YOU HAVE COME TO MY TRIBE! YOU STAND IN MY TRIBE’S MOST SACRED GATHERING PLACE!” He paused and took a deep breath. In a more subdued tone, though with no less anger, he said, “I have no care for the nuances of what you two intend for the Tribes. The Lions follow the strongest.”

With a gesture, the massive doors leading out of the arena were shut and magically locked, while anti-magic enchantments powerful enough to completely overpower Leon were activated over the sand, causing everyone but the Lions to gasp and sway on their feet or fall to their knees from the sudden weakness.

“If you wish for our support, then you will fight!” Menander declared. “We would see who is strongest! Whose conviction will carry them to victory! Who will honor us more with blood!”

“How… are we to fight… each other when… we can’t use magic!” a Bear elder shouted.

Menander smirked at him. “You’ll not be fighting each other. Not yet, anyway. But we’ll get to that in a moment. For now, I’ll warn everyone here: there will be no negotiations after today. My Tribe follows the strongest, so prove yourselves stronger here and now, and win our support.