LAIRA

Laira filled the cave, a golden dragon. She sneered, beat her wings against the ceiling, and blew more fire out into the canyon. She heard the tribesmen scream, and a smile twisted her jaw. Even in dragon form, that jaw was crooked, shoved to the side, a reminder of Zerra's cruelty.

You are out there, she thought, blasting her flame. The man who beat me, starved me, thrust into me in his bed. She roared as her flames crackled. Now I burn you. This ends here.

Across the canyon, she glimpsed Jeid blowing his flames too. The jet emerged from a hole no larger than his snout. Within the canyon, the enemies died. Fire blasted against the walls, showered up, and knocked rocs down. Screams echoed and ash rained.

But the rocs kept coming, and Laira's flames were burning low. Soon her jet fizzled into mere sparks. Fear gripped her, and she growled and blasted out every last flame inside her. Across the canyon, she saw that Jeid and Eranor too were down to sparks. They would need time to rest and recharge.

But the rocs gave them no respite.

They kept diving into the canyon. Men leaped off and hid behind boulders where the fire could not reach. Archers rose from behind a dead roc, fired, and crouched down. One arrow slammed into the cliff side near Laira. A second entered the cave and grazed her cheek, and she hissed. She closed her jaw, waiting, sneering. Smoke plumed from her nostrils. When the archers rose again, she blasted what flames remained inside her. It was but a thin stream, but it caught one archer in the chest. He fell.

More arrows flew. Laira retreated from the exit and flexed her claws. Her foot stepped into the brazier, and she grunted and kicked the embers aside. Smoke rose around her. She had no fire within her—not until she could rest—but she could still fight.

"Enter and fight me!" she shouted. "Enter this cave, Zerra, and face me."

She snarled and raised her claws. Arrows flew into the cave, slamming into the walls around her. When she stepped back, they could not hit her. The tribesmen would have to enter, leaving their rocs outside.

And I will kill them, Laira thought, refusing to tremble, refusing to let the horror overwhelm her. She had killed men with her flames. Now she would kill with tooth and claw.

"You came here to die." She clawed the air. "Requiem is my new tribe. Requiem will be forged in fire and blood."

As she waited for them to enter, shrieks sounded above.

Laira whipped her head up and blasted smoke out of her nostrils. On the ceiling was a small hole, a vent for their brazier's smoke. Talons reached into the opening, scratching, cracking stone, widening the gap. Soon a roc head appeared, and its shriek echoed in the cavern, nearly deafening Laira. She cried out with the pain of the sound.

More talons dug above and debris rained. With a shower of dust, a chunk of the ceiling collapsed. Stones pelted Laira, cracking her scales, and she blasted what fire she could muster.

Through the dust, flame, and smoke, a roc crashed down into the cave.

Zerra sat upon it.

The chieftain stared at her and his lips—halved by his scars—twisted into a horrible smirk. He wore a breastplate beneath his fur pelts, and he pointed a bronze-tipped arrow at her.

Still in dragon form, Laira lunged toward him.

The arrow flew and slammed into her neck.

She cried out, the pain driving through her. Her neck stiffened. She felt ilbane flow through her, bitter and burning—a leaf's latex harmless to most but poisonous to dragons. She roared and tried to lash her claws. But the roc was quicker. Its talons drove into her chest, knocking her down.

She slammed onto the floor. The pain drove the magic away from her. She shrank, becoming a woman again. The arrow clattered to the floor, coated with her blood.

"Hello again, little Laira," Zerra said, staring down from his roc. He spat upon her. "You I will not kill, no. The other weredragons will die tonight, but you will return home with me. Do you think you suffered before? You will soon miss those days. I will make you suffer like no one ever has. Ashoor, grab her."

The foul vulture, dripping oil and shedding charred feathers, raised his talons over Laira.

She tried to shift back into a dragon, but she was too hurt, too weak. She swung the bronze sword Jeid had given her—a wide blade the length of her forearm—but the roc knocked it aside. The blade sparked against the wall.

As the talons descended, Laira scurried away. Clutching her sword, she stumbled into one of the tunnels.

She plunged through shadows, fell, and banged her hip. Her muscles felt stiff, her eyes puffy, her bones cold and throbbing. Grimacing, she began to crawl backward, leaving the cave and entering the network of underground passages. The burrow would take her under the canyon—to Jeid.

Light blazed as Zerra thrust a torch into the tunnel. She heard him laugh as he crawled in after her.

"So you will be caught like the maggot that you are." His voice echoed. "Maybe you would like another bedding here in the darkness before I drag you home. Yes, I do think that back in our tribe, I will take you every night."

Laira tightened her grip around her sword's hilt.

She kept crawling. Soon she would reach Jeid. He would help her. They would battle Zerra together. As the torch grew nearer, as he crawled after her, Laira kept scurrying. Her blood trickled and her head spun. The tunnel grew larger; soon she was able to run upright, though her legs would not stop shaking. Blood covered her cloak.

Stay alive. Keep moving. Soon you'll reach Jeid. Soon—

She slammed into stone.

"No. Stars, no."

The tunnel had collapsed; boulders blocked her way. She was trapped.

She spun around to see Zerra walking toward her, a torch in one hand, his sword in the other.

No fear. For Requiem.

Laira screamed and lunged toward him, swinging her blade.