LAIRA

Their blades clashed together in the tunnel, bronze against bronze, showering sparks.

"I will kill you now," Laira said.

Zerra laughed. "I will show you no such mercy."

His sword swung down. She raised her own sword, and the blades clanged together. She thrust and he parried, and when his blade swung again, it cut her wrist. Her blood showered but she gripped her hilt tightly.

"Yes, bleed for me, harlot." Zerra spat. "Bleed like you bled into the crone's leeches. Bleed like you bled under my fists. Bleed like you'll bleed tonight as I bed you, as I toss you to my men. They will each take you in turn until you're too hurt to scream."

Laira sneered and swung her blade. "No. No more." She advanced, forcing him back. He was twice her size, his head nearly grazing the ceiling. She was small and weak, and ilbane ached in her muscles, but a fire burned inside her, and she attacked in a fury. She drove him another step back. "No more. Never again." Her voice rose in strength, and she barely heard the slur of her crooked jaw. "You will nevermore hurt me, Zerra. I am no longer the little girl you beat, enslaved, tortured, starved." She thrust her blade at him, and her voice rose to a great cry. "I am Vir Requis! For Requiem I slay you. For my people. For a dawn of dragons."

Her sword slammed into his, again and again, until she found an opening. Her blade sparked against his breastplate, denting the metal.

He only laughed. "Vir Requis? Is that what you call your wretched kind? This is nothing but a colony for the diseased. I will cleanse the world of my brother and his children, and I will shatter your soul. You have grown impudent, and I will enjoy breaking your spark of defiance." He thrust the blade. "When I'm done with you, you will eat dung and drink piss and thank me for it."

She tried to parry but he was too fast. His blade drove into her shoulder.

Laira screamed.

"Yes . . . scream for me."

He swung his sword again. She leaped sideways, hitting the wall. His blade nipped her thigh, and her blood flowed. She parried the next blow but wasn't ready for his fist. His blade in his right hand, he slammed a left hook into her cheek.

White light and stars exploded.

She swung her blade blindly

He grabbed her throat. She gasped, struggling to breathe. When she could see again, she found his face near hers, a smile twisting his halved lips. She tried to swing her blade, but he caught her wrist, pinning her arm to the wall. She struggled, kicking, but couldn't free herself.

"So deformed . . ." He thrust out his tongue and licked her crooked jaw—a long, languorous movement that left her dripping with his saliva. "So sweet. But not hurt enough. Not yet. Look at my wound, darling." He turned the burnt side of his face toward her, forcing her to stare at the grooves and rivulets. "Soon your whole body will look like this."

Still clutching her throat, he sheathed his sword and lifted his torch, which had fallen during the duel. He brought the flame near her cheek. She winced and tried to turn her head away but could not. She sputtered and blackness spread across her. All she could see was the fire. All she could feel was the pain. She closed her eyes for fear of them melting.

"We will begin with burning your face," he said.

She couldn't move her right arm; he held it pinned to the wall. She kicked hard, hitting his knee. His leg crumpled. They fell together and she grabbed a fallen stone. She sprang up, slamming the rock into his temple.

He grunted.

His fingers released her, and Laira gasped for breath.

She wanted to collapse. She wanted to simply breathe. Instead she lunged forward, swinging the rock again. A shard of granite the size of her fist, it drove into Zerra's jaw. She heard the crack as the bone shattered. Two teeth flew. His chin drove sideways with a sickening crunch.

He fell to his knees, clutching his face with one hand, and managed to lift and thrust his blade. She parried and swung her sword down. The bronze drove deep into his arm and thumped against bone. He screamed and dropped his sword. Laira kicked it aside.

She placed the tip of her sword against his neck.

"Beg me for your life," she whispered.

Suddenly she trembled. Her voice was hoarse. Her knees shook.

"Beg me!" she shouted.

He stared up at her, eyes baleful. He said nothing.

"You will die here," she said. "Beg for life."

He stared, silent, his jaw shattered. His arm hung loosely, slashed open; she saw the bone and tendons. He managed to slur, blood and saliva dripping down his chin.

"What . . . do . . . you want?" He coughed out blood and teeth. "To be a huntress? Tell me. Tell me what you want."

She shuddered. In the darkness of the tunnel, she saw her again. Her mother smiled at her, stroked her hair, and told her bedtime stories. Laira ran with her through the forests, collecting berries, laughing and speaking in Eteerian. She remembered joy. She remembered warm embraces, safety, love.

"You killed my mother," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "You shattered my life. What do I want?" Her breath shook and she bared her teeth. "I want you to die, you bastard."

She screamed as she leaned forward, driving her blade into his neck.

His blood dripped, and he gave her a last stare, then tilted over and lay still.

Laira stared down at his body, and she no longer trembled. A peace descended upon her.

"For my mother," she whispered. "For Requiem. For me. It's over."

She knelt, grabbed his hair, and lashed her blade again.

Her footsteps were slow. Blood trailed behind her. She stepped out of the cave into a canyon of flame and blood, carrying Zerra's severed head.

"Goldtusk!" she shouted.

She stood upon bloodied boulders. The dead lay around and beneath her. Arms thrust out from the debris, and gore painted the canyon walls. One rider lay whimpering, his organs dangling from his sliced belly. Dozens of rocs still flew above, and at least two dragons still lived. Maev writhed on a pile of boulders, blowing her last sparks onto a roc. Tanin lay slumped, lashing his claws, holding back a beast; arrows pierced his flesh. Laira had never seen these two dragons, but she knew them from Jeid's stories—his children returned to battle. She did not see the others.

"Goldtusk!" Laira shouted. She raised the severed head above her. "Goldtusk, hear me! I am Laira Seran. I was one of you. I carry the head of Zerra, your chieftain."

The rocs shrieked. All eyes turned toward her. The battle died down as they stared. Hunters hissed and tugged their reins, halting the rocs. The birds hovered, blasting Laira with foul air, billowing her hair.

"I am a child of Goldtusk!" Laira cried, voice hoarse. "I slew the chieftain. By the law of our people, I lead this tribe now. I am chieftain! I am Laira of Goldtusk, a worshiper of Ka'altei. I command you—land, dismount your rocs, and kneel before your mistress."

For long moments—the ages of the stars and the world, the rise and fall of kingdoms, the endless mourning in her heart—they merely hovered, staring. She stared back. She knew how she looked—a scrawny thing, broken, scarred, covered in blood. A wisp of a person, a hint of who she could have been.

But this is who I am, she thought. This is me. These years of pain, this fear, this broken body—they made me who I am. This person was hurt. And this person is strong.

She raised the head higher, staring, silent. All others fell silent too. She could hear the wind in the trees and the crackle of fire.

It was one rider—a gruff old man named Sha'al, a chunk of mammoth tusk still embedded in his chest from an old hunt—who landed his roc first. He dismounted, gave Laira a hard look, and then knelt before her.

A second rider joined him, a young man who had once tossed Laira a few nuts on a cold winter night. He knelt before her, sword lowered.

"Chieftain," he said.

A third rider joined him, then a fourth. Soon dozens of rocs landed in the canyon, cawing nervously. Their riders covered the boulders, kneeling before her, heads lowered.

"Chieftain.

"Chieftain Laira."

"Daughter of Ka'altei."

They spread across the canyon, kneeling in a great wave. Laira stood, staring upon them—her people. She looked to her side where Maev and Tanin struggled to their feet—her new family.

"Our war ends now," Laira said softly. She lowered the severed head. "Goldtusk and Requiem will forge peace. We—"

A grunt rose ahead, followed by a strangled cry.

Laira raised her eyes and her heart nearly stopped.

"No," she whispered.

Jeid stumbled forward across the boulders, back in human form. A young man—not a rider of Goldtusk but a foreigner in the robes of Eteer—walked behind, holding a blade to Jeid's throat.