He tugged his mount's reins, spiraling down.

Below, the tribesmen shouted and fired arrows.

The deformed bat shrieked and banked, dodging the assault.

"Warriors of Goldtusk!" Raem shouted. He had studied their language as a child, for all children of the Seran royal family spoke the tongues of surrounding lands. "I am Raem. I come from Eteer, a distant land of plenty. I come with gifts."

Circling above the camp, he opened the sack at his side and spilled its contents. Copper, tin, and bronze coins rained onto the tribe. The warriors below lowered their weapons and knelt. They crawled in the mud like worms, grabbing the coins, baser than hens pecking for seeds.

The deformed bat landed with a hiss, her bones creaking, her eyes weeping. When Raem dismounted, the pathetic creature—perhaps still clinging to some memories of her old, human self—curled up into a ball of skin and jutting bones.

Raem stood upon the hill below the totem pole. As pitiful as his mount was, he was glorious. He wore armor of polished bronze, and a jeweled helm covered his head. A shield bright as the sun hung upon his arm.

The tribesmen—clad in muddy furs, their jewelry mere beads of clay—gasped at Raem's splendor. A few covered their eyes and whispered prayers. Many knelt and began to chant.

"Raem! Raem! A god of metal!"

Several rocs gathered around, still tethered to posts, and hissed and clacked their beaks. Their talons tore up soil, and their yellow eyes blazed, and wind shrieked into their nostrils. The beasts were larger than his human bat—they dwarfed any one of his demons. The malformed creature, sensing the danger, shrieked and bared her teeth. Her human face—bloated and pale—twisted in a mix of fear and hatred.

My demons are small, Raem thought, stroking the creature. Only human flesh could make demons grow as large as dragons, a price Raem was not willing to pay. He would not feed healthy humans to his demons, for all human life was a gift of Taal—even these barbarians. With his unholy swarm, Raem could perhaps root out the weredragons hiding in Eteer—frightened, weak creatures who lurked in shadows, daring not shift. But to find Laira . . . to find the escarpment where the wild, northern dragons flew . . .

Looking upon the rocs, Raem allowed himself a thin smile.

These ones will kill dragons for me.

"Who leads you?" Raem shouted, an idol of metal, standing above the kneeling tribesmen. "Bring your leader to me."