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.