She had seen Oritan once from a distance. Three years ago, the chieftain had visited the Goldtusk tribe after a bitter war that had left many dead on both sides. Clad in bones, he had demanded an alliance, offering to wed his daughter to Chieftain Zerra, to merge both tribes with bonds of family. Laira had been like a shadow that day, darting in and out of the tent where the two leaders spoke; she had served ale and meat, washed sore feet, and mostly listened. Even today, she remembered the moment Chieftain Oritan had looked at her, had met her eyes when taking a mug from her. He had nodded subtly. He had acknowledged her. Whenever Laira would accidentally make eye contact with a warrior of Goldtusk, she would earn a beating. But here a great chieftain, clad in bones and leather, jewelery around his neck, had met her gaze, had nodded to her! Laira had shed tears that night after Zerra had refused the union; he had railed that Goldtusk was strong, that he would not dilute his tribe's worth with scum from the mountain, and Laira had mourned never seeing Oritan again.

Back then I saw a reasonable man, Laira thought. She prayed that reason still filled Oritan.

With a shrill cry and wings that blasted back her hair, a massive ptero emerged from behind the mountain, a beast to dwarf the others. Gold and red paint covered its wings with circles and coiling lines, copper rings encircled its neck, and gilt covered its horn. Upon this lurid beast sat a long-limbed man, his bare chest painted white and red. An ape's skull hid his head—a helmet of bone. Spears hung across his back, and he held a golden bow.

"Chieftain Oritan!" Laira called to him. She lifted her spear; strings of beads dangled from its tip. "I am Laira, new Chieftain of Goldtusk."

His ptero hovered before her, the wind from its wings blowing back her hair and cloak. Through the sockets of his ape-skull helmet, his eyes met hers again—those eyes she remembered from years ago, the eyes that had met hers when no others would.

He spoke in a deep voice like rolling thunder. "Last our tribes met, it was Zerra, son of Thagar, the Burnt Man, who ruled the rocs."

Laira raised her chieftain's old sword. "Now it is Laira, daughter of Raem. I slew Zerra the Burnt and I wield his sword. Three years ago, you came to our tribe to forge an alliance. Zerra turned you down. Now he is dead; now our discussion will resume."

Oritan's eyes flicked toward the copper dragon who flew at Laira's side. "So the tales are true; dragons fly in our skies. Has Goldtusk tamed these scaly beasts?"

When Jeid spoke, the chieftain's eyes narrowed and his mount hissed and bucked.