Laira tried to quell her dizziness. This pillar of stone was narrow, barely large enough to support the throne, her, and Jeid. The cave walls seemed to spin around her, alight with torches and clattering with pteros. The animal murals seemed to race above her in a great hunt, and the murmur of many tribesmen rose from the cave floor far below. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

"Demons!" she said. "A host of a thousand demons flies across the world. They fly from Eteer across the sea. My own father, king of that southern realm, leads them in conquest." She pulled from her pack the coiled, severed arm of one of the octopus spawn. She held it forth. "Here is a single arm from a single demon; a great swarm of the creatures flies north. All free tribes and kingdoms of the north must band together now. We must defeat them."

Within the sockets of his helm, Oritan's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward in his throne, took the severed demon arm, and examined it. The arm still twitched, the mouths upon it opening and closing, snapping their teeth. Disgust mingled with fascination filled Oritan's eyes as he held the wriggling tentacle.

"That arm came from a demon babe." Laira's heart twinged to remember these creatures feasting upon her brother's body; this very arm had fed upon Sena. "The adults are as large as rocs. And they're spreading across the land."

Oritan draped the tentacle across the arm of his seat. He returned his eyes to her. "Your father leads these demons, you say? A king of Eteer?" He leaned closer. "Who are you, Laira of Goldtusk? A chieftain? A princess? A friend to dragons?"

"I am all those things," she said. "And you know me. Three years ago, Chieftain Oritan, you came to Goldtusk, and you spoke to me, though you do not remember me. As you spoke to Chieftain Zerra, I served you wine and I washed your feet. Zerra offered me to you, telling you I could warm your bed, but you refused the gift of my body. You met my eyes once." Her heart beat faster to remember that moment. "You saw only a servant."

Oritan inhaled sharply, stared in silence for a moment, then removed his ape-skull helmet. His face was hard but not unpleasant. His nose was straight, his lips thin, his jaw square. Dark hair fell across his brow. He seemed no older than forty winters, and a small scar marred his left cheek.

"Yes." His voice was soft, contemplative. "I remember you, child. I pitied you then. I felt rage at your chieftain for mistreating you. Your hair was shorter then, your frame more frail, but I remember your eyes, the large green eyes of those who dwell across the sea. I indeed looked into them. I thought about them for long after returning home."