The stars gleamed down upon him, their light soft, comforting, and he imagined that he could hear a soothing voice inside him, a voice of starlight. You are one of them, child. You are blessed with our magic. You too are a child of Requiem.

Raem covered his ears, ignoring the words, ignoring the need inside him, the urge to shift into a dragon. He had shifted many times in the city cistern, chastising himself every time. No. No! I am not cursed. I am not a reptile. I am a pure son of Taal.

A high whimper—not the cry of a demon—rose above from the stars. Raem looked back up and sucked in breath with a hiss.

Dragons! Two dragons flew above, descending from the starlight!

The demons roared and squealed and bustled.

"Do not feed yet!" Raem shouted. "Bring the dragons to me alive."

He licked his lips, his body crackling with energy. He felt more alive than he had since slaughtering weredragons back in Eteer. Finally—to kill again! Killing was the greatest joy there was, greater even than shifting.

The demon army swarmed, and the two dragons cried out and tried to flee. They were too slow. The demon horde rose from the forest like flies from a disturbed carcass, grabbed the two dragons, and tugged them down. The demons slammed the scaly creatures against the marble tiles at the column's base.

Raem stared down, eyes wide. "Children," he said in wonder. "They're no larger than horses. Mere children."

The two dragons, both green, whimpered and flicked their tails, and their wings beat weakly against the tiles. They were trying to take flight again, but demon legs pinned them down. The creatures hulked over the two, licking their maws, their drool dripping onto the dragons. The demons panted, begging to eat.

"Not yet!" Raem said. "Now is not the time to feed."

He stepped closer and placed a hand against one of the dragons. It stared at him, pleading, teary.

"Please," the dragon spoke. "Don't hurt us. We're looking for Requiem. We've heard tales."

The other dragon, even smaller, spoke too. Her voice was the voice of a little girl. "My brother said there are other dragons in Requiem! We came here from the east." Tears rolled down her scaly cheeks. "Please, master, don't hurt us. We only came to find the others."

Raem walked back to his mount. Several weapons—spears, bows and arrows, clubs, and two more khopeshes—hung from the saddle. Raem chose a bronze-tipped spear and approached the two dragons again.

He drove the weapon down. Its bronze head crashed through the female dragon's soft scales. In death, her magic left her. She returned to human form—a young girl, no older than six or seven, a spear in her chest. Blood puddled around her, and Raem pulled back his spear.