He sat on the mountainside, looking south toward the hills, swaying grasslands, and misty mountains. The sun was setting, shadows and light spread across the land, and distant sheets of rain fell like curtains of gossamer. Somewhere over that southern horizon, the demon army was advancing, sniffing them out. Raem's scout had seen them; the full wrath of his host would soon swarm over Two Skull Mountain. Yet despite the fear of that southern, shadowy wilderness, Jeid preferred gazing at it than at the mountainside around him. Upon the stony slopes, the tribes of Goldtusk and Leatherwing were preparing for a wedding—a celebration that to Jeid felt more like a funeral.

He sighed and spared the wedding preparations one more glance. To his left side, the Goldtusk tribe had raised a tent upon the mountainside. Warriors guarded it, clad in the bronze breastplates Raem had given them under Zerra's rule. Laira was inside that tent now with the tribe's elder women; they would be painting her face, combing her hair, cladding her in finery, and preparing her body for her wedding night. Behind the tent rose the tribe totem pole, the gilded ivory tusk gleaming upon its crest—the god Ka'altei forever overlooking his people. The rocs of Goldtusk perched upon boulders and aeries across the mountain, staring south, and upon them sat the tribe hunters, weapons in their hands. It was a wedding, and it was a preparation for war—Jeid didn't know which coming event he feared the most.

He turned toward his right side. Here the Leatherwing tribe too prepared for both wedding and war. Chieftain Oritan stood among his people, dressed in a tiger pelt. One by one, his people approached to draw a line in white paint across his chest—a show of respect and servitude. A golden vessel lay at Oritan's feet, and every tribesman placed a gift within it—a seashell from far in the south, a metal bracelet, or simply a piece of fruit. Behind, high upon the mountain, perched the great pteros of the tribe, beasts as large as rocs, waiting for the demons to arrive.

A voice spoke behind him, high and soft. "Do not worry about her. Laira is strong. She does what she thinks is right for Requiem."

Jeid turned around. Behind him upon the mountainside sat his own people, the Vir Requis. All of Requiem, this so-called kingdom he had forged, was smaller than either tribe. Only twenty people followed him—a handful of elders, children, and young men and women. Barely a tribe, yet they were his people, and looking upon them soothed Jeid's heart and filled him with pride.

It was Bryn who had spoken, one of those Dorvin had led to Requiem. A young woman of fiery orange hair, she gazed upon him with brown eyes. Freckles covered her face, as plentiful as dandelions upon a spring field. She wore deerskin breeches, a gray-blue tunic, and a leather belt.