Tied to the stake, the young man gazed at him, face sooty, eyes wide.

Another Vir Requis, Jeid thought, eyes stinging. His breath shook. We are not alone.

"I will free you," Jeid said, voice a low rumble. "There is a safe place for you. A place for dragons. A tribe called Requiem." His voice choked. "You have a home."

He stretched out his claws, ready to severe the prisoner's ropes.

The young man moved so quickly Jeid barely saw it. His expression changing to hatred, the prisoner brought his hands forward, letting his ropes fall. He held a bow and arrow.

Before Jeid could retreat, the arrow flew.

The bronze arrowhead drove into Jeid's neck.

The dragon howled. He sucked in air, prepared to blow fire.

Around the square, a dozen men leaped up from behind barrels, a well, and bales of hay. They too held bows and arrows. They too fired.

The projectiles slammed into Jeid. Some shattered against his scales. Others pierced his soft underbelly.

The pain drove through him, burning through his bloodstream. He felt poison flow, dragging him down, pulling him into blackness. Ilbane covered these arrowheads, the juice of crushed leaves grown in the northern hills. Harmless to most, the sap was poisonous to dragons, stiffening muscles, blazing through veins, turning bones heavy as rocks. Jeid tried to beat his wings, but they wouldn't move. He tried to blow fire, but only sparks left his mouth.

He turned his head, lashing his claws, trying to cut the men. And there he saw her—Ciana, the young woman who had found him on the hill. Her tears were gone. She smiled crookedly and raised a bow.

Finally Jeid recognized her.

You were friends with my son. He gazed at her with blurred eyes. Years ago. You were only a youth . . .

Her arrow drove into Jeid's chest.

He fell, cracking stones beneath him.

"Kill the beast!" Ciana shouted, face twisted with rage. "Slay him!"

Jeid's eyelids fluttered. His wings beat uselessly against the ground, unable to support his weight. The poison held him down like chains.

I will fly to you now, Requiem, he thought, seeing his daughter's face. We will fly together again.

Through the mists of pain, he saw Ciana walk toward him, drawing back another arrow, this one aimed at his eye. But then she faded, and he only saw Requiem, his dear daughter, angelic and pure . . . writhing in pain. Poisoned. Dying.

No. I cannot die too.

His eyes burned.

His daughter laughed.

I must live for you, Requiem—for Requiem, the daughter I lost; for Requiem, the tribe I must build.

As Ciana laughed, nocking another arrow, Jeid managed to lift his head.

He blasted his fire.

The flames roared across Ciana, crashed past her, and slammed into the pyre where the false prisoner still stood. With a blast that pounded in Jeid's ears, the pyre burst into flame. Men screamed and ran, burning, living torches.

The fire raced toward Jeid.