Laira stumbled to the grass, free from the boulder for the first time in days. She was so weak and dizzy she fell to her knees. The battle raged before her. More druids fell. Laira ground her teeth, clenched her fists, and shifted.

Wings thudded out of her back, and she rose with a roar, a golden dragon. She blew her fire.

The flames washed over the sphinxes like waves over seaside boulders.

Maev rose at her side, a green dragon, blasting out her dragonfire.

The inferno filled the valley like flames in a forge. The sphinxes shrieked as they burned. They fell and writhed in the grass. In their agony, their magic left them. They returned to human form—tattooed Widejaw warriors, their cheeks cut open.

Growling, Maev walked between the fallen warriors, driving down her claws, tearing through them. One man tried to flee; the green dragon pounced upon him, grabbed him between her jaws, and ripped him apart. The blood filled her mouth and leaked between her teeth.

Still in dragon form, Laira walked across the grass, beating her wings to part the smoke. One Widejaw was still alive. He lay on the ground in human form, coughing weakly. Burns covered his body. He struggled to his feet and began to shift.

Laira leaped, shoved him down, and knocked the magic out of him. She pressed her claws against the man's chest, pinning him against the grass.

"Try to shift," Laira hissed, "and I'll tear your throat out. That's it. Lie there. Nice and still and you'll live."

Maev came walking forward, still a dragon. Bits of flesh dangled between her teeth, and smoke wafted from her nostrils.

"Gut him," the green dragon said. "Let him die slowly."

Laira shook her head. Her scales chinked. "This one will live." Still pinning the man down, she looked over her shoulder. "Auberon, bring your goblet! Bring the elixir."

The druid was staring at her, face smeared with ash, robes covered in blood. Around him stood several other druids in the mist, and at their feet lay their dead.

"Bring me the drink," Laira repeated, blasting smoke from her mouth. "Auberon, I am not your enemy. Dragons saved your life today. Bring me the elixir, and let this man drink." She smiled wryly. "We'll see if it cures sphinxes."

Auberon stepped forward, silent and hesitant. His face remained blank but his eyes were a storm; in them, Laira saw herself reflected, a golden dragon, a creature the druid had always thought a monster. But he obeyed her. He held the elixir over the Widejaw's mouth. At first the man resisted, trying to spit it out, but his split cheeks—a deformity meant to frighten his enemies—were now his bane. Auberon was able to tug the split cheek open and spill in the green liquid.

The Widejaw sputtered, convulsed, and then screamed. He howled and kicked the air.