At her side, Jeid took a step closer. He opened his pack, revealing salted deer flanks. The burly man, unrecognizable without his shaggy beard and hair, spoke in his deep voice. "We bring tribute! Salted deer. Mammoth flanks. Wild boar. The meat is fresh from today, fatty and rich. Our gift to the new masters of Requiem." Jeid's painted face twisted in a show of disgust. "The cruel dragons hunted our tribe down to only fifty souls. We welcome our Widejaw masters!"

The other Vir Requis opened their own packs, revealing their gifts. Laira's pack contained fresh boar flanks, the meat marbled and packed with salt and wild herbs.

And with a special spice, she thought. Her heart hammered. With a special ingredient these men must eat.

The sphinxes ahead released their demonic magic, returning to human form. Even as men they were beastly. Each Widejaw stood as tall and wide as Jeid. Ring mail covered their bodies, and swords and spears hung across their backs. Their heads were bald and tattooed, their earlobes stretched with rings, their eyebrows pierced with many pins, but worst of all were their cheeks—slashed open from mouth to ear, revealing all their teeth. More Widejaws approached, and soon dozens stood among the burnt birches, staring at the strangers who had come to pay tribute.

"What are you louts doing over there?" rose a deep cry. "You useless pieces of shite! Who's there? Bring 'em over."

Laira glanced over at Jeid. He stared back, eyes dark.

We will do this, she thought, staring into his eyes, trying to transmit her thoughts into his mind.

He gave her a nearly imperceptible nod. We will do this.

The Widejaw soldiers nodded and moved aside, clearing a path between them.

"Go," said the Widejaw who had first spoken to them. "Bring your meat to our king. Kneel before him. Worship him. And we will let you serve us." His eyes flicked toward Laira and lust filled them. "We will take all your gifts."

Suppressing a shudder, Laira walked through the snow between the charred trees and leering Widejaws. For the first time in many days, she stepped into the hall of Requiem.

Once this had been a place of glory and beauty. A dozen columns had risen here, carved of purest marble, white and glittering in both sunlight and starlight. Once marble tiles had spread across the forest floor, polished and reflecting the sky. Once many birches had rustled beyond the columns, and the proud Oak Throne of Requiem had risen with its back to the mountains. The Vir Requis had never completed their palace—they had not yet installed a roof nor living chambers—but what they had built had shone with light and nobility.

The place was now a hive of ruin.