Sylvara Drakenscale had searched six months for the hidden clans, and today two of their leaders were riding to meet her. She stood in a clearing at dawn, teal scales catching the light, pink frill flat along her neck. She wore the sigil of her mother's broken house. The clans had scattered after that war. Sylvara meant to gather them back under one banner, hers, before winter closed the passes. At the center of the clearing grew a tree with black bark and bright red leaves. Her mother had sworn oaths beneath it. Sylvara had chosen the spot for that reason. She had chosen dawn because neither clan trusted the other in the dark. The Fireflight riders came first. Baila Fireflight swung down from her mount before it fully stopped, red scales dulled with road dust, one hand already resting on her axe. She did not bow. "You called us out of our caves, princess. Show me it was worth the walk." Sylvara held her gaze. "Your clan lost forty warriors last spring to raiders you couldn't chase across the river. Swear to me and my banner rides with yours." Baila's tail flicked once. She said nothing, which was not a no. The second party arrived on foot and without warning. Velrith Thunderscale walked out of the treeline as if she had been there the whole morning, blue scales, purple robes, a staff tipped with pale fire. Sylvara's shoulders eased a fraction. The wizard had answered her letter. That alone was more than she had hoped for. "I traced your seal through three wards," Velrith said. "Clever work. Old work." She looked at Baila. "Fireflight. You're still loud." "You're still late," Baila said. Sylvara stepped between them before the morning went wrong. "I know where your strongholds are now. Both of you. I traded for that knowledge and I have not sold it." She let the sentence land. "I'm not asking for your caves. I'm asking for your names on one banner. Mine." Velrith studied the red-leafed tree. "Under this?" "Under this." Baila laughed once, short. "You brought us to your mother's oak. Bold." She drew her knife and drew it across her palm. Red blood beaded on red scales. She pressed her hand to the black bark. "Fireflight rides with Drakenscale. Break your word and I take it back in teeth." Velrith cut her palm with a smaller blade and set her hand beside Baila's. "Thunderscale also. Witnessed and bound." Sylvara cut her own palm and pressed it between theirs. The bark drank the blood dark. Two clans. Her banner. Official. She should have felt only victory. Instead she felt Velrith's fingers stay against hers a beat too long, and saw the wizard's yellow eyes lift to her face and stay there. Sylvara looked away first. Four clans still hid in the mountains. And now she had a second problem, closer than any of them.

The oath tree still smelled of blood when the next two riders came. Sylvara had sent letters to the four remaining clans a week after the first oaths. Only two answered. Varkoth Chaosclaw of the black scales and black armor rode in from the eastern pass. Mortaxis Deadteeth, the green undead necromancer, arrived without a horse, walking out of a mist that had not been there a moment before. Baila and Velrith stood at Sylvara's shoulders. Four clans in one clearing. Sylvara had one afternoon to bind two more. She had planned for refusal. She had not planned for what Varkoth said instead. He swung down from his saddle, looked past her at Velrith, and grinned with too many teeth. "I'll swear to your banner, princess. On one condition. Give me the wizard." Velrith went very still. Mortaxis tilted his skull toward Baila. His voice rasped like dry leaves. "Then I'll take the red one. A matched set. Fair trade for two clans." Sylvara felt Velrith's stare land on her. She remembered the wizard's fingers on her palm at the oath. She kept her face flat. "That is not mine to give." "Then ask them," Varkoth said. Baila laughed once, hard. "You want a wife, corpse? I'll break your jaw off and wear it." But she looked at Sylvara. She was waiting for the order. So was Velrith. Sylvara walked Velrith to the far side of the tree. "I won't command this," she said. "Say no and we ride out." Velrith's yellow eyes searched her face for something Sylvara refused to show. Whatever the wizard found there settled the matter. "You need four clans before winter," Velrith said. "I can manage a husband." She turned back before Sylvara could answer. Baila was harder. She spat at Mortaxis's clawed feet. Then she looked at the two clans already sworn, at the empty places where four more should stand, and dragged her hand down her face. "If he touches me wrong once, I burn his castle down with him inside it." Mortaxis bowed. "Acceptable." They did it under the red-leafed tree because Sylvara would do it nowhere else. Four cuts. Four palms on black bark. Varkoth married Velrith. Mortaxis married Baila. Then all four pressed bloody hands to the trunk and swore Chaosclaw and Deadteeth under Drakenscale. The bark drank it dark. Four clans. Two to go. Sylvara should have felt the weight lift. Instead she watched Velrith walk to Varkoth's side without looking back, and Baila stand rigid beside a thing that did not breathe, and she understood what she had just spent. She had traded two women who trusted her for two clans that did not. Whatever came next, she would answer to them for it.