They flew from within the skulls—from the eye sockets, the nostrils, the mouths—like bats from a cave. Yet unlike bats, these creatures were as large as rocs, and bloodlust burned in their white eyes. Their wings spread out, formed of translucent skin that stretched from their ankles to the tips of their elongated, clawed fingers. Their long jaws opened to shriek. A single horn grew from each beast's head, crimson like old blood. Upon their backs rode the warriors of Leatherwing. Men and women rode bare-chested, their skin painted white and red. Many rings pierced their lips, noses, and ears. Copper disks filled their earlobes, stretching them to thrice the usual size. Each warrior bore axes, spears, and bows and arrows. They stood in their stirrups, shouting out lilting battle cries.

"Halt!" Laira shouted. "Hear me, Leatherwing. I am Laira, Chieftain of Goldtusk! I fly in peace."

The pteros swooped and arrows flew from their hunters.

Laira cursed. Around her, warriors of Goldtusk nocked their own arrows. Projectiles flew both ways. Laira spun her roc toward her warriors.

"Goldtusk, back! Fly to the foothills. Go!" She turned toward the dragons. "Requiem! To the foothills! Fly now. Fly before blood spills."

The warriors of Goldtusk sneered, tugging back bowstrings. For a few heartbeats, the battle froze, each side watching the other.

"Go!" Laira shouted to her warriors. "This is not a retreat. Wait for me in the valley. Dragons of Requiem! Go with them. I've come here to parley, not shed blood."

Some of her Goldtusk hunters grumbled. A few spat and cursed. They were a proud folk, and they loved bloodshed like they loved drinking ale, bedding women, and feasting on mammoth flesh. But their wives and children flew upon their rocs today, and perhaps the hunters still loved their families more than any glory in war. They obeyed Laira, leaving the mountaintop and heading down to the foothills. The pteros' riders watched their old enemy leave, jeering and waving their spears. They cried out in prayer to Two Skulls, their god of stone.

The dragons of Requiem followed the rocs—all but Jeid. The copper dragon hovered beside Laira and her roc, smoke rising from between his teeth.

"I stay with you," he said.

She nodded, relieved. "Stay."

Laira turned back toward the pteros. The flying reptiles were circling in the sky, cawing and snapping their long mouths. Their wings beat the air, churning clouds. Upon their backs, their riders glared at Laira and Jeid, their arrows still nocked.

What must we look like to them! Laira thought. A scrawny girl upon a roc and a clanking dragon. I doubt an odder pair ever flew here.

"Where is Chieftain Oritan!" she shouted. "Let two chieftains meet in parley."