a hero come?” the old king asked.
“Your Highness, I will go out to find him!” Ozzan the toucan blacksmith said. “I have seen scores of years, and my life’ work was the hero’s sword. It is my wish to see it wielded by the right bird, so I will go out into the mortal world and find this hero.
“But Ozzan, it is dangerous for you.” Pepheroh reached out a claw to place a magical protection, but the toucan stopped him.
“This decision is my own, my good king,” he said, and flexed a claw to prove his strength. Under the worn, wrinkled skin there were still muscles from his younger days. “I will take a badge to remind me of my home and of you. I will see to it that a worthy bird comes.”
There was a pause, and they could hear the wind blowing the sand around them. The toucan’s blue-lidded eyes were shining.
“Very well, Ozzan. You may go.”
Who loses and who gains is settled within a flap of the wings.
FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE
Hungrias II, the Ancient Wing, emperor of the archaeopteryxes, sprawled like a huge spider on his whalebone perch. He was staring out of a rounded window at the forests of Castlewood, but his eyes reflected the world. “Secrets. Delicious!” he declared, his bloated face squished into furrows. “No secrets can sneak past my mighty empire’s eyes and ears. Yes, go on!” Down the great golden hall of the Sun Palace, the rows of plumes on the leather headgear of his knights all dipped forward as the subjects leaned in to listen. Across from them, his scholars swished their sleeves.
“The lowly birds in your territories are starting to whisper about rare gemstones. Leasorn gems, they’re called,” the head of the scholars said. “They have strange markings on them. It is said they come from the sky and have something to do with a hero. One in particular, our sources reveal, seems to hint at when the hero will come – sometime in three years.” The members of the court gasped. The scholar spread the claws of one foot wide in wonderment, then closed them abruptly. He pointed at a ragamuffin twitching beside him. “I have found a witness, Your Majesty!”
“Speak.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” the young archaeopteryx said. “I chanced to see that particular stone during my morning foraging. ‘Thank the Great Spirit the gem is here,’ one of the birds around it was saying, so I knew something was peculiar. I hid and watched…”
Magical stones from the sky! thought the emperor, his gaze sweeping across the sunset painted on the arched ceiling.
“Colour! Location! Tribe!” Hungrias’s eyes glittered as if two gemstones were already in his pupils. “Speak up!”
“Beautifully orange it was, Your Majesty. It’s about a couple of dozen miles south of your Plains territory, with a band of doves living near a river.”
Sounds like something for me. Hero, the wise bird said? Well, I’ll show how archaeopteryxes can crush all heroes! “I must have this treasure.” Drumming his sausagelike talons, Hungrias straightened on his jewelled perch and barked, “Sir Maldeor!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The head of the knights stepped forward on the carpet and bowed.
“Take some elite soldiers and find this gem for me.”
Before the knight could reply, the curtains behind Hungrias’s throne trembled and a fat feathered ball waddled up to the emperor. “Me too!” Prince Phaëthon cried, his beak full. In his claws he held a blueberry muffin. “I shall go along. I must!”
“You’re young. Battles are not for you.”
“I must! I want to learn how to fight. Please, Father!” the prince begged, crumbs on his beak.
Hungrias’s tiny eyes flitted shut. Then he huffed and said, “Sir Maldeor, I entrust my son to you.”
Phaëthon grinned with green-tinged teeth.
Good grief, thought the knight. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he managed to say.
The next day, Sir Maldeor, Prince Phaëthon and thirty soldiers journeyed to the dove tribe.
Easy picking, Maldeor thought when they arrived. The squat, knobbly olive trees where the tribe lived did not seem to present a threat, but because of the prince, precautions had to be taken. “Stay behind the first line,” Maldeor whispered.
“Why? I hate that!” shouted the prince, surprising a dove named Irene coming back from a morning flight. She rushed towards her tribe, shouting, “Archaeopteryxes! They’re coming, they’re coming!”
Surprise plan foiled! Maldeor spat in disgust and flipped his long tail to signal the charge. As if that weren’t enough, as the soft fluttering wings of the defending doves obscured the olive trees beyond, Phaëthon whined in the knight’s ear, “Can I find the gem?”
“No, Prince. Not now.”
Why did the prince want to come in the first place? I can’t be a nursemaid and a knight at the same time, Maldeor thought as he muttered plans to a group of his soldiers. With a nod, they formed into a tight ball prickling with spears and flew directly at the bigges olive tree. An old dove was frantically burying the gemstone in a hollow of the tree. Beside him stood Irene, the bird who had forewarned their tribe.
The knight aimed for the Leasorn gem, but the old dove jumped and kicked Maldeor’s face with his pink claws. Maldeor bit one toe and hung on. The old dove tried to beat Maldeor off, but he was too small to have much chance. One of Maldeor’s soldiers swung a club.
“Flee, my daughter!” the old dove gasped, and died.
“No!” Irene shrieked. Sobbing, she tensed her neck and, with a mighty flap of her wings, dived at Maldeor’s claws, which now held the gemstone. Maldeor whooped in pain. The stone sailed out of his grip, out of the olive tree, and landed a way off, in a sandy ditch. With grunts and Yahh!s, the birds propelled themselves madly towards it. Maldeor forgot the dove and scrambled to see. He sighed in relief when he saw that an archaeopteryx reached the gem first. “Yes!”
But it was none other than the prince. Turning in the direction of Maldeor, he lifted the gem up in the air. “I have found the gem!” Phaëthon pronounced, gloating.
You little bother! Maldeor grumbled angrily to himself and gripped his sword tighter. He gave a curt order to his soldiers to kill all the doves they could find. The foolish birds would have to pay for their defiance of the emperor – and Maldeor would have to go and get the prince. If only he hadn’t agreed to bring the brat here. As if in answer to his hidden wishes, a dark shadow suddenly loomed from the grove of birches behind the prince.
Now, this was no dove or archaeopteryx. It was the last of the long-lived flying creatures who had four wings. This intelligent creature, neither reptile nor bird, had blundered along in the darkness of the bracken for years and years and years, revealing himself to his contemporary cousins only when necessity called. Lizard eyes staring, he scanned the battleground he had just come across and focused on a young, tender specimen. A bigger bite than the doves he thought. The evil cogwheels in his ancient brain whirled as he calculated.
He sprang into the sunlight, unfurling four wings. For trembling seconds the dinosaur eclipsed the sun, then, lifting its leathery lips, bore down on the fat young prince.
The mouth opened, in went the front half of the prince, and the mouth closed. The prince’s muffled squeals came echoing out of the creature’s nostrils. Six times the size of an archaeopteryx, the monster jerked its neck, trying to swallow.
“Prince, Prince!” Sir