With a jolt and a scrape, the Winged Ones landed, running a few steps before dumping the net and muttering complaints. Adalon stifled a grunt, then hands pulled him upright to stand with his friends. The Winged Ones unbound their legs and Adalon flexed, trying to work them back to life.
'What a ride!' Simangee said. Her eyes caught the lantern light. She hummed a few bars of a jaunty tune. She turned to the watch leader, Kikkalak, who was muttering with one of the Winged Ones who had emerged from the shadows. 'You're so lucky to be able to fly. I wish I could.'
Kikkalak narrowed her eyes. 'Quiet, A'ak. Do not try to work your magic on me.'
'The A'ak are gone,' Targesh said. 'A long time ago.'
Kikkalak took two hopping steps. 'You lie,' she hissed. 'The Great Enemy always lied to the Winged Ones.'
'It's true,' Adalon said. 'The A'ak haven't been seen in the seven kingdoms in ten thousand years.'
Kikkalak lifted her spear. 'You A'ak try to trick us.'
Adalon shook his head. 'The A'ak are gone, but the land is facing another enemy. We've come to seek your help.'
Kikkalak tilted her head to one side, disgust and anger clear on her face, then, slowly, tilted it to the other as she considered Adalon's words. Finally, she clacked her beak. 'The Flightmother will deal with you.'
Thirteen
Adalon, Simangee and Targesh were marched through the ruins at spearpoint. Torches and lanterns nestled on ledges amid the dogged growth that was reclaiming the stonework. And vegetation wasn't all that had colonised the buildings. Adalon glimpsed many scuttlings and whirrings in the shadows, while clicks, chirps and soft hoots followed their progress.
'This is A'ak work,' Simangee muttered as they passed under an archway smothered in creepers. 'This whole place.'
'Quiet,' growled Kikkalak. She poked Simangee with the butt of her spear, shepherding her and the others toward a broken staircase.
They were brought into a large, open area. By its size, Adalon guessed that it had once been a hall or an assembly chamber of some kind. It was roofless, open to a sky which glowed orange from the grumbling mountain. The walls stretched up high and ended raggedly, crowned with vines and clumps of white flowers that gave off a heady, sickly sweet perfume.
Around the perimeter of the open area, flares were lit on poles. A raised platform stood at one end, with a wooden throne in the middle. Adalon and his friends were herded toward it.
Three winged figures dropped from the night sky and landed on the dais, near the throne. Two were armed with spears, but the last was smaller and weaponless. She studied the prisoners for an instant, then she assumed her throne. The guards took position on either side.
Kikkalak thumped her spear on the stone floor.
'Hail, Flightmother!'
From the walls all around, scratchy voices echoed Kikkalak's welcome: 'Hail, Flightmother!'
Adalon stared. The walls were alive. Dozens of lanterns and torches sparked alight, accompanied by rustling and whispering, scraping and shuffling. Scores – no, hundreds – of Winged Ones were peering down at them from ledges and perches amid the plants that were overtaking the ruin. Their whispers and mutters made it sound as if a great wind had entered the hall.
'Oh,' Simangee said, her eyes reflecting the light. 'Such a wonder.'
Adalon nodded in mute agreement. The walls were covered with flickering glimmers of light. It looked as if the stars had come down to pay a visit.
With a wrench, he turned his attention back to the Flightmother.
She was old. Adalon could see grey scales around her muzzle and loose skin at her neck. Her eyes were sharp, however, as she leaned forward with interest. 'So these are the A'ak,' she said in a thin, creaky voice. 'I had always wondered what they looked like.'
An amazed whispering came from the Winged Ones perched in the niches on the walls. The Flightmother hushed the noise with a gesture.
'We are not the A'ak,' Adalon said. 'We are ordinary saur who have come to seek your help.'
'They came through the Forbidden Gate, Flightmother,' Kikkalak said. 'They must be the A'ak.'
The Flightmother waved down the watch leader. 'Careful, Kikkalak, remember the Way of the Wing: To see better, fly higher – but not so high that your head is in the clouds.'
Targesh cleared his throat. 'The Way of the Horn also has a saying: Treat strangers well, for one day you may be a stranger yourself.'
The Flightmother made a dry, coughing sound and it took Adalon a moment to realise she was laughing. 'The Way of the Horn? Is that your code, large one?'
'Aye.'
'But you've lost one of yours. What does that mean?'
Targesh lowered his head and shifted his weight before looking up again. 'We were in danger from a creature of A'ak magic. If by breaking my horn I could save my friends and redeem the honour of my kind, it was the right thing to do.' He took a deep breath. 'I used it to destroy the menace.'
Adalon felt for his friend. He had rarely heard Targesh make so long a speech.
The Flightmother stood. 'Hear this, Winged Ones, hear the youngling! Imagine if doing the right thing meant giving up one of your wings! Could you do it?'
More awed rustling greeted this as the Winged Ones peered at the strangers and shared whispers.
Kikkalak spoke up, her voice shrill. 'Fair words can hide a foul heart, Flightmother. Are not the A'ak the liars who enslaved our ancestors?'
'How could we forget?' the Flightmother said. She peered keenly at the three friends. 'The A'ak were cruel deceivers. They were masters at getting other saur to do their bidding.'
Low, angry whistles greeted this statement, the elevated watchers expressing their displeasure.
'So,' the Flightmother said. 'Perhaps you are not all A'ak. Perhaps one of you is, and has enslaved the others.'
Adalon frowned. Where was the Flightmother going with this?
The Flightmother snapped her beak. 'Done. If one of you dies, the other two will go free. Tell me which one of you is the A'ak.'
For a heartbeat, the three friends looked at each other. Then Adalon stepped forward. 'Take me, Flightmother. I am A'ak.'
Claws dug into his shoulder and Adalon stifled a yelp as he was dragged back. 'No, don't listen to him,' Simangee said as she vaulted past him. 'He's a little daft. It's me you want, not him.'
Adalon was about to protest when he felt a mighty hand on the back of his neck. Simangee jumped when a similar one took her neck and gently eased her aside. 'No,' Targesh said. 'It's me.'
Simangee stamped. 'Dolts! Don't you know what's good for you? Just be quiet and let me take care of this.'
'Flightmother,' Adalon appealed. 'They are injured, weak, brain-fevered. They don't know what they're doing. Take me.'
The Flightmother held up a hand. 'Enough, enough.' Her eyes were bright in the torchlight. 'You cannot be A'ak, none of you. The A'ak would never volunteer themselves for death.'
'They wouldn't?' Simangee said.
'No. The A'ak were utterly selfish. They cared nothing for others, only themselves.' She nodded. 'Be at peace. You all may live.'
Adalon let out a great breath. 'This was just a test?'
'Just? There was no just about it. Each of you was prepared to sacrifice yourself for your friends. That is no small thing.'
Adalon glanced at Simangee and Targesh. They all shared hesitant smiles. He felt honoured to have such staunch friends. He knew he'd do anything for them, and they for him.
The Flightmother gestured to the guards who were holding Adalon, Simangee and Targesh. 'Release them. Bring them to my perch.'
Flanked by her personal guard, the Flightmother went to the rear of the dais. The old Winged One leaped into the air and was gone, disappearing into the darkness beyond.
Once freed, the three friends were led through a tumbledown doorway and up a flight of stairs. The guards stayed close, but the Flightmother's command had changed the way they treated the prisoners. No more prodding with spear butts.
> Kikkalak brought them through a curtain of hanging leaves. Adalon looked around, then stopped still. Targesh bumped into his back. 'Careful,' Adalon said, putting out a hand to prevent Simangee bustling into the room.
Targesh grunted and took a step back.
Opposite, where once a solid wall had stood, the entire side of the room was open to a dizzying drop. The smoking mountain was close by, to the right, belching more fire. By its lurid light, Adalon could see jungle stretching out in front of them. They were high above the crowns of the tallest trees, and Adalon swallowed, putting a hand on the stone doorway, glad to feel its solidity. An iron bar had been hammered into the floor and projected out into empty space. On it was the Flightmother.
She made the dry laughing sound again. 'You don't like the view?'
'The view is a wonder,' Simangee said. 'I just don't like the idea of falling out while I'm admiring it.'
More laughter. 'We Winged Ones forget about things like that. It must be sad to be earthbound.'
'We're accustomed to it,' Adalon said. 'It reminds us that we belong to the land.'
The Flightmother hopped from her perch and came close. She peered at each of them. 'Strange as it may seem, so do we, youngling. The air is our home, our domain, but we know that everything – in the end – comes from the land and returns to it.'
Adalon bowed his head for a moment. The Flightmother's words gave him confidence. 'The land is in danger, Flightmother,' he said. 'It needs your help.'
'Ah. The A'ak have returned?'
Adalon frowned. 'No. They haven't been seen in Krangor for ten thousand years.'
'That is good.' She paused. 'They will return, you know.' The Flightmother jerked her head angrily. 'Every Flightmother has known this. We each pray that it will not happen in our own lifetime.'
'The threat, Your Majesty, comes from Thraag, one of the seven kingdoms. The Queen of Thraag wants to conquer and rule all Krangor.'
The Flightmother stared. 'She's mad. That will break the compact with the land. It will rebel.'
'She thinks she is doing it for the good of the saur. One kingdom, one ruler.'
The Flightmother was silent for a moment. Then she clacked her beak. 'Not an ignoble aim. Peace, prosperity, all saur united – '
'But at what cost?' Simangee said. 'War, blood, death for many.'
'No more bond with the land,' Targesh rumbled.
The Flightmother stalked to her perch. She hopped into the air, flapped once, then gripped the iron bar with her foot claws and looked out at the smoking mountain. 'We came here long, long ago, fleeing the A'ak.' She turned, the orange mountain light reflecting in her eyes. 'They made us, you know.'
Adalon's eyes widened. 'The A'ak made you?'
'Winged Ones existed before the A'ak, but only as dimwitted cousins of the saur. We had no hands, you see.' She stretched out her wings. Adalon could see the fiery mountain's glow through them. 'Before the A'ak, we could not grasp tools. The A'ak used their magic to change us, giving us arms and hands separate from our wings. We were meant to be their slaves, to be their magnificent soldiers of the air.'
Adalon's tail twitched as he imagined the A'ak commanding legions of Winged Ones. Combined with the fierce A'ak land armies, they would never have been defeated. 'You refused.'
'Of course. We who had tasted the freedom of the air could not submit to the rule of others. We resisted, we fought, but our young race was no match for the might of the A'ak. Some of our ancestors managed to flee and find refuge here, in the Fiery Isles.' She laughed – again the dry whistling sound. 'Strange, isn't it? We found a place the A'ak had abandoned and took it for our own. For age upon age we've lived here, our numbers growing, but always fearing that the A'ak would find us.' She paused. 'It is good to hear they are gone.'
'You never returned to Krangor?' Simangee asked.
'Never, much as we wanted to. The A'ak were everywhere on the continent. We hid, and feared their return to the Fiery Isles.' The Flightmother hissed. 'A single lesson in the Way of the A'ak was drummed into our ancestors when they were still slaves: Patience, endurance, revenge. That's all. Patience, endurance, revenge.'
Adalon shivered. He heard Simangee flute a soft, mournful sound. Targesh shook his neck shield. 'But will you help us against the Queen of Thraag?' he repeated.
The Flightmother paused again. She cocked her head to one side. 'Our traditions say that one day we will return to Krangor. When the time is right.'
A deep rumble came from the smoking mountain. Adalon felt the stone floor tremble beneath his feet. The Flightmother stretched her neck and gazed at the jets of molten rock bursting from the mountain vent. In the distance, over the sea, other mountains answered, roaring and grumbling. The sky was thick with smoke and Adalon's eyes stung.
He pointed. 'The time is right now. The land is in danger from Queen Tayesha's madness. Help it. Help us.'
'For the good of all saur,' Targesh said.
'You're needed,' Simangee said.
'It will be the innocents who suffer most,' Adalon said, 'if Queen Tayesha goes ahead with her plan to invade and conquer each of the other kingdoms. Males, females, children who have no part in the great plans of queens and generals – they will lose their homes as armies trample through. They will starve. They will be enslaved. They will die.'
'Aye,' said the Flightmother. Her wings crept around her slight body and she bowed her head.
'Come home,' Simangee urged. 'Come home to Krangor.'
The Flightmother glanced sharply at Simangee. Then she opened and closed her beak before hunching her shoulders in thought.
Adalon looked down at the landscape of ash and jungle, turned ruddy by the mountain's glow. Further away, the other five islands grumbled in the night. Adalon glanced at his friends. Targesh brooded, his brow furrowed, brawny forearms clasped together. Simangee fidgeted, her tail twitching, her gaze never still, her crest nodding to music only she could hear.
The Flightmother looked up, her face firm. 'It is not our battle. We will remain here.'
Adalon was downcast, but he understood the Flightmother. Why should the Winged Ones join them? Here, they had peace and safety. A struggle against Queen Tayesha promised nothing but pain.
But Simangee was not so resigned. 'You can't abandon Krangor!' she burst out. 'If Queen Tayesha is successful, it will mean the end for us all.'
The Flightmother was silent for a moment. 'Not for us all. The Fiery Isles do not belong to Krangor. We left Krangor behind long ago.'
'The Winged Ones left Krangor,' Targesh rumbled, 'but did they leave it all behind?'
The Flightmother clacked her beak twice and stared at Targesh, first with one eye and then with the other. 'We are exiles,' she said slowly. 'We were driven from our home by the A'ak, but we have found a new home here. We have forgotten Krangor.' She crossed her arms on her chest and looked out over the ash-strewn land in front of them. The smoking mountain groaned and a thin arc of molten rock plumed from the highest vent.
'Krangor hasn't forgotten you,' Simangee said. 'The Missing Kin, you are called. You are in our songs and stories. Our little ones hear of you and wonder where you are, where you've gone.'
'Tcha!' the Flightmother said. 'Stories for little ones? What are stories worth? We tell our little ones stories, too, about what the A'ak did to us.'
'You tell these stories so your people won't forget,' Adalon said.
'We will never forget what they did to us,' the Flightmother snapped.
'Just as you must never forget where you came from,' Adalon said.
'Krangor,' the Flightmother whispered. 'The land.'
'Help us,' Adalon urged. 'Help us and return to your ancestral home.'
'Yes,' the Flightmother said. She straightened. 'The Winged Ones will come home.'
Fourteen
To spare the three friends the laborious undersea journey, the Winged Ones used their nets to fly Adalon, Simangee and Targesh to the mainland. Without being trussed and bound, Ada
lon found he was able to enjoy the moonlit flight. The light on the waves made them look as if they were brushed with silver. The clouds overhead scudded across the sky like playful beasts. The horizon rolled back as they climbed and the world expanded, growing immeasurably vast in all directions. He began to understand the joy the Winged Ones felt when they soared across the sky.
They were brought to where they had left their magical riding beasts. Kikkalak inspected the brass steeds with interest before bidding the three friends farewell, promising to return in the morning. Yawning and weary after a long day, Adalon waved to the Winged Ones as they glided over the waves, back toward the smoking mountain that sheltered their home.
The next morning, after a short sleep, Adalon opened his eyes to find they were surrounded.
In the bright morning sun, he rolled to his feet and stared. The Flightmother stood with a host of armed soldiers, polished and preened, leather-armoured, carrying spears and bows. They looked solemn and determined.
The Flightmother smiled at Adalon. 'So, this is Krangor,' she said. She lifted her unshod feet up and then dug into the sandy soil. 'The Winged Ones are home again.'
'Krangor welcomes you,' Simangee said. She bowed grandly. 'And so do we.'
'We've promised to aid you,' the Flightmother said. 'Where should we meet?'
'Meet us at Sleeto,' Adalon said. 'The Thraag Army must pass through it on their way to invade Callibeen. It's the best place to stop them.'
'Here,' Simangee said, thrusting a map in front of the aged Winged One. 'It's the sole pass through the Skyhorn Ranges.'
The Flightmother glanced at the map and nodded. 'We can find it. Winged Ones are good at finding their way.' She gazed at the lush jungle that surrounded them. 'This is a pleasant land. I'm glad we're helping to save it.'
Simangee nudged Adalon and gestured. Standing toward the rear of the warriors were a number of saur who were clearly not Winged Ones.
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