Sword Quest. Nancy Fan Yi

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       Who loses and who gains is settled within a flap of the wings.

      FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE

       1 LOSS

      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 СКАЧАТЬ