far side of the mists, raven cries tore the dawn.
The Taloness cried out first— Kill and devour! The Silver Prince echoed her. The sails of the ravens’ ships were furled, and the birds stood in rows, claw by claw, tail by tail, beak by beak, lined on the riggings and on the decks. Every clan and every tribe of ravens had rallied to the demand of the Taloness and the name of the Silver Prince, and each of the High Ravens, the heads of clans and captains of ships, had sharpened and silvered their talons.
The Taloness tipped her head left, right. They must find the tree-rat leaders and kill them, find their young, eat them. They would prefer to eat carrion, but if they must do the killing themselves, so be it.
With her brother dead and the prince unable to make plans for himself, all depended on her. She had done well to rally and lead the ravens, and she bristled her neck feathers in confidence. She considered whether to keep this island, but wreck and ruin would be more satisfying. She could lay it waste and leave it so that no creature again would ever talk of Mistmantle, the little secret island, the enchanted land in the mists. It would be Mistmantle of Destruction, Mistmantle of the Slaughter. There would be battles first, but when victory was won, the ravens would feast. The revenge of the Taloness and the Silver Prince on Mistmantle would be known by the world. The tree-rat they called king, the one who had killed the Archraven, would be forced to his knees before her. Stretching her wings and screeching out her battle cry, she soared over the mists.
Corr looked out from Fingal’s chamber by the Spring Gate. He had been taken there to rest and get warm, but the constant calling out of orders and running of paws sent him padding to the door to see what was going on.
He wasn’t a tower animal. He didn’t know anything about bows, arrows, or swords, and he certainly wasn’t running to safety with the little ones. There must be something he could do. All I can do is swim, he thought. What could he do by swimming?
He had swum beneath the raven boats before, so he could do it again. To do them any damage he’d need a sword, but he didn’t know where to find one, so, after getting lost once or twice, he found the kitchens and chose a large, sharp knife from the racks on the wall. There was already an empty place next to it. Somebody else must have had the same idea. With a kitchen knife, he could do considerable damage to a ship.
Juniper had lit every single candle in the chamber, and they glowed, a soft and pale gold light, on ledges, on the floor, on tables. He had spent the night in prayer, sometimes alone, sometimes with the animals who came to him. Now he held Brother Fir’s paw in his, sharing the voiceless prayers of the old priest, knowing that a strong spirit still glowed in the feeble body. It was as if something in the surrounding presence of the ravens came thickly, darkly, between himself and the sun. Swords and arrows could only do so much. There was a terrible evil in the hearts of these ravens, and only the Heart could overpower it.
On the battlements with archers and warriors, Crispin watched the great black birds sweep like screaming specters from the mists. They’re only birds. It’s only a noise. He held out his sword, ready to give the signal to the archers.
Not yet. Not close enough. Not yet… not yet…
NOW! With a high singing, arrows poured into the sky.
As the first rank of ravens spun from the sky around the tower, Urchin pressed his hind paws into the dunes above Curlingshell Bay and put both front paws to his sword. Crispin had sent archers and a small fighting band, as well as Heath of the Circle. Every animal stood close to the tunnel that would give the best cover from striking beaks.
Wide-winged ravens thronged the sky and filled the air with screaming. Urchin had learned to control his breathing and his thinking, but the racing of his heart was something he could do
The Taloness cried out first— Kill and devour! The Silver Prince echoed her. The sails of the ravens’ ships were furled, and the birds stood in rows, claw by claw, tail by tail, beak by beak, lined on the riggings and on the decks. Every clan and every tribe of ravens had rallied to the demand of the Taloness and the name of the Silver Prince, and each of the High Ravens, the heads of clans and captains of ships, had sharpened and silvered their talons.
The Taloness tipped her head left, right. They must find the tree-rat leaders and kill them, find their young, eat them. They would prefer to eat carrion, but if they must do the killing themselves, so be it.
With her brother dead and the prince unable to make plans for himself, all depended on her. She had done well to rally and lead the ravens, and she bristled her neck feathers in confidence. She considered whether to keep this island, but wreck and ruin would be more satisfying. She could lay it waste and leave it so that no creature again would ever talk of Mistmantle, the little secret island, the enchanted land in the mists. It would be Mistmantle of Destruction, Mistmantle of the Slaughter. There would be battles first, but when victory was won, the ravens would feast. The revenge of the Taloness and the Silver Prince on Mistmantle would be known by the world. The tree-rat they called king, the one who had killed the Archraven, would be forced to his knees before her. Stretching her wings and screeching out her battle cry, she soared over the mists.
Corr looked out from Fingal’s chamber by the Spring Gate. He had been taken there to rest and get warm, but the constant calling out of orders and running of paws sent him padding to the door to see what was going on.
He wasn’t a tower animal. He didn’t know anything about bows, arrows, or swords, and he certainly wasn’t running to safety with the little ones. There must be something he could do. All I can do is swim, he thought. What could he do by swimming?
He had swum beneath the raven boats before, so he could do it again. To do them any damage he’d need a sword, but he didn’t know where to find one, so, after getting lost once or twice, he found the kitchens and chose a large, sharp knife from the racks on the wall. There was already an empty place next to it. Somebody else must have had the same idea. With a kitchen knife, he could do considerable damage to a ship.
Juniper had lit every single candle in the chamber, and they glowed, a soft and pale gold light, on ledges, on the floor, on tables. He had spent the night in prayer, sometimes alone, sometimes with the animals who came to him. Now he held Brother Fir’s paw in his, sharing the voiceless prayers of the old priest, knowing that a strong spirit still glowed in the feeble body. It was as if something in the surrounding presence of the ravens came thickly, darkly, between himself and the sun. Swords and arrows could only do so much. There was a terrible evil in the hearts of these ravens, and only the Heart could overpower it.
On the battlements with archers and warriors, Crispin watched the great black birds sweep like screaming specters from the mists. They’re only birds. It’s only a noise. He held out his sword, ready to give the signal to the archers.
Not yet. Not close enough. Not yet… not yet…
NOW! With a high singing, arrows poured into the sky.
As the first rank of ravens spun from the sky around the tower, Urchin pressed his hind paws into the dunes above Curlingshell Bay and put both front paws to his sword. Crispin had sent archers and a small fighting band, as well as Heath of the Circle. Every animal stood close to the tunnel that would give the best cover from striking beaks.
Wide-winged ravens thronged the sky and filled the air with screaming. Urchin had learned to control his breathing and his thinking, but the racing of his heart was something he could do
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