PROLOGUE. SHADOWS

Beams of light fell through the trees, creating shadows that flecked the thick, moist undergrowth. Hidden in a patch of those shadows, a fortress was under construction. Many woodbirds had been captured and pinioned for this, and they worked wordlessly, carrying stones, clay, and sticks day after day. Usually a coal black crow could be found strutting among them. Whenever possible, he would spring on an unsuspecting victim with curses, yells, and a sound lashing. He was Bug-eye, the driver of the slavebirds, who carried a black leather whip the color of his feathers.

Through one sly golden eye, a red-brown hawk in dark robes observed the construction of his fortress. His name was Turnatt. Large for his kind, he towered over his captain and soldiers. With sharp claws for battling, a loud, commanding voice, and foul breath, he was a bird to be feared.

His nasty habit of tapping an eye patch over his left eye while glaring with his right made the other birds shiver.

Turnatt had raided countless nests, camps, and homes, capturing woodbirds as slaves and bringing them to this secret, gloomy corner. Now the time had finally come: the building of Fortress Glooming. Sitting on a temporary throne, the hawk let thoughts of evil pleasure pass through his mind. As Turnatt watched the thin, helpless slavebirds’ every movement, he tore into a roasted fish so messily that juices ran down his beak.

Slime-beak, Turnatt’s captain, was hopping about, glancing at the trees bordering the half-built fortress. He dreaded Turnatt, for he worried about being made into a scapegoat.

Displeased, Turnatt stared down his beak at his nervous captain, his bright eye burning a hole into the bothersome crow’s face.

“Stop hopping, Slimey-you’re getting on my nerves. I’ll demote you if you keep on doing that.” A fish scale hung from the edge of Turnatt’s beak.

Slime-beak shivered like a leaf, partly because of fear and partly because of the hawk’s bad breath.

“Y-yes, milord. But it has been three days since Flea-screech and the soldiers went to look for new slaves. They still haven’t returned!”

The hawk lord guffawed. The tail of the roasted fish fell from his beak and disappeared down the collar of his robe.

“Fool, who has ever heard of little woodbirds killing a crow? If you don’t stop with that nonsense, I’ll send you to get slaves! Now go and check the progress on my fortress. Then come back and report your news!” Turnatt waved the long, embroidered sleeve of his robe at the captain.

Slime-beak thought himself lucky that the hawk was in a good mood. Knowing Turnatt was fickle, Slime-beak dashed away.

Seeing the crow scurry off, dizzy and awkward, Turnatt tapped his covered eye in satisfaction. He chuckled, his glossy feathers shaking. His fierce yellow eye narrowed wickedly, becoming a slit. He was Lord Turnatt-the Evil, the Conqueror, the Slayer, and the Tyrant of soon-to-be Glooming. He thought about torturing woodbirds, killing others that got in his way. Nobird-nobird-could stop the mighty Turnatt. It would be as he had dreamed for seasons. He would rule the entire forest, with millions of slavebirds to bow down before him. Turnatt tilted his head back and let out a bloodcurdling screech that echoed throughout the forest. Slime-beak and the soldiers followed suit, their loud chants drowning out every other sound.

“Long live Lord Turnatt, long live the Tyrant of Fortress Glooming, long live the lord!”

Over the shouts, the sun rose above the treetops.