Glipper soon reached the hut. He and Miltin first helped the old and weak birds fly up to the hut roof. After everybird was safe, they made sure that no signs were left on the ground. The flycatcher and the robin were the last to fly up.
“It’s time,” Glipper said in a hushed tone to Tilosses. He, along with Miltin and the vireo brothers, crept to the edge of the roof and jumped noiselessly to the ground. They tipclawed nearer, nearer to the gate. There were two guards. One of them was half dozing; the other had covered his eyes with his cap.
Miltin gestured left and right with his claw. “Glipper, attack Crooked-shoulder with me. You two can get Large-cap. Remember, silent as shadows, and stifle them with the rags!”
The other three nodded and vanished to their places, waiting for the right moment.
Miltin burst out of the darkness and threw his weight on Crooked-shoulder. The crow had the wind whacked out of him, so he uttered no more than a gasp. Glipper came close behind and stuffed a smelly old rag down his throat just as Miltin gave him a kick that knocked him cold.
Meanwhile, one of the vireo brothers slipped up and punched Large-cap in the face, followed by a blow to the stomach by the other brother. The guard collapsed to the ground without a sound.
The four signaled the rest of the slavebirds to follow. The others slid down the roof as quietly as possible and flew over the gate in twos and threes.
Soon the slavebirds were outside Fortress Glooming.
The slavebirds went north, remaining in the shadows. Nobird looked back to the nightmarish Fortress Glooming, not even once.
Blood pounded in Miltin’s ears. Freedom is near, he thought with a burst of excitement.
The faint moonlight shone on the slavebirds, kindly guiding them. Shadows were friends, greeting them, hiding them.
After a while a few birds gathered their courage to speak.
“How far is it now?” Glipper asked Miltin.
“Not very far, I suppose,” came the hushed reply. The dreamy smell of rich earth mixed with pine needles greeted the birds’ nostrils as the midnight breeze softly blew.
Crickets sang softly somewhere far off. “Free, free, free…” they seemed to chirp. The heartbeats of the slavebirds thumped along to the rhythm of the cricket calls.
Free, free, free…
“Stop!” Miltin suddenly hissed to the rest of the slavebirds behind him. They stumbled to a halt. “Somebird’s coming this way!”
The slavebirds all froze in fright. Only their eyes moved. Yes, in the distance there were sounds of wings against the wind and claws crunching on leaves. They came closer.
“Don’t move. It must be Slime-beak and his soldiers!” Glipper whispered. The slavebirds crouched stock-still, all hoping that the bushes and shadows were thick enough to hide them. No one dared to draw a breath, and all feared that the crows and ravens could hear the wild thumping of their hearts.
Nearer the crows and ravens came. Flickers of light indicated the torches that some soldiers held. The slavebirds could almost see the malicious eyes of the foul bunch glittering in the darkness. The first few crows and ravens brushed by, followed by another, and another. More flew overhead. Almost every one of them had a sharp spear. The smell of beans came from them, mixed with the stench of blood and burned feathers. Though there were about thirty crows and ravens, to the slavebirds it seemed as if the line were endless. It seemed like an eternity before the last of the regiment-a bony, mean-looking raven with a knife in his claw-passed by.
Miltin sighed in relief. The danger was over.
Tilosses coughed and quickly pressed his beak against his chest feathers to muffle the sound. But it was too late. The scrawny raven spun around, throwing his knife at the noise. The long blade whirled as it sliced through the air, moonlight gleaming on it. It struck the bark of the tree that Tilosses was leaning on, barely an inch from the old bird’s throat. Not a single slavebird moved.
Narrowing his eyes as he scanned the darkness, the raven quietly walked toward Tilosses. His clawsteps were the only sounds in the night.
He stopped right before the bush that concealed Glipper. Glipper crouched lower and pressed his head to the ground. The other slavebirds were horror-stricken. Yet they could do nothing. The raven looked right and left.
Miltin was hiding in the shadow of an elm tree only a few clawsteps away. He picked up a round stone without making any sound and stood up very carefully. Everything was silent and still. All of a sudden he threw the stone as far as he could and then ducked down.
The thump of the stone on crisp leaves drew the raven’s attention. He turned sharply and rushed toward the stone, which was a safe distance from the slavebirds. He found nothing, of course.
The raven growled to himself, taking a last look at the trees and shadows where the slavebirds were hiding. Then he jogged off to catch up with the rest of Slime-beak’s regiment. His figure soon became a tiny speck in the distance.
Slime-beak and his battered troops finally arrived at the gate of Fortress Glooming. It wasn’t a pretty sight, half the soldiers hopping, walking, or running and the other half flying. The captain knew he would be in deep trouble. When he had set out to battle, he’d had about fifty soldiers in all. When he retreated, there was only a sad number of thirty or so.
Normally Slime-beak would fly over the tall gate, but because his wings were sticky with bean soup, he had to call the guards at the other side of the gate. “You, in there! Open up!” Slime-beak called. No response. “Guards! No sleeping. You hear?”
Sensing that something was wrong, the captain sent a raven to check on the guards. Moments later, the raven croaked, “The guards are tied up and unconscious.”
“They-slavebirds!” The words caught in the captain’s throat. He dashed away to check the slave compound.
Slime-beak rushed into the musty, reeking place and tripped over something soft near the entrance. It was the body of the compound guard. Horrified, he stood up and looked around. There seemed to be lumps and bird-shaped shadows, but something was not quite right. It was quiet. Too quiet.
“Come on, sleepyheads! Get up and follow me!” There were no replies, only echoes. Slime-beak tore the sheet from a slavebird’s bed, uncovering a reed-made dummy. He howled with rage. Bug-eye, the slave driver, was nowhere around.
“Soldiers!” Slime-beak ordered. “Use your skills now, and find those slavebirds! If you don’t catch them, I’ll use your hides to make shoes! Come on! Look! You miserable bunch of featherballs!”
The soldiers rushed out in different directions, investigating shadows and listening for noises.
Slime-beak quickly scrubbed and dried his wings. Then he led a squad and flew some distance before landing and investigating. One of his crows squinted at some moving shapes not far off. “What are those?” another soldier asked, holding a lantern in his claw.
Seeing the shapes moving rapidly away, Slime-beak charged at them. “Quick! Get the escaping slavebirds!”
When Glipper heard the crashes and the yells of the pursuing soldiers, he made a quick decision.
“I’ll be the rear guard,” Glipper said to Miltin. “You lead. No ifs and buts. Go! Hiding means nothing now!”
The slavebirds flew as fast as they could. Arrows whistled by their ears. A few unfortunate birds were hit and fell to the ground.