Troyte flapped lopsidedly, making his way across the sky sure enough, but in a rather skewed and halting manner. The leather harness around his body was very restricting, and he had nearly crashed and dislocated his own wing trying to dispute its placement. HeÕd clearly lost that battle, though, and there he was, harnessed. Troyte also thought that the thing looked positively stupid, and still clinging to his battered pride the hawk did his best to protest by impairing his flight as much as possible without crashing, which nevertheless almost happened several times. He got worse than a drop, though, and more regularly. The weasel, armed with a whip and sitting on TroyteÕs harness did not make the experience any easier for the big hawk.
Nadal led the formation from TroyteÕs back, with other hordebeasts similarly mounted and following behind. The ravens passed through the air steadily, as if broken to their task.
Holdsclaw approached Troyte with a derogatory klack of his beak. ÒKrahh! You canÕt fly like that, not like that if you want to keep out of pain! Rrak! I know better!Ó
Troyte glared back. ÒSo you held my job first, eh?Ó The intonation on ÒjobÓ was very sour. ÒAnd you were proud? You can have it back!Ó
Troyte suddenly screeched as Nadal jabbed the handle of his whip between the hawkÕs wings. ÒThe only way youÕre getting out of this is if you die, bird!Ó Nadal snarled down at his wayward transportation.
Casting a defiant glance at Nadal, Troyte opened his beak to speak, but his expression changed before any words came out. ÒWell, I donÕt really want to die...Ó he stated honestly.
ÒGood. Then you can keep going.Ó Nadal jabbed Troyte with the whip handle again.
The hawk flew on dejectedly, flanked by jeering ravens. The course was unpredictable and errant, governed by the directions in which Nadal cracked his whip.
The wind suddenly increased. Instinctively Troyte darted to the side to avoid the gust, but Nadal jabbed him once more and Holdsclaw impacted him from the side, driving the hawk back into the stream of air. Troyte then tried to adjust, varying the speed of his wings, then the angle, then the tilt of his head and tail and so on. He finally settled into a surprisingly lazy but efficient pattern of spreading his wings as wide as he could, tilted slightly upward and only actually flapping when he felt himself nearing the edge of the current. Nadal seemed satiated by this, and although Troyte would have hated to admit it, he wasnÕt entirely minding this coasting either.
They maintained this until Nadal ob InsameÕs twin towers were lost in the distance. Two other figures of interest, however, came into NadalÕs field of vision, and the weasel sat up straight. ÒKaliban, what do you make of that?Ó
The rat, riding Holdsclaw, approached his leader. ÒWinged beasts oÕ some sort, ahead.Ó
ÒI can see that,Ó Nadal snapped. ÒBut what do you make of their being in my air?Ó Ob InsameÕs voice assumed a new edge.
ÒUhmm,Ó Troyte interjected, ÒAs a flighted creature myself, I should like to note that it is common thought among my kind that the air is free, and trespassing may only be called if physical property is touched.Ó
ÒYouÕre wrong, bird.Ó Nadal leaned over TroyteÕs head, looking toward the figures ahead. ÒBring me closer.Ó
Troyte did not alter his pattern of flight.
This time Nadal snapped his whip across TroyteÕs shoulderblades. The shock caused the hawkÕs muscles to contract, and his following action was to speed up indeed, rather thoughtlessly. The two shadowed figures were approached, and it did not occur to Troyte to slow back down until he heard the distinct noise of the whisk of a whip in air.
With a pang of compassion for his winged brethren, Troyte swerved sharply in an attempt to divert Nadal from his course. So intent was he on this that he again forgot to do somethingÑto watch where he was flying. With a jarring blow and a dull thud Troyte careened into a tree, Nadal still on his back. The weaselÕs arm flailed and his whip caught one of the creatures across the back. The first flew into the second, and they too plummeted, just barely behind Troyte and Nadal.

*****

Troyte was only stunned, not knocked out. He was able to swoop up in time, just seconds before he and Nadal hit the ground. The two other winged beasts, however, fell upon each other at the base of the tree, out cold. Kaliban did not even bother asking if it was necessary to pick them up and bring them back to the towers.