“Zooooon!”

In the eager chorus could be felt the Conclave’s desperate wish for resolution, for an end to bitter disagreements. The three candidates were to lead just one of many battle forces sent forth by the clan of the Gooksyu-Gubru. But clearly the Roost Masters had special hopes for this triumvirate.

Kwackoo servitors offered shining goblets to each candidate. The bureaucrat of Cost and Caution lifted one and drank deeply. The fluid felt like golden fire going down.

First taste of the Royal Liquor …

As expected, it had a flavor like nothing else imaginable. Already, the three candidates’ white plumage seemed to glisten with a shimmering promise of color to come.

We shall struggle together, and eventually one of us shall molt amber. One shall molt blue.

And one, presumably the strongest, the one with the best policy, would win the ultimate prize.

A prize fated to be mine. For it was said to have all been arranged in advance. Caution had to win the upcoming consensus. Careful analysis had shown that the alternatives would be unbearable.

“You shall go forth, then,” the Conclave President sang. “You three new Suzerains of our race and of our clan. You shall go forth and win conquest. You shall go forth and humble the wolfling heretics.”

“Zooooon!” the assembly cheered.

The President’s beak lowered toward her breast, as if she were suddenly exhausted. Then, the new Suzerain of Cost and Caution faintly heard her add,

“You shall go forth and try your best to save us…”

PART ONE

Invasion

Let them uplift us, shoulder high. Then we will see over their heads to the several promised lands, from which we have come, and to which we trust to go.