Guardians of Ga'Hoole: To Be A King (12 page)

“
T
hat’s it! That’s it, Emerilla! You would think she had been hatched with battle claws! Just look at her parry with them,” Grank exclaimed with delight to Strix Strumajen.

“Well, she’s known for being excellent with the close blade and has remarkable turning ability,” Strix Strumajen said proudly.

“But her flight balance is perfect and a close blade is so much smaller and lighter than these battle claws,” Phineas said.

Grank! Phineas!
Lutta wondered.
Even that old codger Lord Rathnik comments on my skill, but why doesn’t Hoole notice me?

“Mum,” she said, “Hoole never seems to see my best parries and rebounds.”

Strix Strumajen chuckled. “He sees you, my dear, but he has much on his mind. He must supervise the training of all these owls and the new recruits.”

Hoole had been back for less than a moon cycle and, within that time, Lutta was captivated by this strong, handsome young owl. It was a strange and wonderful feeling. Strix Strumajen’s initial gizzardly reservations about her daughter had quietly disappeared. Indeed, her daughter seemed much more like her old self.
Ah, what a first infatuation can do!
Strix Strumajen thought. Of course, who knew if Hoole felt anything for Emerilla? She was certainly attractive enough in every way, but poor Hoole had so many worries. It was not exactly the right time in his life for romance. Although he did seem quite impressed with Emerilla and often invited both her and her mother for milkberry tea in his hollow, it was usually to discuss war strategy.

Excellent progress had been made at the great tree. Rupert the Rogue smith from Ambala and two other colliers had accompanied Hoole back from the S’yrthghar. Phineas and the Snow Rose had rounded up three other Rogue smiths and two more colliers. It would have been best if Theo had been present to instruct the smiths in the art of forging battle claws, but Grank had learned quite a bit from observing Theo and was a very good instructor. And, of course, no owl could equal Grank in colliering. At
this point, there were robust fires going in a half-dozen forges near the tree. The fires were so productive in terms of battle claws that there seemed to be little energy left in the flames to reveal anything of great significance to either Hoole or Grank as to what was occurring in the N’yrthghar. But as soon as any message came from Theo, they would be off. Joss had flown out a few nights before to try to make contact with Theo and come back with a report.

Other members of the parliament had been dispatched to muster troops from the Shadow Forest—Tyto, Ambala, and Silverveil. Each day, new owls arrived and were being trained. When the call came, they would be ready.

Lutta, looking like Emerilla to the feather, had taken a break from her practice and went to observe Hoole as he worked with a young Barn Owl. She watched him as he tied on the battle claws.

“When you wear these, it’s important to fly with your talons lifted up just a bit. It helps counterbalance the weight of the claws.” He gave the young owl a friendly cuff. Emerilla felt something shimmer deep within her. This was not the first time she had experienced this sensation. But she was unsure what exactly she was feeling. It happened several times a day. She told herself it was nothing to do with a gizzard.
I don’t have a gizzard. This is
impossible. I cannot have any gizzardly feelings. Nothing will get in my way,
she told herself as she continued to watch.

“Now, Winfyr,” Hoole said, addressing the young owl, “after you get used to flying with these battle claws, we’ll let you try winging around with the close blade.” He paused and swiveled his head toward Lutta. “There’s your expert on the close blade, right there.” He nodded at her and Lutta thought she might fall from her perch. Then suddenly, she had an idea. A perfect excuse for meeting with Hoole, possibly alone in his hollow!

“Now, what is this idea of yours, Emerilla?” Hoole said, settling on a perch. She was so excited to finally be alone in his company that she hardly knew how to start. She perched in front of the iron teardrop-shaped container of the ember. The ember’s glow seemed to fill the hollow. Every time she had seen it, it never failed to stir her. It reminded her of her task, of the power that she and Kreeth would have.

And if,
she thought,
if I can make him mine forever…
She felt a terrible cramp inside her and the ember emitted a low hiss and cast a glowing light.
Would he come to me on his own? And would he come to me if he knew who I really was?

Lutta engaged in endless dialogues like this whenever she was in the presence of the ember. Inner monologues
that led to no conclusion, except she was left with a confused, unfinished feeling and often a question.
Who am I? What am I?

Finally, she pushed these thoughts from her mind. “Your Majesty, when I was watching you train the young Barn Owl, it came to me that perhaps I might be helpful teaching them to fight with the close blade. I thought maybe I could help my mother with her classes.”

Hoole’s eyes blinked open and shut several times. “What an excellent idea. I should have thought of it myself. Why, with both you and Strix teaching, we could train an entire squadron of close-bladers. You could be the co-commander.”

“Really?!”

“Yes, really. This could prove indispensable. We have many who can fight with the larger ice weapons—scimitars, pikes, swords—and then there are the very smallest of owls—like Phineas—who are terrific with the ice splinters. But how many really good close-blade owls do we have? With a squadron of close-bladers, we’ll have much more range, much more flexibility in every combat situation.” He paused and looked at Lutta with what she felt was a new light in his eyes. “You’re quite clever, Emerilla.”

“Clever, sir?”

At that moment, there was a rap on the edge of the
hollow. A young Snowy poked his head in. “Coded message, sir. Grank is on his way.”

“Oh, good. Good!” Hoole turned to Lutta. “Well, thank you so much. You must excuse me now.”

Lutta remained on the perch. Hoole stared at her. “I said, you must excuse me.”

“Oh, I do.” But she remained on the perch.

Hoole cocked his head. “Do you understand what I am saying, Emerilla? It means you have to leave.”

Grank had just arrived and was observing this peculiar exchange.

“Oh!” She lofted herself off the perch and flew by Grank, almost knocking him over.

“Strange one, she is,” Grank murmured.

“A bit odd. But what is this message?”

“Well,” Grank said, swiveling his head to make sure that both Emerilla and the young Snowy were gone, “let’s go in there to read it.” He nodded toward a perch that protruded from a crack.

To the ordinary owl’s eyes, the crack in the wall of the hollow looked like any other crack in the interior of a tree. A perch had been jammed into it. But when Hoole reached up with his talons and yanked the perch, out came a piece of a milkberry vine. With one pull, a panel opened and, through it, the two owls crowded into a smaller space. They
shut the panel behind them. It was a secret chamber in the tree that Hoole and Grank had worked on for several days and in which they read the coded messages sent by Joss.

Grank unfurled the piece of birch bark that the message was inscribed on and began to read. “‘The ice worms turn. The lice do swarm. A burning teardrop will set it to rights.’”

Grank looked at Hoole. “And so the Ice Palace is rotting.”

“‘Lord Arrin and Elgobad unite and make ready to attack.’ But Grank, is this right? Must I bring the ember? Is that truly what the message means?”

“To stop the rot, the ember’s power is needed.”

“But it is foolhardy to travel with it.”

“Yes.” Grank blinked. “Let me give some thought to this before we leave.”

“Good, but first the parliament must meet. We must work out a detailed invasion strategy.”

“The usual passage into the N’yrthghar is through the Ice Narrows.” Hoole was pointing with his talon to a map, which had been etched out on a dried rabbit hide with a stick of charred wood, as he spoke to the members of the parliament. “But now that we number in the hundreds, it seems unwise that our entire force should try to squeeze
through this narrow passage and become vulnerable to ambush. Instead, let us try the unexpected.” There was a low mumbling of assent among the ten other members of the parliament.

“Surprise can be as deadly as any weapon,” Lord Rathnik said.

“Indeed! Indeed!” echoed several owls.

“My plan is this,” Hoole continued. “Even though the Ice Narrows is the shortest and the most direct route, with the N’yrthnookah blowing we would be flying dead into the wind and arrive pretty ragged and exhausted. If we flew off the wind a bit, taking a long way around, we would conserve our energy and also have a better chance of escaping detection.”

“A question here, Your Grace.” A Northern Hawk owl, Sir Tobyfyor, raised a talon.

“Yes, Sir Toby?”

“I presume you are talking about going by way of Broken Talon Point, but hundreds of owls flying over Broken Talon Point will not go unnoticed.”

“We will go by three routes: Broken Talon Point, as well as the point off the spirit woods, and due east to the far shore of the S’yrthghar sea. I know that eastern route is a rarely used one, but once over that shore we could claw
north on a close-wing reach and fly around the end of the Ice Narrows. If Sir Bors and his students in the navigational chaw would provide us with the star maps, it would be most useful. These routes have rarely been flown.”

“Aaah.” A sound of approval rolled through the parliament.

“Strix Strumajen, can you give us any insight into atmospheric pressure changes that we should be expecting?”

“It’s a little far in the future for accurate predictions. But there is a series of smee holes just inland from that eastern shore. They are quite active this time of year and should provide a robust thermal boost that could give us a nice bounce right over the N’yrthnookah. Indeed, I would suggest dispatching at least two regiments in that direction. There is ample territory for them to spread out so they won’t draw a lot of attention. And the eastern shore region is little inhabited, save for some eagles.”

“Brilliant, Strix Strumajen!” Grank exclaimed.

Perhaps,
she thought to herself. But
I wish Emerilla could help me here. She used to be so sensitive to any atmospheric pressure variation. It must be that blow on the head!

So an invasion strategy was devised. There would be three contingents, the smallest of which would be a squad of eight or nine owls to fly through the Ice Narrows, hopefully not drawing too much attention. They would depart
in relays, leaving time in between each group. Then several platoons would fly to Cape Glaux and turn north, threading their way through the spirit woods to meet up with platoons that had flown over Broken Talon Point. Together, they would form a regiment. Finally, an entire division would fly due east from the island to the eastern shore and then turn north. They would hold these formations for the attack in the H’rathghar. Whether Lord Arrin would be holding the palace was unknown. The battle might in fact occur in the ridge lands of the H’rathghar glacier. The location of old stashes of ice weapons—for they were not depending entirely on battle claws—had also been discussed. The first squads, those bound for Broken Talon and Cape Glaux, would leave at daybreak. Shortly after, the rest would depart.

Later that evening, Hoole told Lutta that he had assigned her to fly in what was now being called the Eastern Regiment.

“But that isn’t really the right assignment for me, Hoole,” she protested.

“No?” He blinked at her. They were alone in his hollow once again.

“When I came here, I flew through the Ice Narrows. The wind was blowing fiercely from the south for several days before I arrived. I was forced to take refuge in an ice
hollow with a family of puffins—not the brightest, mind you—but they showed me something fascinating.”

“What was that?”

“A huge weapons stash.”

“Really?”

“Yes—close blades.” She paused. “I should take the squadron I have been training. We’ll collect the extra blades. We don’t have enough right now as it is. I can handle two blades at once. One in each talon.” She blinked, then narrowed her eyes. Two glowering slits. The glow of the ember cast her face in an odd light. Hoole’s gizzard gave a lurch.

“Let me go there, Hoole. With two close blades and a set of battle claws, I’ll fight like you’ve never seen an owl fight.”

Hoole looked at her oddly. There
was
something strange about this owl. Her intensity almost unnerved him, yet she was fascinating. She stirred in him something vaguely familiar. A confusion of feelings. It suddenly dawned on Hoole.
She’s not unlike the ember.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty? Is something wrong?” Lutta asked.

“No, no, I’m fine. And you say there are enough weapons for the rest in your squad?”

“Yes, of course…and Hoole…”

“Yes, Emerilla?”

Her gaze had softened and she seemed to be looking far off, almost as if she was in a trance.

”Emerilla, what is it? Did you have something more you wanted to say?”

Lutta shook her head rapidly, almost violently. “Oh nothing, Your Majesty, nothing at all.” But of course she had so much more to say. The words pressed against her beak. She wanted to say, “And when this is over, we’ll be together, forever, always. I’ll be your queen.” No, just his mate—that would be enough. She began to feel a deep ache within her. “Just his mate.” These three words surprised Lutta as much as anything. They were true. She did not care about being a queen. She just wanted to belong, that was all. A dread crept through her.
This cannot be. I don’t have a gizzard! I don’t have a gizzard!

“
W
hat? What do you mean it’s not the ember?”

“It’s a fraud, you idiot.”

Kreeth swatted Lutta with a broad wing across her now darkly feathered face. Lutta had shed the plumage of a Spotted Owl. It had been a brilliant transformation. She had been leading her squad of owls through the Narrows according to Hoole’s battle plan, then had flown ahead around a bend. Mere seconds later, she flew out again, no longer a Spotted Owl but a full-blown hagsfiend. The shock of the owls in the squad had thrilled her. Three had actually gone yeep before she could even cast a fyngrot. The four others attempted to fight, but Lutta had come back with an ice scimitar and made quick work of them. She did not waste any time collecting their heads, but flew back immediately to the deserted great tree and seized the ember.

But now Kreeth was telling her that this was not the ember.

“But it looks exactly like the one in Hoole’s hollow. And look at this tear-shaped box it is in.”

“I will claw your eyes out!” Kreeth flew at Lutta who wrapped her wings around her face.

“No! No! Don’t!”

“Then get it for me, you fool.”

“He must have substituted this ember for the real one. He…he…he didn’t trust me.” And at that moment something broke in Lutta. A gizzard?

From the air, the ridge lands of the H’rathghar glacier were a series of sawtooth ice crests that swelled in waves for nearly as far as the eye could see. It was at the edge of these ridge lands that the Ice Palace rose, now half its former size. With no hagsfiends to guard it, and an insane imposter king inside with only a handful of troops, the palace was defenseless. Yet taking it would be far from easy. Not with Lord Arrin’s troops amassing on the other side of it. Even from where Hoole perched, he could see the darker-than-night ragged shadows draped on those far ridges. Lord Arrin had reconstituted his hagsfiend regiment and combined them with those of Elgobad and every other renegade and outlaw. All these enemies of the old regime, with its codes of honor and nobility, were now gathered to take the palace.

Around Hoole’s neck the ember hung in a battered
vial, much like the ones Frost Beak masters wore to carry their ice-splinter repair kits.

“I can’t understand where the Ice Narrows squad is,” Hoole wondered aloud. “They should have been here by now.” Hoole looked at his troops. They were a motley army. The guardians of the parliament as befitted their stations looked quite formidable with their battle claws, ice sabers, cutlasses, and scimitars. Then there were the hireclaws from the S’yrthghar as well as others who had come because of their love of Hoole. Many more came to fight in honor of Hoole’s mother, the late Queen Siv. Large numbers of them had followed Siv into the Battle of the Beyond. They called themselves the Sivian Guard. Predominantly female, they were incredibly fierce and very skilled with both battle claws and ice scimitars. They were commanded by Strix Strumajen whom they adored.

Hoole glanced now toward Strix Strumajen, erect on her perch, scanning the horizon for her daughter. He knew she was a stalwart soldier and would not let Emerilla’s second disappearance distract her from the task at hand. But then Hoole blinked. He saw something moving through the darkness, low to the ground. He blinked again. What were those slivers of green, like rips in the black of the night?

“Great Glaux,” he whispered to himself, “it’s Namara.”
He had left her in Ambala and she had made her way back to her den in the region of Broken Talon Point. But here she was, coming with legions of wolves: more, many more than had gone with her into the Desert of Kuneer. They were settling in at the base of the ridge, but Namara herself was advancing up the steep grade toward Hoole.

“Namara!”

“Yes, Commander.” She crouched down and laid her ears back flat and then scraped forward on her belly in the attitude of complete submission practiced by wolves when approaching a superior.

“Get up!” Hoole intensely disliked the elaborate formalities of rank that governed the lives of wolves.

“But you are my commander.”

“I might command an army, but you, Namara, will always be my equal. What are you here for?”

“To fight, sir. We are the Sky Dogs of the Beyond. And look carefully, sir, and you will see something else amongst us.”

Hoole blinked, then squinted his eyes and blinked again. There was a slight quivering movement within the huge pack of wolves. “Pygmies, Elves, Northern Saw-whets!” All of the tiniest owls in the owl kingdoms, all veterans of the Frost Beak divisions that had scattered after being driven from the N’yrthghar during the long war. They
were close fighters and their weapons of choice were deadly ice splinters. Hoole shook his head in dismay. It was brilliant, absolutely brilliant. There was nothing that could compare to the strategic thinking of a wolf, and now Namara had had the inspired idea of combining small owls with wolves into an elite fighting force.

“When are you planning to attack?” Namara asked.

“We were waiting for a squad that seems to have vanished somewhere in the Ice Narrows.”

“And if they come soon?”

“Then we’ll attack.”

“May I offer a suggestion, Hoole?”

“Of course, Namara.”

“You are ideally situated on this ridge. You are facing west. The enemy is facing east. Wait until daybreak.”

“Daybreak?” Daybreak was a long way off.

“Wait until the sun is nearly the length of a high leaping wolf.”

“Why?” And then it dawned on Hoole. Of course! If they attacked at daybreak, the enemy would be blinded by the rising sun. More than blinded, for shards of light as sharp as a sword’s edge would bounce off the ice-sheathed ridges of the glacier.

Hoole called together his lieutenants and the members of the parliament. He paused before he spoke.
Oh
Glaux,
he thought,
steel my soldiers’ hearts. Make trim their gizzards for this fight. Give me the words that will burn like the Rogue smiths’ metal and pierce with the keenness of a blade cut from the heart of the Ice Dagger. Protect these noble owls. How I envy the ease of their gizzards and do wish that sometimes I were not born a prince, or had to be a king.

Then he explained the strategy and told them of Namara and the Sky Dog Unit.

There was so much to be done, and Hoole knew that even if they won by the blessings of all that was Glaux, and though he planned to rule from the great tree, the task of clearing the rot from his father’s palace, restoring the throne and the kingdom to what it had been in the days of the H’rathian code was a monumental task. But he did not mean to get ahead in his thoughts. First, a most decisive battle must be won. So he put his private thoughts away and began to address his troops.

“Dear owls, it troubles me not if another might wear my crown, or sit upon a throne that now rots inside a melting palace. That is only the outer show, and I do not care for such outward things as they do not make the owl. But I do yearn for honor, and for honor I shall be the most ferocious owl alive. This night to come is called the Long Night. He and she who live out this day and night to see old age will yearly, in celebration of it, fly high, tip their
wings, show their scars, and say, ‘These wounds I did suffer in the Battle of the Short Light and the Long Night.’ Old owls shall remember what feats they did that day. And our names will be spoken in hollows and become familiar to all—Strix Strumajen, Rathnik, Garthnore, Bors, and Tobyfyor. Each good owl will tell their sons and daughters of this, the Battle of the Short Light and the Long Night and, in the telling, you shall be remembered from this day to the ending of the world.

“So once more into the breach, dear friends, to halt that rotting from within, or close the gaps in those sickly walls with our dead. I say to you that in peace there is nothing that becomes an owl as much as a quiet stillness and humility, but when the roar of war blasts in our ears, let us stiffen our wings and fly with a hardened rage.”