To Be a King

by Kathryn Lasky

  “And once this is done, this business with the hags-fiends, will you fly straightaway to the N’yrthghar?”

  “No, not straightaway. There is much to be done before we are ready for that war.”

  “And what is that?” Somehow things had turned around. Namara was not answering Hoole’s questions but asking the questions. Hoole felt it was important to answer her questions with great care and thought. This, in some way, is a test, he thought.

  “There is much to be done before the Guardians of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree are ready. We had one success at the Battle in the Beyond, and though it wasn’t mere chance, we must be better prepared next time. Only four of us fought with battle claws then. That was all we had. We must make more and teach others how to fly with them. We need more colliers, more owls to learn the art of smithing who can produce the battle claws because we have few ice weapons in our part of the world and they are difficult to keep. And—” Hoole paused and looked deeply into the tilting green eyes of Namara “—we need to learn to think like wolves.”

  Namara seemed to relax now. “This is good, my friend. You are right. You must teach them the way of the byrrgis. And if it is colliers and smiths that you need, well, there are more each day. They are learning quickly how to pick up coals, not from the mouth of the volcanoes as you did, mind you, but the ones that are flung down to the base. And now I even see them heading out for forest fires.”

  “Really?” Hoole was amazed.

  Namara nodded and continued, “There is even a smith with a forge near here. They are all very devoted to you, Hoole, and I think they would not hesitate to help.”

  “And yourself, Namara, will you help?”

  “Of course, dear friend. It is the least I can do for the only creature on earth who believed in me and knew I was not a traitor. We can set out for the Beyond at First Black, as you owls call it. Fengo will help me raise the pack. Don’t worry. Now help yourself to some of this caribou.”

  “Oh, no. It is a scrawny thing. You eat the rest. I’m sure there are rats and voles scrambling around here someplace.”

  “As you like, Hoole, as you like. But come share my den when you have fed. It is right over there by that old scrub oak. I’ve made a burrow at its roots. It will do fine for a wolf and a Spotted Owl.”

  That day, well fed, the owl and the wolf shared a den.

  Hoole hadn’t dreamed of the lovely Spotted Owl since that first time. It seemed as if each time he nearly entered a dream about her, something would drag him from it, and so his days remained dreamless.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A Rotting Palace

  In another part of the owl world, the Spotted Owl of whom Hoole had once dreamed, Emerilla, spoke in a hushed voice to the Great Horned Owl Theo. The two had met in the most unlikely place: the Ice Palace of the H’rathghar.

  “Hush! Don’t call me Emerilla. Here I am known as Sigrid,” she said.

  Theo had taken his leave of the banquet hollow and his brother’s company as soon as he could without arousing suspicion.

  “But you are she, aren’t you?” Theo cocked his head.

  “Yes, but how did you know?”

  Theo thought for a minute. How did he know? It was just a feeling in his gizzard. It was not so much that she looked like her mother, Strix Strumajen, but that she seemed different from all the other owls in the Ice Palace. “I just knew.”

  This seemed to satisfy Emerilla. “Do you know where my mother is?”

  “With Hoole,” Theo whispered.

  “And you, too, you live there as well?”

  “Yes.” The two owls spoke in fragments, half sentences with nods and blinks, daring not to say anything that could give them away. It was amazing how much information they conveyed in such a brief time. Emerilla had been working in the Ice Palace since it had fallen to Shadyk. Luckily, no one had recognized her because the battles she had fought in had, for the most part, been skirmishes in a region far from where Shadyk and his troops had been fighting. There were apparently skirmishes, fights, battles, and clashes raging all over the Northern Kingdoms. It was no longer simply a two-sided war. It was also Lord Arrin’s soldiers against Lord Unser’s near the Bitter Sea where there had never been fighting before. It was sometimes hagsfiends against hagsfiends. “Are any of H’rath’s old troops fighting with these owls?” Theo asked.

  “There might be a few, but if they are, none of them are fighting for the kingdom as it once was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The really loyal ones went south to the S’yrthghar. The ones left have forgotten everything the H’rathian dynasty flew for. There are factions, but really it is each owl for himself.” Emerilla paused, leaned forward, and whispered, “The Ice Palace is rotting from the inside because every code of honor has been violated. There is no H’rathian code here. It has been destroyed. And so the ice melts! It was foretold in ancient prophecies of H’rathmore.”

  Then once again, Theo heard the same words that Svarr had spoken: “This place and the entire N’yrthghar is a feast for vultures.”

  Theo took to heart what Emerilla had been telling him, but still something did not seem quite right in her explanation. If it is just a matter of time before the hagsfiends leave and the palace can be taken, why wait to join her mother at the island? Theo wondered. She was holding something back.

  “Why delay? Why not leave now? You know so much about the palace. Your information would be invaluable.” She blinked nervously at him. “What is it, Sigrid? You are not telling me everything.”

  She shut her eyes tightly for more than a blink and then opened them and looked straight at Theo. “I am a close fighter.”

  “I had heard that from your mother,” Theo replied.

  “There is no owl better than myself with a close blade.”

  “Yes, go on.” Theo nodded.

  “Shadyk is your brother.”

  It was not a question, it was a statement. Theo felt his gizzard clinch.

  “I plan to assassinate him.”

  Theo inhaled deeply. His gizzard quaked.

  “He is insane, Theo. He tortures owls for the fun of it. He sits on that rotting throne and dreams of an owl universe. Do you know that it was he who killed your father?”

  Theo gasped.

  “He tried to kill your sister, the gadfeather, too. He will probably try to kill you as well. You need to get out of here quickly. When he has one of the fits, he has even tried to kill his own guards.”

  “How can my mother not see this?”

  “He controls himself when she is around. And she treats him like a chick. She is blind to any of his faults.” She paused. “In his own way, he is worse than any hags-fiend, and I shall kill him when the time is right.” She paused again. “You must get out. Get out immediately.”

  But Theo resolved to stay a bit longer. He would be vigilant and take care, but he wanted to see more of the Ice Palace. He wanted to be able to send back as much information as possible to Hoole, and he was not sure if they should wait until the hagsfiends left the palace. If all of these factions were fighting in the N’yrthghar, it might be too late. Another faction might take over. And the Ice Palace was rotting, decomposing as they spoke.

  Theo returned to the banquet hollow. It did not appear that he was missed. His mother was excited. “Oh, Theo, your dear brother is offering us the most splendid quarters for the day. The ice hollows in the eastern parapet.”

  Shadyk churred and an odd light danced in his amber eyes. He cocked his head. “I am sure, dear brother, you will be most comfortable there. Pleasant dreams.”

  Is my mother completely benighted? And what about Wyg? He as well? Theo looked about the niche in the eastern defense wall. Even here on an outer wall exposed to the cold, the interior of this sleeping hollow had begun to show signs of rot. He could even hear the ice worms stirring. “Mum, Wyg?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Don’t you hear the ice worms stirring?”

&nbs
p; “Oh, it’s just your imagination, Theo. You were always so sensitive.”

  Am I going mad? How can they not see this?

  “You know, Theo, this is where they said the egg of the young prince was first set down by Queen Siv. What an honor indeed to be allowed to sleep here. And just look at the gleam of these walls—like silver. And see? Even the morning stars shine through.”

  The walls are melting! Theo nearly screamed. He felt as if the universe was being turned inside out or upside down—or both. “Wyg,” he said in a gentle quiet voice. “Do you think that there is something wrong with the ice? Doesn’t it seem rather…rather…”—he did not want to use the word “rotten”—“rather unstable?”

  “Just a bit, Theo, but come Short Light, it will be solid again.”

  “Oh, Theo, you must stay for Long Night. Your brother has planned such a wonderful celebration. And it is less than a moon cycle away.”

  Long Night was one of the most festive holidays in the N’yrthghar, for it celebrated the disappearance of the sun and the longest darkness. In the world of owls night was always more valued than day. At Long Night, both young and older owls could fly to their gizzards’ content and waste little time on sleep. There were all sorts of sports and games, and gadfeathers came to sing and do their lively sky jigs in front of the bright plate of moon.

  But Long Night with a mad brother? Theo thought. Horrible. And yet if I stay I would be the most valuable slipgizzle in all the N’yrthghar.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Desert Hags

  From the air the byrrgis looked like a long silvery streak coursing through the countryside. Hoole had never imagined that such a gathering of wolves could be mustered. But after her long absence from the Beyond, Namara was greeted like a returning hero. The clan chieftains ran in the forefront of the byrrgis. There was stalwart Dunmore, fearless Duncan MacDuncan, rugged Stormfast, dauntless Banquo, and behind them scores of others from various clans. Fengo himself, though old, was also part of this byrrgis. Although Hoole was the king of the great tree, the wolves knew that the young king was indeed a guardian of all creatures, be they of land or sky. They remembered him from the time he had run with them on the hunt and how when he killed he performed the lochinvyrr as if he were a wolf. They remembered his courage in battle and, perhaps most of all, they remembered his loyalty to Hordweard, the outcast wolf, who now, as Namara MacNamara, led this byrrgis.

  The forests were vanishing as Hoole looked below at the ground turning scrubby with brambles and low-growing, shallow-rooted plants. They were nearing the Desert of Kuneer. Traveling both day and night, they had made good time. Hoole had seen no signs of crows, and in any case did not fear daylight flying now, for with the wolves directly beneath him he could quickly dive into the byrrgis for protection if crows began to mob.

  Together, the wolves and Hoole had devised a plan. They would not travel too far into the desert, but first look for a good base, either a cave or sand embankment that they could burrow into or hide behind. Hoole and the wolves would work together. Because of his aerial vantage point, Hoole was responsible for scanning the terrain for a base of operations. The wolves, given their keen sense of smell, would send out a tracking team to find the hagsfiends or any telltale signs of them, such as the tumbledown that Phineas had found.

  It was not long before Hoole spotted the perfect hideout; a large cave in the side of a low sandstone shelf with some outlying rocks. As soon as they had settled into this natural fortification, Hoole took command. Perched on one of the rocks, he looked around.

  “My thought is that this place, so perfect for us, would also offer protection to the hagsfiends. We found it quickly. I think that there are similar formations that might give them shelter. My plan is to fly out at dawn and reconnoiter. The hagsfiends will be asleep.”

  “But what about the crows, Hoole?” Fengo asked.

  “The desert does not seem their kind of territory.”

  “‘Seem,’ Hoole?” Fengo asked. There was a low grumbling among the wolves. “I think you should fly with a guard.”

  “I’ll go!” “Count me in!” “Me as well.” A dozen wolves called out to accompany the young king.

  “I am sure,” Hoole said, “that three will be enough.” He scanned the pack. “Donneghail, Cailean, and Camran, you will run with me.” The three wolves were among the largest of the entire pack. They would defend him well. Donneghail, in addition to being fast and strong, was alert to the smallest things. If there was tumbledown in the brush, Donneghail would spot it.

  Following sunrise, Hoole had not been flying long when he saw a depression in the sand with big boulders along one side. He slowed his flight and then spiraled down to alert the three wolves.

  “Donneghail, you go out ahead and see if you spot any of the tumbledown. Remember it is not as black as their flight feathers—just soft balls of gray fluff.”

  “Yes, Hoole.”

  When he came back, he reported that there were no such telltale signs, neither tumbledown nor hag scent.

  Hoole lofted himself once more into flight, and the three wolves loped along beneath him. Perhaps, Hoole thought, these hideouts are not as plentiful as I thought. But at just that moment, he saw the wolves suddenly stop below him, and then about a quarter league ahead, he saw them, their immense black shapes billowing in a sandpit. Hoole flew a little closer for a better look. Even though they were only about twice the size of owls, their wings were huge and it appeared as if the darkest storm clouds had settled on the earth. There must have been at least thirty of them, their black-feathered bodies rising and falling in the rhythms of sleep. Hoole carved a turn and flew back to a boulder where the three wolves waited.

  “There are at least thirty of them.”

  “The sun is high. So there are hours left until they rouse themselves,” Cailean said. “Should we go back and get the others and then attack them?”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Donneghail said. Camran agreed.

  “But, my friends, there is a problem.” Hoole spoke thoughtfully. “We would have the element of surprise, but the brightness of the day would rob the greenness of your eyes’ light.”

  Hoole had thought about this deeply since he had first looked into the flames of Rupert’s fire and had seen the green light that had so reminded him of the ember. It had come to him at that time that Grank himself had told him long ago that he had first seen the image of the ember in the eyes of Fengo. Hoole, most of all, was suspicious of the power of the ember in many ways. He had seen evidence of how it could alter those who came near it. Was it its light, its heat, that caused these altered states? And was there an affinity between some of the ember’s powers and that of wolves? They both shared this intense green light. Was it possible that the wolves had a power equal to—if not greater than—that of the fyngrot of the hagsfiends? How then might it be used to greater effect?

  “We must have the darkness of the night for my plan to work,” Hoole said.

  “Aaah!” All three wolves realized at once that what the young king said was true. Hoole had explained to them that the green light in the eyes of the wolves was so similar to that of the ember, he felt in his gizzard that it could shatter the fyngrot. They must trade the element of surprise for the effectiveness of the dark. And this would be a perfect night because the moon had dwenked and the newing had not yet begun. It would be black as pitch.

  “There are at least thirty of them,” Hoole explained when they returned to the other wolves. “They sleep in a shallow pit. Much shallower than this one. My plan is this.” Hoole lofted down from the rock where he had perched and dragged one talon through the sand. “This is the shape of the pit. There are rocks here, here, here, here, and here. That is five rocks with broad surfaces. There are thirty of you as well. You will divide into five teams, six wolves to a team, and I shall help out wherever needed.

  “We need to leave before tween time.” Hoole paused. “Sorry, I forget myself. That is owl talk for t
he time between the last drop of daylight and the first shadows of night. We’ll approach the rocks under the camouflage of these first shadows. Now, do you all understand the strategy?”

  “Yes,” they answered. It was a strategy that was very similar to the one they used in hunting caribou.

  “Remember, if we do this right, there should be very little fighting at the onset, and then you can set in for the kill.”

  Once again the wolves bayed, “Yes.”

  “Fengo, you are prepared to lead the howls?”

  “Yes, Hoole. We will start with the lowest of the howls, the close-to-ground whines, proceed to the pack howl, and then to the death howl.”

  “To the death howl!” Stormfast, a huge wolf leaped up on his hind legs and struck at the sinking sun with his forepaws.

  “To the death howl!” The others leaped toward the sky.

  Hoole marveled. There was nothing more faithful than a wolf. So noble and so intelligent.

  And although the ember was far away, smoldering in its teardrop strongbox, he felt the power of it every time he looked into the green fire of those wolf eyes. Even though Grank had told Hoole that he had first glimpsed the image of the ember in the eyes of Fengo, in truth, every wolf seemed to have a reflection of this ember in their eyes, that unearthly green shimmer that inspired Hoole. He did not need to have the ember close by. He only needed to look into a wolf’s eyes. It would be this same green that emanated from those eyes that Hoole knew deep in his gizzard would lead to the downfall of the hagsfiends. But it was a magic they did not understand, could never believe in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO