Guardians of Ga'Hoole 05 - The Shattering

feathers fluffed up a little more. What did the old ryb mean? “You might have wondered why I found that word‘feint’ so…so…How should I put it…fetching?” He swiveled his head about and seemed to fix each owl in the yellow glare of his crinkled-up eye. “Because, that is precisely what we are going to do—create a feint. But not just a feint, but an immense illusion, the likes of which has never been seen. We number only a little more than twenty owls, but they will think we are hundreds.”
    “How is that, Ezylryb?” Barran asked, genuinely perplexed.
    “All of those owls—the Pure Ones—are Barn Owls, are they not?”
    Everyone nodded.
    “And Barn Owls are known for what?” He looked directly at Soren. “Their hearing, of course. Their superb, unequaled ability to hear. We are going to get within range of the fire but still be undercover. We are going to divide up into three teams and peg-out as we used to say up in the Northern Kingdoms. I shall lead one peg, Barran shall lead one, and, my dear, your estimable mate Boron”—he swung his head to the old Snowy monarch of the tree, who along with Barran led search-and-rescue—“will lead the third. The reason I have chosen the three of us is because we know the odd language of the Northern Kingdoms and the Great North Waters, for they were once home to all of us.”
    “I know a little bit, too, Ezylryb,” Otulissa piped up.
    “Of course, wouldn’t you know it?” Gylfie whispered to Soren. “The gift of blab works in all languages.”
    “Yes, I do recall your study of the Northern Kingdoms for your mission into St. Aggie’s, my dear. That will be helpful.” The previous winter, when the Chaw of Chaws had been sent on a special spy mission into St. Aggie’s, their cover story was that they had been blown off course up into the Northern Kingdoms and then had fled. To be convincing, they had had to study a bit about this place that was so different from the Southern Kingdoms. Otulissa, of course, had overdone it. She had studied everything including the language.
    “It will not all be in Krakish, however. Some will be in Hoolian. We shall be giving information, or I should say misinformation, about troop positions, battle claws, and not just platoons—but divisions!”
    Brilliant! Soren thought. Absolutely brilliant. And because they would sometimes be speaking in Krakish, the language of the Northern Kingdoms, the enemy would think that they had recruits from there. The owls of the Northern Kingdoms were thought to be the fiercest fighters on earth. It would scare the gizzards out of the Pure Ones. Oh, I hope it works, Soren fervently wished.
    “It cannot fail!” thundered Ezylryb.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Peg-out
    G ishmahad frissah bralaag gyrrrmach tuoy oschuven…”
    Nyra blinked in astonishment. It simply could not be! But it was. She was hearing it. The harsh sounds of ancient Krakish, a language now only spoken in the Northern Kingdoms, were crashing in her ear slits. Nyra herself had come from the Northern Kingdoms and still spoke and understood the language. A sublieutenant from her squadron had picked up on it and reported to her immediately. Smoke had grown thick once more, and they had lost the sky track of the Barn Owl and the Pygmy just before the sublieutenant, Uglamore, had appeared with the devastating news. She followed him to a safe tree upwind of the fire. Uglamore had reported that he had first picked up bits of Hoolian and then the language had become incomprehensible, but he had a feeling it might be Krakish.
    “You did well in seeking me out,” Nyra said. If there were Northern Kingdom owls in the vicinity and they were in league with the owls of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, itcould prove disastrous. For a few seconds she forgot about the Sacred Orb. She continued swiveling her head in small movements to scan by degrees the source of the conversation. As best as she could ascertain, there was a large group of owls somewhere to the northwest of the tree in which she was now perched. There were a number of safe trees in that direction that would offer refuge. Now she blinked again. Her head froze. “Division! They have a division!” she gasped. The owls surrounding her wilfed.
    “Division Six requests sixty pairs of deep ice claws, forty-two standard battle claws.”
    “Sub-squadron Four requests additional colliers.” Then from another tree there was a burst of Krakish.
    Ezylryb suppressed his desire to