Guardians of Ga'Hoole 04 - The Siege

have to fly against this wind, not head-on but enough to slow their flight. This did not disturb Strix Struma. The Guardians, particularly the Strike force, were masters of slow flight. In the turbulent air over the Sea of Hoolemere, this was important.
    Soren, Gylfie, and Twilight took up their positions on top of two snares in a section of the southwestern quadrant. It was a perfect vantage point. They watched in stunned amazement as the Striker force flew out into the spume-laced air with Otulissa flying in a flanking positionand Ruby ahead of her. Ruby, they understood. Ruby was one of the most superb fliers of the tree, but Otulissa?
    “It must have killed her to keep quiet about this,” Gylfie offered as they watched the Striker force dissolve into a fog bank.
    “Let’s just hope she doesn’t get killed,” Soren said.
    “She won’t. She’ll do fine.” Soren and Gylfie swung their heads toward Twilight, and blinked in surprise. This was not the reaction they had expected. They had thought that Twilight, of all owls, would be insanely jealous of Otulissa’s being chosen for this mission. “She’s smart, and you know how sensitive all Spotted Owls are to pressure changes—almost as good as nest-maid snakes. And she’ll be brave—if only for Strix Struma, she’ll show courage. If she can just stop yakking and keep her beak shut, she’ll do fine.”
    At that moment, Huckmore came up to them. “Now you understand what to do when the enemy is driven into the snares by the Striker force. You are to pull the slipknot lines, which will immediately immobilize the enemy. Many will die instantly. If they are caught around the neck, this can result in strangulation. If their wings are ensnared, they are usually broken. Any questions?”
    Soren, Gylfie, Twilight, and three other owls working this snare all shook their heads.
    “Good luck, Guardians!” Soren felt a little thrill course through his gizzard. This was the first time any of them had ever been addressed by an elder member of the tree as Guardians. None of them had had their Guardian ceremony yet, but this old Great Gray who had seen many battles himself had called them Guardians!
    There was no need to tell them to keep a sharp eye out for incoming owls. They could hardly take their eyes off the action that was just commencing off the shores of the island. A flying wedge of Sooty Owls was approaching fast. Behind them were at least forty owls—some Sooty, a few Grass Owls, and many Barn Owls, their faces fading into the tossed-up spray of the breaking waves. Just as they passed over the beach, they unlocked their claws. The Strikers materialized, seemingly coming out of nowhere. They had split their force into two divisions. At twenty owls they were half the number of the enemy, but they struck the center of the wedge from two sides, thus shattering the formations. The point of the wedge remained intact but with only ten determined owls to stay their course toward the island’s center and the tree. Still, it was a brilliant maneuver. Now ten enemy owls advanced. They were maddened that their force had been shattered, but were more resolute than ever in their quest. Yet through their rage, they were not quite so alert. In the foggy nightof the snow-laden forest, they were not able to distinguish the white vines from the trees.
    “Voles dance at dawn!” Huckmore’s lieutenant called out the code to prepare to tighten the slipknots. Soren and Gylfie were at their stations. They wore no battle claws because it was too hard to work the vines with claws on.
    “Steady. Steady. Steady,” Gylfie whispered. It was important that they didn’t panic, that they pull the slipknots at precisely the right moment—not too soon, not too late.
    Soren could feel the wind generated by the flapping owls. “LOVELY.” The word sailed out into the night, a strange word in battle, but the essence of code was to deceive the enemy and communicate with the allies. So instead of “Now!” or “Strike!” the gentle, two-syllable word had been chosen as the call to action for the snare rippers, as Soren, Gylfie, and the others who minded the vines were called.
    The impact of the in-flying owls sent tremors through the web. Soren saw tiny Gylfie yanked up and down, but she held tight to the vine. Horrible screeches raked the air as the enemy owls, in a panic, tried to extricate themselves. Ten owls hung, some already lifeless, others broken and dying in the