Guardians of Ga'Hoole 06 - The Burning

Glauxspeed artillery flying with Kielian snakes!”
    Soren would never forget the sight. Hundreds of owls, their ice weapons glistening in the night, filled the sky. Turquoise, emerald-green, and deep blue snakes coiled up into the air from their perches on the backs of the larger owls.
    An unusually small Northern Saw-whet flew in beside Bubo. “Colonel Frost Blossom, sir, commander of E company of the Frost Beaks division.” The tiny owl spoke in a thick Krakish accent. “What’s the situation?”
    “They have two of our elite units pressed into an air trench between the Horns. They’re as good as trapped. Have no idea how many casualties they’ve sustained.”
    “I see you have a melee weapon with that flail there.”
    “Nothing beats a fizgig to break up a throng of them birds. Could use a few more,” Bubo said.
    “We have ice flails. I think our strategy should be to send in the flails first. Would you like to lead, sir?”
    “Yes, ma’am…I mean, Colonel Frost Blossom.”
    “Just call me Bloss. Most do.”
    The little Northern Saw-whet banked steeply and returned to her unit to give the order.
    Soren had not yet had a chance to speak to Gylfie. They had been ordered into a holding pattern, and no one was supposed to move out of formation. Except now Soren saw Twilight doing just that. The Great Gray broke away and was spiraling up toward a high ridge where dozens upon dozens of vultures were perched, waiting eerily for their next meal—the carrion of owls. Vultures were a gruesome sight. After a battle the Guardians of Ga’Hoole always removed their dead before a vulture could descend upon the body. They often kept them away with fire and when not with fire…It was beginning to make sense to Soren. Who had always gone into deal with the vultures? Twilight. But why now? The battle was not over. The vultures never went down in the thick of things. For all of their loathsome ways, they were very cowardly birds. Why now, Twilight?
    Twilight flew up to the ridge. The orders had come to Twilight by a messenger, a Pygmy Owl, direct from Ezylryb. What a smart old bird he is, thought Twilight. Here he can’t see the battle for the smoke, but he knew where those vultures would be. This would be a fine piece of work, and Twilight would enjoy doing it. He gathered speed and, with an ice sword gripped in his talons, headed directly for the vultures.
    The immense birds, spectral and dark, their wings hanging like black rags at their sides, looked up.
    “Whatcha want?” one squawked. Twilight was flying in circles over them. He dived now and slashed at the nearest vulture’s tail feathers with his ice sword. Several of the feathers drifted off into the wind.
    “Ouch! Whatcha do that for?”
    “No big deal,” Twilight snarled. “So you’ll fly a little funny on your way to eat dead soldiers. Who’s next?” Twilight churred loudly. The vultures began to shake with fear. “Listen up, you idiots, you stinking scum, you lousy frinking birds. You’re all going to lose your tail feathers real fast unless you do what I say.”
    “What’s that? What’s that? Anything you say, Twilight,” they all began to speak at once. They had encountered Twilight before. Usually, he just squawked one of his jangling rhymes and chased them off, but now he was carrying this strange glistening thing, and he had just sliced off those tail feathers before any one of them could half blink.
    “All right, I want your miserable butts over on those horns. Half of you on one horn. The other half on the other.”
    “Why?” asked one of the vultures.
    “Because I say so,” roared Twilight.
    “Do we get anything for doing this—like extra dead meat?”
    “You get to keep your frinking tail feathers, bozo!” And he swung the ice sword in a glittering arc. The vultures shrieked and rose in the air. Twilight followed, herding them along with his ice sword flashing in the night. Only a bird such as Twilight could find artistic inspiration in a moment like this as he drove the vultures toward the Great Horns. But inspired he was, and he could not resist.

I’ve had enough of your vulture culture.
    Now hustle on, you stink butt birds,
Hustle on and hear my words.
    You’re cowards, and I’ll slice you up,
Then feed you to the wolves for sup.
    You got splat for brains,
Your gizzards are lame
And now you’re going to play my game!

    “Get on over there, you rotten bum of a bird…Hee-yaw! Hoo-hoo!” Twilight hollered into