Guardians of Ga'Hoole 07 - The Hatchling

hero to them. And he’s feared.”
    “In other words, he has free passage,” Nyroc said.
    “Yes, and not just here. Everywhere.” Phillip was silent for a moment. “He’ll find a way to us. Probably before that cloud crosses the moon.”
    “What’ll we do?”
    “Not much choice, eh? Stuck between The Needles and the Shredders.”
    The two owls looked at each other.
    Then they both roared a great shree, “The Shredders!” And they blasted straight up from the sliver of rock, out and over The Needles, and headed directly toward the lacerating winds of the Shredders.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Shredded
    N yra watched the Great Snowy closely as he began to speak. The Pure Ones had retreated from The Needles as soon as they saw where Nyroc and Dustytuft were heading. “We have a situation here that is most unusual.” Doc Finebeak blinked and looked in the direction of the Shredders. “Only the Guardians of Ga’Hoole know how to negotiate those winds. I have never seen birds of any species, not even eagles, voluntarily hurl themselves into the Shredders. If they survive it, which I sincerely doubt, they will emerge dazed and confused.”
    “But how do we know for sure whether they get killed or not?” Nyra snapped.
    Doc Finebeak looked at her in amazement. One of these birds was her son. She betrayed not a hint of sorrow or fear. She just wanted to be sure of his death. It seemed odd.
    “I do not understand my son’s rebellious ways, but I will not tolerate rebellion,” Nyra said, as if that explained her lack of feeling.
    “I see.” Doc Finebeak nodded. Actually, he didn’t see, but that was immaterial. Doc Finebeak came from Beyond the Beyond. Most hireclaws and owls who would do anything for some kind of payment came from there. Mercenaries seldom questioned motives or reasons as long as they got paid. Payment could be anything from hunting rights in certain closely guarded owl territories where prey was plentiful to coals from Rogue smiths, and in the old days—flecks. In their present condition, the Pure Ones did not have much to offer a superb tracker like Doc. But the Great Snowy felt that it was wise to keep in the good graces of a oncepowerful force. He knew that Nyra was a formidable leader. She could rise to power again. He wanted her in his debt.
    “How do we make sure?” Nyra repeated.
    “There is a way around the Shredders. I am one of the few who know about it.” He looked directly at Nyra and puffed out his breast a bit. He wanted Nyra to know just how valuable he was. “We will go to the spill-out points on the other side. I know those as well. That is where we will find them, if indeed they survive.”
    Uglamore now stepped forward. “Just how many spill-out points are there, Doc?”
    “Two or three, at the most. It would be easy for me to find the one they come out of, and remember, they will be confused. Capture should be easy.”
    Too easy, Uglamore thought. This was not the first time he had had doubts about the Pure Ones, their goals, their strategies. Even before The Burning, he had wondered if there might be a better way to train soldiers. He began having these thoughts after a small battle in The Beaks. At that point, the Pure Ones had been better armed than any other group of owls. Their discipline was superb. They had conquered more territory than any other owl army except those of the Northern Kingdoms. And yet they were defeated in The Beaks by far fewer owls, owls who were reported to have little military discipline. It was then that Uglamore began to wonder if a free society like Ga’Hoole might produce a more superior soldier than the regimented one of the Pure Ones. Wits had won that skirmish, not might or discipline.
    Since Nyroc’s birth, he had reflected further on these notions. He was drawn to the young hatchling. He shuddered when he saw Nyra’s expectations for him and how she treated him. He wondered how this young hatchling might develop if he had been hatched to a normal owl family, or even more intriguing, if he had been hatched in the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. More disturbing to Uglamore, however, were his thoughts about himself. Even though he was on the brink of achieving the rank of colonel, he had begun to grow very weary of Nyra and her ways.
    But where else could an owl of his age go—especially an owl who had distinguished himself for fighting with the most hated union of owls in the world? It was not the defeat at the Battle of The Burning itself