Guardians of Ga'Hoole 08 - The Outcast

here,” she replied tersely.
    “Some do, some don’t. May I inquire as to your name?”
    “You may not!”
    He looked at her closely. Too closely. Otulissa was about to tell this Gwyndor to stuff a mouse in it and fly off. Otulissa hated owls and other animals getting overly familiar with her. Yes, she was snooty, she knew that. However, if this Gwyndor could help her with her mission, she would relent.
    “I am in search, sir, of the MacDuncan clan,” Otulissa said coolly. “If you could help me find them, I would be most appreciative.”
    “Ah, the MacDuncans. Yes, a fine clan, one of the oldest,” the Masked Owl said. “They were hunting here a few days ago and then I heard they’d gone up into the region of the Pennvault River. That is their territory up there. So that’s where you might find them.”
    “Well, that’s very kind of you. Now, might you direct me to this territory of the Pennvault River?”
    “I’d be more than happy to accompany you there.”
    “Oh, that won’t be necessary at all!” She didn’t want this sooty old thing going with her. He was shedding grime and fine ash over her lustrous white spots even as he spoke.
    “Madame, it is no trouble, I assure you. I am goingthere myself. I had heard rumors of an old friend of mine being with the MacDuncans.”
    “Oh,” Otulissa said softly. She was flummoxed. What was she to do? It was a free country. An owl could fly anywhere he or she wanted to. Well, she would just not talk to him. Give him a bit of the cold feather, not out-and-out rudeness, but she would maintain a certain quietness that would suggest both dignity and mystery.
    Of course, for Otulissa to remain quiet was almost a physical impossibility. She began yakking away as soon as they lifted off for the MacDuncan territory.
    “Now, tell me about this smell business with dire wolves. What’s all this scent marking about?” No sooner did Gwyndor answer one question than she popped out another.
    “And do they use it offensively, would you say, or defensively?…And what about this elaborate code of honor, and yet they fight all the time?…You have an odd way of speaking, a slight, how should I put it?”
    “Burr,” Gwyndor replied.
    “Yes, burr, that’s it.”
    “It came with the wolves, from wherever they came from. They call the accent, in fact, the MacBurr.”
    “Oh, clever. But there is also a lilt that I detect. You see, I am quite an expert in languages. Linguistics is one of my favorite subjects. You know, I speak Krakish. Would you like me to teach you some?”
    Will this owl ever shut up?! Gwyndor thought.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Violence in Silverveil
    I t’s not so bad being “dead,” Nyra was thinking as she flew through Silverveil. Glaux only knew how the rumor of her death got started, but it was serving her well. She remembered that dear Kludd had at one time been thought dead and it had allowed him time to rebuild his troops without anyone knowing. And that was exactly what she planned to do. Yes, Nyra had plans. Big plans. Now, having arrived in Silverveil, she was about to initiate the first stage of these plans. She knew that she could not keep up this ploy of being dead indefinitely. Quite the opposite. The first stage of her plan involved killing someone else. And the hammering from that someone’s forge she could hear this very moment.
    Her intended victim was the Rogue smith of Silverveil. Stupid creature had refused way back when to make claws for Kludd—she deserved to die. And once Nyra had gotten rid of her, she planned to assume her identity—to a point. She would not claim to be the Rogue smithof Silverveil, just a Rogue smith. She would take all that soot and ash from the forge and dust herself with it, particularly her face so that her scar would be covered. And she would take the bucket and the tools and head for Beyond the Beyond.
    She was going to Beyond the Beyond with a definite shopping list: three Rogue smiths, four Rogue colliers, enough hireclaws for a battalion, and—this was her truly inspired idea—wolves! Dire wolves, to be precise, the largest, most savage wolves on Earth.
    The idea had come to Nyra in the middle of the day, one of many restless days in which she could not sleep for her anger over Nyroc’s betrayal and desertion. She could hardly believe she had never thought of it before. Why not enlist another species in the Pure Ones’ battle to control the entire owl world? Hadn’t the owls of the Northern