Guardians of Ga'Hoole 08 - The Outcast

female wolf named Gyllbane looked narrowly at Nyra, her eyes becoming thin green slits. There is something not right here. How could she not know about Fengo if she had gone to that great library? It was all written down.
    The entire history of the Beyond had been recorded, not just since the time Hoole came here with Grank, the first collier, but Fengo. Gyllbane shifted her weight and continued to listen.
    “So I would imagine that is why Duncan MacDuncan brought him. To honor us with his presence. There has been much talk since the incident with the bear and the wolves that this owl has special powers of some sort. Some even say that he might be the true heir of Hoole and the one to retrieve the Ember of Hoole.”
    “This is most alarming,” Nyra said. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but news of the ember and what that meant to her plans had shocked her.
    “It is, Madame General?”
    “Well, we wouldn’t want the ember to get into the wrong talons, now, would we?” Nyra recovered her composure.
    “Definitely not, Madame General.”
    “And if this is the owl I am thinking of, well, it could be trouble. Can you tell me what he looked like?”
    “Yes, he was a Barn Owl, as I said. A fairly large face for one his age and a scar that ran down it on a slant.” Nyra felt her legs weaken. It was Nyroc. Nyroc inpossession of the Ember of Hoole—it was unthinkable. What is the old chieftain saying now? Oh, what a bore he is and the whole cave stinks. Terrible gas these wolves have. Comes from eating that tough winter grass that grows here. Some sanctuary! The old chieftain was still talking. Something about scars.
    “You see, Madame General, we are most fond of scars. It is our own way of writing our history. We all bear great scars. Would you care to see them?”
    “Oh, yes, of course,” Nyra replied. Good Glaux, as if this old dog weren’t boring enough. Now I have to look at his scars.
    And it was not only his scar, a rather impressive one that raked down his belly, but the other wolves’ scars, as well. “Ross here got that one in the skirmish with the MacDuncans; Edwidge lost an ear when he was ambushed by the MacMillans; and Gyllbane…” The creamy wolf trotted up to Nyra. “She got a nasty one on her shoulder in a ferocious fight with the MacAndrews.”
    Gyllbane looked closely at the owl. Beneath the soot, she saw a scar exactly like the one that marked the Barn Owl Coryn. There was something in the black eyes of this Madame General that she did not trust. But would Lord MacHeath listen to Gyllbane? He was stubborn. He rarely listened to anyone except his top nobles. She might have a nasty scar, but her rank was still low. Whose pup was it that Lord MacHeath had decided to mutilate in hopes ofsending a gnaw wolf to the sacred watch? Her very own. How angry she had been. And she had to beg the chieftain to allow her to stay and not be sent away as was the custom when a female gave birth to a “deformed” pup. He had allowed her to stay but had run her mate off and forbidden any contact between her and the pup. Her own pup was nursed by a wolf in the whelping den while her own dugs hung heavy. How the resentment had built in her. She trotted back to her place in the Gadderheal.
    While Nyra pretended to be interested in their scars, another idea had come to her. “Lord MacHeath, the scars you have shown me in this Gadderheal tonight only offer more proof that you are wolves of great valor. Wolves worthy to fight for a great cause. The news you brought me of this owl called Coryn disturbs me deeply. For I think I have heard of this owl from other parts of the owl kingdom. You should not rest easy, for is he not being given sanctuary by the MacDuncans, the very clan that has robbed you of what is yours? If, by some terrible quirk of fate the Ember of Hoole became his, think what this would mean for the MacDuncans.” Hackles were raised and ears stood up. There were tense growls exchanged.
    “And if this should come to pass, Lord MacHeath, I vow on my honor to set my sky hounds upon him, killhim, and bring the Ember of Hoole to you in this very Gadderheal.”
    A stunned silence fell upon the wolves.
    “You mean that, Madame General?” MacHeath growled.
    “My word is as solid as my gizzard.”
    Gyllbane raised a paw.
    “Yes, Gyllbane?” The chieftain turned to the creamcolored wolf.
    “The talking bone, if you please.” A wolf picked up the bone and brought it to Gyllbane. She turned to