The four cubs stood in amazement as they looked about at the winter den. On the walls hung a variety of diagrams, maps, pictures etched on sealscap, and some odd-looking things made of peculiar materials.

“Da?” Jytte asked. “Have you always lived in this den?”

“More or less,” Svern replied. He could be frustratingly vague at times.

Third’s eyes settled on a pair of clawlike objects.

“What are those?” Third asked.

“Battle claws first made for the owls. And next to it is a war hammer. I have all manner of weapons here. This is my own private armory. I was a collector at one time.”

“Did you use them when you led the rebellion?” Jytte asked. Her eyes were wide with wonder. Stellan could see that she was trying to imagine holding one. Bringing it down on a Roguer bear’s head. Fighting off a skunk bear.

“Yes, I used some then, and some before.”

“Before what?” Jytte took a step closer to her father.

“I’m fairly old, you know. When I was very young, I helped some of the owls in their skirmishes with their enemies. Helped defeat some very bad owls known as the Pure Ones.” He sighed, then said, “Once upon a time.”

“Once upon a time,” Stellan said. “You talk as if it was a story.”

“It was no simple story. It was a war, all right. These wars never seem to end, do they?”

“But these battle claws aren’t made of ice,” Stellan said.

“Indeed not. Iron. Stronger than the hardest ice—except that from the Ice Dagger in the Everwinter Sea. You know, of course, the first collier came from this region. Grank was his name.”

“What’s a collier?” Froya asked.

“A collier is a collector of coals. Only owls can do it. They fly over burning forests or even the slopes of volcanoes and collect the red-hot coals.”

“What do they do with them?” Stellan asked.

“They take them to the forges of the smithies where they are used to forge metals into this!” Svern suddenly seized a long blade that glittered in the dim light of the den. The cubs gasped as he raised it and held it in the air. There was a magnificence about him as he stood with the blade glowing in the half-light of the den. His pelt, which had been raggedy and stained when they first found him, now glistened. It was as if an entirely different bear was towering before them—earless yet powerful. “This, my friends, is a sword forged in the fires of Bubo, one of the great blacksmiths of Ga’Hoole.”

“An owl?” Stellan asked. This was mystifying, trying to imagine a creature creating this weapon with fire.

“Indeed. A great horned with feathers as red as the flames in his forge.”

“But it’s not ice,” Jytte said. “Where’s the ice sword you mentioned?” She looked about. Never had she seen such things. Never had she been in such a den. It was all so odd but fascinating, exciting. She imagined herself standing beside her father, wielding these weapons.

“The ice weapons are in my sub-den. Follow me,” Svern said, and tipped his head to indicate where he was leading them.

He headed down a winding passageway that he called a ghyll. Off the ghyll were other dens, none as large as the first one they had entered.

“This is my armory,” he said. The ice walls were hung with all sorts of blades, shields, and even ice helmets. He tapped one of the helmets. “Great camo ops.”

“What’s that?” Froya asked.

“Camouflage operations. Wear one of these and the enemy thinks you’re just another mountain peak in the distance.”

“And this?” Froya asked. She took a tiny needle like sliver of ice from a holder on the wall.

“An ice splinter. Very deadly, with good aim. Too tiny, of course, for easy use in the huge paws of a bear, but perfect for the Frost Beak units. It’s an elite force of tiny owls, pygmies and elf owls, that we fought alongside in the battle with the Pure Ones in the Northern Kingdoms. Remember I told you we sometimes helped out the owls? But I was also a Yinqui, as you already know. Follow me and I’ll show you to my listening nook.”

They continued walking and then came to a small, round den not large enough to hold more than a single full-grown bear.

“This nook was the center of my listening operations. Well, let’s call it what it is—spying. The nook is actually an old dried-out smee hole.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about. So many new words!” Jytte said. This was such a new world—new words, new strange objects: ice swords and special owls like colliers.

“A steam vent. They dot the entire region here. Over time they dry up as the steam from hot springs or volcanoes finds another course. The walls become sound conductors. Your great-great-many-times-great-grandfather Svarr, mate of Svenka, was a famous Yinqui during the Hag Wars,” Svern explained.

“Is that the war the Great Marven fought in?” Stellan asked.

“No. That was not really a war when Marven distinguished himself. Near that time but before the seas had risen and the dragon walruses emerged. Quite a bear, that Marven. No equal as a swimmer.

“Now, cubs, to thread your way through the ice maze of the Den of Forever Frost, you need skills far beyond the ones you already possess. So I suggest that we begin our training with daggers.”

“Daggers?” Froya asked, and attempted to disguise the fear in her voice. Would her shoulder be up to using a dagger? She stole a glance at Jytte. Jytte never seemed to fear anything. She was just now dancing about as if sparring with an imaginary opponent. Jytte stopped suddenly and looked at the real dagger Svern held out. “So how do I hold it? My paw? My mouth?” There was a bright eagerness in her eyes.

“Your paw. Sometimes both paws when you attack. Gives you twice the power,” Svern replied. He took the dagger in both paws and swung it down. A great draft blew across the cubs’ faces, flattening the fur.

“Now follow me to a practice den.”

Svern fetched a variety of ice weapons from the passageway. He carried all of these in a whaleskin sling.

“I shall equip each of you with a sling like this, as well as one of these.” He drew out a loop of cured sealskin that he slung over his shoulders. “This is called a bandolier. It is a device for carrying ice splinters.”

“But I thought only the tiny owls, the Frost Beaks, used those,” Third said.

“True, but I had—before my unfortunate events in the Nunquivik—experimented with other methods of launching these splinters. We’ll get to that. But first let’s try out the ice swords. One begins with the proper grip and stance.”

Holding the sword aloft, he turned to the side so he was not facing the cubs squarely. “You never want to face your opponent directly. Do you know why?”

“Uh … the enemy could strike you in the face?” Jytte asked.

“Or worse, the heart!” Svern said. “So this is the proper stance. You present less of a target when turned to the side. You then must learn to advance by stepping forward but still turned to the side. So this will be our first lesson.” He drew out some slender alder branches.

“We don’t get to use real ice swords?” Jytte asked. Her shoulders slumped.

“Not yet. You must become proficient in advancing while holding the sword aloft and in this position. See that twig protruding from the wall? That is my target. Now watch me slice it off.”

Svern, with delicate quick steps, advanced on the twig and in one quick swipe sliced it from the wall of the den. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. That is not a dragon walrus or a hagsfiend. It’s a twig. It’s not moving. True. But try doing it with these twigs that I call pegs.” He walked up to the wall and stuck in the pegs. “Give it a try, Third.”

Third began moving forward with his body turned to the side. His feet became impossibly tangled up, and he fell down.

“This is harder than it looks,” Third said. “Urskadamus!” he muttered hotly beneath his breath. Stellan blinked. He had never, as long as he had known Third, heard him say even the mildest curse.

“Can I try the dagger?” Jytte asked. She was almost jumping up and down with excitement.

“Yes, the dagger is for close fighting. You have to use quick upthrust movements like this.” Svern demonstrated with a real ice dagger. There was a sharp whistle of air as he brought the dagger up. “Now try it, Jytte.”

“This is a real ice dagger … not … not a pretend one?” she said, the excitement brimming in her voice.

“Try it. You need to accustom yourself to the heft of it. All of you. Just stand apart. If you can make the air whistle, you’re doing it right.”

The cubs stood a distance apart, and each began practicing the move that Svern had just shown them. Stellan began by holding the dagger and angling himself so that his chest was turned away from his imagined opponent. He raised the blade.

“That’s it, Stellan. You might turn a tad bit farther and then begin to advance.”

Svern turned his attention to Jytte. “Jytte, your stance is perfect, but not so many big steps. Shorten your steps yet at the same time quicken them, then thrust.”

Froya was practicing in a far corner. She was quite determined, though Stellan felt she was a tad nervous at the same time. And just at that moment, Svern complimented her.

“Good, Froya. Very good.”

She gave a fragile smile. “Am I holding the dagger high enough?”

“Yes. You don’t have to hold it as high as I demonstrated with the long blade. You’ll be fighting a lot closer. So indeed you could lower it a bit, then slash sideways.”

There was no whistling as there had been when Svern brought the long blade down. The air remained still after several attempts by all the cubs, but suddenly there was a tiny squeak.

“You almost got it, Jytte. Almost. You see what she did, cubs?”

“What did I do?” Jytte looked at her father, perplexed.

“You squatted a bit. It gave more power to your upthrust. Now try it again. Bend your knees. Then pop up.”

Froya was shocked when she realized that it was her dagger that produced the next squeak!

“Utmyrket!” Svern cried out.

“Huh?” Froya said.

Svern was jubilant. He leaped up a bit, waving his own dagger. “Utmyrket! Splendid—take a bow. That’s what it means in old Krakish.”

Froya felt a thrill of delight surge through her.

Her brother Third, however, was still struggling.

Svern turned to him. “It’s all in the knees, Third. It really does add power.”

Surprisingly, Stellan, the largest and strongest of the cubs, was the last to master the dagger and produce a clear whistling sound. But he did it.

“You did it, Stellan! You did it. And though you were last to do it, that was the shrillest of all the whistles,” Svern said proudly.

“Da,” Stellan said, “I still have one question. If we do get through the maze and we do get to the Den of Forever Frost, how will we find the key?”

Svern took a long time to answer. “You understand that I have never made it there. But I think if one does, you must first find the quiet in your soul. It will be dim after so much brightness of the ice. You have to move around within this quiet, in this new dimness, and let it talk to you. Let it speak, and you shall find the key.”

“But dimness can’t speak,” Jytte said.

“If you are ready it will. You will all hear it or feel it in different ways. And then you will know where the key is. It will come to you as quietly as a gillygaskin and whisper in your ears.” He touched the place on his head where his own ears had been.