Army of the Dead (23 page)

“And if He decides differently,” added StarWind, “we are ready to accept His judgment. HawkShadow and I have already discussed this at great lengths. Our minds are made up.”

“Talking to either one of you when your minds are made up is bad enough,” chuckled Lyra. “I will not even attempt to second guess your resolve, but will we have time to put together a wedding here on such short notice?”

“We will invite only the witnesses,” answered HawkShadow. “We have chosen Goral and StormSong to witness for us.”

“But the others will want to wish you well,” frowned Lyra.

“Others may come if their tasks are complete,” shrugged HawkShadow, “but we do not intend to slow down the preparations for the Motangan attack. A simple ceremony is all we ask for.”

“And your blessings,” added StarWind.

“My blessings?” smiled the Star of Sakova. “You shall certainly receive my blessings and my prayers. When do you wish to do this?”

HawkShadow whistled loudly, and Goral and StormSong suddenly appeared. StormSong was carrying a bunch of wildflowers and handed them to StarWind.

“Now would be a good time,” the assassin grinned.

* * *

“Come on,” shouted the Motangan general, “get those wagons loaded. The sun is already setting, and this caravan was supposed to be out of here this morning.”

The black-cloaked mage stood beside the general and shook his head in disbelief. “Do you think your men could work any slower?” he scowled. “Premer Doralin is certainly going to be asking questions about this delay, and I will not take the blame for it.”

“As you have made clear all afternoon,” snapped the general. “You file your report, and I will file mine. There is something spooky about this city of Alamar. All day I have had men coming to me and telling me that the supplies were not where they were supposed to be. It is almost magical how things have been moved around.”

“What are you suggesting?” frowned the mage. “Are you accusing my mages of hampering your efforts to load the supply caravans?”

“I made no such accusation,” retorted the general, “but it is curious that things are not where we left them. It certainly is not the fault of all these cats that have suddenly invaded the city. You tell me how it has happened.”

“I will tell you,” countered the mage. “Your men have probably been drinking again and have no idea where they stored the supplies when they came off the ships. Do not even think of pinning the blame for your incompetence on my mages. With ten thousand men you surely should be able to handle the shipment of supplies without magical help.”

“You handle your mages,” snapped the general as he strode briskly towards the caravan, “and leave the handling of my men to me.”

The general was fuming as he approached the caravan. Dealing with mages always set him off on a rampage and he decided to get away while he still had some vestige of calm within him.

“What is the hold up this time?” the general bellowed at the officer in charge of the caravan.

“Sixty crates of smoked meat are missing,” the officer replied with exasperation. “I personally saw them loaded into the cellar of one of the destroyed inns, but the crates are not there now. The caravan cannot leave without them.”

“Are they being stolen?” the general asked with concern as he started to calm down.

“I don’t think so,” shrugged the officer. “Everything else that was missing has turned up elsewhere, some of it in the most illogical places. I think the city is haunted by spirits.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scowled the general. “Spirits do not move crates of meat around. It is more likely a band of your men that do not want to make the journey into the forests. Find the culprits and execute them. That will end these annoying movements of supplies.”

“I can hardly do that and load this caravan at the same time,” sighed the officer. “I will make a map for the next shipments from Duran. Every crate will be numbered and stored in a specific location, and I will assign guards to watch over it until the next caravan is loaded.”

“I like that idea,” brightened the general. “It is too late for your caravan to leave today. Tell your men to find those sixty crates and load them. Your caravan will leave at dawn. The sooner they find the crates, the sooner they can go to sleep.”

“I will see to it,” saluted the officer. “We will leave promptly at dawn.”

The general nodded with satisfaction and left the caravan. He returned to his headquarters in the old schoolhouse once used by the Omungans to teach magic. As soon as he entered the schoolhouse, the kitchen staff scurried to prepare the evening meal.

The general and his staff sat down in the dining room and talked amicably as the kitchen staff provided a feast for the officers. Several hours later, the general and his staff turned in for the night. All over the partially destroyed city of Alamar, soldiers bedded down for the night, well fed and comfortable in the buildings that remained standing.

* * *

The alley was dark, although the sky was studded with brilliant stars. The pale orb of the moon was just rising over the horizon as the small black cat darted along the alleyway. It ran openly down the center of the alley, confident that the only Motangans awake were those sentries guarding the perimeter of the city. They were of no concern to the small cat.

The cat reached its destination, a window near the door to a large mansion once owned by a wealthy Omungan. There it moved into the darkest of shadows and waited. It did not have long to wait. The cat tilted its head upward as it caught the new scent drifting lightly on the wind. It purred softly as it listened intently for the sound of footsteps that were sure to follow.

In the dim light of the city, the cat saw a dozen Chula warriors enter the mouth of the alley. Without waiting for them to arrive, the cat leaped onto the windowsill and entered the mansion. It made a quick circuit of the interior of the building where over a hundred Motangan soldiers were sleeping. It found no one awake. The cat returned to the door to the alleyway and instantly vanished. In the cat’s place stood a Chula shaman. The shaman opened the door to the alley and silently greeted the dozen warriors outside.

With swift hand signals, the shaman gave orders to the warriors. The warriors dispersed throughout the building while the shaman waited to see if his assistance would be needed. Within minutes, the warriors began to gather at the door, their knives dripping with Motangan blood. There were no cries of alarm issued, and the shaman immediately transformed into a cat and dashed through the open door and into the alleyway. It hurried to the next building on its list, knowing that other groups of Chula were working just as hard all over the city. It was a race to see how many Motangans could be killed before an alarm was issued to wake the city up.

Several blocks away, a tawny kitten led a group of cats into the alleyway alongside an inn. When the kitten halted, a dozen cats halted beside it. It was a strange sight to behold as the dozen cats formed a semicircle around the kitten and sat down as if they were preparing to listen to a lecture. In the blinking of an eye, they all disappeared. In their place stood twelve head shaman from various tribes in a semicircle. In the center stood Ukaro, the head shaman of the Zatong tribe, and the father of the Torak. The shamans looked attentively towards their leader.

“There are a hundred black-cloaks inside,” Ukaro warned softly. “They would have to be quite foolish not to have magically alarmed this building. Our task here is not one of speed, but of stealth. If any alarm is given, you are to attack without regard to stealth, but until that time, tread softly and take no chances of being discovered.”

“Are you saying that entering through windows is unacceptable?” asked one of the shaman.

“I must suspect that it is,” nodded Ukaro. “I will not underestimate my opponents.”

“Then how can we proceed at all?” asked the shaman.

“I plan to enter through the roof,” explained Ukaro. “I will take three others with me. The rest of you are to prepare for battle the moment an alarm is sounded. I want every door and window guarded. None of the black-cloaks are to escape. Destroy the building and everyone in it if you must, but do not let a single Motangan mage get outside.”

The shamans nodded and Ukaro pointed to three other shamans before transforming into the tawny kitten again. The three chosen Chula mages also transformed into cats and followed the kitten. The kitten raced along the alleyway as if it was its home. It darted around an old cart and leaped onto a large barrel, immediately vaulting further onto the roof over the porch. From the low porch roof, it moved slowly to the corner of the building where a decorative wooden strip ran upward for another two stories. The kitten’s sharp claws dug silently into the wood as it climbed vertically upward.

As the other three cats followed, the kitten leaped onto the kitchen chimney. Its nose crinkled with distaste as it sniffed the lazy spiral of smoke drifting upward. Jumping down from the chimney, the kitten raced across the roof to the next chimney. Again it sniffed the air and purred lightly at the absence of smoke. The kitten suddenly disappeared. In its place was a larger bobcat whose limbs were better suited to descend the chimney to the fireplace below.

The bobcat slowly climbed down the inside of the chimney, black soot soiling its pristine fur. With its paws stretched out to embrace the opposite walls, the descent was slow and agonizing, but the results were pleasing. The bobcat entered a large sleeping chamber that contained only a single mage. It moved softly across the room and halted alongside the bed. Transforming back into human form, Ukaro swiftly used one hand to cover the victim’s mouth while the other plunged a knife into the Motangan’s heart. The Motangan’s eyes opened briefly in horror, but his death was quick.

Ukaro turned and saw his three fellow shamans in human form. He nodded to them and pointed to the door. The shaman closest to the door eased it open and peeked out. His body disappeared into the hallway and the other shamans followed. In the hallway, the shamans split up, each heading for a different room. They slowly and methodically cleared the upper floor of Motangan mages and were starting to move down to the next level when a horn blared outside the building. The horn was quickly joined by others, and Ukaro knew that the time for stealth was over.

Shouts rang out from below the shamans. Ukaro signaled with his hands, and the Chula retreated up the steps to the uppermost level of the inn. Black cloaks were clearly visible down the stairwell as the Motangan mages reacted to the alarm.

The mages raced to the ground level and threw open the front door. Twirling blades of light immediately sliced through their bodies and panic erupted inside the inn. Some mages tried the windows and the back door, only to meet with a similar fate as blades of light sliced through their bodies.

“Stay away from the windows,” shouted a Motangan mage. “We are surrounded, but I have a plan. Gather around me.”

Ukaro nodded to his fellow shamans and crept down the stairs. They reached the second level and continued downward. Half way down the last flight of steps, Ukaro halted as he saw a large mass of black cloaks milling around the man who must have taken command. Ukaro had no need to signal to his fellow Chula. He stepped down one more step and stooped to give the others a clearer view.

As Ukaro unleashed his blades of light, several others whisked past his shoulders. The magical blades sliced into the clump of black cloaks and body parts flew through the air. A fine red mist hung in the air for several seconds before drifting to the bloody floor. Ukaro immediately rose and raced down the stairs. He avoided the area of carnage and proceeded to check the other rooms of the first floor for any stray mages. Minutes later, the other three shamans joined him.

“The second floor is cleared,” reported one of the Chula.

“As is this one,” nodded Ukaro. “Our business is done here. We need to get out on the streets to help our warriors. Give the signal that we are coming out.”

For the next three hours, the battle raged in Alamar. Some of the Motangans dashed into the street to battle with the Chula warriors, while others sought sanctuary in the partially destroyed buildings. Light blades flashed all over the city, and cats were seen dashing into buildings that had become Motangan refuges. By morning an eerie silence pervaded the old Omungan city. Groups of Chula searched the city, building by building. There were no Motangans left alive.

* * *

“Ophia?” the voice asked softly through the air tunnel.

“She is sleeping,” came the pleasant reply from the roof of the Imperial Palace in Khadoratung. “This is Kaylee. What can I do for the Star of Sakova?”

“Tayo, Kaylee,” smiled Lyra. “I was hoping to find Marak still awake.”

“He is also sleeping,” replied Kaylee. “Is it important?”

“No,” sighed Lyra. “I just returned to StarCity and could not sleep. I was hoping that he was awake.”

Kaylee frowned at the unusual request, but something tugged at her heartstrings. “Wait for a moment, “ she said softly. “I will wake him.”

“That is not necessary,” Lyra replied halfheartedly, but she felt the air tunnel drop on the other end.

A few minutes later, she felt the air tunnel being picked up again.

“Lyra?” asked Marak. “What is wrong?”

“Marak,” replied Lyra, her voice smiling through the air tunnel. “I am sorry to have you awakened. There is nothing wrong that cannot wait until morning.”

“Then let us consider it morning,” Marak replied pleasantly. “I would love to see you. How about meeting me half way?”

“I would like that,” Lyra said, her spirits already rising.

“Then let it be so,” stated Marak. “I will see you shortly.”

The Torak dropped the air tunnel and thanked Kaylee for waking him. He left the roof and stopped off at his quarters to dress in his Torak clan uniform. He took his secret exit from the palace and stole across the city to the temple. In minutes he was in the library of the temple at Changragar. Barely a minute later, the bookshelf moved, and Lyra entered the room. She wore a plain black tunic and black pants. Marak frowned when he saw her garb.