Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

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.

“How is the war going in the Sakova?” he asked apprehensively.

“Not well,” admitted Lyra. “We are losing many good people. Oh, we are getting the better of them odds wise, but I do not think such a trade is worth it. Too many friends are dying, and I almost lost HawkShadow and StarWind yesterday.”

“That would be a severe blow,” nodded Marak as he embraced Lyra to comfort her. “Why are you up so late? Or have you woken early?”

“Late,” answered Lyra. “My people demanded that I remove myself from the battlefield. They are afraid that I will be hurt. If I did not care for them so much, I would be quite angry. It reminds me of my father and how he refused to let me train with the boys.”

“And you always found a way around his edicts,” laughed Marak, “if I remember the stories correctly.”

“You remember well enough,” Lyra laughed before turning serious again. “I don’t like this feeling of helplessness.”

“You are far from helpless,” soothed the Torak. “I heard from Ukaro this evening. He should be attacking Alamar as we speak. With Kaltara’s help, Alamar will be back in friendly hands by morning.”

“Then we can begin to starve the Motangans,” brightened Lyra. “That is good news. I was getting concerned because StarWind found out that Duran has been reopened by the Motangans.”

“Then we must shut it down again,” shrugged Marak as he broke the embrace and began pacing.

“We can’t this time,” frowned Lyra. “There are thousands of Motangans defending it, and they have created defensive works to resist any attempts to reclaim the city.”

“We have no choice,” Marak said adamantly as he stopped pacing and stared at the Star of Sakova. “We cannot allow the Motangans to use Duran as a supply port. It must be retaken or destroyed.”