“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.