The sentries at the front of the temple saw the cat racing across the open area. They noted it with disinterest, and Calitora made the safety of the side of the temple without incident. He continued running until he was directly under the balcony, the only safe place for him to transform. As Calitora was assuming a human shape, he heard a shout from above him. Having finished his report to Vandamar, the Motangan mage was shouting an alarm to rouse the soldiers of the city.
Berating himself for being too slow to act, Calitora leaped away from the side of the palace and sent a light blade streaking upward. He immediately followed the spell with another. The first light blade tore into the balcony holding the Motangan mage, shredding the supports of the balcony, and the building’s appendage began to crumble and fall. The second blade of light ripped through the railing and shredded the Motangan mage. Calitora dove and rolled away as the wreckage tumbled to the ground.
As the Chula shaman rolled to his feet, he heard hundreds of voices shouting from the nearby barracks compound. He turned and saw the Motangan soldiers streaming out of the barracks, their voices raised in alarm. He watched dispassionately as the elven archers slaughtered the Motangan soldiers. Putting the carnage out of his mind, Calitora raced to the front of the temple. Princess Alahara’s forces had already killed the two sentries, and the princess stood on the front steps staring at the battle raging near the barracks. Calitora halted in front of the princess.
“Word has already gotten out about the invasion,” Calitora reported. “There was a mage on the balcony of the temple. I am sure that he used an air tunnel before shouting an alarm. I could not silence him in time. I am sorry.”
“Do not be hard on yourself, Calitora,” the Princess Alahara smiled compassionately. “We noticed the empty bed during our search, but time was against us. I suspect that each city is supposed to have a mage available at all times to communicate with Vandamar. The loss is the Motangans’. Taking the city without unnecessary bloodshed would have been nice, but our goal is to conquer this island. We are doing that.”
“Let’s hope that King Avalar in Eldamar and Princess Alastasia in Sudamar were more successful than we were,” interjected Tamar.
“We will know soon,” replied the princess as she gazed upward at the night sky. “We are due to talk soon.”
“How can you do that?” frowned the shaman. “The air tunnel requires knowledge of a place before it can be used.”
“Not always,” smiled Princess Alahara. “Within the hour, we will communicate from the roofs of the three temples and make our plans for moving northward. Each of us will weave an air tunnel to Elvangar. Mages there will connect the three air tunnels and allow us to talk.”
“What trouble will the sounding of the alarm cause us?” asked Tamar.
“I am not sure,” frowned the princess. “The three southern cities only host three thousand men each. Vandamar is much more fortified. There are over thirty thousand Motangan soldiers in Vandamar, and the element of surprise will not be on our side. A great many elves may die to liberate this island.”
“Perhaps we should wait for the rest of our armies to arrive?” suggested Tamar. “Our ships should be returning home by now.”
“Those armies are bound elsewhere,” Princess Alahara shook her head. “It is up to us to free our people from this bondage.”
“They have ten times our numbers,” frowned Tamar. “While I would willingly pit elven archers against any foe, do not expect miracles from them.”
“I do expect miracles,” Princess Alahara smiled tautly, “and you will learn to believe in them, too. Let’s go to the roof of the temple and prepare to find out how the others have done.”
* * *
Lightning flashed incessantly across the sky, illuminating the huge voluminous clouds that were producing the torrent of rain pelting down on the Sakovan heartland. Great claps of thunder roared continuously, masking out all other sounds in the Motangan encampment. HawkShadow knelt not far from the sentries guarding the perimeter of the encampment. His hair was soaked and matted to his head. His clothes were as wet as if he were kneeling in a stream, but he ignored it all. He remained motionless, an arrow nocked, his eyes focused on an unseen sentry, waiting for the lightning to illuminate him once again.
The Sakovan assassin did not have long to wait. A brilliant flash of lightning crackled overhead, bringing the brilliance of daylight into the dark of night. The flash only lasted for a second and then was gone, the blackness returning to rule the night, but HawkShadow closed his eyes, the image of the briefly illuminated sentry burned into his retinas. He raised his bow and fired at the false image. He tried to listen for the scream of his enemy, but the thunder made that impossible. The assassin knew that even the closest sentry to the victim would not hear the scream through nature’s din. HawkShadow waited for the next flash of lightning to confirm his kill before moving further along the perimeter of the Motangan encampment.
After his sixth confirmed kill, the Sakovan assassin broke away from the perimeter and headed deeper into the woods. StarWind and Goral saw him coming and met him before he was far into the clearing.
“How did it go?” asked StarWind.
“As it should have,” smiled HawkShadow. “All six are confirmed kills. Send in Goral’s people.”
“So we shall,” nodded the Sakovan spymaster. “Where do you want my people? Should I stay and protect Goral’s retreat?”
“Move onward,” interjected Goral. “Let us not waste time tonight. This storm will not last forever.”
“Goral is right,” nodded HawkShadow. “This storm is perfect cover for what we intend to do. Move your people to the opposite side of the encampment. That is where I will take out the next six sentries. Goral, when you disengage, take your people halfway around to the right. I will hurry there when I am done with StarWind’s sentries.”
“We will be there,” promised the Sakovan giant as he withdrew from the impromptu meeting.
Goral strode over to his waiting warriors, two-dozen Sakovan marauders hand-picked for the dangerous assignment. Goral nodded silently to his people who promptly mounted their chokas.
“Remember that this is only a raid,” Goral cautioned softly. “Keep an eye on me at all times. When I start to disengage, abandon the battle as soon as you can do so safely. I will linger near the perimeter to aid anyone caught in the thick of it. The rest of you continue into the forest. Understood?”
A chorus of nods and murmurs of agreement rippled through the warriors. Goral mounted Bertha and led the small group out of the clearing. They moved with little regard to noise as the chokas were fairly silent beasts, and thunder still rolled through the night air. As they approached the perimeter where HawkShadow had eliminated the sentries, Goral slowed and signaled his warriors to stop. The giant rode slowly forward until he could see the encampment during the lightning flashes. He smiled in appreciation of the assassin’s skills. Pulling a huge maul from its holder, Goral raised the maul high overhead and pointed towards the encampment. His warriors pulled their weapons and nodded to their leader.
Goral nudged Bertha, and the large warbird raced towards the enemy. The giant looked briefly over his shoulder to make sure that his warriors were following and then concentrated on the Motangan encampment. He smiled briefly as he raced past the bodies of the sentries, but the distraction was only momentary. His eyes used the flashes of lightning to memorize the placement of the nearest Motangan tents. The encampment was devoid of pedestrians as the deluge continued to rain down out of the angry clouds.