“And if they leave with their weapons?” asked the officer.
“They will be killed,” answered the guard.
“Did you see the supposed army of elves around the barracks?” asked the officer.
“I did not,” the guard answered truthfully, “but I did hear them. They were not keen on the idea of allowing us to surrender, but I believe that they will do so.”
“Are you really expecting me to believe that a bunch of escapees are demanding our surrender?” the officer shook his head. “You will be hanged for deserting your post.”
The officer pointed to two men and motioned towards the door. The two chosen soldiers grinned and nodded as they hurriedly dressed. They picked up their swords and moved to the door.
“I do not think that they are escapees,” the guard offered sheepishly. “They certainly weren’t dressed properly for slaves.”
The two Motangan soldiers quickly opened the door and barged outside. The first soldier out the door was instantly skewered by an elven arrow and fell to the ground. An elven arrow also struck the second soldier, but his body fell back through the doorway. Other soldiers dragged his body completely into the building and slammed the door shut.
“What do you mean about their dress?” the officer asked the guard. “If they are not escapees, then who are they?”
“One of them was referred to as the princess,” offered the guard. “I think they are from Elvangar.”
“Preposterous,” laughed one of the soldiers, earning him a dark glare from the officer.
“We need time to figure a way out of this,” the officer muttered to himself. “If we can get word to our mages, they can call for troops from one of the other cities.”
“I don’t think there are any mages to call upon,” frowned the guard. “I am not sure how they did it, but there were over two dozen elves already inside the temple. If the mages were still alive, we should have heard from them by now. They also said that if you didn’t surrender, they would burn down the barracks with the men still inside.”
“What else haven’t you told me?” snapped the officer.
“I would rather die with a sword in my hand than be burned alive in here,” shouted one of the soldiers.
Other soldiers shouted in agreement, and the officer yelled for silence. His mind worked feverishly to figure a way out of his dilemma, but he could not think of one. Finally, he pointed to a soldier near the door.
“I want you to walk outside without your sword,” ordered the officer. “Let’s see if these elves are true to their words. Look around and see if you can determine the number of elves that are out there.”
The chosen soldier hesitated, but those around him helped him by opening the door and shoving him out. No arrows streaked into his flesh as he gazed around in the dim light. He could not see any elves, but he saw the body of the other soldier on the ground, an arrow piercing his skull. One of the elves must have figured out what was going on, because suddenly a distant voice barked and the elves stepped out of the shadows. The Motangan’s jaw dropped as he slowly turned and gazed at the ring of elven archers surrounding the barracks compound. The soldier’s hands instinctively rose upward to show that he held no weapon. A moment later, the elves disappeared into the darkness. The soldier turned and entered the building and closed the door.
“Well?” prompted the officer.
“We are surrounded,” the soldier reported nervously, “and the elves I saw did not look like escaped slaves. Motanga has been invaded.”
“And they didn’t shoot at you?” asked the officer.
“Not at all,” replied the soldier. “At first I could not see any elves at all, but their officer barked a command, and they stepped out of the darkness to show themselves. They are clearly confident of their position.”
“How many are there?” asked the officer.
“I can only guess,” answered the soldier, “but there are certainly more than a thousand.”
“Which means that we would never survive the battle,” frowned the officer. “Even if I could get word to the other barracks, the elves have the darkness on their side.”
“Plus their intention to burn us alive,” interjected one of the soldiers. “I don’t think we have any choice.”
The officer whirled and glared at the soldier for a moment, but he did not discipline the man. Instead he sighed heavily and nodded.
“Get dressed,” the officer commanded his troops. “We will march out of here with dignity. You are to leave all of your weapons on your bunk, including knives. I will not give the elves any excuse for going back on their word.”
The soldiers talked softly as they got dressed. They often looked over at the officer expecting a rebuke, but the officer scolded no one. He turned to the temple guard and spoke softly.
“Go outside and tell the elves that I am bringing my men out unarmed,” instructed the officer. “When I am sure that their word can be trusted, I will go from barracks to barracks and bring out all of the men. If this is not acceptable to them, come back and tell me.”
The guard started to object, but the officer physically turned the guard around and shoved him towards the door.
Chapter 18
Thunder in the Woods
Dark shadows flitted in the dim light as the elves stealthily entered the city of Teramar. Princess Alahara gazed skyward to approximate the time and nodded in approval.
“If everything is going this smoothly at Sudamar and Eldamar,” Tamar said softly, “all three cities will be taken without anyone else on the island knowing about it.”
“That is the goal,” Princess Alahara responded, “but let’s not get overly confident. It only takes one mage to get the word of this invasion to Vandamar.”
Calitora had been following the elven princess and had heard the short conversation. He nodded approvingly at Alahara’s caution as he turned away from the elves and sought shadows of his own. The Chula shaman moved on an erratic path through the sleeping city. His task was to find any stray Motangan soldiers and eliminate them. He moved swiftly, but silently through the alleyways of the city, looking for any late night pedestrians.
Calitora knew the elven plan of attack well, and he was not distracted by moving shadows far above him. He knew that elven archers would control the rooftops. Instead he focused on the streets and alleyways, his eyes scanning into the darkness looking for any signs of movement.
A large alley cat darted out of a dark corner, frightened by the human presence. Calitora smiled sympathetically as the cat dashed into another alley. The shaman zigzagged through the city, constantly closing in on the city’s center where the elves were climbing to the roof of the temple. He halted briefly outside a window when he heard a noise, but he moved on again when he determined that it was merely the sounds of a fitful sleeper.
Eventually he reached the area of the city that allowed him an unobstructed view of the front of the temple. Hidden in the shadows, Calitora peered out at the two sentries standing guard outside the front doors of the temple. The Motangans were relaxed, almost lethargic in their boring duty. Calitora was about to move onward, swinging wide around the temple in his continuing search for stray soldiers, when something caught his attention. His eyes were drawn upward to a small balcony on the second level of the temple. The balcony was on the side of the temple, and Calitora did not have a good view of it, but he was sure that he had detected movement there.
The Chula shaman swiftly backed away from the front of the temple and raced to a position where he could better observe the balcony. Hoping that the figure had been one of the elven attackers, Calitora maintained his stealth for fear of alarming the enemy. When he approached the temple from a different angle, the shaman could clearly see the black shape on the balcony. His heart raced as he saw the Motangan mage. The Motangan’s lips were moving, and Calitora knew that the secrecy of the invasion was lost. Somehow a mage had escaped Princess Alahara’s assassination squads, yet no alarm had been sou
nded. Calitora glanced back at the sentries in front of the temple and saw no cause for alarm. The Motangan mage was trying to hide from the assassins and still get a message off to Vandamar.
The Chula shaman could not attack the Motangan mage without alerting the sentries, at least not from his current position. There was a wide-open area between him and the temple. He could not cross the open area without being noticed. Making a spontaneous decision, Calitora transformed into a cat and raced towards the side of the temple. His mind worked feverously as he tried to figure out how he could transform into a human again and attack the mage without getting killed. The shaman knew he would be extremely vulnerable during, and immediately after, his transformation. That vulnerability could cost him his life.
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.
Goral held the large maul out with one hand as he approached the first tent. He smashed the supports of the tent as he rode by, his eyes already fixed on a tent deeper in the encampment. He smashed the supports of two more tents while guiding Bertha towards his target, which was at the limit of the depth of the planned incursion. The choka unflinchingly used her sharp claws to tear through the fabric of the chosen tent. Momentarily out of the rain, Goral grinned broadly as he entered the tent occupied by eight Motangan soldiers. Bertha immediately tore into the flesh of a sleeping Motangan, bringing hysterical screams from her victim. The other soldiers awoke and tried to scramble to their feet, but Goral’s maul was already in action.
Goral and Bertha worked as a finely honed team. While she tore into soldiers on one side of the tent, Goral’s maul hammered away at those on the other side. Within seconds the tent was devoid of Motangan life. Goral urged Bertha through the torn fabric and immediately aimed for another tent. After the Sakovan giant and his warbird had destroyed three tents and their inhabitants, he heard an alarm shouted between claps of thunder. It was time to withdraw. He whistled loudly and headed towards the perimeter. Hesitating at the edge of the encampment, Goral counted his fleeing warriors. When the last of his people had passed by, Goral tapped Bertha into a gallop and raced after his warriors. He heard the sounds of bowstrings snapping during the lull between thunderclaps, but nothing came close to him.
Goral passed his men, ordering them to follow him. They rode hard until they reached the area where HawkShadow would find them. Goral ordered his team to dismount and held a quick meeting to assess the damage to the enemy. Over six hundred Motangans had died in the brief fight, and not a single Sakovan had been injured. Goral grinned broadly and congratulated his warriors. He bowed his head in prayer and prayed that StarWind’s team was having equal success on the other side of the Motangan encampment.
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