Magus Star Rising

Face the enemy and he is ours!

PUMAN WAR CHANT

Tremors from the Past

It had been so simple. That insidious thought had been working its way around his mind since he began this hunt.

So simple. And yet...

Perhaps I am getting too old for this, Kanoshon thought again as he snaked over the rear section of the Honin-Zay’s privacy wall. Overconfidence could kill as easily as any weapon. He knew that. He lived by such caution.

It had been simple enough to follow the Terran without detection. It had been simple enough to steal into the Terran’s house (and, very soon, this mansion) without raising any alarms.

Almost too simple.

When Kanoshon thought a hunt went too much his way, that’s when he knew there could be a problem.

His night vision picked out the hair-thin sensor webbing that permeated the plasti-stone privacy wall. Even the slightest touch would set off an alarm inside the estate. He had doffed his boots and now maneuvered his claws and toes carefully and expertly into any bare, unprotected space, no matter how small. He moved nimbly and smoothly, his body merely another rippling shadow in the dark. In a few moments, he had cleared the thrice Puman-high wall. Holding his cloak tightly about him, he somersaulted cleanly over the network of crosshatching lase-beam sensors that served as a backup alarm system to the webbing.

With barely a faint rustling, he landed quietly in the back end of the gardens that covered the mansion’s rear acreage. A wealth of smells enveloped him--a heady aromatica of flowery fragrances, ripening fruit, and rich humus. For a moment, he was reminded of home. But he blocked out all of that. Only one spoor interested him.

A lone camera-eye hummed above him, somewhere to his right. The acreage was dark except for a few oil-globes positioned within the gardens. That seemed unusual but Kanoshon had no time to wonder. He leaped upward and snatched the camera-eye out of the air, submerging it a small pool to short its mechanism out.

He moved silently yet quickly, unstrapping his staff from his back as he ran. He stopped then, taking cover behind a large Ubo tree. There was a movement to his right.

“Over here, Verot. I thought I heard a noise.”

“Let’s get the lights on. Don’t know what the problem is.”

House-guards. Two of them coming in his direction, speaking in urgent Senitte. The Puman had no time to waste on these two but he didn’t want to raise any more disturbance than was warranted. He stood still as a statue, blending into the shadows surrounding the Ubo, and turning down his aural projection.

The guards walked by, picking their way with a small, hand-held oil-torch. “We’re not even supposed to be out here,” grumbled one of the guards, a short, fattish one. “You know Old Shadow told us to take the night off. Skeleton crew only. Orders from the mistress herself.”

“Quiet!” hissed the other guard, tall and thin. “Keep your voice down. I’ll wager Kazrah has ears everywhere. But these lights being out bothers me. Let’s just check the outside genera... hey!”

“What? Verot, what is it?”

Kanoshon watched the thin guard suddenly stop only a few feet from where he stood hidden. Verot turned to his right and left and then back toward where the Puman stood. With a slightly confused expression, he shone his torch in Kanoshon’s direction.

But Kanoshon was already on the move. He clipped the blunt end of his staff across the temple of the guard Verot, mowing him down as he went after the other.

The fat one frantically tried to unholster a weapon of some kind, but Kanoshon was on him before he could bring it into play, knocking him unconscious.

Kanoshon risked a precious moment to kneel beside Verot. He knew I was here, the Puman thought. Or at least thought something was wrong. How?

Ah! On the guard’s left lapel, a small medal was pinned. The insignia of the Moneth Division glared up at him. The Moneths. They had been one of the many militia groups that had fought against the Pumans during the Action, being especially resourceful and skilled.

And brutal.

This man had been a soldier, possibly killed some of Kanoshon’s people. He must have known his enemy well to have detected Kanoshon as he had done, even with the Puman’s skills at concealment.

A surge of anger coursed through Kanoshon. His lips skinned back in a snarl, the claws of his right hand unsheathed and went for the man’s throat. Just a nick here and he would bleed to death; he would pay for what he had done during the cursed Puman Action!

Kanoshon closed his eyes and pulled his hand back. His heart thumped. No! This is no time for revenge.

He stood up, looked at the rear of the house, and ran toward the back door. My prey is there, he thought. That is where my focus lies. Afterwards, well, we shall see.

For the first time since the relocation camps, he suddenly felt tired, weary; not a physical sensation but one of the soul. Certain memories had been triggered on this hunt, a distraction he could not afford.

An image of his mate Aileea sprang into his mind, a yearning home swept over him.

Not now! He chastised himself. Fool! What is wrong with me?

He shook himself and breathed deeply. The rear door was guarded by a palm-lock. He unsheathed his knife and ran the blade broadside in front of the locking mechanism. The litha gemstones glowed brightly. Kanoshon placed the blade flat against the palm-lock with his own hand over it.

The door snicked open. Taking a quick look back at the unconscious guards, Kanoshon entered the house.