“Oh, my heart,” spoke the first woman. “Put away your scimitar, Taharka, finally a guardsman around when you need one.” She smiled. The huge dark man was not a Lamanite as Amaron had initially supposed, but an enormous, black-skinned Nubian, girded in the Egyptian style.
“We are glad to finally meet someone on this lonely road. Our chariot axle broke a mile or two back down the road. We worried that robbers might come upon us, so I decided that we should make for Gideon, but it seems to be farther than I thought.”
“It is still over ten miles to Gideon from here. Who are you, may I ask?”
“Oh, where are my manners? I am the Lady Zoreah and this is my handmaiden Aselin.” Both wore long, silken cloaks with hoods, as was the fashion of the day. Zoreah wore gold and jeweled rings on all but a few fingers, Aselin on only one. Each was comely in Amaron’s eyes, Zoreah with long black hair and Aselin with light brown hair. The eyes of Zoreah were a brilliant fiery green.
“You have already met my man Taharka. He is very capable and good at what he does, but he is a mute.” The big man stood several inches taller than Amaron. He grinned in a menacing way, showing his bright white teeth. Amaron ignored him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“You may rest with us in my camp, just within these trees. I have nine more guardsmen with me. You will be quite safe from robbers.”
“Really,” mused Zoreah. She reached out for his hand. Hers was soft and warm. In the moonlight he could see her bright, scarlet-painted nails and lips. Her sweet-smelling perfume wafted off her body like smoke, almost hitting him in the face with its strong, desirable scent. “Thank you so much, Captain. Come Taharka.”
Holding his hand tight, she moved in closer to his body. A fire erupted within him at her closeness. At the same time his still, small voice inside screamed a warning.
Back at camp, he gave her his own bedroll, and Judah’s to Aselin. Taharka still grinned his wide, intimidating smile and, like an obedient dog, leaned up next to a tree near his mistress.
Judah came and drew Amaron aside for a moment, feigning a jovial smile. He whispered in anger, “What are you doing? You have broken the protocol you demanded of us.”
“What are you talking about?” Amaron responded.
“You told us not to interact with other travelers, to keep our mission a secret.”
“I have told them nothing.”
“They know we are a company of ten on a mission from Zarahemla. Any Gadianton worth his blade would guess the rest and know exactly what we are doing. We should wake Ezra and ask him about this.”
“I want no help of his,” snarled Amaron.
“It won’t hurt to see if he knows them at least.”
“No, they are women that need our help. It is our duty. Such women could not be robbers.”
“You never know, brother,” said Judah.
Amaron knew he had broken the very orders he had given his men, on this, his first outing as a captain. But these were women in need. He may have saved them from real robbers already. Feeling justified, he mocked Judah, “Stop your worrying, old woman. They are prettier than you.”
Judah cursed under his breath and walked back out into the darkness to his post.
Zoreah sat beside the glowing fire, warming her gold-covered fingers. She smiled up at Amaron. He was taken by her beauty. Sitting by the firelight, she seemed to be the most beautiful woman he had ever spoken with. Was this fate for them to meet out here in the wilderness, the perfect opportunity to impress her with his new position and skill?
“I am not tired yet. Come and talk with me. Taharka can take up your watch, he is very effective.” The big ebon man grinned as he patted his scimitar’s scabbard, and then he ran his finger across his throat and pointed at Amaron. He gave a silent mute laugh.
“Ignore his threats.” She gestured for him to sit next to her and patted the ground to further illustrate the point.
She was alluring and yet almost repellent and Amaron could not figure out why. Was her thick perfume irritating, or intoxicating? He sat down beside her, confident in himself while giving in to her every command. Her face was framed with short bangs. Deeply red lips smiled.
“You are an interesting man, being a captain of the guardsmen. Out here protecting the… innocent,” she said. “Tell me your story. Why are you here? What is there in this dreadful wilderness?” She stared deep into his eyes, and he found himself staring back into the emerald pools.
“This is no wilderness. Many people travel these roads and live nearby on farms or in communes. I could walk an hour in any direction from here and find people. A true wilderness would be Hermounts or southern Desolation,” he replied, hoping to impress her.
“I have traveled through southern Desolation, a wretched wasteland,” she said.
“You have been there?” he was surprised. It was not where people wanted to go, especially not rich beautiful women.
“Yea, I have traveled much in my time. But you are just a youth, there is much time for you yet. How old are you?” she smiled, to take the sting off her words regarding his age.
“I am eighteen summers old.”
“Ha, in the darkness I thought you to be older, but your eagerness betrays you. How old do you think I am?”
Not wishing to offend he guessed lower than he believed. “Twenty-five?”
“Close enough. I am thirty winters. Surprised?”
“Why have you traveled so much?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Business. My father is a lord in the west near to Joshua. Here... try some of my wine and tell me of yourself. And why you and your men are out here in this lonely place.” She smiled and offered the wine.
“I do not drink strong drink.” He slid back a little from her. She smiled, teeth bared, and touched his shoulder with soft, sweet-smelling hands.
“It is not strong but fresh, please try it,” she spoke in a soft, enticing tone.
He took the skin and drank a small swallow. It was sweet, and he detected no trace of it fermenting. He took a deeper swig. It seemed all right at first, but a strange aftertaste hit him as he put it down.
“It is good, is it not? Now, what are you doing out here?” she caressed his cheek, then rubbed his shoulder.
A strange sense of detachment overcame him. Only the fire and the two of them existed. He wanted to please her.
Beneath the bright killing moon, she stared into his eyes. Moving closer, she breathed heavily on his neck. “Tell me, what are you and your guardsmen doing out here in this wilderness, what are you looking for?” She moved onto her knees to bear down on him and look down into his eyes.
“We are on patrol, looking for Gadiantons. They may be staging a revolution of some kind,” he said, slurring just a little.
“That sounds far-fetched to me. But tell me more. How did you hear of this wild tale?”
“That’s simple.” He took another swallow of the wine when she plied him. “A traitorous Gadianton rogue told us about it.”
“Oh?”
“Yea, he is with us even now, yonder…” He pointed, realizing dumbly that they were now both away from the camp out into the trees. He felt a strange call to return, but she grabbed his hand with a surprisingly firm grip. She took both his hands and made him face her. Dropping her cloak down about her feet, she revealed her bronzed skin with only a simple scarlet girdle over her beautiful body.
“Hold me, my love,” she whispered hot into his ear.
How had he not noticed her leading him off into the darkness? Never had he felt so dazed and confused.
She took him in her arms and kissed him on the mouth. Never had anyone kissed him with such hot passion—and he forgot everything.
She pulled away suddenly, looking up at him with deep emerald eyes. “Do you believe the traitor? Do you or Onandagus think the Gadiantons are coming? What about the Lamanites?” She licked her lips and held up the wineskin to him.
Amaron shook his
head. “Onandagus? I spoke not of him earlier.”
“Yes, you did. You serve him, do you not?”
“Yea, I do. He is the chief judge as well as the head of the priesthood. He is my head.” Rubbing his brow, he tried in vain to shake off the confusion and thick head. Stamping in place and blinking rapidly, it subsided for a moment. Standing before him in scarlet glory was a most beautiful woman... what did she say her name was? “Who are you? Why do you ask of my mission?” he asked with a heavy tongue.
She caressed his chest and kissed him hotly once again, clouding his mind over. “Tell me,” she whispered into his ear. “How many more guardsmen are searching for Gadiantons... I need to know.” Her breath was hot and sweet.
“Ten captains of ten.”
“Wonderful, do you know where they are?”
“We each took one of the ten roads to Zarahemla. I am not supposed to be on this one, but to the west on the old Hermounts trail. On the way to Cumeni.”
She smiled a wicked smile and patted his chest, then pushed him away. “I cannot believe the luck,” she murmured, then shouted “Taharka!” Suddenly the big Nubian was beside them. “We have actually come across the scouts that are supposed to be on the true route. We need not worry about finding the others.”
Amaron stared at her. Her voice was different now that she was no longer speaking sweetly to him. Why did he recognize it? They had never met before.
Ezra sat up from his bedroll and saw the girl, Aselin, as she leaned over the sleeping Daniel with a potion bottle in her hand. A foul-colored spittle hung from Daniel’s mouth and chin. Amaron stood in a stupor beside the woman in the dark. He heard her voice as she spoke to Taharka and knew immediately who she was.
Shouting madly, Ezra warned his new friend, “Amaron! Amaron, what are you doing? Get away, that is the voice of Lilith. She will destroy us!”
Amaron thought he heard someone call his name. He looked about in the gloom but could see only a beautiful, sinister woman and a huge, grinning dark man.
“Aselin, why did that one awaken?” snarled Zoreah.
“I’m sorry, mistress, he was the last and I had not yet administered the potion to his lips,” she cried in fear.
Who is crying? Amaron sensed a distant danger that drew ever closer.
“I have drugged this one enough for a dozen men and still he stands gazing at me in love,” said Lilith.
Amaron continued staring at this vision of loveliness before him, dressed in a scarlet garment, revealing enough to make the sailors of Phoenicia blush. Who is this woman? No angel was ever this tempting, no devil this lovely.
“Amaron, my love, take your sword and slay the man you hate! Slay the traitorous Gadianton!” She pointed at Ezra still sitting on his bedroll, staring up in great fear. Amaron drew his sword, the dreaded Ramevorn, and held it high over Ezra’s quivering skull.
The Dust of His Feet
For two and a half weeks, Qof-Ayin and the other spies kept a grueling pace, traveling farther and faster than ever before in their lives. Near the suspected border of the Nephite lands, the spies separated to better hide in the broad brown desert. Passing down some low hills near the borders of the Nephite lands, Qof-Ayin saw his first Nephite city.
It sat on the horizon toad-like, a great squat mud brown thing atop a wide hill. Towers lined its wall, and a trio of higher towers reached up toward the unforgiving sun. Scattered farms and fields lay spread around it, green and brown lines crisscrossed in all directions from the center a mile or two. This had to be the city of Desolation, a cruel joke. Who would want to live here? Hardly a tree for miles, just bleak rolling hills with tufts of scrub brush and grass clinging to the hillsides against an ever-present wind.
Nephites are a strange people, thought Qof-Ayin. He had only ever met but a few and they were so proud and arrogant, believing themselves superior in all things when they generally did not have the slightest understanding of the world about them. No wonder his great-grandfather Samuel had to go and teach them.
Gazing about, Qof-Ayin could see no one near him but remained cautious. Moving closer to circuit the area, he found the Nephite city’s water source. A murky brown river, wide but not too deep. It flowed well enough. There were no traces on this southern side of the river of any great amount of men being marshaled, so the wily Lamanite moved across the river to the northwest side. Several farms were near, irrigated by the muddy river, but there was no trouble sneaking past these people without being seen. They did not seem to be people wary of trouble or preparing for war.
Teancum was another large city not far away toward the coast of the Sea of Enoch. He decided to travel farther north to the narrow passage, and let others investigate the city of Teancum. Being a captain of the army, Qof-Ayin thought if it were up to him an army would be marshaled at the pass near the city of Boaz, instead of these open rolling hills, where men would grow restless under the merciless sun. It was not a good place to let an army sit, the battles near the Black Mountains of Tullan had taught him that hard lesson years ago.
A lazy wisp of smoke curled up to the sky, beckoning someone to investigate. Qof-Ayin had to smile to himself at the foolishness of several of these runners and spies. Several times he had seen small cook fires with smoke giving away the position of their makers. On second thought, he was ashamed as he had trained many of these men. They should have known better.
Who could be so foolish? Qof-Ayin wondered if it were those who had been to the east of him on the journey, either lean Cahok or stout, sturdy Tzumin, both young and inexperienced, but not half-wits. Something wasn’t right.
Nocking an arrow, he started toward the smoke, stooping low to the ground. Traveling from bush to bush, he stalked a wide, cautious half-moon circle about the camp, always keeping low of the horizon so as not to silhouette himself. Satisfied that no one was waiting outside the camp to ambush him, he came toward it from upwind.
Coming in low and quick, he saw the smoldering fire in the slight gulch surrounded by sage brush. Not the worst spot to camp as far as cover was concerned, but certainly not the best if it rained. Two bodies were sprawled on the ground. Cahok and Tzumin.
Cahok’s throat was slit, and Tzumin had three arrows in his back. Qof-Ayin recognized the dogwood shafts with red dyed fletching. He pulled one out to examine the finely crafted, copper tip. His people used only obsidian and bone for arrow heads. This was a Nephite arrow.
Something else wasn’t right. His people always retrieved their arrows unless irreparable, and these were fine. These had been shot into Tzumin from close range and with a low pull. Someone stood right over him and shot him in the back while he was asleep, and wanted their arrows found. Nephites were a strange people, but this was a waste. It made no sense.
The fire would smolder for several hours to come. Someone had stoked it well only a short time ago. Someone wanted this spot found. Tracks around the camp suggested that at least four men had been here, or rather five. A blood trail showed where Cahok had tried to run but was struck down and carried back to camp by the man with the heavier tracks. All signs said that someone wanted the bodies to be found. Qof-Ayin’s skin crawled at the thought of this sinister set-up and knew he must leave immediately. As he turned to go, a man on horseback shouted to him in the tongue of the Nephites.
“Ho there. Who are you?” Called the mounted Nephite. Three more riders rounded the hilltop. “I said, who are you,” he called again louder.
“It’s a Lamanite,” said another.
If he ran, they would think him the guilty one. Qof-Ayin lowered his bow to be non-threatening but retained his hold upon it. These would not be the murderers. There were no horse tracks here, only moccasin and bare feet. Nephites were strange, they never went anywhere without shoes.
The four horsemen were just about upon him when they saw the bodies. “Holy Ashtoreth, this savage has murdered his companions,” one swore as he drew his sword. Two more drew their bows and nocked arrows.
The ap
parent leader remained calm and asked with patience, “Why did you do this?”
Qof-Ayin could not remember his Nephite very well but hoped it would be serviceable. “It was not I. Found this camp. Found dead men.”
“Who are you and why are you here in these lands?” asked the leader again, a tall blond-haired, bearded man. His blue eyes were fierce, like a warrior’s eyes. Qof-Ayin could respect this man.
“Qof-Ayin, my name is. Grandson of Samuel. I hunt and become lost.”
“He’s lying! This is some kind of Lamanite twist!” shouted the horseman with the drawn sword. “Cut him down and leave him like the others.”
The leader raised his arm for silence and the rider calmed. “There will be no such thing under my command.” The leader dismounted and looked at the bodies. “It seems to me you had a falling out with these men and you robbed them. Those pouches are empty.”
“Not my arrows in their backs,” protested Qof-Ayin. “See here.” He showed his quiver to the leader, who looked shrewdly at this Lamanite and his arrows before turning to examine the ground again.
“No, they aren’t your arrows, at least not the ones in your quiver. But there are no horse tracks, just moccasin tracks like yours.”
Qof-Ayin did not like where this was going. “I give my word I not did this thing,” he said, eliciting the bowmen to pull back a little on their bows, while also smirking at his poor Nephite tongue.
The leader spoke, “Strange things have been happening in the lands hereabout lately, and I think I know what they are.”
Qof-Ayin stared at him with eyes of stone.
“I am Captain Limhi of the city guard, and you are not the first Lamanite to turn up around here lately. Now tell me the truth of your doings here. Your kind doesn’t get lost, not this far north anyway.”
Qof-Ayin looked at him sullen but said nothing.
“Do you lie?” asked Limhi.
“No,” answered Qof-Ayin.
“Did you know these men?”
“Yes,” said Qof-Ayin reluctantly.
“Why did you kill them and make it look like Nephites had done it?”
Heroes of the Fallen Page 14