“Thank you,” Mathoni said, tilting his head forward in respect as several of his battle brothers began slapping their palms against the sides of their legs. It was an honor to be made one of the scouts, to be the first to bring word of foes. An entire battle could hinge on the skills of a single individual, on the knowledge that they gained and read. “I will do my best to bring glory to our people.”
“And glory to our king,” Kumen said. “King Amalickiah.”
Mathoni caught himself before he frowned. “Of course,” he said, his voice smooth as he spoke. “For our people and the king.” Thankfully, Kumen didn’t seem to notice his subtle choice of words.
“Very well!” he said instead, pulling his hands from Mathoni’s shoulders. “It is decided.” Kumen glanced down at the still sizzling meat. “As for your brothers, they shall rest and prepare with the others, so that when the time comes, we can strike out at these Nephites, these betrayers that believe their privilege and right to be that of ruling over us, of telling us how we should live. Rest well, my warriors. And,” he said, glancing down at the fire. “Eat well. You have earned it.”
With that he turned and strode away from their shelter, his guard following after him along with several other warriors. Among their own, his battle brothers began to talk amongst themselves, excitedly discussing the coming battles they would partake in. A few of them rose to congratulate him on his successes, their faces alight with eagerness. Mathoni took their words with simple nods of affirmation.
A scout, he thought as he accepted a warm cut of freshly cooked meat. It was a high honor. Scouts were well respected, now that his people had learned their value in the arts of war. A hundred years ago … such things had not been necessary. But the world was changing—the armor stacked atop his gear was evidence of that. In his father’s time, such a thing would have been unheard of. But the Nephite captain, Moroni, had proven its value in battle during his sound defeat of Zerahemnah. As he had also proven the value of scouts. And the Lamanites had learned from that mistake.
The meat was tough, but tasteful and rich, especially compared to the gruel he’d set aside earlier. He bit down, hot, fresh juices squirting through his mouth. It was delicious.
He should have felt elated, he knew. Excited, even. He was to be a scout for their small force, one of the few who would forge ahead to meet their foe and determine their strength. He had been praised by their captain for his skill—even if it was for the very hunt he was now eating. In a matter of days—perhaps even on the morrow—they would find their first foe and go forth to battle. His elation should have been tingling inside him, sending eager shivers up his spine like it was his first hunt.
And yet … it wasn’t. The faint tingles were there, but the emotion felt … muted, somehow. It made him uneasy.
You’re just tired, he thought as he finished his piece of meat and began to unroll the small cloth that would be his bedding for the night. And you’ll be arising early. You need to get some rest.
“Brother.” Antiomno sat down next to him as he spread his bedding. He had a large piece of meat in his hands, and he offered it towards him.
“Thank you,” Mathoni said, accepting it and taking a bite. It was tougher than the last piece, less juicy, but still no less satisfying to his hungry stomach. “The taste is welcome.”
“Of course it is,” Antiomno said, smiling. “It is not gruel.” He let out a short laugh and then leaned forward slightly. “You must be quite honored to be made a scout.”
Mathoni offered his friend a shrug. “They are needed, and there are many needed to fulfill the role.”
“Ah, but now you are one of them,” Antiomno said. “First to find our foes.” Then he laughed. “And first to retreat.”
“If that is to be the case,” Mathoni said, giving his friend a smirk. “Then perhaps our captain should have chosen you to serve in my stead. After all, you were always the fastest of us when we used to bother old Enos’ flocks. The first to run!”
Antiomno gave him a flat look, his lower lip pursing outward in a sarcastic glare. “I was merely the one with the sharpest eyes,” he said. “Could I help it if none of you could see Enos’ hired hands before me?”
Mathoni nodded. “I could see that. After all, you were always the one whose sharp eyes brought you nothing but trouble when we were boys.”
“Ah, maybe that’s true,” Antiomno said. “But in the end, it was those same sharp eyes that spotted the beauty of my wife before any of you could see it.”
“And my arrows that downed the meal that impressed her father and mother,” Mathoni said, chuckling.
“You’ll never let me forget that, will you?” Antiomno asked, but the smile on his face made it clear his words were in jest.
“Only if your wife has a sister you could introduce me to,” Mathoni said.
Antiomno shook his head. “Unfortunately, your hopes there are in vain,” he said.
Mathoni just nodded. It wasn’t the first time he’d made the joke. But since Antiomno had bragged about his eyes …
“Of a more serious nature …” he said, lowering his voice just enough that it wouldn’t carry far. “What did you think about our captain’s speech tonight?”
“What do you mean?” Antiomno said, his voice matching Mathoni’s low volume.
“What Kumen talks about,” Mathoni said. “About how the Nephites want to enslave us, or destroy us. All the other things he speaks of.”
Antiomno nodded and waved his hand, a sign that he wanted Mathoni to proceed.
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that this seems to be our goal as well?” Mathoni said. “We speak of how wrong it is for the Nephites to want to do this to us, but then we seem to want to do the same to them.”
“But it was our right to begin with,” Antiomno said, frowning. “You know this. It’s been passed down from our forefathers. The right to rule was ours, and they took that from us. And ever since then have tried to gain power over us.”
“Have they?” Mathoni asked.
“Were you not listening just a moment ago?” Antiomno retorted. “The great betrayal? Or have you forgotten the death of our king at the hands of Nephite assassins as they sought to prevent King Amalickiah from meeting with him?”
Mathoni nodded. It was true. And yet … “Did you ever speak with your grandfather or your father about the great betrayal?” he asked.
“No,” Antiomno said. “Why would I?”
“I have,” Mathoni said. “They don’t talk about it. My uncle wouldn’t even listen to the criers from the king whenever they would begin to speak about the betrayal. He would merely shake his head and walk away.”
Antiomno lifted his eyebrows before waving his hand once more, as if to ask “And?”
“He called it a betrayal,” Mathoni said. “But not for the same reasons. And he never spoke of the old king as if he were trying to usurp them.”
“But he did,” Antiomno said, his forehead creasing. “He allowed Nephites to walk among our lands unhindered, let them build churches for their false God.”
“But he required no one to enter them,” Mathoni said back. “Nor did he tax the people to build them.”
“Mathoni, what are you saying?” Antiomno asked.
“I do not know,” Mathoni said in answer, shaking his head. “I merely wondered if you sometimes pondered some of the things our captain has said. After all, he was a Nephite.”
“And now he is an Amalickiahite,” Antiomno said. “A Lamanite by his word.”
“I know,” Mathoni said, shaking his head. “Perhaps I am just too cautious. But even so …” He shot a quick look at the rest of their battle brothers. “It may be that I am just tired, and need to rest. Please do not speak of this to anyone else.”
“I won’t, my friend” Antiomno said. “You have my word.”
“My thanks,” Mathoni said. He looked down at his bedroll, and then over at the now almost dark fire, the remains of the hunt still hanging over it.
“Just … think about it.”
“I shall.”
“Good.”
He rose and crossed over to the fire pit, accepting small congratulations and thanks along the way as he took another piece of meat. Then, licking his fingers clean, he set out for the outskirts of the camp, searching for a place to relieve himself before he could lie down for the evening. The sounds of the night jungle began to roll over him as he reached the camp’s outer edge, a cacophony of calls and cries. He did his business quickly; the jungle was familiar, but also dangerous.
Antiomno was already laughing and boasting with his battle brothers when Mathoni returned, proclaiming how many Nephites he would slay in battle. Mathoni passed by, offering each of them a wave of greeting as he headed for his bedroll and stretched himself out on the soft earth.
It took a few minutes of staring up at the shelter roof, his breath rolling in and out of his chest with slow waves as he focused his mind on slowing down, but finally his eyes began to slip shut.
Well, he thought as the world faded around him. At least it stopped raining.
* * *
“Range out,” the leader of their group—a man named Emer—said. He pointed, giving both Mathoni and the other scout their directions. “We’ll meet back here when the sun is a full length above the horizon. Understood?”
“Yes,” Mathoni said, bowing his head, but the man was already gone, along with the other scout. Clearly they had done this before.
Very well, he thought as he headed off in the direction that had been indicated to him, striking out through the jungle. Until the sun is a full length above the horizon, then. He’d have to keep an eye on it, make certain that he wasn’t late.
Around him the jungle felt as it always did. He moved through it in silence, only the faint rustling of leaves marking his occasional passage. He had left most of his armor behind, keeping only the light helm, not wanting the lack of mobility the rest of it sometimes presented to hinder him or perhaps give his position away.
The way to travel quietly is to be in your element, he thought, calling back the lessons his uncle had taught him. To be part of the jungle. To watch and see what the jungle watches and sees. To hunt as the jungle hunts. To move as the jungle—
A soft, distant snap echoed through the woods, and he slowed to a stop. Never stop or start abruptly, the change of motion gives you away. He waited, letting his breaths come in long, easy draws, waiting.
Another snap, this one softer, distant. Behind it came a faint rustling as something or someone moved through the undergrowth, away from Mathoni’s position. Was it an animal? Or had he alerted someone to his presence?
He moved forward once more, changing his direction slightly to move more in line with the distant sound. His hand went to the small knife on his belt, fingers wrapping around the hilt just in case. Ahead of him, the ground sloped upwards in a small, gentle hill. The sound was coming from the far side.
He kept himself low, sliding over the soil until he could come up alongside a tree near the top of the rise. The noise was closer now, though still moving in another direction. Then it stopped, and once more Mathoni froze.
This time there was a series of snaps, like someone was deliberately breaking branches. He relaxed his body, letting some of the tenseness out of his muscles as he moved forward again. Perhaps it was just a wild animal, browsing among the plants in search of food. He sidled up against the base of the tree and then peered around the trunk, his eyes hunting the brush on the other side of the hill.
It was a Nephite. Worse yet, it was a Nephite soldier. And he wasn’t alone. Mathoni held his breath, thanking the Great Spirit that the two warriors he could see both happened to be looking the other way at the moment. If one of them had seen him …
Still, they hadn’t. Luck was on his side. He lowered his body, moving his head towards the plants along the top of the hill, doing his best to blend in with the undergrowth as he watched.
The closer of the two soldiers was the one who had been making the noise that had attracted him. The man was gathering leaves from a bush—leaves Mathoni recognized as ones his mother had gathered for their medicinal properties—and was stuffing them into a small leather bag. The other of the pair, the one further away, was standing atop another smaller, nearby hill, his eyes on the jungle. Mathoni had to force himself to stay calm as the man’s eyes rolled over his hiding place, but the soldier’s gaze drifted on.
“Hurry,” the man said, his words quiet but still echoing through the small space between the hills.
“I almost have enough,” the one doing the picking said, moving to another bush. “We will be on our way soon enough.”
“Not soon enough for my tastes,” the first said again. “The sooner we have returned, the better I’ll feel.”
They both are armed with swords, Mathoni thought, eyeing the weapons. If they find me, running will be my only chance. Unless he managed to strike them with his sling before they could reach them, but he wasn’t willing to rest his life upon the thought. His grandfather’s stories of amazing feats with a sling notwithstanding.
If they catch me, they will kill me, he thought, eyeing the Nephite armor. It looked similar to his own, which wasn’t too surprising considering that the armor he’d been given was based on the Nephite’s design, but it was different in a few small ways as well, such as the small, metal patches grafted atop the wood. What purpose they served he wasn’t sure, but doubtless there was some reason.
“I have enough,” the one doing the picking said, cinching his bag shut. “Sariah will be most pleased.” He began walking up the hill towards his fellow.
“Good,” said the other. “Back to the village. Quickly.”
I could follow them, Mathoni thought as the pair quickly began to move away, jungle rustling with their passing. Just long enough to understand where they are going. Maybe even find their camp, if he could.
He waited until both of the Nephites were out of sight before moving from his hiding place, his heart pounding as he began to follow them. Every step he made, every rustle of plant life, seemed to be deafening to his ears, though he knew in his heart that they were nearly silent.
Nephites. He was following Nephite warriors back to their camp! He almost couldn’t believe his fortune.
It wasn’t long after he had begun following the pair that he discovered where they were heading. He could see the clearing in the jungle long before he arrived, and he broke away from the duo, watching for guards as he made his own way towards the break in the trees.
It was a village. A small one, with maybe a few-dozen people, but a village all the same. Fields of crops and animal pens surrounded its outskirts, though many of them looked to have been abandoned recently. Likely they were the source of the animal he’d found the night before.
There were guards too, standing watch along the small roads. A clearly fortified garrison sat the center of the village, along with a number of tents.
He’d found it. He could hardly believe his luck. Soldiers, Nephite citizens … a small village; all apparently packing up their belongings to move to one of the fortified cities, but not in any great hurry.
Supplies, he realized as he watched from the trees. They’re going to reinforce Ammonihah, or maybe Noah. This was exactly the sort of thing that they had been sent to prevent.
He had to get word back to Kumen.
He made a quick count, guessing at the number of Nephite warriors in the village. There was only one standard on display, one he didn’t recognize, which meant at least a full complement of soldiers. Perhaps fifty, sixty men? It was hard to tell without knowing how the Nephites had organized their own forces.
He turned away from the clearing, heading back into the jungle the way he’d came, traveling as quietly as possible. He had a report to make.
* * *
It was raining again. It had started just after he’d made his report to the captain, a low bank of clouds rolling over the still rising sun an
d turning the sky dark. By the time he’d reunited with his battle brothers, not a shred of the welcome blue that had greeted him that morning still existed, the entire horizon covered with ominous grey. As they’d left their camp, the army rousing itself for battle, the first rumbles of distant thunder had punctuated their actions, a low drumroll that reverberated off of the distant mountains.
Then the drops had started falling, fat and heavy, like fruit that had been left too long on the tree. They had come slowly at first, pelting the treetops above them like thrown stones, but as the army had begun to move the number had risen, until once again Mathoni found himself wiping water away as they marched. Every so often a droplet would make a wet slap against his helmet, and then another rivulet of water would run down across his face or onto his shoulders, soaking into the cloth beneath his armor and adding to its weight.
Thankfully, they’d left their packs back at the camp. This was to be a strike, not a journey. Cimeters had been brought out, bows strung, and knives tied where they could be reached in combat. Some men were carrying large wooden shields, others metal swords. Quite a few, like himself, had obsidian-edged cimeters carefully tied to their backs.
Everyone was armed differently. The only constant was that they were silent. That had been Kumen’s order. Anything that was loose or could make a noise had been tied down, padded with cloth, or left behind with the small rear-guard protecting the camp. It was to be a surprise attack.
As if the Nephites would hear anything in this rain, Mathoni thought as more drops impacted his helmet. Give the sky a bit more time, and our approach will be so concealed that the Great Spirit himself would have difficulty seeing us coming.
The ground was getting slick underfoot now. The passage of dozens of men before him, combined with the rain, was churning the ground into a mushy, warm mixture of soil and mud that oozed across his feet as he moved. He kept his eyes alert, watching for roots or other forms of unstable footing. To fall now, before the battle? Embarrassing, as well as potentially dangerous if he caused a commotion.
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