Heroes of the Fallen Read online

  The public speeches worked and within hours those few who listened became a large body of men gathered to help with the watch and the repairs on the wall. The weak spots had been a concern of Onandagus for some time. The gate frames were reinforced, and a new gate of steel was added to the great door of the west. The thick wood was reinforced with bands of hardened steel. The wood itself was treated with a fire-retardant mixture that Onandagus created from oils he alone knew.

  Mormon the Younger was a constant companion of the chief judge on these projects. The many uses of chemicals were especially fascinating to him. Onandagus also showed the boy the secret process of hardening copper, and the boy embraced this newfound knowledge with great zeal.

  In two days Gidgiddonah returned with a greater number of people than those in Zarahemla who had listened to the prophet. He had able bodied men ready to fight, hunters to guard the walls with their bows, farmers and city men alike willing to be trained for war, all to preserve their land. For every man there were at least three or four more people who accompanied them—wives, elderly parents, and children.

  Lehonti also brought in the entire village of Joab save for four old men who would watch the bridge over the River Melek, one of the routes into the city that might be used for the invasion. If necessary, the four old men would fire the bridge to slow down the enemy.

  Mormon did well in the cities to the west. A stout fighting force of some two-thousand souls came with him, as did their families. With so many people coming into Zarahemla, many of those who had been apathetic began to wonder if Onandagus were not right in his warning speeches.

  The citizens of Zarahemla remembered and retold the tale of Lachoneus and Giddianhi the Gadianton, when in ancient days the Nephites had gathered all to the center of the lands to protect themselves from the robbers. These stories were spread about so quickly from person to person that by the fourth day, most of the citizens in Zarahemla believed and supported Onandagus over the hostile Council of Fifty, led by Hiram.

  “Now at least the people seem to believe, even if only because they think everyone else does,” said Mormon.

  “Does it matter?” asked Gidgiddonah, the young captain.

  “Yea, it does. Men need to know for themselves, not be sheep. I will say nothing I do not study out and learn for myself. If you study and research, you can be given discernment to understand all the things of this world and beyond. But if you simply lay back and let things come to you as they will, where is your experience coming from? You cannot dream up wisdom. It takes work and time.”

  Lehonti, the old captain of the guard before Mormon, had been silent for some time now, as he puffed on his frog-pipe, a cloud of smoke rising above his head. It had taken all the courage he could muster to come and ask forgiveness of the chief judge for his embarrassing handling of the riot’s weeks ago. He had apologized because he could not stand the thought of war coming to Zarahemla and being left out of it, especially as a commander.

  “Well, shall we establish a standing army to combat these Lamanites or just wait for them to annihilate us?” said Lehonti, grinning as he rocked back in his chair. “Do you have any ideas? Onandagus said it was up to us, though I don’t know how much we should include the pale Lamanite.”

  “Zelph is with us. He will not allow innocent blood to be shed. He has so sworn,” snapped Mormon.

  “Fine, fine, I just don’t want him with my ranks,” sniffed Lehonti.

  “He can command under me,” said Gidgiddonah. “Besides, he may have more combat experience than all of us. Is that not so, Zelph?”

  “I do have experience in war,” said Zelph softly, almost in a whisper. The Lamanite had been in the far corner of the room, unknown to Lehonti.

  “What did you do? Throw a boulder at another savage?” sneered Lehonti, gaining arrogant courage at Zelph’s quiet tone.

  “I would watch my mouth if I were you,” said Mormon, chuckling. “He is a lot bigger than you.”

  There was no anger in Zelph’s eyes. “I was with my father, Qof-Ayin, as part of King Xoltec’s army sent to put down a revolt in the city of Lamanihah. A nobleman named Madoni had, for reasons I cannot guess, decided to declare himself a god king and began sacrificing many people from the northern part of the kingdom. We went to deal with him. The city was protected by a strong gate and wall, as this city is. My father had a plan of assaulting the city head on while I led a small group of able warriors up and over the back wall. We broke into the palace of Madoni where I did slay the mad king. Xoltec was to reward me by making me his bodyguard for life. With my father’s help, I came with this invading army to thus escape my fate.”

  “Fate? What do you mean?” asked Gidgiddonah.

  “Once Xoltec dies, and he is an old king with ambitious sons, his court will be buried with him. It is doubtful that I would have escaped. Even if the new king had chosen to retain me, it is our tradition that bodyguards do not ever have families.”

  “Why is that?”

  “So, there is never anyone that has a place in their heart above the king. I did not wish to be the end of the family line. I want to have many sons and daughters.”

  “Seems you are in a perfect position to be a back-door man and spy,” Lehonti scoffed.

  “You just don’t know when to shut up.” Mormon slammed Lehonti in the chest. “Let me decide whether Zelph is a spy or not. They could’ve found a less conspicuous spy, don’t you think? So, before you go on flapping your fool gums, stop and think.”

  “I apologize.”

  “Good,” said Mormon, as though it had never happened. “Zelph, I will have you with Captain Gidgiddonah and our infantry force. Lehonti, you will be in command of one wing of the cavalry. Do we have any elephants available?”

  “Too few to matter as yet,” answered Lehonti.

  “It appears we will come under siege. If they strike elsewhere besides Zarahemla, we must be able to move quickly and attack. Zelph, can you please refresh us as to how these Lamanites are armed?”

  They discussed the Lamanite army long into the night. Zelph spoke of its strengths and its weaknesses, its tactics and strategies. As they were preparing to leave, Onandagus arrived. “Zelph, will you come with me?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  They left the singed room of the hall to an untouched section, one of the only spots the fire had not blackened with smoke. Onandagus took hold of a curious stone in the wall and twisted it to the right. A passage door swung open, heavy upon its hinges.

  “I am sending out warnings to members of the priesthood order. Come with me, I have something to show you.”

  Samson appeared at the doorway to repeat the twisting of the stone and shut the door behind them. A tunnel stretched out before them, its inky blackness extending for a greater distance than Zelph could judge. It went to the east toward the river, which gave him his only sense of direction. Lamanites generally avoided caverns, as it was believed they were the entrances to the underworld and the home of various demons and spirits.

  “Let us go on then,” said Onandagus.

  Samson led them with a tin lantern. They soon passed stacks of books and other curious records on hewn stone, relics of dusty ages past, unknown to Zelph.

  “Some of these are records of the Jaredites,” said Onandagus. “We can look upon them another time. These tunnels are a secret that few know of, but I felt inspired tonight to let you know of them.”

  They continued walking until they were up to their ankles in cold water. The water continued rising until it was up to their waists. Zelph felt nervous but said nothing.

  “It is alright, the waters will recede soon, we are almost to the end,” said Onandagus.

  The tunnel ended at another stone door that looked the same as the one they had entered. Putting a torch down Onandagus repeated the stone twisting motion and a lever pulled the door open. Cool night air greeted them. The stars twinkled overhead. The great river Sidon splashed against a waiting boat.

&n
bsp; “Greetings, Diomenes,” said Onandagus.

  “Greetings, Judge. Where do you wish me to ferry him?” said a lean man who stood darkly aboard.

  “Down river to Nephihah is fine, Samson knows what he wants. Thank you for coming on such short and late notice.”

  “It’s alright. A job is a job.” Diomenes shrugged. His vessel was anchored near a large rock that matched the tunnel door. Zelph was not completely sure he could find the right one again.

  “With everything happening, are you sure this is the best time for me to be playing messenger? Couldn’t someone else spread the word?” asked Samson as he threw the pouch of letters into the boat.

  “There will likely be Gadiantons watching for that pouch and hoping to stop the word being spread. There is no one more capable than you, my friend, to see that it gets through. Be careful, Samson.”

  The big blond-haired man merely grunted and waved a low wave.

  Zelph noticed that he was armed only with a large knife. Onandagus and the white- skinned Lamanite stood on shore until the ship disappeared down the dark river.

  “Do you send word to others because you expect the worst?” Zelph asked him.

  “The messages go to Jershon, the land of your people, the people of Ammon, to tell them of what is happening here and halt any who may be coming for this week’s holy celebration. If they don’t cross over the Sidon, I think they will be safe. The messages also tells of you, their long-lost brother. They will want to meet you soon.”

  “I wish to see them as well.”

  “As soon as we can. There is always a purpose, and once the Lord deems it, we will go together to that peaceful land to the east, across the great river.” He closed the stone door and they walked back through Zarahemla’s deep underground tunnel.

  Tenth Man Down

  Amaron worried about his men, who continued to grumble and bicker like spoiled children. The weeks had passed, and the scouts were only a few scant days from home. The mission was almost over and still they had nothing tangible to report to Onandagus.

  “Those farmhands we spoke to are probably just a bunch of liars looking to make names for themselves,” said Daniel.

  “Aye, they knew nothing of value,” agreed Lehi.

  “That funny looking one, that farmer, Gish, said he thought the disappearances were just men walking out on their families,” said Lehi.

  “Gish is a fool,” said Judah.

  “Don’t call anyone a fool. Contempt of them will damn you... Fool.” Daniel laughed as he punched Judah in the shoulder.

  “Fool,” said Judah, punching Daniel back even harder, sending the tall thin man away in a stumbling motion. To call someone a fool in direct violation of scripture warning was a favorite pastime among the scouts.

  “There must be some grain of truth to the rumors,” suggested Amaron. “Something has them scared. People have gone missing. Something dark is coming over the land.”

  He went over to the edge of the small, unnamed lake. Staring at the sliver of moon just beginning to rise over the gnarled trees, he thought again about the dream he had weeks before. He had not spoken of it to anyone. He did not want to be called a hero or a visionary.

  It was early evening on a lightly clouded day and cool for the first few days of summertime. The camp was next to an oval shaped lake where Amaron had camped a few times before. It was peaceful and still with good clear waters. He went further away from the camp to be alone with his thoughts. A forgotten road meandered past the lake on the north shore.

  Having found no trace of the Lamanite attack force, Amaron would head them back to Zarahemla on the morrow. He worried that they would miss out on the action in the city, where they would surely be needed. They had been away long enough, and tensions were running high. The men argued with one another constantly over petty things. The brothers Lehi and Nephi were at each other’s throats, and none seemed immune. Amaron caught himself several times ready to blow up at insignificant matters. Only Ezra seemed undisturbed. Strange little Ezra, growing his wisp of a mustache and beard.

  The sudden thunder of horses startled him. More than a dozen riders bore up quickly with dark earth-toned cloaks and unfriendly faces. They looked the men over before one approached the campfire. His mount stamped at the ground impatiently. Amaron stood silently by the lakeshore. Something told him to remain still, although it was his duty to address a fellow captain. The riders had not noticed him, and a still small voice said to keep it so.

  “Who are you and what are you doing on my lord’s land?” barked the lead bearded one. They were well-armed and outnumbered the scouts of Amaron almost two to one.

  Judah took it upon himself to answer. “This is a public road so far as I know, and I have been on it several times before.”

  “I asked who you are!” demanded the man, spitting as he spoke.

  “We are scouts in the service of Governor Onandagus, Chief Judge,” said Ezra. “Who are you to claim this land and road for your lord?”

  “The governor’s men, eh? That’s all I needed to hear,” said the bearded man as he wheeled his horse away.

  Amaron, silent as a ghost, stood motionless, curious at their rudeness.

  “Take them, brothers!” cried the leader as he charged his horse at Judah with his saber in a murderous arc.

  The horsemen, quick and vile, turned again with blades drawn and began savagely attacking the unsuspecting scouts with their stout curved bows. Reuben and Lehi dropped, slain where they stood, and then Judah, still weak with wounds from the lion. Daniel grabbed a spear to fight back but was laid low by several arrows. Ezra tried to run, but the bearded captain cut him as he ran past.

  Amaron, running out of the darkness, charged the enemy horsemen. “Gadianton dogs!” he shouted as he threw his war hammer at the nearest target. It slammed into him, caving his head, and he fell to the ground. The horses spooked, throwing a rider who was then trampled by his own mount.

  Amaron ran at them with his broadsword raised in a savage fury, deftly slaying a man and his horse with a cruel swing of Ramevorn. Another tried to run him down, but he dodged and sheared the man as he rode past. A third attempted to charge and met with the same fate, as Amaron plunged his broadsword through the Gadianton’s armored breastplate. Now panicked under Amaron’s furious onslaught, the Gadiantons urged their mounts to hasten away.

  Every one of Amaron’s men was down upon the ground with grievous wounds. Amaron dropped and knelt on the bloody ground next to his men, his friends all.

  He cradled Obadiah’s gashed head. He was gone with nothing more to be done. Judah laboriously breathed with a rattle in his chest. Amaron knew it would be only short moments.

  “Watch and pray, that’s what we did, right?” whispered Judah.

  “Watch and pray,” Amaron repeated.

  Judah looked up at the friend of his youth and said hoarsely, “Warn the people, tell them.” He heaved and was still.

  “Am I cursed that people near me die at the hands of the Gadiantons?” spoke Amaron to the ghosts. “The dogs will be back, I must hurry.”

  He gathered food and supplies, cleaned his sword on a fallen Gadianton, and hefted his war-hammer. He bent to retrieve a bow when the drum of horse hooves returned. Amaron left the bow lying there as he had not yet gathered any arrows. He retreated to the lake’s edge and hid among the tall brown cattails.

  The fleeing horsemen had returned with new, hungry warriors. A score or more of lanky, sharp-faced Lamanite warriors ran alongside the mounted Gadiantons. Their bows were drawn with vicious looking obsidian arrowheads as they fanned out to control the campsite.

  Amaron marveled at their efficiency. One came dangerously close to his hiding spot in the reeds. The Lamanites were subservient to a particular captain and seemed scornful of the mounted Gadiantons. The captain had long black hair and wore more copper armor than the others. He held a long, brazen spear in his left hand as he gazed over the slaughter.

  “I told you we need
ed help, Captain Anathoth,” said the mounted Gadianton captain.

  Anathoth grunted and looked over the bodies. He picked up one of the saber-tooth push daggers Amaron had made and showed it to one of his men.

  Amaron could not understand what they were saying. It wasn’t the Lamanite tongue, possibly Ishmaelite. A second group approached. The captain of this second group, a man with a mohawk, knelt and examined the ground. He wore only buckskin trousers and moccasins, a long knife and tomahawk at his waist. His upper body was covered in scars and tattoos. A great snake slithered its way across his back, jaws agape ready to pounce from his skin.

  “What do you see, Uzzsheol?” asked the mounted Gadianton.

  The tattooed Lamanite scanned the ground a moment longer before answering, “Eight dead, one more dying there.” He pointed to the profusely bleeding Daniel. One of Uzzsheol’s men slammed a spear into Daniel and he went still. “But there is another, one more Nephite. Not the dozen you said attacked and killed your men.” His voice had no emotion.

  “Yea, there was, a dozen or more. They must have run off at our approach,” sputtered the Gadianton. “Where’s that little one I cut?”

  “There were not that many, I count ten or eleven. Ten. The last one looked at his slain brothers, then hid on the lakeshore. He is probably in the reeds.” He pointed roughly to where Amaron hid.

  Amaron had only a fleeting glance at the Lamanite but knew he would never forget the malevolent scarred visage. A hawk-like nose jutted from his face and diverted attention from the scars and pits. Cold dark eyes that had seen hell flashed towards him.

  Angry a tracker had discovered him so soon, Amaron slid silently into the deep green waters, adjusting his knife and sword as he went in. The war hammer’s wooden handle slapped against him in the water.

  He had not gone far when he had to undo the leather straps of his exalted copper breastplate, as the heavy metal threatened to send him to the bottom. It was one of his prized possessions and worth many senines of gold. He would need it once he climbed out and had to fight again, but it was sink or swim. Underwater, he swam as far as he could, until his lungs were ready to burst. Slowly, he let himself rise, eyes and nose first like a crocodile. A good distance from the shore, he watched them.