One hundred days, or three circles of the Am'Anfa, as the upright man of the desert would say, had passed since Hayabêth had fallen in the hands of one of the cruel patriarchs of Umbar. There was rumor that the caliph had survived the battle, but now had lost the belief of his people. The wise men in Haradwaith proclaimed that the gods had thrown a shadow over the reign of Dhelrumun and that the yet free tribes of Harad had to overcome a long time of trial.
Similar happened to Omar ibn Said, whom I had rescued from a certain death, beneath the merciless daystar. Almost one hundred days I was cutting this young man from an ugly piece of turf, into what seemed to become a great ruby of the desert. If Omar wanted his revenge and free the woman he loved, then he had yet to find one more ally. An ally that he would find deep within himself.
- from the diary of Tarnairë
»I cannot ... any longer!« Omar issued as deep groan. He was at the end of his strength. His steps became ever more irregular and ever so often did he stumble in the soft sand.
»As long as you can still talk, you are not at the end. Imagine, a group of Umbar's slavehunters would be after you. Does that accelerate your steps?«
Omar would have loved to throw his needler out of the saddle and hit her with both of his fists. Since at least three hours, did Tarnairë let him walk through the hot sand, while she was riding on her horse next to him and observed him.
What sense made it all? Omar did not grasp why the veiled woman was letting him go through such torture. He was not a camel! If a man needed to leave a far distance behind him, would he take a camel, a horse or another kind of mount. Never before did Omar hear of any son of Haradwaith, that would have walked more than two or three miles. It did not fit a warrior! Why didn't that by demons ridden woman realize it? Was she mad? Already more than once did Omar doubt the clarity of his mentor's mind. Every upright man knew that all heathens were somehow mad, but Tarnairë was far more than that. She was downright mind-boggling!
One moment long he thought about the possibility that Tarnairë might belong to one of the tribes that rarely sought the company of the civilization. Most of the times, every second word in the sentence of these fanatics were somehow related to Rastullah, but not so by her. As far as Omar could remember, the veiled woman did never even mentioned the god once and neither did she seem to pray. But who else was she supposed to be? The veil, her art to fight with the sword, that all indicated the most fanatic of the desert's children.
Once again did Omar loose his footing in the sand, but this time he did not catch his balance. After his body's length, he fell into the brown sand. It was enough! Now he would call an end to the senseless running. Was he already so mad that he would follow the moods of someone insane?
»Stand up, it is still a long way to our next camp.« The veiled woman had halted her horse and looked mockingly down on Omar. »Do you know, that your manner of walking reminds me of a child that just learns to tread on its own feet? One could belief that you hardly know the body in which you live.«
Again such a line! That was enough! What upright man, whom the gods had given just a spark of reason would speak such nonsense? »End ... it is enough! I am ... no one's ... slave anymore.« Actually he had wanted to tell that insane woman much more, but at the moment was Omar too busy to gasp for air, as that he could have let all his anger out. With each breath he took he felt as if liquid fire would flow into his burning lungs. Never before in his life he had felt so miserable.
»You rested long enough. Get up again!« Tarnairë's voice sounded cold and without any pity.
»No.« Omar would have loved to jump against her throat, but did not even have the strength anymore to sit up straight. A light wind was going over the dunes and was driving thin veils of fine dust before himself. Everywhere on Omar's sweat-wet face was this sand. He felt it in his nose, on the chapped lips and in his dry mouth.
»Are you thirsty, Omar?«
Distrustful did the young man look to Tarnairë. Of course, he was thirsty! What a senseless question!
»I will ride now back to our prior encampment and prepare a meal.«
»Help me ... unto the horse.« Omar rose up as far as he could. A gulp full of water and a bowl millet gruel, what he would give for that!
»I said, I ride back to the camp. There was no one speaking of you, Omar. You have not deserved your food, today. I hope, you remember the way back, for I fear, the wind already wiped clean the sand of our traces.«
»You want to leave me here alone?« Omar had jumped up. »You cannot do that. I ... I will die.«
Tarnairë gave the horse a slight slap with the stick of bamboo and drove it on towards the dunes. »I can no longer hear your wailing, young man. I should have left you to the vultures, but that I can catch up on.«
»But ...« Omar was as if he turned to stone. What demon had taken possession of Tarnairë? Certainly, she had always been a strict mentor, but now ... »Why?«
»I have told you. I can no longer take your pitiful wailing, slave!« The horse of the veiled one became nervous, and she required a few moments to get it back under control. That was the opportunity to stop Tarnairë! His mentor was confounded, but it would not take longer than the blink of an eye.
Omar stormed towards the horse. He had to lift Tarnairë out of the saddle. With a desperate cry, the man jumped towards the mount. But Tarnairë had expected the assault. Yet before Omar had the chance to grasp after her, did the veiled woman give the young man a strike with the bamboo stick. Dazed, Omar fell into the sand. Gaudy points of light were shimmering before his eyes.
»Pitiful! I will ride back and forget you.«
»No!« Omar jumped up and tried once again to throw his mentor out of the saddle. This fraudulent demon! Had she been playing a game with him all the time? He would ...
Tarnairë dealt Omar a kick that he was stumbling backwards. »You are not more than a piece of carrion, Omar. Realize that already and submit to your doom.« The veiled woman jerked the reigns of the horse around and rode up the dune.
»Wait ... I ...« No! He would not plead anymore. Omar rose up exhausted. »A piece of carrion«, had this rogue called him. So far it had not gotten yet with him. He would get this villainous traitor, this false friend he had trusted. Tarnairë should not have told him where she was riding. He was not dead yet! The anger granted Omar new power. Step for step he was fighting his way up the dune. As he reached the ridge, the veiled woman had disappeared. She must be riding between the dunes. In the dune vales, the horse would hardly sink into the sand and its tracks would be quickly extinguished by the wind.
Tarnairë had called him a fool. Omar laughed bitter. Maybe the veiled woman was right, but that fanatic was no lesser fool, if she believed, a son of the desert would not find his way through it. Determined did Omar look towards the east. Then he descended slowly the flank of the sand-dune. Until dawn there was still a lot of time. He would get the traitor.
Carefully did Omar crawl up to the ridge of the dune and examined the small encampment that lay beneath him. Tarnairë had not even held it for necessary to miss on a fire. Was she really that stupid, or was that a trap? Omar remained unmoving and tried to make out any details in the instable light of the embers.
The horse of the veiled woman had made some distance to the fire. Obviously had Tarnairë attached an ankle shackle to the hind legs, so it could not run away. The warrioress herself lay completely motionless beneath a blanket close by the fire. Even now she had not put away her veil. Mad, these fanatics! Completely mad! But there would be one less of these whoresons.
Three or four steps away from the campfire lay the saddle of the Shadif and the provisions of food and water. A bit unclear did Omar see the handle of the second Tuzak-knife protrude up behind the saddle, one of two identical weapons with a wicked curved blade that had more in common with a sword than a knife. Tarnairë had told him that she had found them in a land known as Khand. And with this weapon he had been exercising during the lessons that she had given him. Should he sneak over and take the slim, slightly curved blade? With a single strike of this weapon he could kill Tarnairë.
But what would he do if the horse would become aware of him and nervous? He had to take a different way in order to get to the Tuzak-Knife. Additionally it carried a tiny bell on its parry-guard. One wrong move and the bright ringing would wake the veiled woman. No! He would leave the fingers from the weapon. Should the warriors wake up and see him, he would be a dead man. That was all too clear to Omar. If Tarnairë would succeed in drawing her blade, then the battle would be decided. Omar could not stand against the talented fighter. Almost hundred days had passed since Tarnairë had rescued him in the desert. What had caused her now to betray him all of the sudden like that?
Omar grasped tightly around the stone that he had found in the near of the encampment. Midnight had passed already. If he was correct with counting the days since he had escaped his master together with Mawdliyah that the second month of the gods would begin with dawn, the day of loyalty and oaths. A fitting day to send this unfaithful traitor down into the worst abyss!
One last time did Omar look over to the horse. The Shadif was still as calm as ever. No wind was blowing. The beast would not sense him, if he would sneak now further down to the camp.
Slowly did the young man rise up and walked over the sharp ridge of the dune. The soft sand was gulping every sound, but with each of his steps, small avalanches of sand descended down the dune. He would reach the tiny vale behind the fanatic. For one moment he left Tarnairë out of his gaze. As always did she have her Tuzak-knife lying next to her. Even in her sleep was her left lying on the sheath of the weapon. But that would be of no great use to this rogue anymore. Before she would be able to draw her weapon, would Omar break her skull in with the stone he had found. Or should he give her still the chance to regret what she did? To kill someone who was sleeping, was not befitting a free man. Only slaves killed like that.
Omar hesitated. If he would wake Tarnairë, he would enter mortal danger. But if he would kill someone helpless, he would stain his warrior's honor, and he wanted to be a warrior. Omar, the slave had indeed died in the desert, such as Mawdliyah's father had ordered it to Abu Dschenna. Now there was only Omar, the warrior and he would not act like a slave.
Carefully he was sneaking on. Now, that he had decided not to murder Tarnairë in a dastardly fashion, he felt better. Once more he peeked over to the horse. The beast had turned away from the encampment. It would not warn its master.
Slowly did Omar kneel down behind the veiled fanatic, the right aloft with the stone, ready to strike at any moment. Tarnairë was still sleeping. Steadily did her chest rose and descend. Omar grasped with his left after the shoulder of the warrioress and shook her slightly. Instantly did the veiled woman open her eyes. From moment to the other she appeared completely awake.
»Now has come the hour of your death, honorless bastard. Make your peace with Rastullah and do not try to draw your weapon! Take your hands off your sword!«
Without saying a word, Tarnairë complied and rose the left. Omar thanked his gods in silence. He had not imagined it to be that easy. He switched the stone into the other hand and reached with the right for the sword.
»Do not move, or ...«
»Or what? Should I still be afraid of the death, if you told me already that you will anyway kill me?«
That was Tarnairë, as I know her, Omar thought. A warrioress who seemed to be afraid by nothing. But he had not to fear her anymore either. He had now her sword! Careless he threw the stone behind him, drew blank and stood up.
»Your mockery will be of no use to you anymore. It seems as if the day had come on which the hyena choked on her carrion, traitor. You should have killed me in the desert.«
»I am glad that you made it healthy to the encampment. You are even a bit earlier here than I had expected.«
»What ...?«
»I said, I had expected you.«
Omar laughed. »You are mad, Tarnairë. Has Rastullah robbed you of the last spark of your mind? It does not seem to have helped you that you were hiding your head so carefully from the sun. Did you believe to be able to evade the justice of the god by hiding your face?«
One moment there was silence between the two. Obviously did Tarnairë realize slowly in what sort of situation she was.
»Would you grant me that I sit up? I find it impolite to speak to another warrior when I am lying. That is not the way in which two fighters should converse.«
What did this woman plan? Omar was certain that there was a trick behind it. On the other side, the warrioress could not become a danger to him. There were good three steps distance between them, and he held a drawn sword in his hand and Tarnairë was unarmed. What could possibly happen?
»Good, you may sit. But do not try any tricks, I would ...«
»Would kill me?« The warrioress clicked her tongue. »What terrible outlook! If I do not do what you demand then I could die half an hour earlier, as when I would obey your words. Your dealing with mortal enemies does not seem very thought through. I am afraid, regarding that, you will require an extra lesson.«
»Extra lesson ...?« Omar's hands were wet of sweat. This damn self-certainty of the veiled woman was frightening him. He mustn't let himself be distracted by words. The only thing that counted was that he held a sword in his hands and Tarnairë did not.
»What did you learn from your today's lesson? Or have I insulted you and left you in the desert in vain?«
»Stop with your mad talk. If you think you could confuse me then you are mistaken. You wanted to kill me. That is a fact. And for that you will die.«
Tarnairë moved her head to the side and examined Omar for a while quietly. »Let us try the other way around. What have you learned from my mistakes?«
»Is that your last wish, that I answer your insane questions? You should rather make your peace with Rastullah.«
»That is peripheral. If you really want to act after the honor code of a warrior and grant me my last wish before my execution, then you should answer to my questions. After that I will bow my knees before you and await quietly the deadly strike.«
How could someone dare to blaspheme in the hour of his death against the gods? That meant eternal damnation. »You do not only live godless, Tarnairë, you also give away any outlook to be able to enter the heavenly gardens.«
»Grant me the narrowmindedness to see my life and death as a matter that only I deal with. Rather answer my question! What have you learned from my mistakes?«
Omar laughed, but it did not sound as overbearing as he had planned. It rather sounded embarrassed. »Very well, you shall have your will, Tarnairë. I have learned what might grow from underestimating the enemy. You should have thought of the possibility that yet have enough strength to follow you. You also should not have told me where you would go. Best would have been, had you been riding just off, then I would have surely died of thirst in the desert.«
Tarnairë shrugged with her shoulders. »You have sworn me, you would be at the end of your powers. I had not held you till now for a liar, Omar.«
»I am not a liar!« The young man stepped forward and aimed threatening with the tip of his weapon at Tarnairë's chest. He had enough of the mockery of the veiled warrioress. »Alone the hatred had given me strength to follow me.«
»I see, you did in fact learn something about yourself today, after all.«
»Quiet, now! I have held my word. Now it is up to you to prove honor.«
»I am ready.« Proud did the veiled woman sit up. »Strike at my heart, my student, I have taught you how this is performed.«
Omar grasped the sword with both hands. He was shivering a little. He had never before killed another man or woman. It was hard, to execute someone helpless - or should he say, to murder? No! He had the right to take Tarnairë's life. The veiled woman had also not hesitated to leave him in the desert after all. She was not better than Abu Dschenna. Determined did Omar step before the warrioress, as Tarnairë hurled a handful of sand into his face.
He could have thought that this hyena was not simply kneeling down to die. Instantly did Omar retreat a few steps, to evade a possible attack from his mentor. At the same time he tried to wipe the burning sand out of his burning eyes.
As he could see finally again, Tarnairë had disappeared. Omar's heart was racing in his chest. He should not have had hesitated that long. Carefully he turned around his own axis, guarding himself with the sword.
»Here I am!«
Startled did Omar turn around. Tarnairë stood only a few steps away from the dying campfire and took the weapon from the saddle.
»Rastullah be with me. Protect me from the wrath of this godless creature«, Omar mumbled quietly. With shaking fingers he performed a symbol of protection. Now only divine mercy could save him.
With feathering steps, the Tuzak-knife risen before the chest, did Tarnairë come closer. »If you want to kill your enemy, then you should never hesitate, Omar. He would not do so either.« The voice of the woman sounded now less mockingly. She spoke again in that tone that she liked to take up if she was teaching him.
»I will not submit to you!« Omar retreated a bit from his teacher and tried to come into a position to her side, but Tarnairë followed every movement of his.
»Do you think that the student can overcome his mentor?«
»Calm, Omar. Calm!« Like a prayer, the young man was repeating these words. He mustn't let himself be taunted. Good a thousand time had Tarnairë taught him that anger was a bad follower in battle, a servant of death, who lead new victim to its master.
Suddenly, Tarnairë jumped forward. Omar raised his sword and clinging the weapons were colliding. The strike of the warrioress had been aimed straight for Omar's head. Like a viper, which poisonous bite had missed its prey, the veiled woman stepped back, the sword again risen protectively before the chest. Omar had withstood his mentor! Tarnairë was not invincible. Maybe he should commit to attack himself, although he would endanger his own cover by ...
Yet before Omar could have brought that thought to an end, Tarnairë was attacking again. But this time she would not be satisfied with just one single strike. Her blade seemed to have become a sliver lightning, hurled by a god who had nothing on his mind but death and destruction. Sparks were thrown into the air as the two weapons met and the fighters tried in silent battle to undo the balance of each other. Then they parted only to surround one another in a deadly dance. Also Omar attacked now. Ever again did his Tuzak-knife come forth - on the search for a gap in the defense of the veiled woman. His exhaustion and the strength devouring march through the desert had been forgotten. Everything what had meant something to him, had been replaced by an cold wrath. The world was reduced to Tarnairë and her deadly sword, and he himself had become the arm of the gods to deliver an end to this godless creature.
Again he advanced and this time his mentor had to retreat from his strikes. Step for step he was driving her through the valley between the dunes. It was, as if he would know each motion of the veiled woman already in advance. Could that be? He made a feint strike against the traitor's head and changed then in the last moment the direction. Only a desperate jump saved Tarnairë's life. Omar's blade had sliced the kaftan of his mentor, though without wounding her beneath it. Tarnairë could be defeated! One breath long did Omar allowed himself the feeling of quiet triumph. The veiled one stood next to the embers and awaited Omar's attack. Now he would complete it! With one jump did Omar jump forth, his blade described a shimmering half-circle and reached for Tarnairë's head. But instead of parrying the strike, the veiled warrioress ducked down. From the corner of his eye, Omar could see how his mentor was making a hit against the ground. The blade of the Tuzak-knife was tossed into the embers of the fire and whirled - like a shower of comets - glowing pieces of wood into the air. Omar retreated and raised his arms before the face. Almost at the same time did Tarnairë attack. Her sword fell down on Omar's parry-guard, tore his weapon with a sudden jerk from his hand. The warrioress set her blade to his throat.
Omar felt suddenly endlessly tired. All power had left him. His limbs were heavy, and death, the eternal sleep, appeared now like a gift. He closed his eyes, sat down exhausted and awaited the end. But nothing happened. Finally he heard a faint scrabbling noise. Omar opened disbelieving his eyes. Tarnairë had returned her sword into its sheath.
»Why ...?« He could grasp what he saw. Why did she spare him?
»Your lesson has ended. When the sun raises her head, I will consecrate you to become a warrior.«
»What lesson?«
»Almost one hundred days I had taught you how to fight, but what I have taught you incomplete was the knowledge about your own power. That is why I forced you to walk until you collapsed through exhaustion. You were supposed to believe, your heart would shatter would you make yet one more step. Only then you would be so far, that I could point you to the power that was within you, controlled all your thinking and you knew not how to handle: The hate! Alone the hate had led you through the desert to the camp. He had appointed you to raise the sword against me, although it was me who had saved your life. And yet you were able to control your hate during battle. You did not fight headless. I am satisfied with you.«
Omar had the feeling as if someone would draw the ground away from beneath his feet. Tarnairë had fooled him. Everything what he had gone through in the last hours had only been played. His mentor had foreseen each of his steps. What kind of human being was she?
»So, you also did not sleep, but observed me as I was sneaking down the dune.«
Tarnairë laughed quietly. »I did sleep. I have laid my life into your hands.«
»You did what?« Omar could not grasp what the veiled woman said. »And if I would have killed you, if I would have hit with the rock instead of taking your sword and waking you?«
»Then I would have been a bad teacher and would have gotten my rightful punishment. What a mentor would I be, if I could not teach you in hundred days so much honor that you would not kill someone who sleeps? I am glad, that I was not mistaken in you, Omar.«
Omar shook his head. Since so much time they were traveling together already, but what did he know about this woman? Never, in all that time, did she speak about herself. She also had neglected to make Omar known to her kin. Whenever they required equipment or food, she took the horse and disappeared for one day into the desert. But she was silent about, where she had gone and why it was forbidden to follow her. Only about him, she wanted to know everything. Ever again had he told her his love-story, had spoken about Mawdliyah and trusted his dreams into her knowledge. And she had betrayed him. A silver line of light rose on the horizon.
»I know what I did to you.« Tarnairë's voice sounded exhausted. »You probably hate me no less than Abu Dschenna and ...«
»You are only making it worse! You have taken advantage of our friendship. For you I was just a toy, such as a slave is just a useful thing for his master. A thing that does work and with which someone can do as he pleases. Is there no better place to which you belong? Have you nothing better to do, than playing your evil games with me and teaching me how to kill?«
»You say it!«
»Is that a new game?« Since the battle was over, Omar had just sat there, his face buried into his hands. The hate had depleted him. But now did the devouring flame found new food. He rose the head and looked up to Tarnairë, who still stood in front of him.
»What do you think, who I am? To what people do I belong?«
Omar spit the veiled woman before the feet. He knew it! The warrioress began once more to play her macabre jokes with him. »What are you supposed to be? You are a mad one! A fanatic, why else would you constantly carry that veil and steal yourself away when you need to eat and drink, so that I will not see your face.«
»I am a descendant of the Ñoldor of Nargothrond.«
The young man laughed up loudly. »How stupid do you think I am? A child might believe you ... You could just as well tell me, you would be a giant or a lion with the head of a man. I do not believe in fairy-tales, that merchants tell each other in the evening.«
»So you only believe what you see?«
Omar knew that trap. Probably would this godless woman ask her next why he would then believe in his gods.
But Tarnairë remained silent. Instead of an answer, she began to take down her turban and the veil. The warrioress had a fair and evenly face, golden bright hair and unnatural deformed ears. They were leaf-shaped.
»Do you believe me now?«
Omar did not know what he should say. Quickly he made a holy symbol, for after all what he had heard about the Elves, they were demons that were alone interested in the demise of the upright men.
»Shall I also put down the rest of my clothes and show you how light the skin is on those spots that the sun rarely reaches?«
»I believe you ... I ...« How did one act in the presence of a demon? Every word had to be well thought of!
»I see you know the tales that are being told about my sisters and brothers.« Tarnairë smiled. »But you need not to fear. I am not a from the sands born demon, although ...« The warrioress hesitated. Then she shook her head. »You did hold me for a fanatic Ben Kasim. I am often mistaken for these seekers of divine favor. Hence I am spared from many questions, but the days of us demons, as they call us here so often, are coming to an end. My people will soon leave Middle-Earth.«
Omar still could not say a word. The assurance of Tarnairë not to be a demon had not convinced him. Would a grown dragon sit before him in the sand and offer him its friendship, he would hardly feel more uncomfortable than now. He knew the most terrifying stories about the Elvenfolk and as it was now revealed to him that this demons' brood was not only existing in the minds of story-tellers, did it seem also not unlikely that also the rest he heard was right about them.
»My kin actually came from a land that has sunken many millennia ago beneath the sea«, Tarnairë broke after a while the silence. »You have called me several times today already a bastard, Omar. With that word you are not so far off from the reality. My name is the King's lament, for I was born in a land and to the time when there was great grief upon the mind of my father.«
»But did you not say that the land sunk beneath the ocean?« In Omar began to grow a faint hope that Tarnairë's story was in truth only boasting, what use she ever thought to gain from it.
»I told you my father was a Ñoldo from the Elven-people that lived to the north, where the sun defeats the grim frost only in summer and where the trees were sparkling of silver when the storm laid an armor of ice about them. Our home was destroyed and the land claimed by the ocean, so I was left alone and wandered Middle-Earth. It was your folk who brought me up in a way, Omar, who taught me of this land in which the sun always shines. And so my life was given away, although I intend to return one day to the land of my kin.«
Omar had been quiet over all the time in which Tarnairë had told her story. He was not even sure whether that tale had been true. And so they were silent again. Suddenly did Tarnairë stand up. With a jerk she drew her sword, turned the blade and held the weapon towards Omar with the handle first.
»I have told you that I will consecrate you to a warrior, today, and that I will no longer be your mentor. Allow, that I will gift you this sword. It shall accompany you, until your revenge is fulfilled.«
Confused did Omar receive the weapon. He could not get smart from that strange woman and for all that, that had happened in the last hours, there was only the explanation left that Tarnairë was mad.
»Maybe you should store the blessings of your god on your weapon, if you want that it serves you faithfully. Afterall, it is the gift of a godless one.« The voice of the warrior had again the usual mocking undertone. »I will now leave you and travel to the hidden place. You shall have a new garment. The clothes that you have worn as my student, are not worthy of you anymore. We will burn them this evening and then you will wash yourself. First with the sand of the desert and then with the fresh water of a spring. You shall swill everything from you that reminds of the slave Omar. And because a warrior should always have a steed, I will also give a white Shadif to you. All this I give to you, without a condition, for you deserve it all. But one request I have of you: Take me with you on your search for Mawdliyah!«
What should he say to that? Tarnairë's generosity surprised Omar even as her request. But was it smart to have this strange warrioress on his side? Omar had now learned how to fight on his own. But against Abu Dschenna and his men, that was not enough. Abu Dschenna was a sorcerer and the gods alone would know over what weapons he was mandating. Also the adventure of breaking into Mawdliyah's father's palace to steal her away would be easier with a trusted ally. But could he rely on Tarnairë?
»When you return, I will give you my answer.«
»So be it.« The Elf bowed shortly, then she picked up veil and turban and began to saddle the white Shadif.
