The servants of Mordor knew no mercy, after they had taken the upper city of Hayabêth. They were granted by their terrible general to plunder and to murder to celebrate after the manner of godless bandits, for which there was nothing beneath the gaze of the Valar which could not be reduced to the value of a coin, the victory over the upright. But because the shimmer of gold was the only thing that could move their corrupt hearts, they murdered only those who had dared to raise their weapons against them, the others however they sold into slavery to the slavedrivers, who had followed the host as vultures would stick close to a pack of lions.
Alone a handful who had escaped through the Feggagir could flee and I parted ways with Tamrika at the oasis of Shebah. And yet another was to be spared from a dire fate, that was originally thought for him ...
-from the diary of Tarnairë
Omar ibn Said squinted his eyes and tried in vain to move his arms and legs. Then he remembered how the bandits, led by the sorcerer Abu Dschenna, had brought him to the ground. Desperately he pulled on his ties. Abu Dschenna's henchmen had made good work. With his power alone he would not be able to escape.
Omar turned his head to the side and looked towards the ridge of the dune to his side, but he could not spot anyone. There was no doubt that they had left him behind so that he would die a wretched death in the desert.
The midday's hour had already passed, but the sun was still burning mercilessly down from the sky. Omar's tongue went over the chapped and cracked lips. How long could he survive the heat?
The young man of the desert cursed. Very closely behind him lay a saddle-bag and two filled waterskins. When he reached forth with his fingers, he could even touch them. But to open and lead them to his mouth was impossible. Hopeless did Omar look up to the sky. The ardent, golden disk was his only company. The sun seemed to intend to have her cruel jests with him. But he would not have himself be fooled. Omar closed his eyes and began quietly, to recite the ninety-nine tenets of the tribes of Harad.
Maybe Rastullah wanted to test him, thought the young man, as he completed the tenets to the first time. But could the god let it happen that he died such an unfair death? Or was it in the end their will that he died? Omar was clueless. He thought, always to have lived after the rules and laws of the tribes. But what, if he had done wrong without knowing? For such he could not even ask the Rastullah for forgiveness. With slight hesitation, he began to mumble the ninety-nine tenets anew. He mustn't fall into doubt about his belief!
»The upright unleashes his anger, when the honor of his friend, of his father, of his son, of his horse or his wife or daughter, is cut, hurt or was put into question.
The upright ...«
»What are you mumbling there?«
Startled did Omar open his eyes. In front of him stood a slender and veiled woman with a turquoise colored turban and dark blue garments. Was that a new way of fooling him? The vision of someone who suffered thirst? At least the sun had moved from her spot and stood now only slightly over the horizon.
»Give me please ... to drink.« Every loud spoken word was a pain for Omar's dried throat.
»Why should I?«
Omar looked at the woman unbelieving. What did she say? Was she denying someone dying with thirst water?
»Please ...«
»How should I know, whether the others have not rightfully put you to such a cruel death? I have learned not to intermingle out of goodness with the dealings of the tribes. That time for me is over.«
Omar did now know what he should think about that. »I am ... innocent. Have you ... seen, what they ... did?«
The foreign woman nodded. »I have witnessed from afar how they have hit you out of the saddle. Obviously your enemies seemed to have had a lot of respect for you that they did engage you in such an overpowering way.«
»No, they are ...« Omar hesitated. A hard cough was shaking him. »Please ... Water!«
»Are you sure that you really want to have water from me? It will only extend your agony, if I give you to drink now and then leave you after all, for if your words cannot convince me, I will ride on without turning around just one time.«
»Water ...«
»Well, you are either foolish or very certain that you can convince me.« The woman hesitated one breath long. Then she kneeled down, took up one of the waterskins that were lying behind Omar and gave him to drink. Quickly did the young man gulp the stale, warm water, but long before he had quenched his thirst, the veiled one took the skin away from him.
»That is enough. If you drink more, you will vomit and - after the manner in which you are bound - possibly suffocate on it. Maybe I will let you drink again later.«
»Are you only doing what seems to be reasonable?« Omar had the impression that he was confusing the strange woman with his words for a moment. For a few heartbeats she hesitated thoughtfully, before she closed the waterskin and placed it aside.
Whoever she might be, she surely was not poor. Maybe she was walking around veiled because she wanted to disguise the fact that she was a heathen from the north. She did surely not belong to the Ben Kasim. These warriors of the desert would have never interrupted a man who was reciting the ninety-nine tenets of the tribes. Or would they? Curiously did Omar examine the clothes of the strange woman. She wore a short kaftan, that reached just a bit beneath her knees and beneath that a wide pair of trousers, both made from dark blue cloth. The seam of the caftan was adorned with silver embroidery, that displayed foreign flowers. Also the high, black boots were decorated with a broad edging of silver. Around her hips she had slung a heavy leather girdle, into which a number of small pockets had been worked. Additionally were amulets sewn unto it, that might protect from evil spirits and all kinds of sorcery. From one of the pockets protruded a slender wooden handle, similar to that of a brush. In another girdle pocket he saw a flask. What else might be hidden within the girdle, he could not estimate, although Omar was certain that the woman had also sewn gold into it.
Across the chest of the veiled one was going a, maybe two fingers broad, with silver clasps decorated leather belt, with which she carried a quiver and an overly large bow on her back. Omar also saw the cross guard of a sword, rising above the left shoulder, but the rest remained hidden. But quite obviously was it not one of the curved swords that the warriors of the desert were usually using. Uncommon also was the dagger that rested in the belt of the woman. Instead of a curved blade did it have a straight one. And even though the veiled one was taking a lot of effort with her attire and her tongue of Haradwaith was as flawless as if she had grown up in the desert, so did her weapons make it obvious that she could not be one of the tribes.
»Do you only do what seems to be reasonable?«, Omar repeated his question once more.
»If such would be so, then I would not have turned around after a ride of two hours to chatter with you about reason.«
»You saw what they did to me and then you rode on? I thought you would have waited until you could be certain that they are gone to ...«
»I think, you do not quite understand yet. I do not have any intention to free you, except you can convince me that you are innocent.«
»But did you not see how they came over us and how they have taken the woman that was riding with me?« Omar could not believe that this three-times accursed heathen wanted to simply leave him behind.
»Who tells me that it was not you who had kidnapped the woman and that her husband had not set a trap for you to lead her back where she belongs? After all, she did not seem to offer resistance or attempted to flee, after you were lying helplessly on the ground.«
»She did not try to fight?« Omar's voice had lost all fervor. Did Mawdliyah just accept that he would be left here?
»You do not listen.« The voice of the veiled woman sounded inappropriate mockingly. »I said, she did not seem to offer any resistance. She did dismount from her camel and then went down before the feet of the leader. She was talking fervently to him and ever again pointed at you. I was too far away as that I could have heard what she said to him. In the end, the men have put their weapons aside, tore off your clothes and bound you here.«
Was it Mawdliyah's fault that he was left to die out here in this kind of manner? A cold shudder was running over Omar. Was her love to him so weak? Or did she prevent the men of Abu Dschenna that they killed him instantly? Maybe she had hoped that someone would find and save him. He had to have certainty!
»What did the woman look like who had thrown herself to the feet of the leader? Did she have hair, so dark and soft as clouds in the night sky and a face, so evenly and noble, as if the gods would have united all their beauty into one being, to ...«
»You love this woman?« The voice of the veiled one did not sound so cold as before anymore.
»I would die for her! Is that evidence enough for you of my honesty?«
It took a while in which the strange woman seemed to consider, until she answered. »It seems, as if you were granted your will. Why have they punished you so miserably?«
»Give me something to drink and I will tell you my story.«
As Omar had ended his story, the foreign woman looked at him for a long time. In the end, the young man could not stand the suspense anymore. »And, will you leave me here to die?«
»If I free you, I will be responsible for all your deeds afterwards, Omar.«
»What is that supposed to mean?« The young man had the feeling as if the mysterious woman had suffered too much heat of the sun. She was behaving in manner, that could not be grasped. All heathens that Omar had met had been strange in their own way, but never before had he met someone as inscrutable as this veiled woman.
»If I free you and you kill one of your enemies, so will their blood also be on my hands. If you want me to free you, you must first swear that you will not do anything against my will. And if one day I will ask you for help, so you will grant me such, without asking any questions.«
»I will never again be a slave! I rather die!« Omar was confused and angered. He almost wished just to be able to die in peace.
The woman laughed. »You need not be a slave. Do not see me as your master. Maybe you should rather see something like a teacher in me.«
»A teacher ...«
»Only if you make the oath.«
Omar thought deeply. What did he have to loose? And should it be revealed that his teacher was in truth a rogue, he could still flee. But would he anger the woman with his resistance, then she would leave him for the vultures. »I swear by the Rastullah and his nine wives, not to undertake anything against your will, mentor, and whenever you ask me for a service, I shall grant you my help.«
»Swear it by the heart of Mawdliyah, whom you love. I do not believe in an oath that is made on beings that only exist in the heads of your so called wise men.«
Omar drew a grimace, gulped however the answer that this blasphemer would have deserved. At least he could now be certain whom he was dealing with. Behind the veil had to be a light skinned warrioress from the north, who sometimes came with the strangest reason into Haradwaith, only to find a inglorious end through their heretical talk.
»Good, I swear it by the heart of Mawdliyah, that I will not break the word that I have given.«
The woman drew her sword and cut Omar's ties.
»Thank you.« The young man sat up with a sigh and massaged his wrists.
»You should have a cloth to cover your bareness.« The veiled warrioress issued a strange whistle and almost immediately appeared on the ridge of an opposite lying dune, a wonderful bridled Shadif, a horse of the desert.
»Come down, Qumah!« The woman clapped her hands and with a quiet grunt, the horse came down the elevation.
»You must excuse her, Omar. Qumah is a bit in a bad mood, because I have ordered her to kneel down behind the dunes. She is becoming quickly impatient and hates it to lie still. That is why I called her Qumah - She-who-catches-the-wind.«
Omar looked confounded at the beautiful horse. How could it be that a heathen understood so well, to handle one of the Shadif? Usually the proud and thick-headed beasts were only complying to their master's orders when they were treated with a stick.
The veiled woman was looking through her saddle-bags in the meanwhile. Then she hurled a dark blue cover towards Omar.
»You need to be satisfied with these for now. I do not have anything better.«
»Thank you ...« The young man raised questioning his eyebrows.
»Tarnairë. Such they call me among my people.«
»Tahrniree?« Omar had difficulties to repeat the foreign word. The wrong belief of these heathens must have confused their senses that they thought of such a unspeakable language.
»Maybe you just call me Nairë. I think you will manage that better.«
»I will master your name in time, my mentor. What bad student would I be, would I not even succeed in pronouncing your name.«
Instead of an answer, did the veiled one laugh. Her pride began to fall on Omar's dislike. It was simply not right for a heathen to treat an upright son of Haradwaith like that. And Omar could not shake off the feeling Tarnairë was not taking him seriously. Longingly he looked to the East. More then six or seven hours advance, Abu Dschenna and his men could not have. Maybe he could catch up with them and ...
»Do not even think about it!«
Omar was startled.
»It is easy to read your thoughts in your face, my friend. You should learn, to better hide what you feel, otherwise you will never be victorious over a foe such as this sorcerer. And I hope you do not think, you could - exhausted and unarmed - overcome Abu Dschenna and his men?«
The young man evaded Tarnairë's look embarrassed. Of course, the warrioress was right. But everything in Omar was rebelling to let this treacherous sorcerer go. Could he love Mawdliyah and leave her to her fate at the same time?
»Come!« The veiled woman had taken her horse by the bridles and had gone up already half of the dune. Impatiently she waved Omar to follow. Slowly, the young man turned around. Every step, he would take from now on, would bring him further away from Mawdliyah.
