The sounds of two armies clashing could be heard for miles around. The sounds echoed over empty plains, easily reaching the ears of the marching two thousand warriors.

Eder swallowed nervously, feeling slightly nauseous. Helaman was speaking with one of their scouts, a concerned frown heavy on his brow.

Heavenly Father, give me strength, Eder thought. Help me not to be so afraid.

Though nothing happened immediately, by the time Helaman ordered a march, his troubled heart was soothed. Taking a deep breath, the young soldier adjusted his helmet and followed his brothers-in-arms as they walked toward the noise of battle. When the noise gew to an almost unbearable volume, Helaman turned to the two thousand.

"Pray for strength as we enter the battlefield, my little sons. The Lord will protect us."

Eder looked into his heart and felt the words ring true. Nothing could pierce the veil of calm that wrapped around his heart, warm and soft as a blanket All would be well. The words did not promise a thing-not that he would live, nor escape unscathed-yet they assured that everything would be all right in the end.

God's will be done.

The tumult and bedlam of the battlefield became even louder and chaotic as two thousand young men charged onto the open field, weapons drawn. Neither the Lamanites nor Nephites knew whether the reinforcements were for them or their enemies.

"Go, my sons!" Helaman cried. "Defend your families, your homes, your faith, your freedom!"

The Sons of Helaman cried out in agreement, their cheers mixing with those of the Nephite army. Eder ran forward with his brothers-in-arms, sword drawn. Metal clashed against metal, and Eder struggled against the older, much more experienced man he fought. With a risky twist of his wrist, Eder's sword became a death sentence, sliding between the Lamanite's ribs.

For my family, Eder thought. For my home. For my God.

Hours later, as sunset spread it's orange glow over the land, Eder walked over the battlefield, searching. All two thousand were accounted for, so the uninjured helped the Nephites look for their soldiers and take account of how many were dead. The field was littered with bodies and bloody weapons, many belonging to the Lamanites. So far, Eder had counted three and fifty dead Nephites, and had carried another nine and twenty back to camp for medical attention.

Being on the battlefield made Eder sad. Sad that the Lamanites had been full of hate, sad that so many men-on both sides-had to die, sad that he had been one of those who had killed. It was for his people, but he wished it had never come to this.

Back in the land of the Lamanites, women would weep for their fallen brothers and husbands, children would call out for their fathers but receive no answer. Eder did not want even the Lamanites to suffer such losses. Yet it was why he fought: to keep his own people-the anti-nephi-lehi's-from having to suffer such things. To keep his family and friends free from the slavery that would surely come from the Lamanites conquest.

No one had said it would be easy, and it was not. But he loved his people, and it was now his responsibility to protect them, not matter the cost. He had sworn an oath, and his mother had taught him never to break his promises.

"Don't be afraid," Eder told an injured man. "I'm here to help you. Can you walk?"

The man shook his head, and the young warrior bent over and picked the man up.

"God bless you," the man whispered. "I thought I was done for."

"He has already blessed me," Eder replied. "He already has."