Amara

She looked round at the swathe of waiting faces – Gnoll, man, Elders aged beyond ages, and knew what her answer would be.

Before she delivered her response to the Elder, she lingered on the form of Yelena in the thief’s arms, barely breathing, a frown of worry kneading across her forehead.

“The girl did what she is supposed to do,” she said, her voice carrying far and wide, rebounding off the sandstone walls of the stronghold. “She slew the demon.”

The eyes of the crowd grew wide with excitement. They wanted more. They wanted a tale spun by a practiced storyteller. Even the thief was looking at her with expectant eyes.

Is that what you want me to be? she thought with disdain. Just someone who tells you what you want to hear?

Only the eyes of the Red-Priestess had not changed. They focused on her every movement. Unwavering. The stare of someone trying to size her up – trying to see what the Lightbringer was really made of.

“I watched her kill it with that sword,” she said, pointing to Yelena’s dangling blade, it’s light long since dimmed. “She took the Voidspawn – the – the Ida’Mallok – out of Lokar and killed it.”

Silence. Long, drawn-out, and yet probably shorter than she thought it was.

Then a cheer of victory went up from the crowd.

“Praise the Lightbringer!” Verdus cried. “She brings not only her cleansing fire, but the fury of a surfacer that can slay the demons of the depths!”

The others – civilian and soldier alike – threw up their arms in open praise. They were bowing down to her again. Calling her ‘the one’. They were thinking of everything – all this devastation – as simply just a part of her plan.

Such is the way with those who place their faith in others, her mother whispered to her.

She bit her lip. For once, when her mother spoke, she found herself not truly listening.

“Heed the words of the Lightbringer, Brothers and Sisters of this dry basin,” the Elder One called in a hoarse, choked out cry. Her Sisters at the steps began swaying back and forth, as though their very bodies were being puppeteered by her words – her commandments. “Take this warrior to a place of rest. Offer her the care afforded to the greatest champions of these sands, for she shall be our blade in the darkness of the Blackbird’s realm.”

Mendax perked up, looking up at his Mistress while still on his knees. “You mean..?”

The Elder eyed him with authority. But an authority that was bent, Amara knew, towards her. The aged Gnoll said nothing, and slowly turned to face her with her hidden eyes.

This is a test, mother said. She wants you to be the one to give the order. She wants the people to know that their Lightborn is ready.

But I’m not, Amara whispered back, looking at them all with exasperation. I’m still not strong enough.

You have even the strength of their Elder within you now, her mother retorted. Think of it, my daughter: legions of these creatures running under your banner, screaming your name into the sun of the Everloft, brandishing weapons touched by your Glance. They shall be like a thousand fiery petals blooming in the desert air, searing away the filth that corrupted this place.

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She looked at all the creatures kneeling around her. Waiting. Waiting for the order to kill. To strike at their enemy that had apparently oppressed them all their lives. Just like the sandy walls of the catacombs had told her – these were the dog-people of the Sands, forced to live like rats in their own kingdom by the Argents.

The little ones eyes lighted on her auburn locks, intent on burning. Intent on destruction.

Just like her mother said, she could almost see their little bodies aflame with the fires of their vengeance. Her fire.

It wasn’t the strength to lead them that she was looking for.

It was the strength to leave them behind. The strength to make them choose life, rather than throw it away in some stupid battle.

Hadn’t they done all that already? Why did they think things would be any different now?

Because of her?

Fat chance.

“I…” she began tentatively, trying to find her voice again, feeling like her every word was being swallowed by the crowd baying for blood. “I know you all want to fight.”

Low growls. The sounds of conquerors at the ready.

They are ready to die for you, dear, mother whispered. You need only command it.

She closed her eyes.

She cleared her throat.

And she felt a thin smile come across her lips. Because that was exactly what she needed to hear.

They are ready to die, she thought. But it shouldn’t be them. Not for me.

Her mother let her desire to ask more lie. Maybe she saw that her daughter’s mind was already resolved.

“But it’s not right!” she said aloud, striking those who had huddled near her to better hear her words. “I mean…not right for all of you to fight. Only the soldiers should battle. And the girl – Yelena – should be the one that leads them!”

Another pause as the dusty wind picked up pallid stones from the earth.

All turned then to see the Elder stand and give a little wave of their hand.

Amara swore that she was smiling.

“You have heard the Lightbringer’s Proclamation!” she said. “All Warriors no matter your level shall prepare for the long-awaited moment! Verdus! Gather our honor-guard by the first light of morning. Mendax! Rouse your Battle-Brothers from their slumber! The time for feasting is over.”

Her eyes swept over the crowd, momentarily stunned into silence before their wills were set in motion.

“It is time,” she said. “For war.”

“But what of us?!” one ragged Gnoll said, looking between Amara and the Elder within his blown-out hut. “What must we do to serve the Lady’s fight?”

The Elder’s blank stare was enough to cow him, and those like him, back into silence.

“Rebuild,” she said. “The Blackbird may have sent this Shadow-fiend to strike a blow against us, but he shall see his efforts are in vain. We are no longer the trodden-upon dirt of the Sands. Make this stronghold a place those we liberate shall be proud to walk within. Make it a dominion of glittering dust to rival the towers of that accursed golden palace. And mark me, my Brothers and Sisters, when you see those walls tumble down, let your voices sing to the skies. Let all life of the Shifting Sands know: we are triumphant!”

These creatures truly were as easily bent as straw, just as Kimon had told her. Only amongst a few of those cheering, baying Gnolls did Amara see one or two twitches of doubt – a few stragglers not quite committed to the message of triumph as they looked around the wreckage of their homes. Yet still more looked upon her with thanks for the mercy she had just delivered.

And then, she realized, they had all expected to die. Without even knowing it, she had just given them the gift of life.

“Come on you Dust-Dung wretches!” Verdus roared above the crowd. “Gather your blades! Sharpen your claws! Let fly the dogs of war!”

Every hair on his neck was sharp and erect. He had been ready for this.

Mendax, however? He looked more like he was looking for someone to kill.

Amara met his dilated eyes and flaring nostrils, and then he retreated back to the depths of the palace. Probably to drink himself to death.

But she pushed the thought of him from her mind – she could bring him round. She always had. What instead captured her attention amidst the busied forms of the Gnolls as they made their preparations was Yelena being carried of with care – Marius, the thief, trailing after her.

For a moment he shared a look with Amara that hinted at something behind those sparkling eyes. She saw that there was genuine care there, buried under his roguish, boyish veneer. But then he promptly turned away, following his Guardian into the warm dark of the castle.

The Argent girl? Her mother questioned. Leading the ‘army’ of warrior Gnolls? I must say I am surprised, dear. The Blackbird has numbers and experience on his side in this conflict. You have the power to make even the smallest insect a dangerous prospect with your power. Why would you limit the size of your army?

She looked after Yelena, watching her golden hair trail across her death-pale face. For a moment, she thought she could see it. She thought she could see the thing that had draped itself across her heart. Perhaps it had been there all along.

We have something the Blackbird doesn’t, she told her mother.

You are becoming mischievous in your adolescence, my dear, her mother sniggered. Do you not know that it is wrong to keep secrets from your mother?

Amara smiled over the thirsting crowd. No secrets, mom. I’m just doing what you told me to do long ago.

After all this time, I’ve finally found the right tool.