by Fuad Baloch
The general blocked her way.
“Get out of my way,” snarled Ruma.
“Afraid I can’t do that.”
Gareeb ran up towards them. Ruma raised a hand, intending to call him to her. He exchanged a glance with the general, then stood beside him.
“What’s the meaning—” she began.
“The men need a leader,” said the general. “An army is defined neither by its victories nor its failures, more by the calibre of its leaders.”
Again, Ruma chuckled, but it was getting harder to hear the two men in the clamour that had broken out behind her.
“I am not who you need me to be.”
The general shook his head, stepped forwards. “You’re the Lady. Tell us what you would have us do.”
Ruma blinked, the words finally registering in her mind. Now she understood why they all looked at her so. Why the Pithrean had sounded so defeated. Why the Lady she’d seen had never resembled either Yasmeen or Bubraza.
The First had never really wanted her to mould the world. He had in fact done everything to push her away from this path. The more he argued with her about following his path, the more she had bucked the idea. And yet… it had turned out the way it had.
Terror filled her veins, crippling her. She tried to swallow the bile rising in her gorge, the preposterous idea far too much for her to bear.
“Lady, are you alright?” asked the general.
She wasn’t alright. And they were all wrong.
“Lady of the Sands!” shouted someone behind her.
Before she had a chance to raise her hand to quieten him, other voices joined in, the clean, crisp air ringing with their proclamations.
Simple, silly words with the power to change worlds.
“Lady of the Sands!”
The story continues…
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About the Author
Fuad Baloch is an emerging author of science fiction and fantasy novels.
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