Sandborn - Awakening of the Frozen Sand

[The greatest leader is not necessarily the one who does the greatest things. He is the one that gets the people to do the greatest things.] — Ronald Reagan

"Syed, please, my tribe doesn't specialize in collecting herbs, so we don't have many of them. If you take them, I am afraid we won't be able to treat our wounded and sick anymore," Surumadur complained.

"Oh, don't be such a scrooge. I will be considerate of your tribe, and besides, I won't take them for free. I will give you something of similar value in return," Azar said. "Now you don't have to worry, so go."

After Surumadur left with a heavy sigh, the room remained quiet. Hamsha had nothing to discuss with the two he considered poison for his existence, but Azar remembered something.

"Hamsha, if I'm not mistaking, I have yet to take a look inside your mind, right?" Azar asked.

"What?" Hamsha asked back, already feeling it would have been better if he had gone out and Surumadur had stayed to entertain the guests.

"Come, don't be shy, it won't hurt, and I promise I'm not interested in your intimate thoughts." Azar motioned for him to approach.

Hamsha exchanged glances with Araumir, and after his hopes of this being a joke vanished, he slowly approached Azar, sitting quietly before him. As before, Azar used deep eye contact to enter Hamsha's mind.

Usually, by using his technique, Azar was able to make the target totally unaware of his actions, but as Hamsha had seen what happened a few times before and was left without the possibility to betray, Azar found it easier not to hide behind the finger.

"Thank you, you can return to your place now," Azar said after a few short seconds.

"Really, is it done?"

"Did you hope for more?" Azar inquired.

"No, no," Hamsha replied, hurriedly returning to his seat.

When Surumadur returned after a few longer-than-expected minutes, he looked older by a few years, barely able to walk on his own.

"Chief?" Hamsha asked, concerned, getting up to support Surumadur.

Azar raised an eyebrow while Araumir asked, "What happened to you? You didn't store the herbs in your body, did you?"

Surumadur immediately shook his head to defend his innocence, imagining that Araumir would be capable of cutting him alive to take what his master wanted.

"Hahaha," Azar burst into loud laughter. Laughing so hard that tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. "You tried to poison my food, didn't you? Hahaha, serves you right."

Hearing the words of his master, Araumir wasn't that happy, sending a menacing gaze that made Surumadur shiver.

"I didn't try to poison you, I just thought about it," Surumadur said, embarrassed.

"You should never think about something so awful as poisoning someone," Azar advised. "See? That's why you have a financial problem, you're a negative thinker. Your thoughts shape your reality, so how can the system give you abundance and prosperity when such terrifying thoughts cross your mind? Unbelievable."

Surumadur remained expressionless like a stone wall, not understanding a thing. He gazed at Araumir, asking in his mind what kind of thoughts that person could have that he could make someone afraid with just his simple presence.

Before long, two women entered the room to set tables and serve food and drinks before leaving in silence. Azar didn't wait for a special invitation and started digging into the purslane—a succulent plant with edible leaves and stems, often found in arid regions.

When the oldest herbalist of the tribe presented his long, wrinkled face inside the room, Azar was cleaning his mouth with a cup of fresh water while Araumir was cleaning the meat off the last bone on the plate before chewing it as well. The bones had more nutrients then the meat after all, so throwing them was a waste.

"I have brought what you've asked for, chief," the old herbalist said with a rough morning voice, presenting a wooden plate with a long, brown list on it.

Surumadur gestured for the man to bring the plate to Azar, and without any change in his complexion, the old herbalist did as told.

"Please, have a seat." Azar motioned for the man to sit before him on the other side of the table where the wooden plate rested.

Without bringing himself a pillow or even a carpet, the old herbalist sat cross-legged on the empty ground. Azar nodded in his direction, appreciating the man's modesty. Then, with natural eye contact, Azar initiated his mind-reading technique, delving deep into the herbalist's memories.

The man realized nothing, but when Azar returned his awareness, he felt a surging current of information expanding his mental world. A piece of the old herbalist's lifelong gathered knowledge was now safely residing in Azar's head. He had just learned directly from the man's memories, stealing knowledge as he liked to describe it.

What a pity, if I was a little stronger, I could gain much more from him, Azar thought, sighing inwardly. But I guess it's good enough that some of the herbs are still the same as I remember. And as I've learned a little about those that I didn't know of from him, I still have chances of making what I want. Let's see...

"Sandthorn Root, Dunebloom Petals, Scorchvine, Cinderleaf, Oasis Mint, Gritweed, and Quartzgrass, let's combine those. I want; 2 Sandthorn Roots older than two years kept in the juice of Ashberries, 5 Dunebloom Petals, 1 Scorchvine stem, it has to be fresh, 2 Cinderleaf leaves, a spoon of Oasis Mint leaves tincture, 2 Gritweed stalks, and a handful of Quartzgrass."

The old herbalist's narrowed, life-bored eyes opened wide when he heard the words coming from the young man's mouth. He wanted to ask a question, but rules forbade him from being impolite with the chief's guests.

"Can you procure these herbs for me?" Azar asked when the man kept silent.

"Syed, if I'm allowed to ask, what do you plan on doing with them?" the old man inquired, and beyond his expectation, his chief remained quiet.

"A Revitalizing Potion," Azar replied. "As you can see, my body is in poor condition, so I want to supply it with what it needs to recover. What I've asked for aren't highly valued ingredients, so it shouldn't be a problem. Right, chief?"

Not valuable for you, but painfully valuable for me, Surumadur thought, even though he didn't know much about herbs and potions.

"Yes," he answered in a slightly grumpy tone, unable to refuse even if he wanted to.

"Unfortunately, we don't keep the Sandthorn Roots in Ashberries juice," the herbalist said. "We also don't have any fresh Scorchvine stems. A Revitalizing Potion, syed? Can we somehow make a trade for the recipe of this potion?" he asked excitedly, visibly more inclined to gain then to give.

"You don't keep the Sandthorn Roots in Ashberries juice? Then what do you keep them in?" Azar asked, surprised.

"In wine vinegar, syed," the herbalist replied.

Azar pursed his lips, looking at the man with contempt.

"Keep them in Ashberries juice from now on. And can't you harvest a Scorchvine stem?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, no, syed. We don't have anything like that here," the herbalist replied.

"Then it can't be helped," Azar said, trying to find another solution. "Do you have a blue salamander's core crystal?"

"I don't know," the herbalist said honestly. "But I'll go look." He got up, ready to leave.

"Wait," Azar stopped him. "From your previous words, I understand you're interested in the recipe of my potion. I made a deal with your chief to exchange something for the items I need. And, if everyone agrees, I can give you the potion recipe in exchange for the herbs I need. What do you say?" Azar looked at Surumadur, trying to sweeten his offer to encourage cooperation.

"Is syed really telling the truth?" the herbalist asked.

"I don't have the habit of lying," Azar replied.

Surumadur looked at him through narrowed eyes, trying to understand Azar's motives.

"Chief," the herbalist called. "I've heard about this potion before. If we can make it, we can save our people from dying meaningless deaths. We won't have to worry about wound infections, epidemics, or weak constitutions. Even the weakest of our people could be strengthened with it."

Surumadur pondered in silence, not taking his eyes off Azar for even a second.

"Then, Nabul, wouldn't this potion be worth a fortune? Do we have the money to buy the recipe?" he asked.

Hearing his words, the herbalist named Nabul lowered his head, suppressing his emotions.

"Chief Surumadur doesn't have to worry," Azar smiled. "This potion is not a miraculous cure that can heal all illnesses or regrow lost limbs. While it is valuable for those at the Mit'chalel and Bellator Class, it doesn't have as much value compared to others in my possession. Considering our bond, I am willing to share the recipe for the revitalization potion with a few conditions."

"Nabul, leave us. Go search for the beast core he asked for," Surumadur said seriously.

"Yes," Nabul said before taking his leave without even bowing.

"As you can see, your words are important to my people," Surumadur said to Azar. "What are your conditions?"

"Chief of the Calabi," Azar started, rising to his feet. "We started this on the wrong foot, but you must understand that through you, I can control the Calabi tribe as I see fit."

Surumadur clenched his jaw, insulted by Azar's blunt words.

"Through my power or my friend's," Azar gestured toward Araumir, "we can control or wipe out your tribe without breaking a sweat. You have to understand this. But you also have to understand that we won't do such cruelty unless necessary. Instead of using force from the start, we used it only when you refused to comply with our requests. I respect your human rights, Surumadur, whether you can see that or not."

"So let me change your perspective. When Hamsha was with me, I didn't let him run after my horse on foot, but allowed him to ride alongside me. Even though he was my servant, I didn't let him endure hunger or thirst; I allowed him to eat tasty meat and drink fine wine at my table. The people of Mirha wanted to torture him for the sins of the Calabi, but I didn't even allow them to utter curses at his address."

With each sentence spoken by Azar, Hamsha became smaller, lowering his head. Surumadur watched him, understanding the words as the truth.

"Surumadur, this man you see here at my side is, in fact, a demon. One of the ugliest and highest-ranking black spirits in the worlds below."

At Azar's words, Araumir grinned terrifyingly proudly, while Surumadur's very core trembled as he watched him.

"But regardless of his origin and past, when he chose to take me as his master and accept my sigil, surrendering his all to me, nothing else mattered. For thousands of years, this proud and dark being, stubborn enough to fight even the demigods, has served me as a modest and loyal friend. And I want to believe that, even though we argued and fought, I never treated him badly or showed him disrespect."

"No." Araumir bowed in approval.

"Surumadur, I treasure loyalty above all, even though at first, the loyalty was forced upon my servants. So let me offer you a new way. I decided to remain in this world and rebuild what I once had. The Mirha have already accepted me, and many more tribes and kingdoms will join under my banner. So let me ask you: instead of treating me as an enemy who forced you into submission, why don't you treat me as an ally, working together with me to unite the tribes and the powers of this vast desert into a single organization?"

"An organization in which no hardworking individuals have to worry about food, water, or other necessities. An organization in which meritocracy rules supreme and everyone has a chance at a better life. Won't following me bring more joy and abundance to you and your people? Or are you afraid that the greater powers will unite against me and you and your tribe will end up being persecuted?"