9. Loran
9
LORAN
Loran looked around the large room made of white stone. It was, unlike what she expected from an underground cave, dry and warm. Small, compared to the one in the volcano where she’d made the life-altering deal with the dragon, but there were rooms of all sizes down here, like a rabbit warren. Worn reliefs decorated the walls, with scenes of battle, noble gatherings, and peasants harvesting in fields.
Hung on a wall was a tapestry map, newer than anything else in the room. Drawn, Loran walked up to it, Gwaharad following her. On the upper edge of the map were embroidered words: THE WORLD TO BE LIBERATED . It was different from any other world map she had seen in Imperial atlases. Kamori and the rest of Lontaria were depicted in a grand manner, inflated to be as large as the Imperial heartland, whereas many provinces that she knew by name were shrunken or even omitted completely. The bottom of the tapestry read FOR KING GWAHARAD OF KAMORI, FROM HIS MOST DEVOTED SUBJECT. MAY HE LEAD THE WAY TO THE LIBERATION OF OUR HOMELAND AND THE WORLD THAT SUFFERS . Loran ran her fingers over the tapestry. Cassian velvet, she surmised.
The king of Kamori had his mind on liberating the world from the Empire, even when he was struggling to free his own kingdom. In contrast, she still didn’t know what to do with the power she had been given. She tried to imagine the world freed, then sighed.
Gwaharad cleared his throat and spoke. “This is the underground palace built by Kamori’s first king, Uter. They say he ruled all of the Three Kingdoms except the northern part of Ledon.”
Loran noted Gwaharad using the old term for Arland, Kamori, and Ledon, instead of the name the Empire gave them: Lontaria. As long as Loran could remember, it was considered archaic to refer to the region as the Three Kingdoms. The Empire’s language and culture had come long before their legions did.
They were surrounded by stone walls, but Gwaharad’s voice did not echo.
In the center of the room was a large stone throne, its once-intricate carvings worn down after years of use. Loran had known of King Uter, but he was a legend of so long ago that no one knew how far back. Loran traced the right armrest of the throne with a finger. The parts where countless royal hands had rested over the centuries were especially worn, making it impossible to tell what had been carved in those places.
“The later kings of Kamori did not use this place, and it was eventually forgotten. Until I found it again.”
Loran listened. He had a way of speaking that made her wary of interrupting him, even by accident. Loran, since watching the last king of Arland die in battle, had not laid eyes on another king again until now. She had only a vague idea of them being similar to prefects but even grander. Despite her ambition to rid her lands of the Empire and become king, she didn’t really know how exactly a king should be.
“We shall give you a room, Princess. Please stay as long as you wish.”
“Your Majesty. I do have a question.”
“Ask.”
“How is it that you became king?”
Gwaharad smiled.
“It’s because I am the child of the former king, of course. Kamori may be ruled by the Empire, but our royal bloodline persists. My older sister, the original successor of the royal house, has been dragged to the Capital to sit in their puppet Commons. Instead, I stay here in the kingdom and fight for it. The crown and this palace are all mine, and the people put themselves forward as soldiers to fight with me. Do such things not make me fit to be king?”
“I beg Your Majesty to forgive me, it was not my intention to imply that I doubted your legitimacy. It’s just—”
“Just what?”
“I have promised to become… King of Arland. But I am not the child of a king, the people do not recognize me, and I have no soldiers to fight the Empire with.”
“But you said you were a princess?”
Loran couldn’t find the words to explain. Gwaharad pressed further. “On the way back here, you told us that you had made a pact with the dragon of Arland and received the sword. I had assumed that the dragon would have discerned your heritage.” Gwaharad eyed Wurmath slung on Loran’s side, licked his lips, then looked at her intently. His gaze carried a hint of annoyance. “I knew that the royal line of the Arlanders ended upon the Empire’s arrival, but I’d been under the impression that you were a hidden scion that managed to survive…”
Loran felt caught in a lie. Her hand moved to her neck, where her t’laran were partially covered by her tunic.
The king cleared his throat.
“Kamori’s first king, Uter, made war to unite the Three Kingdoms, which was riddled with division among the many tribes, and that is how he ascended to the throne. I have heard that Kinedris of Arland became king by making a pact with the dragon of the volcano to protect her people, just like you have. Who knows whether Uter and Kinedris were leaders of their tribes or the lowliest of peasants before their ascension? Yet, who among us now would dare question their royal blood?”
The words were kind, but Loran did not mistake his tone of disdain for that of an encouragement. A forced smile appeared on Gwaharad’s face to erase the expression of annoyance.
“Fight the Empire and let your name be known far and wide. Arlanders everywhere will be sure to acknowledge you.”
Despite the obvious disappointment in the way he spoke, Loran felt as if she was shown a way forward. She returned the smile. “I shall.”
“My soldiers and I are Kamori, but this battle is for all of the Three Kingdoms. If you fight with us, there will be many chances to make your name. It is already unimaginable that you should have felled four legionaries in Powered armor! The Kamori Liberators have surely made an ally from heaven. We shall hear more of your story at the banquet.”
Kamori Liberators. Loran considered the name for a moment. Gwaharad apparently had the mandate of his people and commanded an army, not to mention having possession of an impressive fortress. He probably had enough funds to keep his people fed too. The only thing he lacked was sovereignty over his land. He had every cause and the means to call himself king and wage war against the Empire.
She wondered if she should confer with the dragon again. Loran’s fingertips brushed against Wurmath’s hilt.
“But perhaps we should refrain from calling you ‘princess’ for the time being,” said Gwaharad, and he clapped his hands to summon his soldiers on duty. “Take Mistress Loran to her quarters.”
This sudden demotion to “mistress” seemed to surprise the soldiers more than Loran. They quickly recovered, nodded to Loran, and led the way out of the room.
The quarters set aside for Loran were more spacious than she had imagined. Loran removed her leather armor, still covered in dirt and damaged from her battles in Dehan Forest. The wound on her side hadn’t been as painful as she’d expected in the hours she’d traveled with Gwaharad and Emere, and when she inspected it now, there was only a scar that looked as if it were from a long-ago burn rather than the blade of a Powered sword just that morning.
Laid on the simple yet comfortable-looking bed was a change of clothing. A simple tunic, and thin trousers under a skirt with a slit up one side, the kind Kamori women wore. The green lion of Kamori was embroidered on the skirt. There was even a strip of red cloth to be used for an eyepatch.
Just as Loran was about to change, there was a knock on her door.
“Who is it?” she called in surprise.
“Emere, Your Highness.”
“Just a moment.”
Still in her leather trousers, Loran quickly slipped on the tunic and tied her eyepatch in place before opening the door. Emere had combed his hair, trimmed his beard, and changed into a fresh set of clothes; he looked like a completely different man from the one she had met in the forest. On his tunic was the green lion so common in this palace. Only his wrists, where the ropes of the Imperial army had bruised, reassured Loran that this was indeed Emere.
He bowed deeply. Loran noticed that in Emere’s left hand was something long, the length of a sword, wrapped in a fine piece of cloth.
“May I enter?”
This is your palace, and the door is already open. What more permission do you need? Still, Loran went through the motions of nodding and gesturing for him to enter. Emere closed the door behind him and bowed to her once more.
“I have been lightly reprimanded by my brother the king for introducing you to him as a princess without having listened to your story first.”
Loran blushed. She bowed and apologized.
“I’m sorry. All because I said something foolish—”
Emere waved his hands. “Not at all! On the contrary. I have come to apologize for my brother’s rudeness. With the way the Empire rules the world, who is to say which is a real king or princess? There is only the Senate and the prefects. I have…”
Emere looked back to check if the door was well and closed. He stroked his beard and lowered his voice.
“I have not told my brother the king about the princess’s… transformation.”
He meant, no doubt, the business with the scales and the burning eye. She had told him of the pact she made with the dragon and of Wurmath, but she could not explain the strange change in her appearance. She could not blame him if he talked about it to everyone he met. Had it happened to someone else, she would have.
“King Gwaharad is a great man, but he can be a little too prudent, perhaps, and jealous. For now, it may be a better recourse to let him think you are an ordinary warrior who happened to come upon an extraordinary sword. Indeed, I have a feeling that he does not fully believe what you have told us.”
Emere bowed again.
“I beseech you to forgive my brother once more, and on behalf of my brother and the Kingdom of Kamori, beg Your Highness when she ascends to the Arlander throne to fight alongside your brother nation of Kamori.”
Loran appreciated Emere’s kind words, but couldn’t help feeling that Emere was too generous to her, when she had nothing to her name.
“His Majesty said nothing wrong,” Loran assured him. “Kings must have the right to rule. For someone like me who is not of royal blood to call herself a princess, it would be strange not to think she is acting above her station.”
Emere sighed.
“But Your Highness, you have made a pact with the dragon and received the dragon’s sword. I have heard this is exactly how the first king of Arland ascended to her reign.”
“Only when the Arlanders accepted this. I have no such support. If anyone with an extraordinary sword may become king, wouldn’t that mean the Empire with their Powered legions have more legitimacy to rule over all of us than anyone else?”
Emere vigorously shook his head.
“The people choose their own king, and if the king is found unfit to rule, the king is banished by the very same people. This has been the way all over the world, since time immemorial, ages before the arrival of the Empire. But what presents a king to be chosen is not the people; it is destiny. The dragon has been imprisoned in the volcano for two decades, yet you were the only one in all those years who dared to go there and came out with its fang in hand. This is why I do not hesitate in calling Your Highness the Princess Loran of Arland.”
She didn’t know where this conviction sprang from. The very word “destiny” made Loran squirm in discomfort.
“All right.”
Emere bowed once more, and as if suddenly remembering, carefully presented the cloth-wrapped thing to Loran.
“This is a gift from me. It is not fine enough to befit you, or your sword, but I took the liberty of picking one from our armory. Please consider it a token of my gratitude, for your bravery at the forest.”
Loran took it with both hands and, glancing at Emere for his permission, unwrapped the cloth. It was a scabbard, blue fabric with subtle patterns covering its wooden structure. It reminded Loran of the blue flame of Wurmath. As she was admiring the craftsmanship, Emere added, “A sword needs a scabbard, as fury needs restraint.”
Loran repeated the words under her breath, then smiled. “Thank you.” She carefully sheathed Wurmath. It was as if the scabbard was made for it.
“I shall be waiting by the door. Please let me know when you are ready to go to the banquet.”
As she changed into the set of unfamiliar clothes, Loran kept thinking about her conversations with Gwaharad and with Emere. The Kamori king had told her, even through his masked contempt at her lineage, that she could be king through her people’s recognition. Emere believed she had a destiny to be king. Maybe they were both right, but she did not have the conviction of either. What had the dragon seen in her, in that dark gray cavern lit by blue dragonfire?
Loran drew Wurmath from the scabbard and stood. If she could not believe in herself, she had to believe in the ones who did. She whispered to Wurmath, the dragon’s promise, and to the scabbard, Emere’s gift, the same words that she had said in the volcanic cave.
“I am a princess of Arland. And I shall become king.”