12. Loran
12
LORAN
Loran was eager to continue her fight alongside the Kamori Liberators, but Gwaharad seemed to be a more cautious leader, as Emere suggested. Initially she was content to wait. Having allies, she felt like she could finally see a way forward, out of meaningless destruction.
Then a fortnight passed in the underground palace. Loran had done almost nothing but practice her swordsmanship out of habit and eat the food they brought her. She found her patience dwindling. She had volunteered to teach the Kamori soldiers, but Gwaharad refused her offer, saying her style of swordsmanship would conflict with their training so far. He seemed, in truth, reluctant to let her come in contact with his soldiers. Loran recalled Emere describing his brother as the jealous type.
Since that conversation, she had almost no occasion to have an audience with Gwaharad. As Loran was also not one to seek the company of others without having a clear reason in mind, she did not make up excuses to do so. Only Emere visited her. He came by every day for lunch and conversation in her room.
That afternoon, over tea, Emere told her about a woman named Gladdis.
“Do you mean the one who left a little after I arrived here?” said Loran. “I only know of her by name.”
“She is a great merchant who comes and goes between the Capital and the Three Kingdoms. She is affluent, and well-connected. A generous sponsor of the Kamori resistance.”
“Ah. A formidable compatriot to have.”
This explained how an army of hundreds was being maintained.
“Yes, I didn’t have much chance to talk to her, but my brother holds her in great esteem… Not only does she support us with her funds, she also aids and unites our people living in the Capital. We call her the Liberators’ prefect of the Capital, in jest.”
“I see.” Perhaps Gladdis was more of a king than herself, Loran thought.
Emere took a sip of his tea and continued. “The king tells me that her sisters had been priests of the Tree Lords of Kamori, who all burned with the Lords in the conflagration of our sacred groves. Perhaps that is why she does what she does, even after becoming so successful as a licensed trader.”
Loran knew that the people of Kamori had once worshipped ancient trees that walked, much as Arlanders venerated the dragon of the mountain. Everywhere the Empire went, gods died and the faithful with them.
After a short lull in the conversation, Emere looked at her in amusement.
“What song is it that you are humming? I have never heard the tune.”
She was indeed humming to herself over the tea. Embarrassed, she stumbled to answer.
“My… my husband was a poet. This is something he wrote to mourn the victims of the purge in Kingsworth, on the tenth anniversary of the event.” She hesitated, then added. “My daughter sang it. They were killed for it, along with several others who organized the remembrance.”
Apologetic, Emere sighed.
“Princess, I am sorry to have pried. You have my deepest condolences.”
Loran forced a smile, then changed the subject.
“From what I understand, there are Arlanders in the Capital as well…”
During the purge, quite a number of Arlanders had taken refuge there, perhaps thousands. Because the Imperial Capital was home to people from all over the Empire, it was considered the best place in the world to start anew.
“Yes, and Gladdis is working to bring the Arlanders together as she has done for our own but… I haven’t heard much on that front so far.”
Loran imagined how many Arlander exiles must be living in the Capital now, what sorts of people they might be, whether they could be persuaded to fight against the Empire. “I’m sure such a person is a great help to our cause.”
“Of course, Gladdis exacts no small a price in return. What we did in the forest recently, that was also by her request.”
“You mean the metal box you took from the legionaries.”
Emere just smiled.
The two sipped their tea without saying anything. Perhaps bothered by the silence, Emere glanced back at the closed door and whispered as if telling a secret, “Have you heard of the weapon called the Star of Mersia?”
“Of course. I should be hard-pressed to find someone who hasn’t. It’s difficult to believe such a weapon can exist, but I cannot deny what happened to Mersia…”
The ultimate weapon of the Empire, that could sweep away an entire country. No one knew what it looked like or how it worked. There were only rumors.
“I cannot help but believe it exists! I was in the Mersian Wastes ten years ago. It’s difficult to imagine the green steppes that once stretched across the country. All you can see now is red desert and some ruins.” He shivered.
“But why do you mention the Star of Mersia now?”
Emere smiled bitterly. “Because if Kamori or Arland wish to be truly free of the Empire, we cannot but think of it. Mentioning the weapon in this palace at all is forbidden because it can bring down the morale of the soldiers, but I thought Your Highness and I at least could have a conversation about it.”
“You’ve called me Your Highness again, but I do not call you Your Highness in return. Please, call me Loran.”
After her conversation with Gwaharad, Loran no longer called herself a princess in front of others. And an order from Gwaharad seemed to have gone down as all the soldiers called her “Mistress Loran” from the second day onward. Only Emere did her the courtesy of referring to her as Her Highness, a princess of Arland.
Emere shook his head.
“I have traveled much since I was a child. All the way to Hyberia in the north, and the very edges of Cassia in the east. I have met many great men and women. I believe I know them when I see them. There is something in Your Highness that seems destined for the title, in my eyes.”
Loran could not help but laugh. “You jest again!” she said. His words were not unpleasant to hear, but she felt an inexplicable, bone-deep anxiety whenever Emere mentioned destiny. They say that one can’t avoid destiny, but the more time she spent inside this place, the more it felt like destiny was avoiding her.
The door burst open. Emere jumped up like a little boy who had been caught doing something naughty. He shouted at the soldier who stumbled inside, “How dare you enter the princess’s chamber without permission! What’s the meaning of this!”
“Prince Emere, there is trouble! Mistress Loran must know as well,” said the soldier, panting.
“Well, speak!”
“The Twenty-Fifth has sent troops to Arland, vowing vengeance for Mistress Loran’s destruction of the outposts and the death of the legionaries.”
Loran got to her feet as well. “Does the king know?”
“He does. He ordered me to summon you both.”
Loran and Emere followed the soldier out of the room. She was still unused to the structure of the underground palace. She was so nervous she wanted to outpace the soldier, but there was no way of knowing where she was being taken, and she doubted she would be able to find the way on her own even if she was told. Emere said nothing as they walked, but his grim expression told her everything she needed to know about the seriousness of their situation.
After a few turns, they came to a room she had never seen before. The door was open. There was an ancient-looking round table made of stone in the middle of it, engraved with the ubiquitous lion emblem that the nation of Kamori still used today. The room was filled with soldiers. Gwaharad sat at the table, flanked by two advisors whose faces she recognized. There was also a soldier who was covered in scratches, a scout no doubt. There were two seats left at the table.
Gwaharad saw them enter the room and nodded his head.
“You’re here, Emere. And Mistress Loran. We were waiting for you to begin, as it concerns Arland.”
Loran bowed and took her seat. Emere took the remaining one.
“Now that Mistress Loran is here, make your report,” said Gwaharad to the scout.
“Your Majesty, as I have spoken before, the Twenty-Fifth Legion has entered Arland and sent a century to Kingsworth to declare that they will see to it that whoever destroyed the outpost and killed the Powered legionaries is held responsible.”
Everyone seated turned their gaze to Loran.
“A century, he says. A hundred legionaries are not a large force,” said Emere in a placating tone, glancing at Loran as well. “It would be a tough battle, but we could raise two hundred…” In truth, the Kamori forces alone would not be able to take on such a force even with twice the number. But if they included Loran and Wurmath, that was a completely different proposition.
Just as Loran was thinking they might have a chance, the scout added, “My lord, this is no ordinary century. They have the Powered chariots, Scorpios class.”
The room broke into murmurs.
“How many?” asked Gwaharad.
“At least three. But it seems likely to be four.”
“Four would overwhelm us,” said the general sitting to Gwaharad’s right, as if it weren’t true that even one would likely have been enough to decimate their small force. Her shaved head was covered in scars, and Loran recalled that her name was Belwin. A seasoned veteran who had joined Gwaharad’s cause before even Emere had.
“Do we have any weapons that can break through their armor?”
“If we had, we would have won the war by now.”
“Our only recourse is to use our siege weapons and pray for luck… Or pour all our soldiers into making a stand.”
“In Selvetica, they had success using a weapon called the fire-spear.”
“What use are stories from so far up north to us?”
The soldiers went on for a moment like this until Gwaharad raised a hand for silence.
Loran could scarcely contain herself. In mere days, the chariot century would reach Kingsworth. Maybe they had already. She could picture the massacre that would happen when they did. This was not a time to debate the presence or absence of Powered chariots. She gave Gwaharad an imploring look.
Gwaharad looked back at her, seemingly lost in thought, until he said, “We have no way of fighting armored chariots. The best we can do is wait for word from our compatriots in Kingsworth. It will be an opportunity to find out how different the Twenty-Fifth Legion is from the Hundred and Seventy-First.”
“Your Majesty!” Loran was on her feet.
“Mistress Loran,” said Gwaharad firmly, “you must forgive us, but this affair is Arland’s, not Kamori’s. A neighboring country to be sure, but a separate one no less. We here have gathered under the great cause of Kamori’s liberation. I cannot have such brave men and women run into the path of armored chariots for foreigners’ sake.”
“Your Majesty. Do you not understand what the Empire means by holding people responsible? It means to take whoever they can and make an example of them. Whether the people they kill are responsible for their ire or not is none of their concern. Their only objective here is fear. Has Kamori not suffered the same way? Is there anyone here who has not lost family or friends to such indiscriminate methods? Is there not a single man or woman among you who vowed to rise against the Empire because of this?”
A somber mood returned to the war room. The memory of her dead husband and daughter never left her mind. If Gwaharad chose not to fight, it would be like her family dying twice, or even ten more times. She would not see that happen.
“What do you propose I do, Mistress Loran?”
Looking directly into Gwaharad’s reluctant eyes, Loran drew a long breath, then spoke.
“… I shall take care of the chariots myself. I only ask that His Majesty and his army keep the citizens of Kingsworth safe.”
Belwin stood up, looking incredulous.
“You? Fight four Powered chariots alone? How will you do this? I have heard, from Prince Emere, that you have killed several Powered legionaries, and I know this is not something an ordinary warrior can do. But I have also heard you barely escaped with your life. Their chariots are built to fight monsters and columns of sol diers. They are nothing like Powered infantry. If you fail and get caught or killed, how are we supposed to fight them by ourselves?”
Had she been a monster, could she fight legion chariots? In this moment, Loran wished that she were. But all the gods and monsters that used to roam the world hadn’t been able to stop the Empire from conquering it. Now most of them were dead, exiled, or captured. Kamori’s Tree Lords were incinerated in their sacred groves. Arland’s dragon was imprisoned in its own cave.
Emere raised his hand.
“The legions are made up of men, flesh and blood just like us. They have their metal boxes, but we have the element of surprise. If it ever becomes known that Mistress Loran asked for help and we did not give it to her, we shall never raise our heads high again. I shall accompany her with a hundred soldiers. A century with chariots will not have many legionaries on foot.”
Gwaharad stroked his beard. “A hundred, you say.”
“Arland’s prefect Hesperus is old, and according to Lady Gladdis, the senator who was backing him is dead. There is a rumor that the Senate sent the Twenty-Fifth Legion here so that its legate should take over the prefectship, by force if necessary. A common game played in the Empire, is it not? If my judgment is sound, the prefect’s guards will not come to the aid of the legionaries. If Mistress Loran could dispatch the Powered chariots, a hundred Liberators will be more than enough.”
Emere looked determined. Loran observed Gwaharad’s countenance closely. He still seemed undecided.
“If Kamori risks the lives of its people for Arland, what will the Princess of Arland do in return? How can you repay our soldiers?”
So now she was a princess. Loran forced the corners of her mouth not to curl into a sneer. She had no time for anger or sarcasm. But she didn’t have anything to offer Gwaharad either.
As she hesitated, Emere spoke.
“Your Majesty. Kamori once ruled all the Three Kingdoms. King Uter had made it so because he showed generosity far and wide. If we do not use this chance to earn the goodwill of Arland, who in these lands will follow us into the battlefield against the Empire? I beseech you to show your magnanimity by aiding our neighbor in their hour of need.”
Gwaharad’s eyes grew wide at Emere, but any sign of his displeasure quickly melted back into the fa?ade of his usual kingly manner.
“Make it so, Emere.”
Gwaharad stood.
“I shall also step forth into battle. Gather a hundred. It will take three days to reach Kingsworth, if we hurry. Let us pray that we get there before the Twenty-Fifth does.”
“Your Majesty has my eternal gratitude.” Loran bowed so low that her head touched the table.
Gwaharad raised his hand and said, “And Loran. Do not forget what we do for you today. This day, in which Kamori embraces Arland in its suffering.”
Kingsworth used to be Loran’s home. She had lived in a small house that doubled as her school, not far from the old king’s castle. The castle was now the prefect’s office, and the square before it where the market and festivals used to be held was now kept empty to convey the grandeur and authority of the Empire. There were many other squares within the city walls. Near the western gate was Fire- Dragon Square, where there used to be a beautiful statue of the dragon. After it was carted away to the Capital, the first prefect renamed the place Liberation Square. Only the pedestal where the statue had been remained.
Loran had climbed up the high southern wall and was looking at Liberation Square to the west. Today, there were four Scorpios chariots of the Twenty-Fifth Legion’s Third Armored Century in Liberation Square. Through the buildings between, she glimpsed a blue banner that had a beast that looked like a mix of a lion and a bird.
As Emere had predicted, the prefect’s guard had retreated. There was also not a single guard watching the city walls. Clearly, the prefect’s intention was to make himself blameless for whatever was about to happen that day. Then he would hold the Twenty-Fifth solely accountable for the atrocities, strengthening his position in the eyes of the Empire and the citizens of Kingsworth.
Even Loran, who knew nothing of politics, could understand that the Twenty-Fifth let their spite get in the way of their legate’s bid for the prefectship. She briefly wondered if the same was true for herself, before shaking her head and refocusing on the battle ahead.
Emere and his soldiers were hiding in wait near the gates, but there were likely no guards there either. As a lifelong resident of Kingsworth, Loran knew that the prefect’s guards normally were very lax about the city’s security anyway, barring the immediate environs of the prefect’s office.
Loran returned to inspecting the armored chariots. Each had six legs. The body was box-like, and there was an articulated tail arching forward, like a scorpion’s. At the end of each tail was a heavy automatic crossbow. There were also a pair of large arms with pincers. Three out of the four chariots had cannons on top. The one that did not instead had the upper body of a man coming out from the inside. Loran assumed this was the centurion in charge. He wore the same Powered armor the centurion Marius had been wearing in Dehan Forest. A dozen legionaries in ordinary armor were blocking the entrances to the square, their swords and spears drawn.
About a hundred citizens were corralled inside the square. She spied even some children among them, and bit her lower lip. Earlier in the day, Loran had found it odd that such clear skies were bringing thunder, but the real source of the noise was revealed to her as she looked on—cannon fire from one of the chariots. The nearby bell tower had no top, and rubble was scattered at the foot of it.
“None of you know the culprit? Truly none of you has helped the pretender princess of Arland in her despicable deed?”
The centurion had a device that could amplify his voice using Power. It was so loud that Loran could hear it clearly all the way up on the city wall. Loran had heard such a voice years ago when she had seen the 171st Legion’s parade with her daughter. Loran’s heart gave a squeeze, before she pushed away the memory.
She quickly scaled down the wall. Even a second too late, and an innocent would die. It was a long downhill path from the southern wall to Liberation Square. Half the city, including a part of the square at the very bottom of the path, was in her view. Ignoring the puzzled looks of the passersby, Loran ran down the path, as she had twenty years ago, when the King of Arland fell from the back of the dragon.
The cobbled street veered north, a large inn occluding her view into the square. She ran faster, knowing that just around the corner she would be able to see into the square again. Someone shouted from behind her, but she could not pay heed. As she made the turn, the amplified voice thundered again.
“None? Then we shall have to ask you one by one.”
As he said this, two legionaries dragged a young man from the crowd. He looked tall and strong but it would be impossible for an unarmed man to fight off two trained, armed men. He was thrown in front of the lead chariot. The thunderously loud voice began its interrogation, despite there being people in that square who did not understand Imperial. Just as Loran’s daughter had not.
“Do you know who this thief and murderer claiming to be the princess of the Imperial province of Arland is?”
“I don’t know!” The young man’s voice was full of fear, but just as loud as the centurion’s.
“Do you know who violated the Imperial outpost?”
“I don’t know!”
“Do you know who it is that murdered Marius, high centurion of the Twenty-Fifth Legion, in such a cowardly manner?”
“I don’t know!”
The half-visible centurion made a gesture with his chin. The two legionaries on either side of the man drew their swords and plunged them in his back. The young man did not even have the chance to scream. A gasp rose through the crowd, and then a murmur of discontent. Parents held their children tight and covered their eyes. When the centurion made his gesture again, one of the cannons of the chariots swiveled and took aim at the crowd.
“This is what comes of liars. Now bring me the next person. Of course, if there is one who should want to speak up, they are free to come forth now instead.”
Loran was running. She was on the verge of tears. If only she had arrived a little faster, if only she had not attacked the outpost with no thought of what would happen afterward, if only she hadn’t gone around saying she was a princess of Arland… At the bottom of the hilly street, the square was no longer visible. The centurion’s voice, however, boomed in her ears.
“Do you know who this thief and murderer claiming to be the princess of the Imperial province of Arland is?”
“I do not.”
It was the trembling voice of an old woman.
“Do you know who violated the legion outpost?”
“I do not.”
“Do you know who it is that murdered Marius, high centurion of the Twenty-Fifth Legion, in such a cowardly manner?”
“I do not. But how I wish I did, so I can throw a banquet for her!”
The woman’s voice rang out brazenly as she said this, so that the entirety of Kingsworth could hear. Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd in response.
Still running, Loran drew her sword as she approached. The legionary guarding the square entrance must have heard her footsteps and turned toward her. He raised his shield against Loran’s blow but too late—his shield and his arm were sliced in two. The shield caught fire as the legionary grasped his burnt stump of an arm and screamed. Loran raised Wurmath again as a nearby legionary lunged toward her with his sword, out of reflex more than bravery it seemed. But his sword split like firewood to an axe as it landed against Wurmath’s blade. The legionary backed away with fear in his eyes, and Loran did not bother pursuing him. Instead, she stepped into the square and shouted, “It is I. I burned your outposts. I killed your Marius. I am the Princess of Arland.”
The sight in her missing eye returned in a rush, and she threw off her eyepatch, which had caught fire from the heat in her left socket. She touched her cheek. Scales. The crowd parted, giving her a path to the centurion.
Loran spoke to the people in the square as she walked forward.
“Return to your homes. The Twenty-Fifth Legion has no more business with you.”
A moment of hesitation, then compliance. Hurriedly collecting the children and the elderly, the citizens vacated the square. The legionaries hesitated, not knowing whether to stop the crowd or not. The centurion spoke.
“Let the rabble go. We have what we want.”
Loran was awash in guilt as she sensed the eyes of the people on her. It’s my fault. I should’ve kept my anger at bay. I was foolish, and these people paid for it. Buildings were destroyed. A young man was killed.
Loran stopped once she was within throwing distance of the defiant old woman who had been dragged out of the crowd. She stood before the Powered chariot still, two legionaries holding her in place for the centurion’s questioning.
The square was otherwise empty, save for the massive Scorpios chariots now taking up defensive positions around the square. The legionaries on foot stayed close to the chariots and kept their shields raised. A few readied their crossbows.
The old woman seemed to be missing an arm. A gust of wind made her empty sleeve flutter.
Loran heard the voice of not the centurion but the old woman.
“You are the one claiming to be a princess of this land?”
“I am.”
“And you are the one who burned down the Imperial outpost?”
“I am.”
“And you are the one who slew that centurion, Marius, I believe was his name?”
“I am.”
The old woman with great difficulty straightened her back and shoulders.
“This crone you see before you followed the king to the battlefield twenty years ago when the Empire invaded. I lost my right arm then. My husband was killed at the king’s side as well. And twelve years ago, during the purge, my son and his wife… I do not know where my grandson is or what he is doing. Countless people have fought the Empire and lost their lives. If you are truly a princess of this land, the one who will be our king, the burden you bear will be heavy and the road you travel long. So promise me this: that you will see the end of this tyranny.”
Loran’s throat had closed, she could not answer with her voice. She only managed to nod.
A smile spread on the old woman’s wrinkled face. Her remaining arm shot into the air, and she shouted, “People of Arland!” Her amplified voice shook the city. “Come forth and bear witness! Behold, our future king!”
The centurion, who had been listening with his arms crossed, finally nodded to one of the legionaries. The legionary plunged his sword into her back. The old woman fell to the ground, her left arm still raised.
Loran stifled a scream and began to walk forward again. Her grip on Wurmath tightened, and the sword gripped back. Her left eye heated up, flaming with an intensity she had never felt before.
The centurion raised his hand in a signal. The chariots took their positions and trained their crossbow tails toward Loran.
Loran leaped forward like an arrow, and the crossbows fired at her in unison. Not one managed to hit her, and the bolts glanced against the flagstones instead. Crossbows reloaded, clicking all around her. Loran charged the nearest chariot, Wurmath swinging above her head.
Her arm and the blade were one. Red scales covered her right hand and arm. The blade was so hot, it seemed to shine like a small sun.
The chariot was more agile than it looked, stepping quickly out of her sword’s path. She managed to land a blow to its side, taking off one of its legs, but that wasn’t enough to make it fall. Its pincers swung to hit Loran, who found herself rolling on the ground of the square from the force.
Another rain of bolts. This time, they didn’t come at once, the Scorpios chariots shooting in waves as they repositioned and recharged. Loran took refuge behind the stone pedestal in the middle of the square.
A shot had found its way into her left shoulder. Loran gritted her teeth and scanned the square, taking in the position of the chariots and the legionaries once more.
Then she saw the people.
The citizens of Kingsworth were spilling from the alleys. Even more than had congregated in the square before. They came armed with kitchen knives, sewing shears, and garden hoes. In Arland, non-Imperials weren’t allowed to possess weapons without a permit, but evidently if the people were angry enough, almost anything could be a weapon.
The centurion realized what was happening.
“Do not approach the square! If you do, we will shoot!”
The formation momentarily took its focus off Loran, and this was her chance. Loran charged the chariot that the centurion was on, and with a swing of Wurmath, the lead chariot lost one of its pincer arms.
With the one it had remaining, the Powered chariot attempted to grab Loran’s waist, but she leaped backward, avoiding it. Her body felt light, as if she had sprouted wings.
The nearest Scorpios chariot fired its cannon at her, a weapon reserved for monsters, fortress walls, or massed infantry. An ordinary man hit by a cannon would die an unspeakably mangled death, but the cannon was a slow thing and Loran had already been tracking the movement of the turret; instead of hitting her, the cannon created a large hole in the blacksmith’s shop behind her. Thankfully the blacksmith was not inside—he was already in the square with his largest hammer in hand.
Loran found herself grinning, baring her new sharp fangs. The roads and alleys slowly filled with the Arlanders of the city, and the enemy had less and less room to maneuver.
Emere had told her that the chariot that held the centurion would also be carrying the Power generator, its Power being sent out to the other chariots. If she could destroy that, all the chariots would be helpless, and she would have a chance at victory. Loran brandished Wurmath as she charged the lead chariot once more, a veil of sulfuric smoke from the sword cloaking her. Her left eye could see clearly through the smoke; the centurion was shouting orders, growing ever more frantic.
Loran did not know where the Kamori army was, but it did not matter. The people rising up with their tools and even broomsticks to resist the Empire were Arlanders, and this was their home. The battle waging in these streets was not just between the Twenty-Fifth Legion and Loran but between the Empire and Arland. Loran realized she was no longer an ordinary woman. She was now a true princess of Arland. A representative of the fire-dragon.
Two cannonballs missed Loran by a hair as she soared into the air. Crossbow bolts that were shot blindly into the smoke grazed her cheek and thigh midair. But when she looked down at her leg, she saw only unharmed, pristine scales through the tear in her leather armor. She grinned and showed off her fangs once more.
The centurion in the lead chariot drew his sword and struck a defensive pose. His sword and gauntlet glowed violet as Marius’s had in Dehan Forest. But at this moment, such things were meaningless to Loran. Landing on the lead chariot with a heavy thud, she raised Wurmath, staring down the centurion.
The centurion was a northerner, perhaps from as far north as Hyberia, his hair as white as snow. He was cowering, murmuring in a guttural language she did not understand. She looked into his scared eyes. They were the color of the sky on an overcast day. For a very brief moment she pitied this man, who was taken from his homeland only to die in this unfamiliar country. Then there was something else, her fury, her grief, and her thirst for vengeance tightly lumped into a savage red thing. It decided the matter for her. She sliced the centurion in two, along with his sword.
Loran then pierced the hull of the chariot and summoned dragonfire. Black smoke issued from the puncture, and violet light seeped out. Just as Loran flung herself off the lead chariot, it exploded, fragments deflecting off the scales on Loran’s face and body. The Power generator destroyed, the remaining three chariots went limp.
The square was now filled with people. With their Powered machines rendered useless, and with a woman before them whose left eye was blue fire and whose sword was the color of the sun, the remaining legionaries put down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender.
Kingsworth roared.