19. Loran
19
LORAN
Loran’s thoughts were endless as she left the prefect’s castle. The citizens of Kingsworth shouted her name, calling her their princess. But she was awash with dread, not for herself, but for the cheering people.
Gwaharad looked more afraid than furious and was silent as they took the streets toward the city’s exit. When he finally spoke, as they were passing through the south gate, his voice was trembling and low.
“Mistress Loran, a legion has six cohorts, a cohort ten centuries. You vanquished a single century out of sixty such, and saw it fit to execute the prefect. Do you understand what kind of calamity you have brought upon all of us?” Gwaharad threw his right hand back, in the direction of Kingsworth. “To all of them ?”
Of course Loran understood. It was all she could think about since the moment she set fire to the prefect’s office. She also knew that once the feeling of victory waned in the city, the people would realize the same thing.
A hand rested on her left shoulder. It was Emere. He had his eyes fixed on the road, with a grim determination that Loran had never seen on his face before.
Why had she done it? Had it been to avenge her family? If so, had she succeeded in that? Could a person become king solely through acts of vengeance? Was what she had done something that was needed to become king?
She looked back at Kingsworth, where her empty home was, where they were still chanting her name. She, a self-proclaimed princess and future king, had betrayed her people to their doom. She could not bear to stay there a moment longer.
Emere whispered, in his calmest voice, “Your Highness, perhaps it would be best if you were to collect your thoughts back at the palace.”
She nodded. At least Emere would be there. She had nowhere else to go.
For the three days it took them to get back to the underground palace, few words were exchanged. Despite the heavy air, a few of the Kamori soldiers tried to congratulate Loran, but the others silently discouraged them.
Once back at the Kamori’s underground base, she didn’t leave her room. Gwaharad didn’t summon her, and only Emere continued to see her, coming by every day for their midday meal. He would tell her the news, but even he avoided talking about the prefect. Loran’s thoughts kept her awake as she lay alone in her bed each night.
The Kamori Liberators declared the battle at Kingsworth a victory, but morale was not high in the underground palace. Reports of the Twenty-Fifth Legion’s movements raised tensions even more. The legion force currently in Arland, having lost a chariot century, had holed themselves up in their fortress, but the main contingent of the Twenty-Fifth was due to arrive any moment. Kamori scouts relayed rumors that a gigatherion was on its way from the Imperial heartland.
Five days after they had returned, Gwaharad declared a feast would be held in honor of their victory. Loran was strongly requested to attend, as the celebration would be awkward without the greatest warrior in that battle.
The mood at the table was far from festive, though, the air full of dread and anxiety. Gwaharad, as if painstakingly curating this mood himself, looked grave throughout the evening and ate almost nothing.
Loran was seated at the far end of the table, away from Gwaharad. The food was of excellent quality considering they were a rebel army at war hiding underground, but Loran was not in the mood for delicacies either.
The banquet wore on, and as the evening grew late, Gwaharad tapped his glass with a spoon. The murmurs subsided.
“The Kamori Liberators have garnered a great victory. We have gone to the aid of our neighbor Arland, driven the Imperial curs from Kingsworth, killed the prefect Hesperus, and raised our glorious name as the true guardian of the Three Kingdoms. We must celebrate!”
It was a self-serving version of the events, but the hall was awash in applause and even some cheers. Loran raised her glass as well. Gwaharad waited until it was silent again to speak.
“As you all are aware, it was Mistress Loran who was most instrumental in bringing about this victory. Her sword sliced through the Empire’s Powered chariots as if they were turnips. She saved many Arlanders who would have otherwise died at Imperial hands. It was also Mistress Loran who passed judgment on Arland’s prefect Hesperus, who had been weaseling out of his complicity.”
More clapping and cheers. Loran nodded in acknowledgment, out of courtesy more than anything.
“But even victories have their price. Even in this moment, the main contingent of the Twenty-Fifth Legion is on its way here. Legate Aurelia is losing sleep in her thirst for vengeance, no doubt. If we do not prepare for this, the world shall remember us as fools who insisted on starting what they could not finish.” Very briefly, Gwaharad’s gaze fell on Loran.
The banquet hall filled with murmurs of assent. The doors opened, and some soldiers brought in kegs and goblets. As everyone took a goblet, Gwaharad looked at Loran from his place across the room and spoke in a voice that sounded almost humble.
“Princess, what say you—will you surrender yourself to the Empire?”
The almost hundred people at the banquet fell completely silent. Loran turned her face to Gwaharad. His eyes avoided hers, instead darting among his staff. She had expected something like this to happen, but actually hearing those words, in that placating tone, made her heart ache and veins burn.
Gwaharad continued, almost pleading, “That is not what I myself wish at all, but they will not be satisfied until they have you. Think of Arland, of all of the Three Kingdoms. Lay yourself down for the good of all.”
Some looked back and forth between Loran and the king, their expressions incredulous. Others were nodding silently. While she wasn’t surprised by his request, she didn’t answer right away. She needed to hear every word Gwaharad had prepared for this audience.
“It’s a matter of time before the Twenty-Fifth Legion arrives in full force,” Gwaharad continued. “How noble would it be to save a whole country with just one life? You have already done more than one person possibly can. Having burned down the prefect’s castle and destroyed an entire Powered century, you have ensured that the Empire shall never again attempt the kind of tyranny that they had undertaken in your land.”
He sounded almost convincing. Loran tried to keep the mockery out of her voice as she said, “I am honored by His Majesty’s great concern for Arland.”
“This is not merely a matter for Arland. We aided in what happened, so the Empire’s ire will extend to Kamori.”
“Is that what you fear, Your Majesty?”
The banquet hall, already quiet, somehow became even more silent. As if the world itself had stopped breathing.
Even Gwaharad seemed momentarily taken aback. Loran could feel her left eye beginning to see once more. The silence in the room was a thunder of fear.
“It is,” said Gwaharad. “There are two hundred brave men and women gathered here. I cannot throw away their precious lives because a guest overreached herself.”
Murmurs again. Emere, sitting beside Gwaharad, kept his head down and his eyes trained on his plate.
“And for what purpose, then, have these two hundred people gathered?”
“Certainly not to die because of your recklessness.”
“Then have they gathered here so you can play soldier, Your Majesty?”
Belwin, also sitting next to Gwaharad, leaped to her feet. The scar on her shaved head had turned bright red.
“Do you mean to insult everyone here?”
Several other officers stood. Loran also stood, and bowed deeply. She turned to the room.
“There are two hundred gathered in this palace to fight for Kamori. I have not heard of even ten Arlanders gathering to fight the Empire. Because Hesperus had massacred innocents based on suspicion alone, nobody dares rebel. Kamori is truly a country of warriors.” Loran paused. “But I did not know any of you existed. Nor did I know there was a King Gwaharad until I met him in Dehan Forest.”
A few people made to stand but sat down again. Uncomfortable coughs.
“The day I returned to Arland, two people died by the hands of the Empire in the square. But because of those two people, four chariots were destroyed, and that heinous prefect was finally killed. Those two murdered people were precious lives. But with such precious lives…”
Her husband and daughter… Her right knee almost buckled. Perhaps she was too agitated. Loran placed both her hands on the table to steady herself.
“Such precious lives were being bargained on the prefect’s table for a few gold coins. I could not stand there listening to such things. I may not be the child of a king, but I have styled myself a princess. Many may scoff at me for doing so, but as long as I have, there are things I would rather die than do.”
Her legs were about to give way. She tried to lean on the table again but her hands were limp; she could only grip the tablecloth with her fingernails as she fell to her knees, bringing down the tablecloth and some of the plates with her. The plates shattered around her. She tried to stand, but her legs were too weak. Her hand gripped the hilt of her sword but her arm was not listening to her. More murmurs. Shouting. Soldiers approaching… five? Seven? A dozen? Her vision was blurring. Loran stared at Gwaharad. He had stood up and was looking down at her from his seat.
“… You’ve poisoned me? Because you feared the legion’s retaliation? Because I might not agree to surrender?” A bitter, weak laugh escaped Loran. “Why do any of you pretend you fight?”
Even speaking was difficult now.
The soldiers, waiting for a drug-induced opening, were creeping up to her. Emere had grabbed Gwaharad’s arm and was shouting at him, but Loran could no longer distinguish words.
Her left eye ignited.
Her whole body suddenly grew hot and the poison coursing through her dissipated, not virulent enough to withstand the heat. Strength returned, tears threatened. Loran stood, and the soldiers approaching her instantly fell back. There was no longer anyone sitting in that banquet hall. They had all risen from their seats and were staring at Loran.
The poison subsided, but Gwaharad’s words remained. She had barely defeated a single armored century. There was no way she could fight an entire legion by herself.
“I will surrender to the legion.”
“That’s suicide!” shouted Emere. “Please, Princess, heed not my brother’s words!”
“Be quiet, Emere!” Gwaharad shrieked.
Loran smiled. “It is not his words that moved me so. I had a mind to do it for days now. He is right in that it is the only way to stop the Twenty-Fifth from retaliating against Arland.”
There was surprise, shame, and something like guilt in the eyes of those gathered. Gwaharad spoke, suspicion in his tone.
“And you expect us to believe what you say? That you will walk to your death on your own two feet?”
“ You may not be able to believe me, Your Majesty,” said Loran, “but there are many in this hall who will willingly lay down their lives for their family and their neighbors. They will not find it strange there is one more such person among them.”
A look of incomprehension crossed Gwaharad’s face.
“I shall put it in terms you might understand,” said Loran. “I could kill everyone in this hall and take this palace, so why would I bother lying to you? Make way.”
The poison still lingered. Her steps were a little unsteady, her head still swimming. But when Loran drew Wurmath, everyone gave her as much room as they could. She walked out into the hall. Soldiers were gathered there as well, but they only watched her pass, their backs close to the walls.
How small and suffocating this place seemed now. Perhaps it was the poison; perhaps she was just tired. The Princess of Arland silently resheathed Wurmath and stumbled her way through the dark tunnels of the underground palace.