36. Loran
36
LORAN
The skies were clear and the wind was cold. From the top of the tallest fortress tower flew the red dragon banners of Arland.
“What say you?” said Griogal.
Loran, standing on the fortress wall, looked out at the main contingent of the Twenty-Fifth Legion approaching. The snow had begun melting on the plain, which stretched before them yellow with patches of white.
“Legate Aurelia of the Twenty-Fifth Legion demands the surrender of the rebel Loran. You cannot hope to stand against the might of the Empire.”
It was a Power-amplified voice, like the one she had heard in Kingsworth. Only this time, the speaker was an older woman of grave seriousness. She had repeated this warning several times since the Twenty-Fifth arrived.
“The enemy seems to have everything but cavalry,” Loran commented. On her side, they didn’t even have archers, much less cavalry. Many had trained with bows since arriving at the fortress, but they had not made significant progress.
Griogal grunted. “And three thousand strong.”
“You have deceived the people of Arland,” said the amplified voice, “and confused them into rebelling against the just rule of the Empire.”
Loud as it was, the voice was merely a nuisance.
“They have many Powered chariots. Why don’t they attack?” Loran wondered. Four sets of five Scorpios chariots stood in wait.
Griogal answered. “Probably because they don’t know for sure how powerful our princess is.”
“If so, they’re biding their time until the gigatherion arrives,” Loran said.
“Then we must fight now!” said Griogal, pounding his chest with his fist.
“The other side must expect us to do that, but… it seems we have no choice.”
“And Griogal of Ledon,” the loud voice went on. “Aiding the treasonous is also treason. But if you capture Loran and bring her to us, we shall extend the hand of mercy to the tribes.”
Griogal scoffed. “The warriors of our fifteen tribes shall be the vanguard. Not to put too fine a point on it, but most in the Arlander army have never lifted a weapon until mere days ago. They will never break the Imperial formation.”
“You are correct, but the vanguard will be decimated by the chariots. Your five hundred warriors will fall before they even reach the enemy formation. I urge you to wait for your moment and attack from the flank, as we previously discussed.”
“But if we do not break their formation with the first charge, I am afraid that we shall lose even before the gigatherion gets here.”
Loran was reminded of the Ledonite sword doctrine.
“The undefeated gigatherion Clarios is on its way,” shouted the loud voice. “You cannot win.”
Loran wanted to scream at them to be quiet, but they wouldn’t be able to hear her from that distance.
“I shall lead the first charge,” she said instead.
Griogal cleared his throat. “Has the princess ever led an army into battle?”
“I have not.”
“The vanguard will be struck by the Empire’s cannons, as you yourself mentioned just now. Many will die before they even reach a stone’s throw of the enemy. The warriors of the fifteen tribes came ready for that sacrifice, but what of the farmers and the merchants? Do they understand what that would mean for them and their families?”
“Put down your weapons and surrender your leader. The blameless and ignorant people of Arland shall be left unharmed. Only the ringleaders shall face judgment.”
Loran smiled despite herself. It was the very “blameless and ignorant people of Arland” who had prevented her from surrendering in the first place. She looked down the fortress wall. None of the gathered seemed to pay the words of the Twenty-Fifth any mind. Many of them had joined her on her way to surrender, dissuading her every step of the way. She had witnessed their determination firsthand.
She said, “I believe that all those gathered here understand what it would mean.”
Griogal nodded. “Then only say the word. We five hundred are at the princess’s command.”
Ready to do so, Loran turned her head—and glimpsed a soldier on the wall opposite waving a red flag. There were two accompanying bursts from a bugle. Something had happened on that side.
Coming down the ladder, she said, “What is it?” Only after asking three more people as she rushed to that side of the fortress did she receive an answer.
“An army approaches from the east.”
A legion pincer attack was impossible. She had hunters roving those forests and hills as scouts, keeping an eye on the movements of the enemy. If there had been a detachment going around the fortress, they would have sent up smoke signals.
Crossing the fortress, too hurried to respond to the parting sea of soldiers bowing to her, she climbed the ladder on the other side to see this approaching army. She removed her eyepatch and concentrated on her left eye. The wriggling lumps in the distance began focusing into people. About a thousand of them. The banner was just about visible now.
The green lion. Kamori.
Loran shouted down the ladder, “Ready my horse! And a hundred soldiers to greet our reinforcements!”
Gwaharad came. Despite what happened, a thousand-strong Kamori Liberators came to aid Arland. Had he learned of Loran’s capture of the fortress, and changed his mind?
She quickly mounted and went galloping out the gate before a hundred soldiers had managed to gather. She kept looking back, wanting to go full speed to meet the Kamori, but the foot soldiers could not follow her so quickly.
The Kamori force finally came into full view. A young man in chain mail holding a long spear led the other soldiers. He seemed to recognize Loran and came swiftly ahead on his horse.
But something was off. Gwaharad was not leading this force. Nor did she find any others that she recognized from the underground palace. Had they sent a new commander? She was glad enough to be sent help, but couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed Gwaharad had not come himself.
The man on the horse spoke in Imperial.
“Are you the Princess of Arland?”
“I am.”
The man dismounted, planted his spear on the ground, and knelt before her.
“I am Gwedion, a teacher of the spear and bow. Hearing that a hero has appeared in Arland to fight the Empire, I have gathered as many of my people as I could and came to fight with you. We may not be many, but we implore you to accept us into your ranks.”
Loran dismounted as well.
“When you have come to aid your brothers, you should not have to be kneeling before them.” She helped him to his feet and dusted the dirt from his knee. “How is King Gwaharad?”
Gwedion looked surprised. “Gwaharad…? Whom do you speak of, Your Highness?” He looked behind him, as if this man he had never heard of might be among the crowd. But no one there knew of Gwaharad either.
The disappointment melted away in Loran’s heart. Of course. Gwaharad was, indeed, the king of his own nation. Which was not Kamori, but a rabbit warren out in the woods.
“Never mind. I was simply mistaken. I cannot express how grateful I am that you should all be here. Please come with me to the fortress. The enemy has already—”
An earsplitting whistle interrupted her words. Loran turned back toward the fortress and saw dust rising above its walls. Another whistling sound. With a crash, one of the towers crumbled like a sandcastle.
It was a weapon she had never seen before. She had worried over the gigatherion so much that it hadn’t occurred to her that the Empire would have a weapon that could destroy the fortress from such a great distance.
The eleven hundred troops of Arland and Kamori around her gazed in shock at what had just happened to the western end of the fortress. Loran mounted her horse, urging it into a gallop before even settling into the saddle. The horse neighed sharply as it darted forward, its head aimed straight for the fortress.
Scales covered Loran, to the point where her leather armor felt like it was in the way. Atop her horse, she shed her armor piece by piece. The sight in her left eye grew as clear as her right. There were two more whistling sounds, as well as the yells of the Ledonite warriors. Arlander soldiers poured out of the gap created by the fallen wall.
Griogal would have found it impossible to wait for her order after such a fearsome attack. The terrifying sound of the cannons that she remembered so well from the battle at Kingsworth followed. Arrows rained down on the charging alliance.
Only Griogal and a handful of his warriors had made it to the enemy lines, but they swung their greatswords, fighting like lions. The Arlanders, meanwhile, struggled to make progress across the battleground in the rain of arrows and cannon fire.
She had almost made it to the enemy lines but her horse slowed, panting roughly. She spurred again, but her mount had reached its limit. An arrow struck the horse on its shoulder. It fell forward, but Loran took her feet out of the stirrups and leaped into the air. Her heart was heavy, but her body was lighter than it had ever felt. In the air, she drew her own sword with her right hand and a legion shortsword with her left. The two blades turned white with heat.
Loran descended like a meteor into the massed enemy. She spun, her blades creating blue flames all around her. Perhaps the Imperial soldiers screamed, but the melee was already awash in screams, shouts, and the clashing of blades.
Through the sulfuric smoke and the fire, she searched for a glimpse of Griogal. The muslin clothes she had worn underneath the leather armor were on fire. She didn’t feel the heat at all. From behind her someone screamed.
“Dragonfire!”
“The princess is here!”
As much as she wanted to show herself to the Arlander soldiers, she needed to save Griogal first. Despite her powers of the dragon and his unusual height, Loran was still shorter than most and she could not see her ally in the crowd. Slashing away with her blades, she searched and searched for the man, creating columns of smoke wherever she went.
A Scorpios chariot suddenly blocked her way, swinging a pincer at her. Not even flinching, Loran sliced off the pincer with the shortsword on her left and pierced the chariot in its torso with the sword on her right. The chariot collapsed, ceasing all movement.
The enemy began to give her a wide berth. As her horizon widened, she spotted a bloodied giant twenty paces away, fighting for his life. His blade was red with blood from tip to hilt. Loran, slaying anything that came into her path, made her way toward the giant.
“Griogal!”
Her own voice surprised her, as it came out like the growl of a great beast. Griogal turned to her, and his eyes grew wide. He had been gamely fighting off twenty men at once without letting on the slightest of discomfort, but the sight of Loran made him look like a frightened man.
“Princess… Loran…?”
Loran chased away the enemy swarming around him with the fires blasting from her swords. “I apologize for being late.”
“Never mind that, Your Highness… What of your body? ”
She looked down at herself. Her body was covered in red scales. Her armor was completely gone, but the scales protected her better than even the strongest armor could. There was nothing wrong with her, it was only that Griogal had never seen her in this form.
“There is no need for alarm. But please, come with me to—”
She was hit hard on the side, strong enough to knock the breath out of her for an instant. Had a soldier snuck up on her with a hammer? Not the most Imperial of weapons, but she had heard that many in the Twenty-Fifth Legion hailed from Phaidi, in the far north. Judging from the blow, however, this was an opponent of formidable strength, which was why she turned toward the attacker with some keenness in learning whom it might be.
A group of Imperial soldiers, mouths agape, were backing away. One had even dropped his sword on the ground. Next to her was a cannonball the size of Griogal’s fist. And there it was, the cannon it came from, mounted on a Scorpios chariot, violet smoke issuing from the muzzle.
“A mon… a monster!” the legionaries screamed.
“I am Loran. King of Arland. You cannot harm me, and Arland will not surrender!”
Loran roared. The sound, as if amplified with Power, spread far and wide across the battlefield. Her left eye saw fear spreading among her enemies, a violent ripple soaking them in sickly green. Her heart thumped like a drum.
Behind her, the Arlander soldiers roared as well.
“Follow the king!”
“Behold, our king!”
“Long live the new king of Arland!”
Griogal bellowed, “A thousand congratulations on your ascension, King of Arland! The enemy is in disarray, this is our chance to win the battle before the gigatherion gets here!”
Only then did Loran realize she had called herself a king for the first time. But she didn’t regret it; the title felt right.
Arrows flew over her head onto the enemy. They had come from the fortress side. Gwedion had arrived with his archers. The legion’s morale was broken, their soldiers falling to the ground as they were struck.
Thousands of Arlanders descended on the remnants of the Twenty-Fifth. Loran made the way for them with her swords. With the two forces entangled, the cannons on the chariots could not attack as easily as they had before. Griogal was right; they could win this battle.
That was when the sound of a bugle ripped through the air.
It was accompanied by the voice that had demanded their surrender all morning, only much, much angrier.
“Clarios has come. Now you shall all be nameless corpses on the bat tlefield, and Arland shall be a graveyard without a tombstone. I gave you the chance to save your lives. But you cast it aside and chose death. ”
Far away, a giant machine approached on four legs, its lower body reminiscent of an ox. Its upper body was upright, like a man’s torso, with four thick arms. On top of it all, there was a huge trumpet-shaped head. The obsidian monstrosity, gleaming in sunlight, was as tall as any of the watchtowers of the fortress. It was even larger than the fire-dragon of the mountain.
The soldiers of Arland stared at Loran. Loran looked toward the volcano. She could only hope that Arienne had arrived in the dragon’s lair and succeeded in breaking its chains.