39. Loran
39
LORAN
Gigatherions were never meant to be used against mere people, only the likes of dragons or gods. But with the Empire’s conquests continuing for two centuries, even such enemies had become scarce, and there were almost no more instances of deploying the giant war machines in battle. Now they were simply paraded about as symbols of the Empire’s absolute military might, and that was enough.
From the moment she heard rumors that the gigatherion was on its way, Loran had wondered if the Empire, or at least the Twenty-Fifth Legion’s Legate Aurelia, likened her to a dragon or a god in their minds. She almost felt proud of it. She had also thought, in the back of her mind, that if this was how they thought of her, maybe there was nothing stopping her from battling them as equals.
This thought vanished from her mind at the sight of the machine giant. Clarios was a fortress walking on four legs, each like a tower. Loran felt more afraid of it than she ever had of the dragon.
No doubt the Arlander militia was even more frightened. And not just their side. The legionaries were fleeing the battlefield without carrying off their injured with them. Even the chariots were making a hasty retreat. Loran stood firm. If she showed fear now, everything would be over.
But maybe everything was already over.
“Stand as far away from Clarios as possible!”
Even as the Twenty-Fifth Legion heeded Aurelia’s warning, they could not help looking back at the terrifying gigatherion towering over the field. Perhaps they had never seen it in actual battle themselves.
Wilfrid’s voice rang out. “Do not retreat! If we run now, why did we prevent the princess, no, the king from surrendering before?! We are the ones who compelled King Loran to battle! How can we run now having done so?!”
On the contrary, Loran wished that they all just retreated. She could not, however, order it. The decision to stand their ground or to run would affect their futures more than whether they won or lost this battle. This was not, Loran thought, a decision even a king was allowed to make.
She looked behind her. Gwedion’s Kamori army of a thousand were no longer shooting arrows. There were no human targets in range. Shooting at the gigatherion would be like shooting at a hill. They had slung their bows on their backs and brought out spears, but their doubt at the effectiveness of their weapons was palpable even from where she stood.
Griogal had lost most of his Ledonite warriors in the first charge. Those who survived were busy gathering their wounded. Wilfrid, noticing this, ordered the Arlanders to tend to the wounded as well.
Loran began walking toward the gigatherion Clarios. Her greatest fear now was that the people behind her, unable to move forward but unwilling to retreat, would waver in their resolve because of her.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” Wilfrid’s voice beseeched. Loran turned her head. There was a long cut on Wilfrid’s face. She worried that if her general did not get it cleaned and dressed, the wound would fester.
“Where are you going, Your Majesty?”
“Something must be done about that monster.”
“Well, if this is the end, then we shall end together!”
Wilfrid was a farmer. Such words did not suit her. What had made her into this? Was it Loran herself, the Empire, or something else?
“If you refuse to retreat now,” she said, “there is nothing I can do to stop you. But at least let me be the one to face that… Clarios first. I die, then there will be no one to stop you from doing as you wish.”
“And Its Excellency? Will the dragon not come?”
“I do not know. But I can wait for the dragon no longer.”
The dead filled the battlefield. Among them were legionaries burned by Loran, and Arlanders who had been killed by arrows. There was a Ledonite mangled beyond recognition by a cannonball during the initial, fatal charge. Broken blades, banners, and arrows were strewn about. Violet smoke from the cannons and Loran’s own sulfuric smoke mixed into each other, casting a pall over all.
Clarios caused the earth to quake with each thunderous step. Loran turned from Wilfrid and continued walking toward the gigatherion. There before her was her destiny, the king’s destiny as Emere had told her. It would be enough for her to have reached it. Her pace quickened. Soon, she was running. The bloody battlefield, the melting snow, the yellow ground beneath it all blurred into one. Only the gigatherion Clarios remained in clear sight.
Something burst from the gigatherion. They seemed to number in the hundreds. To Loran, they seemed almost suspended in the air. Small metal pellets. Turning, she avoided all but one that hit her chest. It hurt. The pellet was of considerable power. But it did not pierce her scales. If Loran had not approached the gigatherion, that attack would have rained down on her Arlanders. She ran on.
About twenty paces from the gigatherion, she ran up a boulder jutting from the ground and sprang from it—pellets raining down on her once more. She twisted in the air but could not avoid so many of them at this close range. They hit the right side of her waist, her neck, and her left arm. One grazed a part of her cheek that wasn’t covered in scales, leaving a tear that bled. She paid it no mind. A common enough thing that happened even in sword practice. Loran flew through the scattering of pellets and plunged her white-hot swords into the front left knee of the gigatherion.
This wasn’t to disable the machine. Loran pulled herself up by the hilt and stepped on the flats of the two embedded blades to climb Clarios. There had to be a point of weakness somewhere. Maybe a door of some sort that led to the Power generator. Then maybe, just as she did with the chariots at Fire-Dragon Square, she could destroy the generator and stop Clarios.
The gigatherion had seemed slow from a distance only because of its size. Being right up against it freed her from this illusion. With every step Clarios took she felt like she was hanging from the pendulum of a giant clock. As she found whatever handholds her claws could in its rivets and seams, Loran almost lost her grip many times.
The volcano in the distance, as always, continued to send up white smoke. The dragon had said to her that it would come when summoned. Who am I to refuse a royal decree? Had Arienne failed? Loran had seen the girl only that once, after all. A sorcerer she might be, but Loran knew nothing of Arienne’s abilities. But she had sensed that the young sorcerer would pull through. She still felt this now.
With her draconic strength and speed, Loran clawed her way up without a moment’s rest. A single stop to catch a breath could mean the difference between victory and massacre. She didn’t even stop to look around until she had made it to the shoulder of the giant machine beast. Perhaps because it couldn’t find a way to attack her, it was moving its large bulk toward the alliance. Just a few showers of those pellets from before and they would be decimated.
Loran had hoped Wilfrid would have ordered a retreat, but her general was simply too stubborn. The main contingent remained, refusing to take a single step back. Only a small band of warriors led by Griogal was moving now, carrying the wounded to the fortress.
Etched into the gigatherion’s shoulder were different writings and symbols. She searched for the words “Power generator,” focusing her sight through her left eye as much as she could. Then a strange violet ripple became visible in the air around her. She crawled against it, hoping to get to the origin.
The winds were strong, from Clarios walking so briskly. She crawled until she could see that the violet ripple was emanating from the back of the neck. As she gripped the seam beneath her, hanging on as best she could, Clarios came to a stop.
And then it roared, a sound so loud it almost pierced Loran’s eardrums. She screamed. The scene before her undulated as if she were looking at it through a distorted lens. The Powered force that warped the very air shot forward at impossible speed. The fortress in the distance exploded. Towers and walls turned to dust.
There had been at least a hundred people left in it. Children and the sick among them. Speechless, Loran stared; there was a hiss from her left eye, the sound of a tear evaporating.
She could not stop here. Turning her gaze from the fortress, she continued to climb to the source of the aura.
There it was, right in the middle, a steel hatch. CLASS 2 POWER GENERATOR HADIYA . She needed to smash this and enter. Retracting her claws and making a fist, she brought down all her might upon the hatch—but her fist was stopped before it even met the hatch.
Where her fist had stopped shone a rune she couldn’t read. It gave off bright violet waves like light reflected from a pond. Desperately, she punched it again and again. She tried piercing it with her claws, scratching at it. Even stomping on it. But the rune continued to shine intact, emitting the violet waves. A sorcerous protection. Much stronger than what protected the Powered armor the centurion Marius had worn in Dehan Forest.
The strength left her shoulders. Now there was truly nothing she could do. Was this the king’s destiny? Was her final act to accept this ending? The gigatherion knew not of, nor cared for, her turmoil. It continued to move forward.
And then, her heart gave a huge thump.
Something was coming from behind her. The smoke from the volcano was black now, and a white cloud above it scattered into nothing. There was a rumbling, and then a sound like thunder. The gigatherion stopped. The volcano erupted, spewing a gush of lava into the air above.
From the smoke, something black and red leaped forth at incredible speed. Loran focused her left eye with all her might. The fire-dragon. And someone was holding on to its scale-covered back for dear life. Arienne, with Wurmath at her side. They were flying toward her. So fast, she wondered if the rider could hold on, but with a flap of the dragon’s wings, they approached even faster.
Clarios turned. Loran held on to a handle by the hatch, but her eyes never left the dragon. The gigatherion’s head was also trained on the approaching dragon, as if in anticipation of its new adversary.
The fire-dragon closed in at an unimaginable speed. Not slowing at all, it slammed directly into the gigatherion. Loran was flung into the air, the shock breaking off the handle in her hand, and she fell, spiraling toward the ground far below.
“Are you all right?”
Arienne’s voice. Loran’s shoulder blades ached—she must’ve landed on them. Despite having fallen from a great height, she wasn’t injured.
“Lady Arienne?”
“I have brought the dragon, Your Highness.” She bowed.
There was something different about Arienne. The violet ripple Loran had seen on the gigatherion’s shoulder was also surrounding the sorcerer.
Above her, the fire-dragon battled Clarios, attacking it mercilessly with its claws. Perhaps remembering its battle from twenty years ago, the dragon did not waste its fire on the gigatherion. It flew in and out of Clarios’s range, striking more nimbly than one would expect of a creature of its size. Clarios had already lost an arm. It tried to grab or strike the dragon whenever it swooped down for an attack, which only resulted in flailing its remaining three arms in the air.
“You have risen, King of Arland.”
The dragon’s greeting rumbled in the sky.
Loran shouted, “I was never asleep!”
“The young sorcerer accomplished her task admirably. I am now free! And I am here to fulfill my pact by serving the king.” The dragon’s voice was buoyant with joy.
Loran had only known it as a creature trapped in a cave, but the beast that crossed the sky before her was more like a beautiful sleek bird than a gigantic monster. The dragon was finally in its true element.
“Princess,” said Arienne, “we must get you to safety. If we get dragged into those two giants’ fight…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes grew wide.
“What is it?”
“Princess, your… back…”
Loran looked over her right shoulder. There was some kind of red membrane behind it. Her left side as well. They seemed to extend from her shoulder blades, which had ached a moment ago.
“Wings…?”
This had never happened before. She tried moving them. She couldn’t.
Arienne was looking Loran up and down, fascination in her eyes. All of Loran’s clothes had either been discarded or burned off her, with only the dragon scales covering her. This would be the first time Arienne was seeing her in this form.
Loran said to Arienne, “I cannot leave the battlefield. Lady Arienne, you must find shelter.”
“But it’s dangerous, even for you!”
“I am King of Arland. Now that I have called forth the dragon, I must fight by its side.”
“Only if the fight is one that humans can partake in!”
“Please, you must retreat. The gigatherion makes a sound that can easily destroy your ears. It is dangerous to be near it.”
Arienne looked from Loran to Clarios and back again. She nodded, reluctantly.
“I see. This place is indeed where the princess… I mean, the king should be. I hope to see you again soon, Your Majesty.”
Arienne unhitched Wurmath from her side and held it up with both hands, offering it to her king. Loran smiled, nodded, and accepted the sword. Giving her one last imploring look, Arienne, her heavy sack on her back, turned and fled.
Loran drew Wurmath in her right hand. Straightening her back, she turned toward the fight between the fire-dragon and Clarios.
Clarios was much stronger, and larger, but the dragon was superior in speed. Unlike the one from twenty years ago, this gigatherion did not fly. The dragon smashed into another of Clarios’s arms with its claws, creating a shower of sparks and the sound of metal bending and tearing. The arm fell off the monster, leaving only one on each side. Armor plates were also coming off here and there, revealing the inner workings of the machine.
Perhaps they would indeed win this battle, Loran thought. Perhaps losing it was not in their destiny.
The dragon made a half-turn to attack Clarios’s back. Its speed was incredible. Its aim was seemingly to decapitate the gigatherion. This was when Clarios made its earsplitting sound once more.
“Get away from it!” shouted Loran. The upper half of Clarios’s body swiveled around, a movement no living thing could execute. The rippling force that had devastated the fortress launched from the gigatherion’s head and hit the dragon squarely in its chest. Like a bird struck by a stone, the dragon spiraled to the ground at Clarios’s feet.
Clarios lifted one of its massive legs. The dragon tried to get up, but the gigatherion stomped on one of the dragon’s wings. The fire-dragon of the mountain, the guardian of Arland, gave a wretched cry of pain.
Clarios’s head swiveled, no longer minding the crippled dragon. It was turned to the fortress. No—it was looking toward Kingsworth beyond.
The Empire was truly powerful. There was no way to deny it. This was the guardian’s second defeat at the hands of the Empire. Hope was futile.
But wasn’t despair even more so? All that was left for Loran was to do whatever she was able to, at this moment. That was what she had been doing all along, ever since she left home for the volcano.
Loran was walking toward Clarios, Wurmath lowered to her side, when a voice shouted to her from behind.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty, King Loran!”
Wilfrid. And not just her. All of Arland’s soldiers. Aside from the injured, they were all here before her. The battle between the fire-dragon and the gigatherion had kept her from noticing their approach. Arienne was among the crowd as well, half hidden among the soldiers. Loran had a feeling it was Arienne who had brought the people to her.
“Why have you come?” said Loran. “You will all die if you linger here. Please, escape with your lives!”
Shouts of adamant refusal from the crowd. Wilfrid spoke up.
“The Twenty-Fifth Legion has vowed to make Arland into a grave with no tombstone! Where would be left for us to flee?”
Loran raised her voice so that it would carry through the crowd. “There is nothing more foolish than to think death is glorious. You must return home. And bide your time until our next chance.”
“Our dying here will not mean the end of Arland! Those who come after we are gone shall fight their own battles. But it is indeed those who come after us who must be able to say one day, ‘Here was our king, and here the people fought by her side’! If we abandon you now, who will take on the mantle of the king ever again?”
Loran remembered the days and nights she had walked with the intention of surrendering to the Empire. They had told her, then, much the same things as they were telling her now. This was, perhaps, the destiny of the people before her as well.
Then she herself must follow her own destiny. Loran now understood why the wings had sprouted from her back, as well as what she could do. What she must do.
“Wilfrid.”
“Yes!” Wilfrid stepped forward.
“This battle was never to defeat the faraway Empire. The day may come, but today is not that day.”
“But—”
“I am not saying we should not fight. Only that today, even if we should win, the Empire also has its tomorrow. That is what you need to prepare for. If we only take up arms and fight, we shall always lose.”
“We can win? You are saying, there is a chance we may win?”
Loran smiled. “That is the only part of my words you have heard! But please, whatever happens, remember today. I shall always be with you all. And I shall let the Empire know that as well.”
Loran took a step forward.
“Are you aware that, in the olden days, there used to be something called knights in Arland?”
“I have heard of them.”
“And I have read that a king may grant knighthood on the field of battle.”
Wilfrid did not seem to understand.
“Please kneel.”
Wilfrid knelt. With her sword in her hand, Loran lightly tapped Wilfrid’s right shoulder, then her left.
“With the authority invested in me by the people of Arland and the fire-dragon of the mountain, I dub you a knight of Arland. A knight serves her king, protects her people, and defends her country. Rise, Sir Wilfrid.”
Wilfrid stood.
“I am the King of Arland,” said Loran. She could barely remember how it had happened, but she could feel the truth of it.
“I have thought of you as so since I first saw you,” said Wilfrid, holding back tears. Loran sensed Wilfrid knew what her king was about to say.
“Sir Wilfrid, should I not return from battle, I bid you to look after this country. That even if we are once more under the foot of the Empire, today shall not be in vain. That all the hopes and dreams gathered here today shall not be rendered meaningless.”
“Your Majesty…”
Loran forced a smile. “But I shall do my best to return.”
She thrust the blade of Wurmath into the earth. Heat rose from beneath her feet. The pillar of light that had blazed that one cold night on her way to the fortress ascended once more into the sky. This time, it reminded Loran of the eruption of a volcano.
Her whole body felt warm, as if immersed in a hot spring. Loran’s heart was thumping like a drum. The sound was not dissimilar to the sound of the sleeping dragon in the volcano.
She spread her wings. They gracefully fluttered as if she had used them her whole life. Loran flew up, her heartbeat louder than ever. Too loud, it seemed, to come from so small a human body.
Bathed in the blinding light, she was crying over the bodies of her husband and daughter. She was at the edge of the volcano. All her sorrows, all her deeds, came back to her, happening for the first time. She held her newborn daughter, lying in the bed of her family home, and saw her husband looking both happy and worried for his beloved wife. She whispered the names that she had dared not speak for a long time.
Had everything been to prepare her for this moment?
Soon, the column of light obscured Clarios, the fire-dragon, Wilfrid, and the people of Arland, until she could not see them anymore.