Who else will emerge to unite the people of Arland? How many people would have to die to take down one Powered soldier or a single chariot?
She hesitated in her answer. And in that hesitation, the shouting came in waves.
The old man lying down in front of her rose to a kneel before Loran with his head bowed.
“We who block your way know you will not change your mind because of us. But please, consider our words. When the princess defeated the legion and killed the prefect, we became full of hope! And we have been preparing to accept Arland’s new king with joy in our hearts. I know many who have been sharpening the spears they have hidden in farming sheds, ready to fight under your command. Please think of them.”
A harsh wind blew down the road. Loran approached the old man and tried to help him to his feet, but he refused her hand and lay prostrate instead.
“But if I do not surrender, many will die,” Loran pleaded.
“Is there anyone here who would regret such a death!” shouted Wilfrid from behind. A murmur of assent rose from the crowd.
Loran gripped the old man’s arm and said, a little louder, “There are a hundred of you. What of the many who did not come? There must be those in Kingsworth and the hamlets who fear the Empire’s reprisals, who resent me for spoiling their peace. It is not your place to speak in their stead.”
The old man who lay prostrate righted himself and stood. He trembled with cold.
“But who was first to do as they willed with our lives?” he boomed.
It was herself. She had nothing to say to that.
“The princess blames herself,” said the old man, “but this is not so. It is not the princess who wants to decide if we live or die. It is those who threaten to kill us if we do not obey.”
The woman from Kingsworth spoke once more.
“That day when Your Highness came to Liberation Square… no, Fire-Dragon Square, as it had always been called. In Fire-Dragon Square, I was there! Did the people not rise with their tools from home, ready to fight by your side?”
Loran could give no answer. This was not an opponent she could convince or vanquish. Wordlessly, she went past the people who stood before her. Some of them rushed to lie down in front of her farther along the path, but she simply walked around them.
A voice called from behind. “Princess, we still shall follow. If we do not beseech you for the remainder of your journey, we shall live to regret it for the rest of our lives.”
That much, she owed the people. Loran nodded and walked on.
Loran’s progress slowed as her followers grew. She did not spend her nights in inns, preferring roadsides and empty fields. The dragon’s power made her oblivious to cold, and she was afraid wherever she entered, people would overwhelm then follow her. She urged the others to seek comfortable shelter, but the people were determined to sleep where their princess slept.
That night, it was especially cold. The sight of the shivering people huddled against one another on the fields shorn of their harvest made her sad. There were about three hundred gathered now. Some of them were the elderly and children.
Loran had settled down a distance away, not wanting to be a bother. Wilfrid approached her. Whether it was her manner or her prodigious size and build, Wilfrid was often tasked with conveying messages to Loran, who sometimes heard the others refer to her as “General Wilfrid” in jest.
“Princess. Many are cold. We’re trying to gather kindling.”
Why was she being told this?
“I see.”
“There are only empty fields here around us. We were hoping to ask some nearby farmhouses for straw.”
“But straw burns so quickly.”
“Indeed, it doesn’t last long, but… The harvest wasn’t long ago, they ought to have much of it.”
Loran was not a farmer. She did not know much about the land, but there was something that bothered her.
“Would they not require the straw for themselves?”
“People freeze. They should be able to spare some meant for their cattle and thatching to save lives.”
“If it were ours to use, certainly. But we cannot ask the people every night to give it up for us.”
