Then Loran had a thought.
“Well. You have followed me here, so I shall do something about it.”
She stood and walked to where the people sat huddled and freezing. They gathered around her, thinking she was about to make a speech, and shook awake the ones who had gone to sleep.
Loran drew out Wurmath. The long blade glowed and began to heat up. The people gasped.
“This was a gift from the fire-dragon of the mountain.”
“You have met Its Excellency?” said many.
“I have.” The locals referred to the fire-dragon as “Its Excellency.” Those in Kingsworth had not. Perhaps all Arlanders had in the past.
Until now, she had told only Emere how she had come upon thesword. She took off her eyepatch and staked the sword into the earth. Her left eye began to heat. Through the darkness she saw each shivering face. All hoping for freedom. All putting their hopes into Loran.
“Princess, your eye…!”
Loran said, “Do not be alarmed if I shift in appearance.”
Her left eye burned blue. The heat of Wurmath grew. A fire burst forth from the soil. Dry stubs of stalks burned, and the earth melted. It reminded Loran of looking down over the lip into the volcano. Soon, the heat was so intense that no ordinary person could stand next to it. The people that had been crowded around her backed away a little from the pit of lava.
“How could it…”
“A miracle!”
“I have heard rumors, butthis…”
Faces that had been ashen only a moment ago glowed warmly by the light of the molten earth. Hands thrust into armpits now extended toward its heat. Loran held the hilt, trying not to let the lava pit grow too large nor let it cool too quickly. Wurmath gripped back.
Their surroundings brightened. The eyes of the people getting warm grew wide as they started to rise to their feet. They were staring at the sky. Loran raised her eyes as well.
A bright white-and-blue pillar of light had pierced through the clouds as if all the stars in the sky had gathered above her and burned, making their surroundings as bright as day.
As they made a turn around a hill a few days later, the Arland fortress of the Twenty-Fifth Legion came into view. An Imperial building made of stone and slathered in lime. To Arlanders, it symbolized their conqueror. She glanced back toward Kingsworth tothe north, hours away from this eyesore of a fort. If she had been alone, it should have taken three days to get here; instead, it had taken her seven days.
No one in the fortress would think she was there to surrender. Thousands were now following her, many of whom had seen the pillar of light in the night. They were mostly country folk, but there were also not a few from Kingsworth.
Wilfrid approached. She now held not a staff but a sturdy spear, courtesy of two blacksmiths and a leatherworker who distributed weapons and leather armor to whoever was trained in the fighting arts. Some also carried the arms of the prefect’s guard, whether former guards themselves or having stolen them off a rack. Loran counted some of her neighbors and former pupils of her own small sword school. But somehow, they did not seem to recognize her.
“Princess. Do you still wish to surrender?”
Wilfrid sounded almost amused.
Emere had said he had seen her destiny. Loran saw something like it now, in everyone gathered here. Even if the Twenty-Fifth would end Arland, or the Star of Mersia turn the country into ash, it would all be part of the destiny of this land.
“I do not,” Loran said quietly to Wilfrid with a smile. Then she unsheathed Wurmath from its scabbard and held it aloft as she turned to address the crowd. “We shall attack the Empire’s fortress. Those who wish to return may do so. But all are welcome to join the Princess of Arland in the liberation of our homeland!”
A deafening roar answered her.
26CAIN
A lantern with a shade. Sight blurry. Spectacles in the pocket. The floor shaking. Two people in front. He could just about make out their outline against the light of the lantern. One of them was rowing. His body would not move. The cold air was mixed with the stench of dirty seawater around the docks. His thoughts refused to cohere. Safani’s poison burned in his veins. The poison, or his helplessness, pressed down on his chest.
“Cain.” It was Fienna, standing in front of his weak, unmoving body. She was dead. She couldn’t be here, however desperately Cain wanted her to be real. Everything was dim, except for Fienna. As if the moon shone only on her.
“Fienna.” His mouth didn’t move but the name came out regardless.
“You’re dying.”
