Just when she had come to this thought, the horde had stopped their progress, about three hundred paces away. Loran raised her arm to stop her own soldiers and continued forward with Wilfrid. The musk oxen herd had a pungent smell that carried all the way to Loran, wholly different from cows of Arland.
From their side approached a lone man as well, a giant of rough skin and grizzled hair and beard. He looked at least seven feet tall. As he was taller than the others, the sword on his back was alsolonger. The red war paint on his face looked like congealed blood. Wilfrid, tense, knocked the ground with the bottom of her spear as she walked.
About ten paces apart, Loran and the giant came to a stop.
The giant spoke first, in a loud and cheerful voice. He spoke not Ledonese or Imperial but fluent Arlandais.
“The new king of Arland is in that fortress, I hear? The king who destroyed four chariots with a dragon’s sword?”
In times of turmoil, rumors traveled quickly. It seemed the tale of Loran and Wurmath had already spread to the north.
“I am not a king yet, but I believe you are speaking of me.”
The giant gave a short laugh. “You are smaller than I imagined.”
He was armed, and his voice gruff, but his eyes were kind. Loran smiled back. Wilfrid, still tense, gave a little groan.
“I am Griogal, warrior-in-chief of the fifteen tribes of Ledon. If you are not a king, how must I address you?”
“You may address me as a princess.” She felt no compunction in using the title anymore.
“I ask to be called Griogal. We are here to convey a message to the princess.”
“A message that requires an escort of five hundred warriors and two hundred musk oxen?”
“The cattle are a gift!”
Griogal opened his arms and approached. Wilfrid, still nervous, trained her spear at him, but Loran gestured to her to stand down. Carefully—if she fell on the ground here, it would be disastrously embarrassing—she dismounted the horse.
“Our windboats sailed out to the Great West Sea and saw theTwenty-Fifth’s blue griffin banners. They should have landed on Ledon’s coast by now.”
Loran did not know what a griffin was. Perhaps the beast on the banner at the forest, a mix of a bird and a lion. And what were windboats? She didn’t know that either, but it wasn’t important in that moment.
“If they are indeed in Ledon…”
“… Then they will be here where we stand in as many as six or as few as four days,” Griogal said, picking up where Loran had trailed off. He looked intently at her face. Loran tried not to look surprised.
“Ever since the arrival of the Empire,” Griogal went on, “the fifteen tribes were treated as no better than beasts.”
Southern Ledon was under Imperial rule, just like Kamori and Arland, but the northern part of Ledon was not even afforded that. The Imperial forces made sorties against those tribes regularly, killing and driving out the people who lived there, a tyrannical move even Loran was aware of—one the Empire was eager to make known, in fact, as it made Arlanders feel grateful to the Empire for protecting them from being raided by the northern “barbarians.” In truth, Loran, insomuch as she thought of it at all, had been one of those people until today.
“When we heard the princess had vanquished the legion forces, we were determined to fight by her side. There was no time to send emissaries. Please forgive our impudence for barging into your realm.”
Griogal extended a large hand toward Loran.
Loran did not hesitate. She stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and grasped it.
31CAIN
Cain came to. How much time had passed? The carriage had fallen on its right side after a downward tumble, probably off the street itself considering the incline. He could see nothing outside. He dragged his hand over his face, checking for blood or pain; miraculously, his spectacles were intact. Something cushioned his back; it was the belly of the stout man, who was unconscious.
Cain heard a sound of chaos from outside. Maybe it was an earthquake, but he had never experienced one or heard of one happening since he arrived in the Capital. There was also that blinking of the streetlamps right before the earth moved. Something had happened to the Power generators in this part of the city.
Had Safani finally done something to the Circuit of Destiny? That would mean Gladdis was winning, even in death.
His limbs were fine. There was dizziness from the shock, but he could move. The roof of the carriage had a door with a latch,which he could just about reach, but it was jammed in its twisted frame.
There was a warmth on his side. His fingertips touched his seawater-drenched clothes there and came away with red blood. It didn’t hurt. He looked up. Devadas was holding his long arms against the walls, a human rafter. His great bulk and immense strength had prevented the carriage from being crushed and killing everyone inside. A piece of wood had speared itself through Devadas’s stomach, and his blood was dripping from the tip onto Cain’s coat. He was looking down at Cain, eyes wide open in pain.
