Turning her body so her right arm and shoulder came to the fore, Loran trained the tip of the blade between the eyes of an imaginary opponent. She had always been small for her age, which meant she had almost never sparred with an opponent her size. This put her in the habit of holding her sword somewhat higher than others would do. A bad habit her grandmother and her mother had decried her for, but Loran knew from her own experience that this was her best stance given her height.
She sliced the air from upper left to lower right, took a step and thrusted, parried with a short sideways swing, and took a half step back. A basic practice form that her school taught for generations. Repeating these moves until she was sweating and warmed up was the beginning of her practice routine. She had put a small wooden sword in her daughter’s hand and made her do the same. She was to take over the swordmaster practice when she grew up. If she had no talent for it, Loran would have eventually pinned her hopes on a future son-in-law, but Loran had so wanted her daughter to take to the sword and follow in her footsteps.
The wind was cold. Her sweat evaporated almost as soon as it appeared on her skin. Wiping her forehead with her sleeve, she went to the edge of the hall and looked down at the fortress grounds. Torches were lit here and there, and strains of an old song were being sung together. Northeast of the fortress were scores of bonfires where the Ledonites were encamped. Loran had invited them into the fortress, but Griogal had demurred, citing the need to avoid unnecessary friction.
“You look like you are enjoying yourself.”
Loran knew whose low voice it was that spoke to her. Her left eye grew warm. She took off her eyepatch and opened her closed eye.
“If you could have shown yourself to me all along, why haven’t you spoken to me before now?” she said.
Her left eye caught the faint outline of the fire-dragon.
“I do not know the affairs of the human world well. Is it my place, then, to interfere with you?”
“I had hoped to see you again when I was sleepless for those many nights in Kamori after killing the prefect.”
Her words had an edge of resentment to them, but that wasn’t how she actually felt. Loran turned and walked back to stand in the center of the hall. She posed again, aiming for the middle of the imaginary eyes. The dragon was right. She was enjoying this moment.
“Those sleepless nights were what made you leave the underground palace. There are some things one must come to conclude on one’s own.”
“Did you foresee all of this?”
“I knew you would become king the moment I laid eyes on you. But not how you would.”She was reminded of Emere’s words in the underground palace.What presents a king to be chosen is not the people; it is destiny.Maybe the dragon saw her destiny, as Emere did.
“But I am not king yet. I may die before I am. Along with the six thousand here gathered with me.”
Loran swung her sword diagonally five times in the air. She advanced twice and retreated twice as she did so.
“I have sent a sorcerer to you,” Loran said. “She carries Wurmath.”
“I know all that you know,”the dragon replied.“But can such a child sever these chains?”
“I have a feeling she can.”
“You, too, like that boy Emere, have seen the hand of destiny upon another then.”
Maybe she had.
“Will you come help us if she severs the chains? There is no other way I can think of to fight the gigatherion.”
“Who am I to refuse a royal decree?”
Loran laughed. She switched stances to raise the blade in a high position.
“I am not a king yet.”
The dragon laughed its terrifying laugh. Loran stopped in midthrust as she winced.
“When you first came to me, you said you were not a princess. But you earned the title, as well as the right to my audience, the moment you threw yourself into the mouth of the volcano. And now you are a king, but claim you are not. What will it take for you to know what you are?”
“No one calls me king. I’ve never had a coronation—”
“To say that you, who have called yourself a princess without ever having been the child of a king, are not a king only because no bit of gold decorates your head,thatis to laugh. Listen, Loran.”
The outline of the dragon became clearer in her left eye.
“You are king. And much more deserving of the title than that mole in the caves of the Kamori forest. You held the lives of two people more precious than gold, and killed a prefect of the Empire when you could not bear the anguish of it. You offered your own life as sacrifice when you feared the wrath of the Empire would further harm the people. It is not I who recognized you for these deeds. It is the people of Arland. Inthis bitter winter, they who would sit trembling in their houses, afraid the Empire would destroy their lives, rose up to fight when they heard of your presence in their midst. The people to whom you gave warmth when they shivered in the ice and snow are gathered there in the fortress on which you stand. Do you still say you are not king?”
