“What…what happened!?” He felt the heat of fury take him. Raging. His grip on Reluctant Leader taut, at the ready. He took another look at the beast. Flies had already started to buzz around its lifeless, ravaged eye.
“The—” Treva bowed to catch her breath, “the monster tried to take Freck.” More panting before her words tumbled out, “So we…we took ‘em back.”
Lanico stared at the lot of them. Treva’s hair plastered to her face and neck. All of them, drenched. All of them smelling of that foul beast and—and task accomplished, bedraggled. Assessing that no harm had occurred, his anger quieted. Had been a snuffed flame. He felt a tingle within himself. He fought against a smile, and then a robust guffaw exploded from his gut. Roaring laughter tumbled from him. “Ah, what did you say about getting messy?”
They cast exhausted, pathetic, soured glances to him and he, no, he couldn’t fight it any longer. He held up a pleading hand and chuckled deep rolling laughter. Hysterically. It had been the first time in…since he could remember. As the joyful sound coursed from his throat, he heaved, trying to brace himself against a small tree. He laughed so hard that he snorted—yes, regality betrayed, he actually snorted! After a few moments, when his laughter finally subsided, he wiped away the spare tears, and then said in great, polite effort, “Well, I guess this was a good practice for everyone.”
No one responded. Not a sound.
He continued, “Seeing the size of this creature, I can only assume that there are no others of his kind?” Lanico grinned, still working to remain indifferent though his teeth sparkled with gaiety.
“One can only hope,” Treva replied flatly.
“I guess there is no reason to make yourselves dirtied?” He gave her an innocuous look, laced with a glint of humor—that she read correctly.
She paused her march and turned to glare at him sideling. Her head tilted. “Well what do you think, smart-ass?”
Everyone’s lips curled hearing the tart Knight and her General Prince. A chorus of soft snickering erupted from behind them.
Lanico cast a glance to her scowling mouth. He faced forward and grinned widely. Yes. Only his Treva could talk to him like that. This will be some adventure alright, he thought impishly. And he thought about all the things he wanted to do with that sassy mouth of hers when he had the chance.
✽✽✽
The group of warriors trudged along their journey. There was no talking. No sound, except for the incessant squelching of footsteps. The mess. The looks plastered on their muck-smeared faces—Lanico stiffened his lips to prevent himself from another laughing fit, keeping that deep chuckle trapped in his throat. He had to work to control himself from losing his princely stoicism, or else deal with Treva’s fury. Fortunately, his scouting with Gish during the incident paid off. The mountain pass wasn’t far off, just as he had believed. They were closing in on their destination. Their mission and his focus were quickly swept elsewhere.
Chapter 12
A rare sight
She threw open the doors and breathed in deep, and then frowned. It was already hot. Outside, early morning awakened before her. Buzzing activity could already be seen in the distance far beyond. It would be another day of working with the WynSprigns, encouraging them to trust in Grude, and sending his praises soaring to unseen, unexpected heights. Another day of time spent making her rounds in the crowded, dusty expense far below with the undesirables in her charge and her care. The material of her dress was far too stifling. Cantata shrugged it off. Other dresses that were better equipped for the heat were underway. They were minor complaints to a greater whole purpose.
After years of trampling by many afoot, the grasses were long gone over the entire encampment and now with the lack of recent rain since the last few days there was a palpable patina of tan dust that coated everything within the kingdom. The land that stretched beyond the castle grounds and encampments were lush and pristine, everything within, “Bah!” Cantata swatted at her dress. The action sent fine dust swirling.
Despite the dust clouds breathing upon her new frock, Cantata felt radiant and renewed. Her beautiful gray gown billowed, as she flowed down the path. Her movements were purposeful, graceful, descending the winding pathway to the base of the castle. Perhaps Trilla would know how to launder this dress—if I ever find her. Breeze brushed against her as a Mysra messenger whizzed from behind and moved past her, running toward the mining encampment. She grinned. She knew he was heading to Nizen on the other side to start giving the slaves time off weekly. It was a command from Grude. Oh, to be on the heels of such great news. She picked up the front of her long dress and quickened her stroll a little. The smile on her face was genuine.
Once at the base of the castle, she ran into slaves enjoying the stillness of the morning. It was indeed something to enjoy. Many feigned smiles—people were unsure of this development or of Cantata herself. It had been one hundred years, after all. Grude’s sudden altruistic interests seemed most odd. Many long years had since passed. There were some though who were pleased at Grude’s change of heart and welcomed any attempts of his kindness–even greatly delayed ones. She also reminded them Lanico may no longer be alive and added that even if he was, many had grown tired waiting for his return. Though this was not the truth—she felt a little lie about “other’s negative views” of the former General Prince would help garner further support for Grude.
Trilla had given her words consideration since the last time she ran into her. It made sense to her—having a day off at the mines, the abandonment of the former Prince. She spotted Cantata walking. Her deep gray dress was like the warning of storm clouds looming, mysterious, and growing powerful. Even considering her simple face she appeared, courtly and most imposing.
“Cantata!” Trilla called out jumping up and down. Her bonnet flopped at her movement.
“Trilla!” Cantata gathered up her skirts and rushed over. They embraced with zeal for one another. Mostly Cantata conceding to the feigned affection—it was a display for the girl and for any onlookers.
Trilla had confided to her that she and several others has grown tired of a hero-less fate. That they’d sided with Cantata—with Grude.
“There are others, you know.” She swiped stray golden hair from across her face, secretly pleased that her hair was unlike Cantata’s wiry tresses. “More that feel the same about this.” She nodded and gave a tight-lipped smile.
Sweet honey to Cantata’s ears. Finally. There were reportedly others who shared her point of view regarding the recent changes and were willing to accept that Grude wasn’t as bad as they had originally thought and that she herself had some sway. Her trips to this grand, WynSprign-infested dust patch had paid off! The seeds she planted, had now sprouted!
“Oh, Trilla,” she exhaled, “I’m happy that you and others share this opinion. Come, let’s walk about together and greet everyone. It’s a great day to relax and socialize.” Cantata reached out her thin arm and hooked Trilla’s own in hers, each noticing the boniness of the other.
Trilla continued talking at length, like she preferred. This time, however, Cantata was receptive. It was a stark contrast to her former lady’s tight nods and too-soon dismissals when they stayed in the castle together, and Trilla took it all in. She was much like a child telling her mother all about the good deeds she’d done for some sort of praise. She then paused. “I think we should start allowing meetings, for us that feel the same. Perhaps in these meeting, Cantata, you could help us understand more about Grude and his next plans to help us.” Trilla pushed.
“You know, Trilla, that’s not a bad idea. Perhaps word about Grude’s friendliness will spread further.” The lady of the castle tapped her teeth thinking and then her eyes brightened. “Yes. Yes, let’s do that.”
So engaged in thought about possible meeting places and times and the slaves’ schedules, she hadn’t realized that she had been drawing a crowd. Her celebrity, her dress, her seemingly patrician stature, it all had them gathering
from various corners of the encampment.
The hushed conversations and remarks about her flurried in the dusty air.
“She looks the same.” Someone said. “I swear, she never changes,” said another, as they walked past Lika, who was now moving toward Cantata’s direction.
Lika rolled her eyes and scoffed at the absurdity. The ill-appointed flattery at someone such as Cantata. She returned to do her task of carrying dirty laundry to the brook. Since she had the day off, she felt she may as well take advantage of the sun and the fresh, early morning water. There was much laundering to do and she didn’t want to waste her time on nonsense, such as Cantata. Trilla may have been a pain in the arse, but at least she was a devoted, hard worker. Cantata, on the other hand…Lika scoffed out loud.
Cantata heard the sound and turned to snag a view of Lika’s back heading toward the river. Her lips stiffened slightly.
✽✽✽
“Well, I just don’t get it, Grude.” Cantata washed cutlery at the kitchen trough and eyed herself on the shiny pan that hung on a hook overhead. Grude had increased help in the kitchen while Cantata was away. Her work here was reduced, but she still loved to find time to make meals and clean when she could. She had already changed her previous gray gown and could make out her newest light pink dress, mirrored at the bottom of the pan, reflecting just under her neckline.
“They just don’t seem that excited about the changes you’ve been making, or of my dresses, my beautiful dresses. It’s almost like they don’t want to be happy for me, or for all of us. Ooo!” Cantata had been cleaning a knife too briskly and jabbed her thumb.
Grude rose from the stool and neared her to examine. He took her hand in his own, inspecting it. Cantata ignored the throb and the warm trickle of her black blood that now trailed over her tip and patted into the trough. She stared into Grude’s concentrated gaze. He looked to meet hers and smiled. Grabbing a kitchen rag, he cradled her thumb in his firm grip to stave the blood. WynSprign’s were supposed to have blood of crimson—not black. Startling himself, he didn’t mention the odd color of her blood, the injury, or offer meaningless words about her well-being. He simply held a soft moonlight gaze on her.
“Thanks, Grudie,” she said with a childlike pout.
He continued listening to her, still holding her hand in the rag. He hummed at the feel of the fit, small in his own. “Could it be that they are jealous of you?” he suggested hopefully. Her face scrunched at that. “After all,” he continued, lifting a hand to pat a section of her hair down. “You get to live in the castle. You have the finest of dresses at your whim, and my unwavering attention.” The corners of his mouth lifted and his stare was enduring.
Cantata now felt a wave of heat and a hint of a smile tugged at her mouth as well. She took back her hand and administered her own pressure to the wound. “Well, I don’t know that they are jealous.”
They made steps to the chopping block table and took seats.
“Well, perhaps if you continue to venture out to see them and talk to them, maybe they’ll warm up then.” Grude still wanted to have the people embrace her, and perhaps embrace him through her. Not only was she to serve as a temporary conduit for him, but he had genuine feelings for her. He knew in all honesty that he had had them for some time, for years. He had meant it when he said she was the lady of the castle, and the look he gave her communicated it as well.
After a few wordless seconds of thoughts shifting about, trying to resolve her little dilemma he said, “I know.” He sat up straight, his muscled shoulders shifted back, and said, “I’ll give them two whole days off every week! It’ll prove to them your efforts with me. We’ll start straightaway!”
“Oh, Grudie! They will surely see how much you care, then.” His eyes roamed to her lap. She noticed and worked to straighten her new dress while sitting. The material, though lovely, seemed to have a mind of its own. So slinky. It delved into her lap, outlining the space between her thighs.
“Tomorrow, this change will ensue.” Grude lifted his sight and her hand to place a gentle kiss upon it. “Tell them that they don’t have to work every day. Perhaps we’ll make this a permanent change.” His eyes bored into hers. “I’ll send official word to Nizen.”
She was pleased. Even though she didn’t much care for the WynSprigns, she didn’t want to lose face over telling them things were going to get better and then not actually having it happen.
She responded to him only by leaning in and placing a kiss on his cheek. She noticed his ever-so-slight jump at the landing of her lips on his stone face. A small smile crept to her face.
He was surprised, but didn’t move.
Just as Cantata felt silly at her sign of affection…just as she was about to take her hand away, he moved. Angled himself in closer to her. His eyes roamed over her lips and he leaned in to brush his against hers.
She was a thin, delicate lady and he, a large, bouldered creation. A rare sight.
She leaned back, just slightly. “I’m starting to think that you’re the only one in this world that really cares for me.” Her voice was an uneven whisper.
He stood from the table and pulled her into himself effortlessly. He held her and felt her breathing against him. She was warmed and protected—for a lifetime, for a moment, for a heartbeat—it didn’t matter. They remained in that embrace for as long as they needed.
Despite her tall frame, she was tiny and delicate in his stone-muscled grasp and he wondered how something so thin could produce such a glorious feeling in him. His mind wandered then to how she could produce such high and powerful vocal feats. He smiled to himself remembering flutes; they were not unlike Cantata, he supposed.
“In the meantime, rest a bit, and then journey back out to them. Your efforts are bearing fruit, I can feel it.” He turned a pleasant gaze to her. “Just a little more today.”
It was a gratifying thing to see him so pleased. “Yes Grudie, of course.” She heard herself say despite her reservations about seeing those dirtied WynSprign faces again.
Chapter 13
A love. A life. A prize that he longed for
It was to be an easier climb. It hadn’t rained recently and the mountainside was reliably firm. Lanico led, finding sound pivots and grooves for the others to claim purchase to.
They were all tied together on a long rope that ended with Treva. That had been their formation for most of the travel. He was to take the lead, the first to engage danger and she was to guard from the rear, to protect from them from any unseen, sneaking threats.
The climb was as if every step was more surreal, more anticipated than the last. He breathed in pine and a faint scent of trillium. The innumerable evergreens and brush began to shrink beneath them at their ascent. The mountain chain was thick with mountains and hills. It was here where nature had guided only this small single summit. Any other climb would encourage trudging over a few summits. He imagined that from the sky this area would appear as an hourglass and this single mountain, void of advancing hills on either of its narrow sides, was the waist of the expansive hourglass.
The higher he climbed, the more his elation increased. After some time of uneventful climbing—no mistakes, no slides—he turned himself into the coveted pass. He was larger than Treva and Anah, of course. Fitting into it required him to maneuver and angle—he couldn’t even fathom how Gish would fit. It was a mere crevasse in the mountain’s summit, but passing through it was a milestone for his purpose. It was a wonder that the large Mysra that had tracked Anah and Treva all that time ago, could have fit at all.
There were a few breaths. A few beats of his heart and carefully placed steps—steps that separated him from the lands of his kingdom. His foot landed carefully, cautiously, over the side. Understanding what treasure lay ahead, he knowingly decided to remember these steps and the feeling they conjured—determined it was to be last time he’d place them as a displaced heir. It was the last step that he took and he arrived. He had made it. His heart pounded. He
gasped silently as he stood from the peak, taking in the land on the other side—the Odana Kingdom’s side. His domain.
He breathed in, thankful. He had forgotten the exhilaration of it until just this moment. It was his. His land. His purpose. The scent that drifted in the air and his long-awaited home. His. It was a vast landscape before him, painted green with lush life. The expanse was still blanketed with the veil of golden sun haze. Directly below, for a long stretch, was a carpet of purple larkloft wildflowers native to these lands. They were so numerous in population, the grasses were laced with their vibrant purple. He could see the familiar brook that ran through the kingdom, the forest, and off in the distance to the right…
The Legacy of Lanico: Return of the Son: Book two of the Legacy of Lanico series Page 12
