“Well, it’s true,” Marin snapped, the irritation in his voice bringing Lika back to the present. “Lanico wants to take back the kingdom. He will see the slaves are freed.” His heart began to race, feeling agitated with the stern old woman before him.
Lika stood from her bed, ignoring Marin’s indignation. Her face squinted in his direction. “General Prince Lanico, huh?” Seemingly casting that revelation away, she continued pressing Marin, “Well, you do look like Izra, though he was better kept than the likes of you.” She eyed his thin frame with a frown. “A bit meatier as well.”
Marin growled and the side of Freck’s mouth lifted.
She took a few steps, leaned over them, and peeked out from the curtain. No one out there. Their curious heads whirled up to look at her. “But, why now?” She almost seemed angry at this news. “Why, after all these years, does the General Prince want to act?” She sat back down on the bed, sending dust swirling into the thick air.
He held in his breath a little, trying to avoid inhaling the dust. Odan only knew how much of it was already occupying space in his lungs. He managed to croak out, “I cannot answer for him, but we understand that a large number of Mysra warriors were killed at a battle, north of here in a placed called the Great Mist—the hidden village that the WynSprigns fled to, and now, with the numbers of Mysra greatly reduced, he’d have a better chance. It’s not as though he has the Odana Army to aid him. Don’t you see? He had to choose a time carefully.” He still trusted her. She did share a wealth of information with them and she was risking her own safety by taking them into her hut.
The sound of laughter and din rose outside, approaching. “Shhh!” Lika motioned, waving her hand, her thick voice now only just barely a whisper, “Stay still and quiet.”
Outside, a group walked casually by. Lika gulped, hoping that no one paid attention to her abandoned laundry basket out there. Her work was not yet complete and anyone paying attention would notice the half-full basket of moist clothes just sitting—without her. Her routine was off.
The group could be seen through the worn hut walls, slowly walking past.
Sweat beaded and coalesced on her brow.
Then the group stopped!
Outside someone responded to another’s unheard question. “Oh yeah, Lika’s laundry.” Lika’s eyes widened and the hair on her arms prickled. She bit her lip, hoping they didn’t come in to ask for laundering. The lazy hot air in the hut suddenly tightened. Their blood began to pulse fast.
“Well, she’s probably taking a break,” someone else commented.
Then, the crunching of their ambling steps continued, moving away.
Lika huffed a relieved breath, and they all slackened their postures. Relaxed, but only a little. Lika quickly thought about this. All of it: the boy’s identity, the reduced number of Mysra guards walking about. Also, why they felt they had to get the slaves to like them, as to prevent them from trying to leave or overrun the place—not that many would try anyway with all the deathtraps that surrounded the area.
“Yes!” she whispered again, now that the group passed safely by, “makes sense to me.” She looked back up to Marin. “There are a greatly reduced number of Mysra—it’s true. No one dares speak of it, but there are obviously less of them roaming about watching over us.” She inhaled. “And, furthermore, this is perhaps why they want to be nicer to us—so we don’t try to leave or overrun them—it’s as though they want us to like Grude. Also…” she continued in thought and her face brightened. “He probably believes there is a chance Lanico would try to retake claim over the castle at this, so he wants to win the hearts of the WynSprigns!” Her glowing eyes grew wide to this insight. She knew something was amiss all along and now…
Marin, Freck, and Felena looked at one another. Lika was now up to speed on the current situation. They all were.
Marin exhaled and tugged at the tooth necklace, bringing it up from under his tunic. He toyed with it between his fingers. Lika recognized it—who wouldn’t? It may have been many years, but there was no denying the story behind that charm and the black wavy locks. There was no doubt about this young man...Izra’s son!
General Prince Lanico was making a plan to save them.
Her heart skipped—this was real.
A plan was actually being set into motion.
The General Prince was waiting for the opportunity to act!
“It’s by the grace of Odan on High that you found me—that you came to me.” It was the first time that her voice sounded lighter. Not gruff. “Alright,” she whispered lightly, “I’ll tell you everything I can think of to help you.” Because she knew Cantata was out there at that moment trying to turn the others against him.
Lika rose and discreetly brought the basket of wet clothes into her hut. Then, she leaned forward and for the next several hours began to tell them about their lives, about the reduced number of guards present, the approximate Mysra numbers, the recent adjustments to their schedules, and anything she thought would help. They sat, spellbound, snacking on rations. Marin was taking notes. For him, much of what was shared seemed to be in alignment with Anah’s recount. It was good to hear that Lika was reporting the same information, for consistency purposes. Surprisingly, not much had changed despite Grude’s fears of Lanico returning. The number of his guards and warriors had been reduced overwhelmingly. But, hearing the laughter, Cantata’s song, and the noise of the crowds, he hoped against the bite in his spirit that too many hearts hadn’t been swayed from Lanico.
Chapter 14
Their son. Their future. Their kingdom…Their everything.
As the day stretched on, the anxiety for both Treva and Lanico mounted. The sky was slowly being painted that all-too-familiar shade of fuchsia at the sun’s ceding descent. Treva paced. Where the fires are they? Thousands of steps had been placed. The native larkloft flowers and grasses no longer hissed, but were crumpled under her footing. The grounds had been greatly trampled by her patterned travel around the trees ever since she leaped down. Her tracks had become developed under her state of constant worry, and as normal, she was biting at her lower lip and fidgeting.
She noticed that throughout his wait, Lanico stared off solemnly toward the encampment. He had recently leaped down from his perch and now was a sitting statue watching for any movement along the trench. She could see him rolling his sights from the encampment’s border. It was about the same time as she that he dared to flick his eyes up to notice the sky’s warning, the time. He raked his fingers through his hair. She knew he must have had unspoken curses that flurried in his own mind, much like herself. It was a time when the role of parent clashed as a tidal wave against the role of military commander.
They hadn’t spoken. Not a word. Their thoughts were far too consumed. Their ears prickled for any sound other than the soft swiping of grasses at Treva’s booted demand. They had grown increasingly worried as the seconds dripped into minutes. The minutes had become detestable hours. Every breath and every heartbeat had been fear born.
As the sun turned itself in and, unmoved from his spot, Lanico kept his focus.
Any movement would be them.
Any moment now, they would appear.
Finally, Treva’s voice was first to break the seemingly eternal silence, her steps stopped as she hovered over him. “Lan…” Their gazes connected.
He exhaled. “I know, Tre...I know. I haven’t seen any sign yet either.” His characteristically stoic voice remained calm. His stare returned, still bent with unwavering diligence. His eyes shifted to any movement below. Even the swaying of grass was not ignored.
Unlike him, her voice did not echo stillness. More so it threatened to erupt, panicked. “At what point do we go in? How much longer are we to wait?” His eyes remained fixed on the encampment, the trench. She scoffed and stomped in front of him, obstructing his view. Her voice was frayed, on the verge of a sob. “Lan. I said, at what point do we act?” A Knight awaiting her order—no, begging for it.
>
He exhaled sharply, her legs now in his vision’s path. They were unyielding, just as his sight had been. He knew what she was doing—she wouldn’t budge. He recalled that once they had wrestled; that anger was real. Before the kingdom had been lost, for years they had come to outright blows with one another. No, not exactly blows, but in their training, in their practiced physical combat with each other the anger and frustration had been mutual between them, and, though unspoken, he felt their limits stretch.
Her defiant temper and lack of compliance—he loved her, had always loved her—but she was not perfect. He remembered their history hadn’t always been of flowers and sunshine, and this classic reminder of her heedlessness of authority absolutely grated him. This was not the time to act on emotion—something she had struggled with in the past. He swallowed back his aggravation and, unlike her, tamed his initial desire to lash out. He rose to stand, towering over her. He kept his voice low and his frustration leashed. “Tre, I know you’re worried, terrified even—as am I,” he admitted, making an exasperated sigh. “I have to trust that they’re in there and that they will return to us shortly and no, I haven’t determined a time when we should—” His words clipped. His hand lifted a halting demand. The low, reverberating blasts from the Mysra horn blew, emanating from the encampment.
They turned toward the sound that undulated over the hazy encampment.
Treva winced. The sound sent familiar chills that traveled down the length of her spine. “It’s the horn that calls the slaves back to their huts for the evening.” She explained in a whisper, her eyes focused in the distance, “The slaves will sleep soon.” She turned to him again, the muscles in his clenched jaw feathered, still staring off.
Though she had already explained its purpose, the last time he heard it… “They should be back soon at this.” The old, healed wounds on her back gave a throbbing phantom pain at the sound, at the memory, but there was hope in her words. Perhaps their warriors were waiting for a better moment. They needed to be patient and trust their skills—just as Lanico had encouraged.
With acquiescence, she lowered herself to the ground, still staring off toward the distant encampment. The falchion and long sword that she had sheathed at her side rested against the ground. There was no sense in panicking, and she determined that they’d have to come back here soon. Perhaps in the next few minutes.
Lanico, a fixture at her side, sat down next to her. Their sides brushed. The scent of lavender and leather now mingled betwixt them.
How in the fires does she still smell so wonderful? He briefly thought to himself.
As they resumed staring off, Lanico glanced quickly at Treva, who, at that moment, reached to fumble with the tooth necklace—the reflex had come back so naturally for her. She then huffed, remembering Marin now wore it.
“Tre.”
She hesitated, avoiding the shared wish to look at him, to connect. Instead, she turned away. Her eyes were glazed with a fear she didn’t want him to read. This was unlike any other battle they had ever championed. Their son was out there. Their future. Their kingdom…Their everything.
He touched her fidgeting hand gently. She dared to slide a glance to him. Immediately his intense gaze lingered on hers. “You’re the bravest, the strongest person I know.” He squeezed her hand. His somber face softened only slightly to allow a light smile.
She gripped his hand, the callouses they shared scraped. He knew exactly what to say to her, to his Knight and in their connected way.
They sat in silence. Passing moments felt like an eternity. The sun was ever setting before deepening to flushed plum.
“Lan?” Her voice heightened. The sky had now begun to darken to indigo ink.
“Wait.” He let go of her hand to crouch lower from his seated position. The cooler air licked her palm where his warmth had been. The azure glow of his eyes widened. He felt for the grip of Reluctant Leader sheathed at his thigh. His voice was almost too quiet to distinguish above the hissing grasses. “I heard something.” He held his gaze lower to focus under the umbrella-like cover of the dense tree they were beneath.
Treva immediately lay down and pressed her ear to the ground, ignoring the grass’s tickling there. “I hear running steps—closing,” she whispered loudly.
She sprang from the ground and assumed a stance, holding her falchion’s grip firmly. Her blood pumped.
Twin metallic whispers sounded as they both readied for whatever approached, and hopefully it was their young warriors, or these would quickly become killing grounds.
“Lanico!” A male voice called, but out low.
“It’s Freck!” Lanico responded. Relief fluttered. He hadn’t seen them maneuver through the trench.
Freck looked wildly at Lanico, Felena walking at his side.
Treva slid her falchion back into its sheath. The golden glow of her eyes darted. She could see two sets of glowing eyes, but neither set was the purple shade she longed to see.
“Treva—” Freck came in close gasping for air. He bent over steadying his hands on his knees.
“Where—where’s Marin?” Treva tried to keep the worry from her tone, but failed. Her golden gaze shifted in the distance, still searching beyond them.
“Marin,” he panted.
Freck’s panting was starting to piss her off. “Get it out, Freck.” A demand, her tone sharp. Lanico’s eyebrows raised behind them, but he wanted to know just as much as she did.
He gulped, “He’s staying with Lika.”
The pit in her stomach exploded into a raging inferno. “He what?!” Her voice was not hushed. Not safe. “What do you mean ‘he’s staying with Lika’?”
Freck gulped again. Treva was the very last person he’d ever want to anger.
Felena decided to chime in. She tried to catch her breath as well but rambled out, “Marin wanted to stay for one whole day to see what the lives of the slaves are actually like.” She inhaled. “Today, they all had the day off work and were able to relax so we spent a lot of time with her, learning—”
The golden orbs of Treva’s eyes grew molten, with the burning ferocity of lava.
Lanico whirled away from them, still listening, pacing around them—further annoying Treva. All of this was bad, her loud tone, and Marin—missing in a slave encampment!
Treva continued, “Wha—why didn’t you stop him from this?” An outright shout from her. “Who ever thought that—”
Lanico interrupted, tugging at her arm. “Treva—get farther into the woods.” Her glare sliced through him. “Your voice carries.” She jerked her arm from his hand. Livid. She closed her eyes hard, turned, and stormed off deeper into the woods. Her anger became seething and radiated throughout her limbs. She exhaled sharply. She wanted to hurt them right now—but wouldn’t, and with Lanico trying to muzzle her...
Freck and Felena looked worriedly at Lanico—almost understanding her desire to rip their faces off.
“Let’s go,” Lanico said sternly. His blue eyes narrowed on them. Piercing daggers of their own. He wasn’t pleased about this decision either. He was as equally angered, but he had to think this through. There was no room for shouting matches. Marin staying there was not a part of their plan. Now, it could not only jeopardize their attack plans, but also Marin’s safety. His heart raced.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!
Anah and Gish were stepping in, returning from their location. Lanico sighed, at least they did their duty as rehearsed. They would give details of the tower, rotations, numbers, and information on other vantage points.
They followed the moving group inward and away from the border.
Once a safe distance away and when the soft glow that hung over the encampment from the lanterns had faded, Treva paced more. The two young warriors were brave to face Treva and her barrage of anger-laced questions. Accusations. They sat on the ground close together. To her, their expressions read guilty.
“You left him in there!” She growled at the two, accusingly. Her lip cu
rled in disgust.
“No. No we wouldn’t—” Felena started calmly.
“You told me you didn’t have the ‘friendliest relationship’ with Marin. How do I know that you didn’t just-just leave him in there?” Treva ignored Felena and focused her fiery glare at Freck. She was trying in vain to keep her emotions restrained, her warring body restrained.
Lanico paced, running his fingers through his silver hair, listening.
“Stop that.” Treva growled at Lanico, not even looking at him—just knowing that he was running his hands through his hair. That action absolutely irked her.
He stopped and curled his fingers into balled fists and then resumed pacing.
The Legacy of Lanico: Return of the Son: Book two of the Legacy of Lanico series Page 15
