The Legacy of Lanico: Return of the Son: Book two of the Legacy of Lanico series

by E Cantu Alegre

  ✽✽✽

  Lanico and Treva had been making their way to the castle through the maze of huts. It had been in skilled, stealthy tactic, that they had taken out the guards at the remaining tower. It was relatively easy and no alert had been raised.

  Freck and Felena had already been ahead and were likely still near the castle base—still farther ahead. The plan was working well. No Mysra attention had been brought to Lanico and Treva—no one alerted the Mysra leader of Lanico’s presence. They preferred to keep all the attention back at the encampment, but now—now they could enter the castle undetected with no Mysra guards or warriors on their trail. Who knew the number of guards that awaited them inside?

  Lanico followed closely behind his guide, Treva. The rain was now coming down in sheets, and the thunder intensifying. On this path, he had been wild-eyed at the number of these collected huts. Astonished at the sheer number. Row after row. Before the siege, these huts were used for the Soldiers in training and were in much better condition, as they mostly used the barracks. He felt guilt reminding him of what he had left behind.

  He passed, knowing that his people had to live in deplorable conditions for all these years. He swallowed back hard and was determined to move forward. Guilt would not hamper his efforts. Not today. Not ever again. It was taking strength to keep his resolve and focus on the true enemy, the one that had actually done this.

  Chapter 24

  Booted feet padded across the granite floor

  Her pace had not been nearly as urgent, mostly because she avoided planting her steps in spots that threatened to muddy her gown’s hem. Her dress and expression screamed that she wasn’t a part of this lowly group, or of whatever was happening all around her. But now, having seen yet another flurry of panicked slaves fly past her in the opposite direction, Cantata abandoned her previous carefully placed strides. Now, her sapphire dress whipped in a torrent at her faster pace and snapped in the rainy wind around all the others. She felt her urgency heightened despite her feeble strides. She had managed to leave the Purple Hall Mine in a group among the others, but separated from them once outside. She didn’t know where they were headed, but she knew that she needed to get back to her home, to her castle. To Grude. Things had gone awry and no guards were in sight.

  It was a small relief; her personal servant had been blessedly standing outside her hut which happened upon the way to the castle. The young servant was about to enter but hearing the approach of squelching steps, Trilla whirled and steadied a wide-eyed look to Cantata.

  Cantata’s steps slowed taking in the sight of her. It was plain her former servant was startled. Fearful. The very look sent chills to Cantata’s skin, and she felt her own face become equally washed in bewilderment. Closing in, Cantata’s voice panted as she asked, “Whe-where is everyone going?” Her voice sounded small against the thrashing rains. Raising it higher she asked, “This is—this is not normal?”

  “No, Cantata.” Fright staggered Trilla’s breathing. Tiny droplets had gathered on her long eyelashes making her bright eyes seem only wider. “This is not normal.” She gulped dryly. “I realize that I have not worked in the mines for long, but no, this has never happened before, or at least, not that I know of.” She took a step closer to the songstress and furrowed her brows. The dark clouds causing both of their WynSprign eyes to take a dim glow and rain now dripped from their saturated hair. “Didn’t you hear what that Mysra was shouting?”

  Cantata shook her head slowly, not minding that Trilla’s tone sounded a little tart to her ears—something that would have caused her to rail before but not now. She needed support.

  “No?” The servant continued, “Well, he was telling them to run toward the trenches—that’s the southern part of the encampment.” She could see that the songstress’s eyes were glazed, and also curiously weary. “Cantata, he was telling us to escape.”

  Cantata straightened. “So, this wasn’t due to a mistake in procedure or a risk of a collapsing area of the mine then, or of us having entered too soon?” She looked at Trilla, still searching, still trying to grasp an understanding.

  Trilla’s eyes remained locked. She slowly shook her head and mouthed, no.

  Cantata gasped and a twinge of anger pricked, “The rogue Sprign—that emerald bitch!”

  Trilla opened her mouth to speak but slammed it shut again as Cantata continued.

  “Listen!” Cantata grabbed Trilla’s hand, pulling her into a hut. There, she stared at her. Their eyes were now incandescent inside the darker space. She panted an explanation, “Grude has suspected that something like an attack would take place from the rogue WynSprigns.” Cantata held her hand close as she spoke. “I don’t want you to follow them. We don’t know that they are leading anyone into safety. In truth—” she dropped her hand, “I think it’s a trap.”

  Trilla covered her gaping mouth.

  “I need you, and anyone else that we can trust, to run toward the west. Head toward the old WynSprign abandoned village—to my old tavern, and wait for me. I need to make sure that you are all kept safe from those—those treacherous heathens!” Cantata growled. “Only Fray Mother Jaspia knows what they’re up to.”

  Trilla straightened at the mention of the Mysra creator, at Cantata referring to her as Mother Jaspia. WynSprigns remained loyal to the creator of all, Odan. To mention or even support his wayward Fray daughter, the First Created Fray, Jaspia, was blasphemous. Only the Mysra worshiped Jaspia or called upon her in prayer—and now Cantata had.

  Cantata took a step away from Trilla and patted her defiant hair-which was already flat with rain.

  Trilla’s voice was quiet. “Yes, Cantata. As you say.”

  “Right,” Cantata stated, shifting her skirts beneath the dark satin and walking out from the hut. Her pale skin was a contrast to the sharp color and the blanket of gray clouds overhead. Her brow beaded with moisture. “Now, I must notify Grude, the guards, and the warriors. I need to stay calm.”

  “Yes, Cantata, please take a moment. You don’t seem well with all this running about—this stress from the danger. Will you sit for just a moment?” The servant ushered back to the hut they just left. Trilla would have known about Cantata’s enervation more than any other. She’d been Cantata’s servant for many long years. The drained look, the under-eye circles—it wasn’t normal for the Cantata she knew and loved.

  Cantata made a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The expression caught Trilla’s breath. “No, I will be fine in the months to follow. Now go. We will meet again—but at my old tavern,” she clarified once more.

  “Yes. Of course. I will do as you bid and tell the others who adore you as I do.” Trilla turned, making brisk steps from her hut to run off.

  Cantata stiffened her lips, and gathered her skirts with tight fists. She would meet with the subjects who were loyal to her, the same dirt-streaked faces that had supported her from the start. But it was to be later. First, she was to run to the castle, but in a slow, jogging pace. She wasn’t able to manage much more. She was finding herself feeling faint from all the chaos and from her knowing condition. Trilla was right—she wasn’t well. But there was no time for pampering, and the castle wasn’t a close jog from here, so near to the mines.

  ✽✽✽

  “Freck!” Felena grabbed on to his arm as he rounded and bent into a hut to see if anyone was inside. “C’mon, we don’t have time to check every hut.” Their swords trickled black blood. Felena’s whole front was covered with it—inky gore.

  Freck whirled and glared at her. “Well, what should we do?” His voice heightened in annoyance. “Let any old ones just lay about?”

  She rolled her eyes—he was so dramatic. If any slaves were that old or ill—they still would have been at the mines anyway, and not “laying about” as he preferred to believe. This wasn’t the kind ol’ Great Mist Village after all. “Look, we just need to run up and down the rows and yell! Time is not on our side and we need to ensure their safety away from here.
Let’s go!” Felena ordered Freck.

  “But we’ve probably cleared out all the Mysra threat by now. At least we can check.” They were already about midway from the castle and moving toward the south.

  “Lanico’s orders,” she reminded him with a cock of her head.

  Right.

  Together, they ran up and down the rows yelling and banging their weapons together. “Head to the trench hills beyond the Purple Hall Mine! Head to freedom and safety!”

  Their efforts sent a sparse few WynSprigns fleeing. It was worth it. If they managed to save even one, well worth it. The hill beyond was the surest safe place at the moment. Lanico wanted to prevent any further danger to them, no hostages, no wrestling over which lives to save. They all determined this was the safest way. The protection of the innocents was paramount and they had made outstanding progress.

  There was an unexpected flash of deep blue fabric waving at the far end of a row. Attached to it was the shrunken image of a woman. The fancy WynSprign. Cantata. Standing there. Still. The glare she had for them, the contempt. Her ferocity was palpable. Before she said any words, they already knew she was about to scream at them.

  She locked eyes on them, heaving, “You! How dare you! Feeding my lovely WynSprigns lies!” Her hands had furled into fists. “You mean to corrupt them and take them away to some unknown doom!”

  Freck and Felena stood their ground. Freck took a quick sidelong glance at Felena, who stared back at the primped, sodden woman. His fingers tightened around the grip of his long sword, but carried it low. Keeping himself ready for whatever this madwoman was about to do. She wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “Here with me,” Cantata continued, while placing slow steps forward, “they know safety, shelter, food, and keeping.”

  Freck was incredulous at that. Safety? Keeping? Is she serious? “And what of freedom?” He challenged, “With us, they will own their own lives. You don’t offer that—Grude doesn’t offer that.” He scowled feeling himself grow hot from anger although he wanted to remain calm. Obviously, she was deranged; had been brainwashed, placed under some false belief by Grude—she was a WynSprign, she had to have been conditioned. Her beliefs were absurd. He tried to bring a serene expression to his face and placed slow paces toward the woman, Felena flanking him. “We aren’t here to do harm!”

  The woman could be seen taking a breath in, perhaps to relax herself. She gathered her skirts, the damp ripples of fabric looked like waves of a stormy sea. She suddenly marched toward them. Highbrow. High status. As she neared, they could see the fine fabric, the delicate designs and light jewelry glinting. The well-kept glimmering shoes that peeked from under—she was a sight. A pampered, privileged, elitist, self-serving sight that reeked of perfume. She lifted her chin proudly but trembled in seething anger. “Who sent you?” she snapped by way of conversation. “It was her, huh? Treva? The Knighted Sprign slave?” She drew out the word slave in a mocking tone.

  Oh, fuck being serene—the effort was wasted on her. Freck shook his head slowly. No. “We were sent by the King.” Freck’s eyes narrowed into Cantata’s and he felt a wicked grin twist from his lips. “He’s to regain his kingdom. Actually…” He quirked his head to the side and slid a look to Felena who nodded slowly at his words. He noticed, just then, how Felena’s eyes were like daggers pointed at Cantata, and he couldn’t help but find her gorgeous in that moment of ire. “Lanico’s probably making himself the King...this very instant.” He continued slowly, still roaming a thoughtful gaze upon Felena—her angry, pouting mouth.

  Cantata’s heart stilled and her gut flopped at that. A flurry of panic flooded behind her gaze. With eyes widened she sputtered worriedly, “O-oh-no!” She backed up, away from the pair tripping over her long dress and skirts; to which now the hemline had grown muddied from the rain. Her pale face grew horrified. The two WynSprign warriors—she instantly forgot them even now as they peered at her with menacing gazes.

  Cantata’s fading, tripping, running form shrank from view. Her dress whipped around a hut before disappearing entirely.

  Freck and Felena looked at each other again. Felena gave him a small smile. He returned this with a quick kiss on her cheek. His lips pressed against the trickle of raindrops that had been warmed by her skin. Her eyes, for the first time throughout this whole endeavor, widened in surprise. Pulling away, he gave a devilish smile at that, and then shrugged before running off, returning to duty. A blooming flush came to her cheeks and she tore off after him, ready for her duty—and ready to blast at Freck for his brazenness.

  ✽✽✽

  “There is no way in.” Lanico looked to Treva at his side. His voice was only a faint whisper.

  They were both soaked in rain and splattered with Mysra guard blood. Fortunately, it wasn’t a challenge to make it here. The guards they encountered along the way were relatively basic in skill. Understanding the ease of their opponents, they realized then that they could have even trusted Marin to take them down. And much like a child in a sweet shop, Treva relished, savored every moment of striking down, one-by-one, her various long-time oppressors—Mysra who had beaten her and other innocent WynSprigns so mercilessly.

  But they made it. The two now gathered beneath the steep mountain wall, far below Izra’s old chambers. Looking up, they registered the scale of the wall, the height. The Castle of Odana had been carved by ancients into this granite ledge. Impossible.

  Lanico looked to her. “You said you knew a way in.”

  “Izra,” she uttered.

  He looked over at her with confusion. “What?” He was about to become rattled—they trekked all the way here—

  “Izra...he had an old, uh...ladder—” she shrugged, “a secret that you didn’t know about.” She rubbed at the back of her neck. Betraying Izra’s secrets even in death and even for this purpose, somehow felt contemptible. “He told me that he chose this room for this very purpose. That he had a sorcerer place an enchantment on the rock face, here.” She reached out and placed her small battle-scarred hand over the wet, rocky surface.

  Lanico raised his eyebrows. It was true. Izra loved magic and he did have a sorcerer visit his chambers upon moving in—Lanico just didn’t know the purpose for this. Thinking it all nonsensical, he never inquired about it.

  She continued softly, “He, at first, had this ladder for purposes of quick escape, but he found another use for it.” She bit her lip, then bashfully looked up to meet his grim gaze. “Night escapes to see...me.” Treva gave a nervous laugh seeing his expression, but Lanico was in no mood for laughter—especially at this revelation and at this time.

  She cast an incredulous glance at him. “Really? Di-did you just assume everyone was fine with him leaving in the middle of the night in his nightclothes all this time?” Seeing his unimpressed look, she turned from him. “Well, anyway, let’s see if we can find it.”

  Lanico made a growl but followed her paces to along the section of the steep side. She stopped at a certain ridge in the granite surface. They both remained standing against the wall to remain as undetected as possible. Lanico studied it closely to see if he could notice the ladder.

  “Move out!” a voice shouted from high above.

  Startled, Treva and Lanico slammed themselves against the rocky wall. In vain, they looked above to see where the shouting was coming from. The distance was too far and the Mysra guards were concealed against the gray sky. They winced at the rain while looking up.

  “Word is, that there is a massive attack at the Purple Hall Mine!” the voice boomed. “We’re to end it!”

  “The order was to remain at the castle on alert!” another Mysra guard bellowed back.

  “Well, we were selected to move out! There are still enough of us here to secure the castle!” the original voice yelled in answer. Lanico and Treva looked at each other. Hints of concern lashed across their faces—unspoken words.

  “Now, move out!” another order blasted.

  Lanico took a clearing breath to rea
ssure himself and leaned into Treva’s ear whispering, “It’ll be alright. Gish, Marin, and Anah are together by now at the hill. They will be able to defend themselves if the Mysra head there. It shouldn’t be too long before Felena and Freck join them from behind.”

  They glanced back up—there was no way of knowing if the guards above had left their posts, but they had to resume their own task.

  Treva whispered, “Time is not on our side. Maybe we should just—” She stared at Lanico for a moment and then pushed herself from the wall and began to clap. His eyebrows rose. Through their connected gaze she said, “This will be awkward.” Her claps were slow at first. Her eyes unsure and cautious as her sight roamed over the mountainside surface. The shallow claps echoed slightly against the wall. Too quiet to be detected from above.

  Lanico looked at her curiously. It was odd. Profoundly odd.

  She then began to move, to-to...dance. It was then that the unmistakable beat of the dark waltz drifted to his ears. The dance that he had caught her practicing when she thought everyone was asleep all those nights ago. This was why! She’d been practicing!