The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana

by E Cantu Alegre

  “We’ll discuss this later—I need to eat.” He planted a foot to march on. Grimel nodded and turned away in another direction.

  But both stopped, mid-step.

  A sweet tune carried in the dusty breeze toward them. An old singing WynSprign woman strolled toward the mine, passing them. Goosebumps prickled.

  No. Not WynSprign—only in appearance. Nizen’s eyes widened and his breath caught. He recognized her—they both did. Every Mysra knew her.

  The Holy mother!

  That instant, their hearts hammered.

  After a hundred years of running a mine with the same WynSprigns, he knew them all and she, that WynSprign, was not one of them.

  “What’s she doing here?” Grimel whispered to no one.

  But, Nizen responded as equally quiet, “Whatever she wants.”

  The old women peered at the Mysra guards. The very look sent chills. A slight smile curved on her lips. She moved toward them and began to speak. Their hearts stilled at the sound of her captivating voice—at the depth of her ancient, knowing gaze.

  “If you ask me,” she said, her voice a breeze that warned that if she was confronted, she promised calamity in her wake. “Cantata should be the one to make you your meal.”

  The hearts of the two Mysra pounded at her seemingly innocuous sound.

  Closer. Closer she ambled. “She’s a fine cook, a WynSprign of many talents,” she added. Just a handbreadth away, she suddenly ripped her knowing eyes from them. The air stole from their lungs. She turned to walk on. Swirling dust obscured her fading WynSprign form.

  It was a cryptic message. The head guard gawked at her, still feeling confusion and wonderment. Still strying to regain his normal breathing.

  Blinking at this oddity, this surprise visitation from her, and the message to have Cantata make his meal, Nizen returned to the present.

  “Hey, back into the mine!” he barked at the stilled Grimel, who jumped at his command.

  Nizen knew they needed to be productive—especially in front of her. He hoped he had favor in her eyes. Perhaps that’s why she wanted Cantata to make him a meal? It was an odd thought.

  Nizen glared at his assistant now striding away. “Endless disorganization!” he hissed loud enough for her to hear – or so he hoped.

  He turned back toward his destination and refocused his attention on food. So, Cantata can cook—should cook? He now walked quickly and murmured, “I guess our Cantata is a WynSprign of many talents. And the slaves in the castle are fewer . . .” Nizen smiled—a horrid sight. She is not a slave, but perhaps Grude can persuade her to assist—to maximize everyone’s efforts. Especially if I tell him our Fray Mother Jaspia came here and said so herself . . .

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Touched by her happiness

  Lanico was still sore as he stretched where they’d stopped to give the horses time to relax. “Oh . . . how I despise sleeping on the ground.” He twisted and cracked his aching back, annoyed at the knowledge that his long silver hair was messy, too. He had forgotten a brush. He growled low.

  Treva sat up on the ground next to him, looking at him with great amusement. “You’re still sore from last night?” She had a slightly surprised smile. “It’s the afternoon, Lan.”

  He twisted and grumbled more.

  Treva couldn’t help herself—she openly laughed at his seriousness and messiness. She, however, was most comfortable in her leggings and a small tunic, not the oversized one Greta had lent her for sleeping in. She was glad she had decided against wearing her metal armor and had opted for a lighter leather version. It was far too hot for the metal wear and she feared it would put unnecessary weight on the horses for this long journey.

  “Well, Treva, need I remind you that I’m many years older than you?” He flashed her a crooked smile and ceased his dramatic stretching routine.

  “Well”—Treva turned quickly to take a drink from her canteen—"I happened to enjoy last night, lying under the stars and the moon. Bathing in their glow.” She sighed. “Enjoying more of you.” Treva looked at Lanico with a playful gaze and a lazy smile.

  He smiled dreamily for a moment but then suddenly stiffened and cleared his throat, remembering to stay focused. He glanced over the horizon. Nothing happened, but it’s nice to dream. The ballroom, the emerald dress. Oh fires . . . the song. The dreams of last night still danced in his mind.

  Treva smiled at this reaction. He’s so proper and fancy . . . Adorable— like a fancy white cat with crystal blue eyes. Every bit as vicious, but proper, and at times, snuggly.

  “It shouldn’t be long before we get to Gray Rock. It normally wouldn’t take this long, but I wanted to avoid Mysra forces by walking out, further around . . . They’ve likely passed us by now.” He took a drink and gulped hard. “It’s better that we approach them from behind, anyway. We just need to arrive shortly after they do, reinforcements taking up the rear.” He took another drink. “It’s possible waking up late worked to our benefit.”

  She nodded in agreement. Her mouth was too full from her own swig of water to answer.

  “Because they are likely undertrained—based on your assessment—" he said, “we could easily wipe out at least a dozen, together.” His eyes flashed meeting hers.

  A gritty smile spread across her lovely, hard face. Together. She said before taking out their remaining rations from Greta’s home: hard cheese, bread, vegetables, and a special gift-meat jerky. Greta didn’t favor them eating animals, so this addition had been a pleasant surprise earlier. She handed him his portion. Together they sat eating as the sun crept high in the sky. They’d make it to Gray Rock before nightfall, as long as they avoided lingering for too long.

  Lanico wasn’t fond of sitting on the ground. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of direct sunlight, or the grit of grass and dirt beneath him. Sure, he had been a seasoned General trained for rough living in the wilds, but there were some things of nature that still picked him-even if his mother was Fray Greta and even if he had lived in Great Mist all those years.

  He exhaled sharply and squinted over at Treva, who wore a carefree smile as she leaned back with her eyes closed, facing the sun. She was radiant, glowing under the bright light. Feeling his gaze, she opened her eyes slightly and shifted her focus over to him.

  “You know Lanico, I can’t remember feeling this great under the sun in a very long time.” She sat up to take another bite of her rations, chewing and swallowing hard. “I never really got a chance to see the sun while a slave. We’d enter the mines as the sun was coming up, and then leave the mines as the sun was going down. I love to feel its golden glow covering me.” She inhaled sharply. Her cinnamon voice hummed, “a golden blanket.” She leaned back again on her hands and resumed smiling up at the sky.

  Lanico hadn’t thought much about that, what she had endured. He felt guilty for grumbling privately about his own discomfort in this moment. Touched by her happiness, he made the decision to enjoy it with her, and not complain.

  Once they finished their adequate meal, they mounted the rested horses, and their sheathed swords bounced at their sides as they rode on the uneven grassy ground. Though both she and Lanico were well versed in a large assortment of weaponry, she had pilfered from Greta’s weapon trove and had turned herself into a walking armory. But, Treva’s long sword sheath was not properly fastened to her belt and it bounced more than Lanico’s.

  As they reached the summit of one of the several large, grassy hills, they were alerted to the unexpected sight of several Mysra on foot, just ahead where the hill plateaued. They were heading in the same direction as the couple, probably to join the Mysra forces. One, as if smelling them near, whirled his head around and locked his eyes on the pair.

  There was no mistaking the discovery, as there was nowhere to hide. Lanico and Treva pulled the reins and heard distant battle shouts erupting from the Mysra. They advanced and came close enough that they could be seen drinking back their trillium crystals and drawing their weapons. The
ir large bodies grew by the approaching second as Treva and Lanico closed the distance. In a flash, the pair had unsheathed their swords, glad to be on horseback.

  “Yah!” Treva yelled, her strong voice and fierce glare blasting out from her small form.

  In a burst, they stormed-off.

  The horses bolted to a swift gallop as dust rose high in the air, the leather satchels and bundles slapping against their sides, the animals grunting as they charged. Treva dug her feet into the stirrups and squeezed her thighs tightly around the horse’s warm sides. The Mysra’s were actually charging toward them, and wielding knives! Trillium made them irrational, foolish.

  As they closed in, both Treva and Lanico made flashing low swipes with their swords, taking advantage of the horses’ height and magnificent speed. They swung deeply, cutting the two Mysra that ran in between them. The Mysra warriors both cried out, and the remaining Mysra, in the middle, understood his low chances of survival and ran off.

  “I’ll get him!” Treva breathed, eyes focused.

  Lanico leapt from his horse and into battle with the gravely injured warriors.

  Treva rode hard after the remaining Mysra, her faithful falchion still at the ready, warm blood dripping down from the blade into the palm that grasped the hilt. She raised herself from the saddle to secure her footing on the galloping horse’s back and, once near, launched her tiny frame and tackled the running Mysra, the force sending them both to the ground in a rolling tumble, her emerald hair and a sheathed long sword flaring outward—losing it. She was nimble and quickly rebounded to a position crouching on top of the warrior’s broad back. Instantly, her hands ran over her side, noting the first missing pummel. So, in a flash, she swiftly held her palmed falchion sword at the base of his neck, the tip of the blade digging into his skin expertly, just barely.

  The Mysra panted hard enough to bend the stalks of grass at his face. Treva’s own body rose and fell with his breathing and her own.

  “Where have you come from?” she asked in a thick growl. The Mysra only gulped. She slid her sword down, against the side of his neck. The Mysra flinched at the sharp cut, and warm blood began trickling, feeding the parched ground.

  “O—Odana,” he managed, straining his eyes to look at up at her.

  “Where are you headed?” she demanded, her expression wild and unpredictable.

  The Mysra glanced over to where Lanico was just about to slaughter the remaining fellow warrior. In the space between them, Lanico brandished his long sword and in one mighty swoop pierced the Mysra’s chest. Treva’s captive moaned in anguish at that sight. Lanico wiped the sword on the trunk of the lifeless body and quickly sheathed his sword.

  “Speak!” Treva demanded, jolting her captive’s attention back to her.

  “I—I’m to join the Mysra troops,” he replied. His fear was now delightfully palpable to her.

  Treva stood, releasing him, her sword still drawn. She knew well that he was no match for her skills, even with his hulking size. She had once been known as “The Mysra Slayer,” for Odan’s sake. Still holding her sword steady, she dusted herself off as he continued to lie on the ground. She backed away slightly, contemplating whether to allow him to live. Normally, in the past, she hadn’t been one to let them live.

  After an analyzing breath, she grumbled slowly, “You may go.”

  He looked dubious but slowly rocked himself to sit up and then, with effort, stood.

  Treva rolled her eyes at his feeble attempts. “Pshh, some warrior. Pathetic.”

  From his full height, the Mysra could just make out his companions’ dead bodies lying like boulders in the small distance. He gulped and his shoulders slumped.

  With stealth, she freed one of her daggers from her leather vambrace, just in case he made a sudden move toward her. She preferred both hands holding blades. “What do you call yourself, Mysra?” Treva asked with a gaping scowl and razor stare.

  “Merkum,” he responded quietly.

  “Head back to the Odana Kingdom, Merkum!” Treva ordered, pointing her steady falchion at him, looking at him down the length of the blade.

  Lanico stood panting nearby, staring somberly at this exchange.

  The warrior dusted himself off and dared to glare at both Treva and Lanico.

  “Go!” Treva barked, still holding both of her weapons steady. “Trust me, Mysra, it is taking every effort for me to not kill you!” Treva trembled as she shouted in a thick voice. It was the truth. She desperately wanted to swipe her blade through his thick neck and drain the warmth from inside it—she trembled at her effort to resist, biting her lower lip.

  The Mysra started in surprise, then deliberately turned and walked slowly toward the Odana, keeping his gaze on them. Treva shouted as he walked, “If I see you heading north, I will kill you, Merkum! I will know! I will hunt you! And I will kill you!” Her face quivered as she held back the intense desire to kill.

  The Mysra ended the stare down. Defeated, he turned and walked due west. Even if he lied and rerouted himself toward the Great Mist, since they were on horseback, they’d still beat him to the battle. He wouldn’t be able to alert his comrades in time.

  “Consider yourself most lucky, Mysra!” Lanico yelled out, moving toward Treva. He was a bit surprised that she managed to let him live.

  Treva looked down at the grass, shaken. “There will be plenty of death soon enough.” She lowered herself to grab - and this time - properly sheath the long sword that had fallen from her side in the collision. She replaced the dagger she had housed in her vambrace. Lanico watched as the Mysra cautiously passed, still heading west, to Odana.

  Once satisfied with the distance, Lanico then stared at Treva and whistled high for the grazing horses. The mounts came bounding back. “C’mon!” he called out to her and he mounted his own horse. Treva nodded and stopped staring at the ground, at last sheathing her falchion. Without looking in his direction, she reached out to her horse just at the moment he pranced up to her, and in that instant, she pulled herself onto him as he continued to gallop. There was no pause for either of them.

  Lanico was stunned—another amazing horse-riding trick. But he could see Treva’s expression, flat and unimpressed with herself. She really wanted to kill Merkum.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The trusted

  Tunia heaved open the heavy wooden door to the castle kitchen and walked gingerly to the washing trough, her feet aware of every memorized dent and dip in the floor. She set her bundle down and began her daily routine alone—there was no Mysra guard to escort her in, not after all these years of trusted service.

  It was hot outside, but the cold bare countertops breathed life into her twisted hands as she leaned onto them. Cool relief. She sighed deeply. She had been most fortunate to work in the castle, without the Mysra eyes on her that the mining slaves constantly suffered. Because she had been the head cook, she was a staple in the kitchen. The others that bumbled in and out throughout the day at other odd kitchen jobs, well, they had been scarce. It seemed these days everyone was scarce. Some guards had gone off to fight or the castle slaves to replace the slaves in the mines. The remaining guards were being worked harder.

  Perhaps we can take advantage of this situation and allow time enough for more, for all slaves to make their escape. She could encourage Nizen to drink yellow-berry wine. He deserves it. At this, she stepped on the loose, creaky floor plank beneath her foot, and the familiar spring of it flattened under her weight. She looked quickly to ensure no one was watching, then removed her foot from the plank, which lifted slightly. She bent down and dug her fingertips into the board’s raised wooden lip and pulled up. The bones in her hands cracked and the board creaked, the rough wooden edges scraping her nails and fingertips. She grimaced, holding back a growl. Then the board gave suddenly and sent her falling back slightly onto her bottom.

  “Ooo,” she grumbled, massaging her lower back and forgetting a moment about her arthritic hands.

  Her eyes qui
ckly found the prize beneath. There. She could see her precious bottle lying there still—the sleepheather oil, still enough left to deliver a few powerful dosages. It was a beautiful sight indeed. She stared at the glass bottle dreamily. The thick silver-gray liquid was potent and almost tasteless—when combined with other liquids, the color diluted wonderfully.

  Suddenly she heard voices, bit her lip, and hastily replaced the floor plank and set her stool on top of it. She stood abruptly and settled on the stool. Under her weight, the plank settled in its rightful place. She needed the right moment and to figure out a way to convince Nizen that he deserved a break, that it was acceptable to end his day with a harmless glass of yellowberry wine. She glanced around the big, empty stone kitchen. A small barrel of wine sat silent, waiting to be tampered with. The other larger, barrels had been all used up in the large celebration. She just had to find the right time to empty the contents of her bottle into the barrel.

  It had been hours. Tunia knew merely from the sight of her water-wrinkled hands that her shift would end soon. It would be dinner time and another round of workers would be sent to take her place. She began to put away dish rags and the usual herbs and spices from the latest meal. It had been the same, it seemed, forever. It was lucky that Grude thoroughly enjoyed her meals and had kept her in this kitchen all these years. She cared for it—it was her kitchen.

  It would be slow for several days with only Grude and a few others to serve. Tunia enjoyed the quiet in this moment. She allowed her mind to wander, to reflect on the days under King Oetam’s rule. He would stroke his white-red beard after a carefully prepared feast and delight at his even larger protruding belly.

  Tunia smiled to herself at this memory. She had enjoyed serving him. When she prepared a meal for King Oetam, she often considered how that particular meal was nourishing and energizing him to rule over his beloved Odana. There was a sense of pride in a purpose as large as that.