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

by E Cantu Alegre

  The Legacy of Lanico:

  Return of the Son

  Book two of the Legacy of Lanico series

  E Cantu Alegre

  Disclaimer: All characters, names, places, events, and situations mentioned in this story are fictitious and were created by the author’s imagination. Any possible similarities in name, events, situations, places, and/or character descriptions would be coincidental.

  Copyright 2020 Maria E Cantu Alegre

  U.S. Library of Congress: TXu 2-175-919

  All rights reserved. No part of this book or this cover, may be used or reproduced in any manner without the written permission of the publisher, Maria E Cantu Alegre.

  ISBN: 9798577577087

  First Edition

  Cover art by Ryan Schwarz

  Visit: ecantualegre.com

  Dedicated to you.

  To the weary. To the battle-hardened, the survivor, and the relentless. To those who are determined and thirst for something more—for something else…

  Chapter 1

  Incredulous gaze

  Blades sang slicing through air while eight massive legs swung and venomous pincers graded, snapping—anticipating delicious delivery.

  “Shit!” Lanico had long forgotten about the Nargast, a foul beast of the grasslands that burrows in connected channels belowground. And of course, he would have forgotten. Their sightings were indeed rare…and often fatal. Treva herself hadn’t even seen one—and she had seen just about everything these lands had to offer!

  “Duck!” He yelled just as she dove into the yellow grasses. A daggered claw barely missed her foot, stabbing the ground instead. She rolled, springing into a fighting stance. Lanico’s eye connected with the monster. He was reading every move. It was fast, but Lanico was faster—he knew it. He had to be.

  Felena and Freck remained mounted, but had their weapons drawn dutifully; just as commanded. While the group of four had been traversing, the Nargast had leaped from the ground as Lanico’s and Treva’s mounts were midstride. They were tossed as their horses reared.

  Lanico made more unsuccessful swipes. “Tre, get behind him!” he shouted.

  Treva sprinted behind the massive arachnid. Its legs pounded the ground moving quickly—legs that seemed to have minds of their own. She couldn’t manage a stab to the body. The beast had moved as if to keep its legs from blocking his middle section and then swung at Lanico, sending his Reluctant Leader flying in a silver whirl. Treva growled trying and failing to hack away at its…anything. She wanted to injure it, kill it—it didn’t matter. She lunged just as the monster did—toward Lanico. He swung back, but the pinchers, roughly the size of his waist, were inches away, snapping. Now unarmed, Lanico found himself inside the arachnid’s legs, in its space! In a flash of a moment, there was nowhere for him to go!

  “Hah!” Treva gave a war cry from somewhere above. She thrust her falchion into its thorax and twisted. The creature screeched vociferously. Just as it had managed to corral Lanico into its pincers, it collapsed in defeat.

  It was close.

  The pincers remained open, still circled around him. A slick yellow ooze ran from the arachnid’s top and dribbled to the grasses below. Finding her breath, Treva stared down at Lanico from her place atop the creature. He was frozen, his eyes wide. He slowly lifted his incredulous gaze to hers.

  Treva panted a laugh, but then noticed the look on his face. “You-you, look at you. Ha! You look like you thought that was the end. Do you really l think I would have allowed you to be killed?” She really wanted to add that he looked scared enough to have shit his pants—but didn’t. That remark probably wouldn’t be received well and he was already vain as could be. She pulled her sword from the demolished beast and jumped to the ground.

  “I-I-you…” Lanico was stunned, at a loss for words. He felt his waist, the pincers only just wide enough for him to fit, had they snapped closed... He shuddered at the nearness to death – at the manner of it.

  Treva wiped, then sheathed her sword in a smooth drag. “You know…I couldn’t get a clean space to attack from behind, so I figured, I may as well attack from above.” It was a good strategy; one that had saved her countless times. “I don’t know why I hadn’t considered it before.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Wow!” She continued in his silence and placing a tentative hand on the lifeless creature, “I had never actually encountered one. I remember Silham telling me about these years ago.”

  “Uh-huh,” he managed, but only blinked. He was staring unwaveringly at the dead Nargast before him. At the collection of clustered eyes of varying sizes—all large.

  Treva casually wound through the enormous unmoving legs with a hint of gaiety in her steps. She closed the space between them until her breath puffed across his neck. Standing on her toes, she angled up at his wooden face and purred against his jaw, “Well, are you going to get out from there, your Highness, or are you going to kiss it?” She tossed a lock of her emerald hair back. “I may get jealous, you know.”

  It was that question that had him moving again. He didn’t know if he liked her calling him, “your Highness.” He was still a General Prince in title, even though he was the heir to the throne. Her calling him that—he merely shook his head and maneuvered through the pincer encirclement.

  ✽✽✽

  Taking a purposeful route, they had traveled for days, and though they had taken some rest and cleansed at the Great Mist Village following their victory, black blood still stained, ground into their leather armor, still dotted their worn boots. Unlikely to ever come out. Now, there had been this, an unexpected threat. The Great Mist had been all that Freck and Felena had ever known. The comfort and familiarity of the village they called home, now unimaginably far behind them. But the group remained determined. They’d make it back to Fray Greta even if it meant coming back in shambles. Coming back different.

  For the young warriors, the images were still so fresh and haunting—those Lanico hoped would fade out. It had been surreal. Exhaustion swept over them all. It had been hours and the young warrior’s legs, thighs, and bottoms, unused to all this riding, were now throbbing over the strong gallops beneath. For them, the young warriors, everything it seemed, had turned another reality. Their weary minds still danced around the images. The images now engraved would be of battle. Of death. It was a hardening. Like swallowing a smooth, heavy stone of acceptance. It weighed in the gut. Killing. Slashing through limbs and bodies of an unknown number of Mysra enemies. The sight of thick, black, Mysra blood flying through the air.

  There would remain a pit in Freck’s gut; one that he’d never be able to remove. He now understood what it meant to be battle-hardened. This is what his grandfather had tried to explain to him—to prepare him for. He could feel this new thorn budding within. This dark acceptance of what he saw—of what he’d done. The irreplaceable damage of having taken lives that would never return. He knew he had to. Freck knew that they had intended to take his life one way or another. Slavery or death—that’s what he’d seen in the Mysra eyes. What had been confirmed.

  All those years spent playing with his cousins in the forests with sticks and pretending to be in battle like the Great Mist elders...none of it had ever entered into his mind, the reality of it, the sound of it, the smell of burning flesh, the beating of his own heart so rampant that he felt it would burst. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for that, not even his grandfather’s warning.

  He took in a breath.

  The pain, the tightness in his chest at the
final images of his grandfather, Fenner. No. No, he’d want Freck to move forward and not dwell. Freck swallowed his pain down, a hard stone. And decided to push onward. Every step forward from his mount. Every beat of his heart. He chose acceptance and onward movement.

  His thighs remained taut around the horse’s sides. Despite the time spent, it still felt strange, having a large living creature sway and clop beneath him. The pair that he and Felena followed behind had a lighter mood. Perhaps even...happy. Lanico and Treva talked at length in quiet voices. Barely audible. It was on purpose.

  Freck rolled his eyes at them.

  Yes, by now, after this time traveling, Freck had determined they were somehow together. He had heard Lanico call Treva his “Emerald Queen.” It was strange seeing Lanico in this new way, a dashing warrior, popular with a gorgeous lady...it was...strange.

  And Felena, just next to him, was as silent as a stump. When Lanico had said it earlier, Freck had shot a quick, grinning, disbelieving glance to her, but to his disappointment she didn’t appear nearly as interested in Lanico’s dubbing Treva a Queen—his Queen. It was said very low and it was possible Lanico didn’t intend for the young pair to hear him. But still. Still he had expected some type of reaction from Felena instead of the glassy, fixed gaze. It was the battle. She had still been recovering from this.

  Freck knew it would take time. Time for Felena and he himself to recover from that. They were strong physically as well as in their spirits too. He dared to take another glance at her. Her sun-warmed face angled toward the endless horizon; the golden strands of hair that breezed beneath her chin.

  She was...

  He didn’t quite know. But she was not bad. That, he knew. However, she had yelled at him before, but of course, it was while she was retching after the battle.

  Then again, she also took my hand...

  He glowered.

  Oh fires! Why does this even concern me? Why am I wasting thoughts over this?

  Lanico took a quick, rare glance at the two from over his shoulder and then looked Treva in the eye. She nodded an unknown response and he allowed his mount to fall back a few steps.

  The two young warriors sat a little straighter at the obvious adjustment in formation.

  “Felena, may I have a few words with Freck?”

  Felena tossed a look to Freck, which he wasn’t sure how to interpret. She then gave Lanico a nodded response and trotted a faster beat, taking up the front with Treva.

  Lanico, looking over Freck, noticed how his mouth had formed a thin line and his dark eyes, somehow darker. There was an understanding to the young man’s expression, to the loss that he had witnessed—especially to someone so close to him. It was no secret, his grandfather, Chief Fenner, was someone whom the boy had sought to be like. Had aspired to become. To have witnessed his personal hero taken down right in front of him—to have held him as he took his last breath… Few among them understood what that was like. Lanico understood all too well. The image of his Lieutenant General, Izra, and his paled face, the sound of his sputtering words were still so clear all these years later.

  They allowed their mounts to remain a few paces behind. The tenor of Lanico’s voice gave a low rumble, much like a distant, peaceful storm. “Freck, I know that this isn’t easy. I wanted to tell you that I too feel the great weight of having lost Fenner. You know he was a longtime friend, and a respected war Chief of mine.” He sighed, still searching Freck’s face. “I can imagine the great weight that you feel, being so very close to him.”

  Freck avoided landing his own gaze onto Lanico’s, the truthful azure of his eyes. It was painful—too painful to talk about. Instead, he was determined he’d look down at his hands, grasping the saddle horn. His thumbnail dug into the stitched groove there.

  Lanico’s tone took a more tranquil turn. “I have learned, in my many years, we never really know why, but from death tendrils of life spring. In time, beyond the pain and anger, taking root and growing in strength can be a healing. From healing there can be birth, new opportunities for life.”

  Freck took in a large breath and then his shoulders sagged at the exhale. He was young. It was nearly impossible to see any of the alleged “tendrils of life” taking root at such a loss as great as this, at least not yet. Perhaps it would take years before Freck understood. Lanico’s voice sounded fatherly to his own ears as he said, “I know, my boy, I know...”

  “I suppose,” Freck’s voice croaked low considering, “I never would have left the Great Mist, had it not been for Grandfather having…” Instead of completing that sentence, he turned in his saddle a little to meet his King’s gaze, finally. “Honestly, I don’t think I could have taken it a moment longer there. Once I saw the Yellow Vast, understanding–seeing that there was a whole world beyond it, a world that Grandfather loved and fought for—his death has brought me here...with you.” But his eyes wandered to Felena instead.

  Lanico didn’t comment on that longing stare he gave to the young woman’s swaying back and instead responded, “Freck, I’m truly impressed by you. It takes a strong spirit to identify a positive—the silver lining in such a tragedy as his.”

  “It’s either that or choose to remain angry and bitter all my life though, I suppose.” He scrubbed at the fine stubble at his chin, barely enough to draw shade. His tone was of consideration. “I will be angry and bitter still, at least for a while anyway.”

  “It will take time. What you’re telling me, Freck, is normal.”

  “Well, I hope I never spot another Mysra again—that I can tell you. Father Odan on High himself couldn’t unleash the fury I have for those bastards now.” His grip on the saddle horn tightened.

  Lanico looked to the young man’s face, but there was not a speck of humor residing there. The statement that Freck made was not one in jest. It was troublesome. Most troublesome. Lanico allowed his gaze to linger on the young man for a moment taking it in. Contemplating over the healthy way that he, for only a brief moment, believed Freck was handling his grandfather’s death, now quickly marred by a palpable hatred for all Mysra alike.

  Lanico opened his mouth to speak on this—there was more he wanted to say. But Freck tilted his head toward the King and huffed a slight smile—the first of such in days. Lanico closed his mouth, keeping his words to himself. For now, at least.

  ✽✽✽

  Once at the Yellow Vast brook it had been obvious to even the young warriors that the Mysra had been here. There were visible signs of disruption to the landscape: the trampling of grasses and the evident litter. Maggot-infested fish scales and guts, a few forgotten canteens, and piles of horseshit lay strewn about. They dismounted and he encouraged them to note the broader layout of the land then—to notice the smaller details, which weren’t, as it seemed, so small in this case. Lanico held a hand out flatly and instructed the young pair on his tracking observations.

  Through sore limbs and saddle-sore bottoms, Freck and Felena remained most interested in Lanico’s tutelage. They also had to accustom their eyes to the new view. No dense trees or shade. The brook had small sparse trees and brush, but still, nothing that compared to the heavy green cover the Great Mist offered. It was that the Great Mist offered one extreme while the Yellow Vast offered another. This landscape seemed a marriage of the two.

  Looking over the land, Freck said with a sneer, “The Mysra, it’s obvious they stomped through here.” He made a bitter huff and jerked his chin, “Huh? Look at this place.”

  Lanico found himself having to quell the negative attitude his young warrior was beginning to express about Mysra. “Indeed, young Freck. Mysra had come through this way, but it’s important for all of us to remember that not all Mysra are alike.” He slid his young warrior a look from under his brow. His voice rumbled low as he said slowly, “Not all Mysra are willing to do such damage.”

  Freck’s lips tightened and he looked away. He would not argue with his soon-to-be King, or that forbidding stare that he just cast him.

 
; Still roaming her focus over the land, Treva asked, “Lan, tell me, was it much different your last stay here?” This section of the Yellow Vast had long been filled with interest. It was a common place for travelers of all sorts to stop as the brook jutted further inward here and, in addition to water, it offered the refuge of sparse shade and fishing. There had always been something to report about staying here it seemed.

  “Yes,” Lanico responded curtly.

  A moment of silence passed when it became apparent he wasn’t likely to elaborate. As if pulling toward himself a gust of wind, heads swiveled like weather vanes to look at him in curiosity for further explanation.

  “Well? How so?” Treva prodded, asking the question they now wanted answers to.

  “Tre, may I have a word with you?”

  The other two looked at them inquisitively.

  “Alone.” Lanico clarified nudging her shoulder, making Freck’s eyebrows rise at the noticeable secrecy. Together he and Treva marched several paces away. Lanico’s voice was above a growl as he explained, “Tre, I encountered the three hags and I dispatched two.”