Neen and Gax smiled proudly as they stood tall. Neen would finally get the recognition he deserved, and Gish was as good as dead to them all. It was a dream finally turning into a reality after their years of unflinching loyalty.
Grude glared at them for a brief moment—his smile fading to disgust at their annoying smiles, but caught himself.
“Make ready for a celebration!” The heightened tone of Grude’s voice echoed through the hall, and the order sent servants running. “This evening you will eat and drink your fill!” Grude slapped Neen on his large, muscled back. “And then, tomorrow, we will prepare. I want all the warriors called to duty for this.”
Gax and Neen exchanged glances, and Grude said with a look at them, “I understand that that is a risk, placing all our warriors to the task. We, however, need all of them, and therefore, I will need as many abled-bodied warriors as we have. I mean to keep this a successful mission. Besides,” he grinned, “if they are as helpless and innocent as you say—it should be one of the simplest missions yet!” He roared a laugh.
Gax and Neen’s faces softened to hint smiles—horrifying smiles.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The passing of skill
“Slow down, Anah!” Treva’s voice sounded against the surrounding trees. “You must hold the sword properly and not like your pick-axe.”
Anah gave a low growl in return. She was small with the long sword in her grip, but she held it in strength. She swung and practiced back and forth slowly with Marin. “Huh!” she sighed sharply. “I’d prefer my axe!”
Marin’s eyebrows raised slightly. Her strikes now were enough to cause his bones to rattle. He could not imagine the damage she’d inflict on an opponent with deft swings of her axe.
“Perhaps another time when we have a pick-axe,” Treva responded dryly. “Plus, I need you to try something that will challenge you. The sword is a weapon that you have at your disposal at this time and it’s most readily available in battle—commonly even taken off of dead enemies’ bodies.” Treva’s falchion would do well in Anah’s grasp, but she gave Anah weapons more easily found. Long swords were common enough. Though she didn’t like to admit it to herself, she was now sounding a bit like Lanico with this topic.
Marin was more on the defense with Anah’s wild swings. He felt a bit intimidated fighting her. Though her strikes were hard against his, he considered, he might hurt her if he countered too hard. He fought to contain his worry and his grip.
“C’mon, Marin!” ordered Anah with frustration. “Give me what you give Gish!”
Marin held the sword weakly and his posture was off, way off.
Treva held up a hand. “Marin, it’s okay—take a break for a few minutes.”
Marin panted; his forehead beaded with sweat. “Okay,” he said as he handed the sword over to his mother, and then turned on his heel to walk to where Gish was resting on the large river bolder drinking. He’d take some water in as well.
Treva stood straight and tall, cool and calm as she turned to Anah. She was very commanding and stoic, even when not in armor. “Anah”—Treva looked down at the sword—"you remind me a lot of myself when I was young. You have strength from years of hard labor, and a fight in you. But . . .” Treva paused. She held the grip, the hilt at eye level, to glance down the sword’s blade, and lowered it again. “But,” she continued, “When one fights from their feelings, they lose.” Treva caught Marin’s eye as he looked back over his shoulder on his way to the riverside, then she looked back squarely at Anah. “So, I will train you.”
Anah was elated, “Really?!” she squealed, her freckled face brightening.
“Don’t be too happy. You and I have been friends for a very long time, but training is not personal, it’s not emotional. So, when I yell and get tough with you, you cannot spout off angry. I know that fire in you, but you must listen to my instruction and tame it. I want you to be the best.”
Marin, from where he rested on the boulder, took in this lesson as well.
Anah nodded, and her mass of red hair shifted about her head. “Okay, I understand . . . I’ll control myself.” Her green eyes glittered at Treva.
“Good,” Treva said sharply. They created a small distance between them, and then Treva gave the sword a few swings in the air, testing the weight, the glide. Then, she raised her sword to Anah to make the traditional salute before starting. Her shoulder muscles flexed, showing a vein at the action.
Anah responded in the same way, but somewhat awkwardly as her grip wavered slightly at the long blade’s upright weight.
They began slowly with basics, moving back and forth with thrusts and blocks. It wasn’t long before Treva nodded at the potential in Anah, and Marin saw it, too. She was quick and could move the sword fluidly.
“It is Marin’s destiny, his life legacy, to be a Knight,” Treva said, nodding toward her son. “But I can make you a great soldier as well, Anah—perhaps even a Knight. Why not?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A promise for one day
Training was exasperating but forgotten as the trainees’ dinner disappeared into their hungry stomachs only moments after they sat down. It was another delightful dinner concocted with Greta’s magical talents. Treva enjoyed watching Anah hum in pure gratification at the exquisite flavors that radiated on her palate. Before, she never would have believed that food could taste amazing. It had only ever been bare sustenance when they were slaves.
Treva noticed Gish’s thick hands trembled slightly. It could be from his raw nerves at all that had happened, from the strain of training, or from something else . . . She noted that he was on edge, but he engaged in conversation, determined to help his newfound friends as he and Lanico discussed the riders that were likely pursuing him.
Treva’s mind swirled at that. She stood. “Wait-What?!” She asked in alarm hearing men speak – at what they had just said. Riders? Pursuing?
Heads swiveled up toward her, and it took but a split second for her to arrive at the horrifying conclusion that the riders might have tracked Gish coming from Horse’s Clearing.
“Don’t you see?” she cried. “They won’t stop looking for Gish and go back defeated. Grude wants more WynSprigns, and just because Gish hasn’t returned doesn’t mean that he’ll stop his efforts.” She snapped her fingers, thinking and pacing the floor around them. She paused mid-step. “He’d probably send someone else—higher in command . . . uh, with more to prove.”
The hair on Gish’s neck raised as they made eye contact. It was as if in confirmation, that he knew just the Mysra Treva had depicted.
“Neen.” They said in unison.
A new level of urgency swept over them.
Lanico, so deeply connected to her now, read her fear. Without missing a beat, he responded, “Then, I need to return there sooner than anticipated. I had planned to leave Marin here while I returned to tell them of what I have learned, but this . . . well; this is now a more urgent task.” His eyes darted from Treva to Greta. “I’ll still leave Marin here. I’ll not have him travel with me to warn those in the Great Mist. I need him to be kept safe.”
“He is my grandson,” Greta added. “He must stay here, and Anah and Gish as well.” She slid a knowing glance at the weary-eyed Mysra seated in front of her.
Treva was touched at Greta’s claiming of Marin as her grandson. Lanico had considered him his own son all these years, so it did make sense.
“I don’t think the young ones should fight in this battle, not yet,” Greta declared. “They need more time. And Gish”—Greta regarded his miserable expression—"I don’t know that Gish should have to face his former counterparts of Odana.” It was a truthful statement, but also an excuse for him.
Gish shook his head in consternation, but he did not object. Nor did Anah and Marin, who looked at one another with shy smiles. What Greta said was true. They were not yet skilled enough to face an army of invaders, and Gish couldn’t be expected to kill his own folk—even though he
had said he could. His guidance and his understanding of Grude’s mindset, was proving most valuable.
It was decided that Lanico would leave soon, to warn or aid the WynSprigns of the Great Mist. He would help them prepare them for discovery and hoped it would allow enough time for them to flee to other lands. Treva insisted on going as well. Lanico hadn’t voiced his reservations—he preferred she didn’t come with him and endanger herself. He was mindful to let his gaze stray from hers during the conversation.
✽✽✽
After dinner, Gish decided to turn in for the evening. Greta alone had identified the unspoken pain in the Mysra’s eyes. She would tend to him as best as she could without drawing too much attention to his ailment. It wasn’t likely that he wanted the others to know his body’s painful craving for trillium and the further denial of it yet to come. The sight of his silent pride through the pain increased Greta’s anger toward her sister all the more. Jaspia had been reckless with the people she created—instilling the craving for the purple mineral, she also created. Greta so hated to see suffering—especially in the Mysra she had growing affection for. The dejected Fray Jaspia had intentionally created the Odana mountains – Fray Greta’s protected territory – with the addictive mineral. It was hard to imagine that her intentions were purely coincidental. It was if she wanted those mountains plundered by her Mysra. As if she wanted the deterioration of her younger sister.
✽✽✽
Treva stood at the doorway looking out at Marin and Anah, who were watching the fireflies again under the darkening sky.
A strong voice was suddenly at her ear: “Tre, can I have a word with you?” She didn’t turn to look and only nodded a response to him.
His hand grasped hers. She met his gaze as he said, “Follow me outside.”
They walked around to the rear of the house, following the river. She didn’t want to venture too far, leaving the two young WynSprigns unprotected—especially after learning that Mysra riders were still out tracking. She released his hand as he walked only a small distance.
The area grew darker under tree cover away from the house and their eyes illuminated brightly with the change in light. Lanico led them to the large boulders that sat near the river, a bend mere strides from Marin and Anah if needed, but cloaked in privacy. Once there, he then slowed and leaned casually against the largest boulder at the river’s edge. A half smile formed below his lowered brow. Unsure of what this was about, she was reluctant to get closer. She could feel the intensity of his thoughts and with that roguish look . . . It was this new connection they alone shared.
He held up his hand, his fingers beckoning her in closer. She smiled and drew toward him—a magnetic attraction.
Lanico looked down at his feet, trying to find words. It was charming to see him in this way. Vulnerable. She loved the General—his strategic mind, his organization, his constant challenge urging her onward, but this—this Prince was something different entirely. He was softer, openly kind, a quiet wisdom ruling his mind.
Lanico summoned the General in himself. He knew his position of authority over her—it wasn’t an ordinary role they had, like a villager to a lord. Her commitment to him and to the kingdom was oathed for her the remainder of her life, so she would be near him always. Nevertheless, he knew his own heart. Too much time had already passed for them. Every day was more precious than the last. He did not want her to travel with him, to battle.
“Tre, I”—he hesitated. It was so familiar to him. Suddenly, he felt he was back in time, back in the Odana Military armory with her. Suddenly, he was fighting off an urge. Suddenly, he felt his control slipping. And yet, how was he going to say this without hurting her? Will this be just as it was, before? He looked into her eyes and felt courage return.
He continued: “There is no secret I want to keep between us, or from Marin, for that matter. I have always had feelings for you.” He looked down, feeling embarrassed by the truth he kept hidden, though he sensed she already knew, with their soul connection. Even the sound of his voice betrayed his long-kept secrets. He willed himself to look back at her.
“I have always loved you, Tre—long before Izra . . . I was a coward then.” His voice was low. “I never acted on those feelings, for us, for what could have been—I held back out of my belief in duty.” He fidgeted with something in his hands, and she caught a glimpse of white, but looked up to see him looking back at her. “I will not deny my true feelings any longer, Tre.”
Her heart thudded in her chest, a caged drum. This was surreal. A dream. She had always loved him. She loved Irza too, but the love for Lanico had never faltered, not once. Her love for him had been there since she was a young farm girl, reading of his battle conquests, had lasted throughout the grueling training he put her through, had endured even while she was with Izra . . . That was wrong, but true. She bit her lip. It felt as though the river fireflies were now flittering about in her stomach.
“My hope, Tre, is to be with you one day . . . one day.” The part that hurt.
Her heart stilled. One day? It was better than never—as he had once told her.
“I respect that you and Marin are only just reuniting. I have only dreamt of this before, only imagined us, believing you were”—his face shifted down and he closed his eyes, remembering her lifeless body. The arrow. He wouldn’t finish that sentence. Instead he continued: “I want this battle to be over, and mostly, I want you two to spend time together, before you and I grow together too quickly. That is . . . that is, if you’ll have me.” The glow of his cyan eyes shifted back up to her. His voice was almost too quiet to hear against the rushing water behind him.
“Lanico, it’s—it’s what I’ve wanted as well.” She stepped closer into his space. “As long as we’re talking about this, the truth is . . . I still love you”—she breathed out, as if releasing pain—"and I always have . . . have never stopped.” She came in even closer now, but felt uncertain how to respond physically to this, to him, to her commander. Lanico answered the unspoken question, pulling her in. She felt his heart beating beneath his tunic, the solid wall of warm muscle, the smell of leather in his long hair. He pulled back slightly.
She looked up at him with golden glowing eyes. It was growing darker. “Lan, we will take things slowly. Now that we’re all together, there is no need to rush this—this thing that we have together.” It was so new, but so familiar.
“I feel the same. I’m not sure how we’ll tell Marin, or if we should . . . about us.” He felt shy about voicing this, in the open space. “About my feelings for you.” He had never been in a position to proclaim his love for another before. Raya was arranged to marry him—he had never had to try with her.
Treva was pleased he was thinking about Marin, even still, as if he were his own son. “Lanico, I think that Marin should know. I don’t want to start off getting to know my son by withholding important truths from him.”
“I’m relieved,” Lanico answered. “I am not comfortable keeping anything from him, either. We’ll let him know our feelings, but that we’re taking time to become more than friends, than colleagues—at least for now.”
And there was still the battle he’d have to survive and win. Lanico’s cool eyes held a kind sincerity.
She nodded. It was perfect. Slow. They could move slowly with each other. It was a safe promise, to move slowly. For she also understood the risks of tomorrow and the promise of battles to come, and if they didn’t survive . . . She exhaled.
He leaned forward and gently grabbed her hand. She looked at him thoughtfully as he opened it. He placed something in her palm and closed her fingers around it, sealing it warm inside.
“It is yours. To me, it has been a symbol of hope, and Marin wore it for many years. I found it when I was searching for him in the Yellow Vast. Now—now I regard it as a symbol of waiting, for what will be.” The glow of his eyes met hers again. A bond. A union. Together.
She melted at the unspoken.
Feeling the sli
ght weight in her hand, she glanced down with a smile and uncurled her fingers to find the tooth necklace. The very sight of it flooded her with emotion, with awakening memories. It had been over one hundred years since she last felt its weight against her chest—since the arrow took her down. “Thank you for this,” she only barely managed. It was perfect. The perfect thing he could have given to her.
Lanico’s heart leapt as she bit at her full lip. It was pink and inviting. He had made her happy.
This shared connection they had allowed them to feel the tamed energy radiating off each other and the tension that threatened to surface. They both wanted more. The sting of his piercing gaze numbed her knees. Slow. They agreed in the unspoken bond, leashing themselves.
He rose from where he leaned against the rock and moved in closer, standing more than a full head taller than she. He took the necklace from her opened hand in his much-larger one, and she turned her back to him to receive the necklace around her neck again.
The curve of her spine was entrancing. Her lower back, the blooming bottom beneath. He fought against the animalistic urge to grab and claim her. Oh fires—slow. Slow. He steadied his mind and breathed out. Strands of her deep emerald hair responded, breezing forward.
Stoutwyn. He decided to picture Stoutwyn—his solid, comic friend—to still himself. He huffed a silent laugh thinking of dot-covered pajamas.
He leaned close to fasten the necklace behind her neck, pulling her hair from underneath it. The tooth bounced down on her chest, its old familiar weight a great comfort against her skin. It was back home, with her. She immediately grabbed the point of the tooth and pressed it into her thumb. It’s back.
Lanico came around to take a proper look at her. She was breathtaking. He looked down at her face as his hands circled her waist before he pulled her in closer to himself. He could not keep his hands on her waist—no, it was far too tempting to move them lower. An embrace. An embrace was good, respectable.
The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana Page 21