“By whom?” Stoutwyn asked, still in a state of wonderment.
“By Greta.”
“W—Who’s Greta?” He was trying to understand all of this and make sure she was in fact safe, and that he wasn’t dreaming.
“Stoutwyn . . . you and a few chosen know Lanico Loftre’s rare heritage, of his Fray mother, Greta—second created daughter of Father Odan. Fray over light and woodland. Lanico, and Marin, abide with her in the Odana woods this very moment.” Her voice was breezy, a blend of misted sounds.
But she was right. Stoutwyn had been one of the rare few who had known about Lanico’s half-breed Fray blood. He remembered the unfortunate day when he had tried to hunt in the Odana woods long ago as a young man and learned of its protection by the Fray. Only he, Trayvor, and Fenner knew about Lanico’s hidden Fray identity, about Greta. But it was easy to forget, for they never discussed it among themselves—there was no reason to. Since the days of their sworn secrecy, he had encountered Fray Greta at the castle in her usual elder WynSprign disguise, several times over.
“Oh yes! Oh yes,” he said, coming back to the present, his eyes blinking quickly. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to question you. I just want to make sure that my people are safe and that I am not compromising that safety. But since you are related to Lanico and his mother, I feel a bit . . . better.” He hobbled towards her, now dully aware of the cold mud covering his bottom—but it was only of fleeting concern.
“I’m pleased,” she said. “I will walk with you.” Legs began to take shape and appeared from the misty form in which she was enrobed and they slowly began to walk, she towered over him. Stoutwyn noticed that she didn’t actually use her legs—she glided. But there was no judgment from him. If he could have glided over all these forest obstacles, he would have done so as well.
She emanated her light blue glow, illuminating their way, but after a short distance she stopped abruptly. “Observe, Stoutwyn”—she waved her arm out in front of them. The dense fog cleared at her hand and a lake appeared in the distance, lit by the soft moon.
Stoutwyn squinted through his foggy spectacles, blinked, removed them to wipe them on his shirt, and replaced them. He could see the glowing lake was teeming with fish that leapt under the hanging silver moon and mirrored the silhouetted trees. Off to the side was a clearing—a vast one. There was plenty of room for his large group to settle for the night, or forever, for that matter.
His heart now fluttered. “Wow, that’s beau—" Stoutwyn started.
“Tomorrow . . . once the new light of morning appears, prepare your people for this walk. You may stay in this part of my woods, away from the dangers of the approaching Mysra.” Her voice was grim at the sound of that last word. It was also further confirmation that the Mysra indeed were on the move.
“Y—Yes, Thara. Thank you so kindly for your hospitality.” Stoutwyn turned his gaze from the lake to her. “Your generosity is much appreci—"
And with that, she was gone. It was dark again. Crickets chirped once more. Stoutwyn was alone again in the wood as the last of the glowing mist disappeared. He turned where he stood and started looking around. He could barely see a glow from the campfire a distance away through the trees. Just barely. It was the Fray Thara’s mist that had intentionally shrouded it before. So now, now he started off in that direction again, with clarity.
Chapter Forty-Four
Cages and wagons
It was much later than Neen had originally planned that they were able to rouse the Mysra warriors from their death-like slumber. The Mysra guards would remain in Odana to maintain continued order amongst the castle slaves and miners, gathering those who might have lost discipline in the morning’s break of routine. The other Mysra, the warriors and trained riders, would be part of the plan to capture the WynSprigns, as many as they could gather in the Great Mist. With Neen’s description of the area, capturing the WynSprigns of the Great Mist would be easy.
To Neen’s contentment, the barracks and mess hall were abuzz with activity. Hurried Mysra warriors were running about, preparing for the trip to the Great Mist shaking off their grogginess. He and Grude had made another attempt to rouse them and were thankful it had worked. Perhaps it was that Grude, their leader, woke and stirred them? Or at least that is what Neen determined. He mentioned this to Grude himself and the leader was pleased at this concept—that he alone had been privileged with the power and authority to wake them for his undertaking. It was all thanks to Fray Jaspia—their mother, their creator—they concluded.
Gax ran into the barracks to find his brother. His panting voice snapped Neen out from that recent recollection.
“I was able to get the cages from the mines.” Gax’s voice was confident despite his disgrace of oversleeping. “It was no thanks to the mine guards though. I couldn’t even find them.”
Too occupied to notice the later part of his brother’s statement, Neen replied hurriedly, “Good! Take them to the mess hall. I want all the supplies there. We will start putting ourselves in order there.”
Gax was bent over panting and only nodded before running off again out the door.
“Nice work, Neen,” Grude said with a smile as he looked over the activity. “I am pleased. Fray Jaspia on High will be pleased.”
Neen only nodded.
While overseeing the organized chaos before them, a worried Mysra guard ran towards them, but paused reluctantly. He kneeled while catching his breath. “Sire, Neen,” he said to the pair panting, his red cape falling neatly around his back.
“Yes, Nizen?” Grude said casually—a mere annoyance, this one. Even trying to wear a cape like me.
“Sire”—he breathed—"we took daily count at the Purple Hall. We discovered that there are six WynSprign slaves missing from the mines.”
Grude paused—Nizen had his attention now. “What? Did I hear you say missing?” There was brief silence. “You are the main charge for the mines. We are on a mission to collect more WynSprigns and you’re telling me we just lost six?!” Grude slammed his hands down upon a table. “Asinine! Outrageous!” His gawking expression read incredulity.
Nizen’s eyes widened and he was covered in cold sweat.
Grude’s shout sent nearby Mysra to stop their tasks and look at them questioningly. Without removing his glare from Nizen, Grude lifted his hand and pointed to the onlookers: “No one told you to stop and stare at us! Return to work!” At this demand, the flurry of movements continued.
“Look!’ he admonished Nizen. “I don’t know how you lost these WynSprigns, but their number loss will be regained after we take over the missing village. If I ever hear of WynSprigns going missing again, I will thrash you myself—or worse!” He growled to punctuate this declaration.
Nizen remained with his head bowed but nodded quickly. “Yes, Sire. Yes, Sire. Thank you for your mercy on me. I don’t know what came over everyone with the slumber—"
“Enough!” Grude barked. “You are dismissed.”
Grude glared at him before slowly turning to Neen. “Okay, let’s see those cages and wagons!” In an instant he had changed, taking on a contented tone. Together they walked in the direction of the now-bustling mess hall.
Nizen carefully rose after they left him and sighed dusting off his knees. He was not in Grude’s favor at this moment, and with this thought and in an effort to get his duties back in order, he marched back to the Purple Hall again, sending his red cape flapping behind with his quick strides. He’d have to determine a way to never have another misstep. His life depended on perfection. But he was still fuming from the verbal thrashing. He was unsettled at the subordinate Mysra eyes that had hovered over him at Grude’s berating. He glowered, striding toward the slave mine encampment.
Chapter Forty-Five
Urgent need to return
It had been another long day of training, and the rainbowed fireflies had returned to the river for their nightly dance.
The group of warriors sat together at Greta’s large table, ravenous
for her enchanted food. Greta entered the eating room but not with her usual melodic and cheerful demeanor. She glided, loomed over their table. Her expression was indiscernible. Her voice was cool focusing on her guests.
“I have spent time in communitive meditation with the other Fray,” she started.
The group stopped forking up heaps of food and set their gazes on her.
“According to my Fray sister, Thara, Stoutwyn has taken a group of WynSprigns who are unable to fight, into the deep wood beyond the Great Mist.” She paused and flicked her gaze to Lanico, meeting his eyes. “It seems that the rest remain in the village. They are preparing to fight off Mysra forces that we understand, are planning to take them back to the Odana Kingdom.”
It was as if an explosion sounded at her calm words. Instantly Lanico’s eyes widened and he shot up from his chair, which toppled behind him. “When? Did Thara say when the Mysra were expected to arrive? No. No, of course not. What about - when was it that Stoutwyn moved the group to the deep woods?” His eyes bore into hers.
She remained calm at his alarm. “Lanico, Thara spoke to Stoutwyn just before this very meal. She will allow them to stay at her shore and will have them shelter in her lands.”
Everyone remained silent and stared up at Lanico. He leaned forward against the table, onto his fists. “I should have been there,” he growled. “Why did I leave them to Trayvor?” Lanico paused to focus. The companions remained silent. He continued and his voice escalated: “I knew. I knew that I couldn’t trust him! How—How could he . . .?”
Realizing his voice had grown to a shout, he stopped short and said quietly, “I should have left here sooner.”
Treva stood up and inclined her head toward Lanico. “We should leave.” She looked to Greta, and her voice was sure, “We have two horses. Lanico and I will leave in the morning. Perhaps we can make it before the Mysra arrive.”
Greta gave her a sharp nod of approval. Treva shifted her gaze up toward Lanico. His mind was focused as he looked at his knuckles on the table-purposely avoiding their connecting gaze. As it was when this topic had surfaced before, he didn’t acknowledge her decision, that decision.
“After we’ve found victory for The Great Mist,” Treva continued, “perhaps we can bring back recruits to train, for the reclaiming of the kingdom.” Her perfect face was serious, carved stone.
Lanico had reservations about allowing Treva to accompany him. This was dangerous. He didn’t want to risk both of Marin’s parents being taken in battle—he had already lost Izra. Lanico determined he would wake earlier and then leave without her. “Let’s prepare for the morning, then,” he said finally. His voice was low and without a hint of his ultimate plan.
Chapter Forty-Six
Safety bound
Close to sundown. They hadn’t slept and the sun would rise too soon, but Grude and Neen were pleased with the results that played out before them. They could see the unfolding of their idea. Additional cages were loaded along with supplies into the wagons just outside the mess hall. Knives and only minimal other weapons were needed. Every Mysra would travel with his or her own.
The warriors wanted more than merely knives—they had many complaints. At this point, the warriors were tired, and their grumblings failed to rest in Neen’s ear; he would see only victory in his path.
It was his great determination to organize the ranks and outline the clear route that they’d follow, the one most familiar to him. He had strategically mapped out their route, thankful that the last of the hags was dead—and by his own blade, of course.
“My plan is to make it there within a matter of days,” Neen said. “I’d prefer sooner, but I realize with this many Mysra, mere days would be incredibly lucky.” He turned his gaze from the map to Gax at his side. They both loathed the thought of adding additional days, but there was an attempt to be realistic. Thinking this deliberation was over, he quickly sprinkled a few crumbles of trillium into his mouth. The crunchy grit was most welcome on his teeth. The sweet sprinkles crackled on his tongue and the sting of brass tickled his nose.
It seemed that just about everything was in order. “We’re ready,” Gax grumbled to his brother.
Neen looked to Grude, standing at his other side. “Sire, at your command, we move.”
Looking out over the gathered mass of Mysra, horses and wagons, Grude’s purple cape whipped in the dusty breeze. He eyed Neen with pride. “Neen, it seems all is in order, so I give my command.” Grude’s straight-line mouth suddenly turned to a rare bright smile directed at Neen, the expression revealing his large, sharp teeth.
Neen cleared his throat and felt a smattering of secret self-importance at Grude’s command. He stood erect and shouted orders for his warriors to hear, “Move out!”
Horns blew low that sounded from the distance, signaling the large departure and opening of the post-battle Odana gates. The gates were high and placed atop the switchback trail that led over the lower-lying mountains and toward the Odana River. Cranking gears and moans of metal, graded from the mountain gate. A swift wind came from beyond the opening giving off a different scent.
Whips snapped in the trillium-dusted air, and the horses neighed to lurch forward with the cage-filled wagons. The heave of the Mysra as they started pushing forward through their weariness was slow at first. After a few moments, once momentum had been gained, the ground started to tremble at their heavy undulating march.
“Nice work, Neen,” Grude said, slapping him hard on the back. “I’ll be awaiting my new gifts.”
Neen only nodded and hoisted himself onto his brown horse, a young wild mare. Its anxious footing showed it was determined to prance off—a good thing, because they’d ride all night. “Yes, Sire,” Neen said, and made a clicking sound to command the horse. The horse eagerly trotted onward, following the massive group through swirling dust clouds.
Grude stood outside the mess hall and watched as the large group of his Mysra warriors head out. He held his hand over his eyes, shielding his view from the swirls clouded dirt. The other hand waved at the thick air. Then he slowly turned and walked alone to the castle to take in a dose of trillium.
✽✽✽
Stoutwyn made an effort to ensure all the WynSprigns under his care were accounted for. The early morning air was no different from when they’d been in the Great Mist—misty and cool. The sun hadn’t risen yet and the lingering blue haze was laced throughout the trees, as usual. Stoutwyn began to wonder at the sight of this, whether Thara was in fact this blue haze—Has she lived amongst us all along?
The multitude of weary WynSprigns slowly followed Stoutwyn. He let them know the night before that they were not traveling far. Much to the relief of their weary eyes, it was just as Stoutwyn said—not far. And soon, very soon, a thinning of trees could be seen, an expanse promised in the distance beyond. Had they only travelled a little further last night . . .
Their faces brightened as they trudged through the forest leaves and branches. They had been only a brief stroll away! The land ahead provided encouragement to push onward. The mysterious blue haze hung gracefully over a large, still lake. It resembled a silver mirror in the pre-dawn sky. Small ripples crested with occasional splashes from jumping fish. The land encircling the lake was large and clear and surrounded by the familiar protection of dense trees. There would be plenty of room to set up camp for them all. Heavy hearts lifted a little.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Sworn to protect
The sun hadn’t yet risen and Lanico was ready to leave for the Great Mist. It was earlier than even he had planned—and he was thankful for that. He didn’t want anyone up yet. Already dressed and prepared, he rose and quickly moved toward the front of the house. He looked through the screened door, and spied Treva near the horses. Despite the long years since she had last ridden, her saddling movements were expert. He blinked hard to take the sleep away and correct his vison. His stomach pained.
His vision was accurate—to his disapproval
he could make out the brown leather armor covering her shoulders. Metal would have been too heavy for the travel. The emerald hair.
“Where are you going?” he called out from inside the house; she was saddling one of the horses while the other tied next to it at the river’s edge was getting its fill of water.
“I’m going . . . with you, of course!” Treva called back, squinting at Lanico as the sun began to peek between the trees, highlighting her vibrant hair. She had two swords sheathed on her belt, including her falchion. Knowing her, there were likely more weapons hidden on her. “I’ve already packed!” She bent down and happily held up a bag, showing it to him with a bright smile. The bag she held was almost as large as she, but she could lift it—since her arrival in the enchanted forest, her muscular form had begun to return.
Expressionless, Lanico turned and receded further into the shaded house, to think. He was livid. He had expected to wake up before her and head out. To his dismay, he now realized she had been off to a start long before him.
Noticing his response, Treva’s smile diminished. She tightened her lips and regained her focus on saddling the remaining horse, determined.
Petals slowly drifted from one of the many flowering trees, and several landed in her hair. She waved at them in annoyance and dusted a few off her horse’s rump.
Lanico watched her from inside. Without word, he stormed out. The screened door slammed, closing behind him. He stomped toward her carrying his own bags, his silver hair breezing at his fast strides. She sliced a glance to him but without making eye contact he walked past her, a black-and-green blur heading to the other horse. He remained silent and focused on his task.
She stopped fidgeting with the buckles and looked squarely at him. “Lan,” she asked, her voice stern, “is something wrong?” She knew exactly what was wrong and he didn’t want to meet her gaze. It was a way to avoid their new connection.
The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana Page 25