The Abomination of Yaultan (Legend of the Ecta Mastrino Book 1)

by BJ Hanlon

  Grent brought another slash, then a thrust.

  Edin’s heart raced as he defended while retreating. Grent was faster, stronger and clearly a lot better than the last terrin.

  Grent moved quicker, suddenly appearing on his right or left flank. There was barely enough time for Edin to push the blade out of the way before another strike appeared. Their blades were dancing and singing in the early morning sun.

  Edin let his body do the work.

  Grent sidestepped and thrusted and slashed. He paused the blade less than an inch from Edin’s throat.

  “You’re faster than most, I haven’t sweated sparing with just one person in decades,” Grent said with a grin. “Now with work on the Oret Nakosu, you’ll be stronger too.”

  “You sweat a lot sparing with me,” Dephina called.

  Edin glanced over and saw Dephina wink at the warrior.

  Grent’s face began turning a deep shade of red.

  Master Horston chuckled and turned toward the camp.

  “I, ah…”

  “Oh, quit being such a prude,” Master Horston said, “even I have felt the love of a woman.”

  The three of them burst into laughter. Grent tried to smile but only seemed to turn a darker red. The consummate warrior was human after all.

  They headed east through the hilly grasslands. From the cliff, everything looked flat. The grass waved at them as it was pushed by a wind that brought the metallic smell of a coming storm. A golden butterfly flew past his face and landed on his shoulder. He didn’t try to brush it off. Birds chirped and squawked. He saw a V in the air heading toward the north. Small animals darted through the grasses.

  Hours went by, clouds from the north began to push in darkening the late morning sky. A crack of thunder sounded from somewhere far in the distance followed by a soft continuous rumbling.

  “We should get to cover before the storm.” Edin suggested pointing toward a small copse of what looked like oaks ahead of them. But Grent had stopped, he wasn’t looking toward the storm or the trees, he was looking southwest toward the cliffs.

  He pursed his lips and squinted as if trying to spy something in the distance. The man’s hand dropped toward the pommel of his sword.

  “What is it?” Edin asked.

  “Horses,” Grent said.

  Edin hovered his hand near his sword. The pounding grew louder.

  “That’s thunder,” Master Horston gasped pointing toward the clouds as if everyone but him were blind.

  The Great Cliff loomed behind them, reaching high even though they were at least five leagues away.

  “No, that’s cavalry,” Grent said, “to the trees.” He put a hand on Dephina’s shoulder and they shared a look. They ran straight at the large oaks Edin had suggested just minutes earlier and reached it just as rain began to pour down from mass of thick gray clouds.

  “I do need a bath,” Dephina said with her back resting against a tree trunk. Edin stood outside letting some of the water rush over him. Edin looked skyward and opened his mouth letting the cool drops splatter in for a moment before returning to the shelter of the tree.

  Only small droplets got through the broad leaves as they nestled into the grass.

  After about an hour he could feel the rumbling in the ground. A large party.

  Over a small ridge a couple hundred yards south he saw a flag appear on a tall pole. It was a gray field with something dark blue at the center. He wondered, hoped maybe that lightning would strike it. The flag was followed almost immediately by a group of riders sitting tall on large horses.

  “Frestils’ cavalry, get down,” Grent whispered.

  Edin lowered himself to the earth and tried to peer through the tall green stalks. Edin counted about fifteen, each was wearing a silver helm with a gray tabard. The blue spot at the center was some sort of animal. “What are they doing?” Edin said in a whisper, even though the group was still a long way off.

  “Investigating, those are the Duke of Frestils men. Someone must’ve seen the raptors… it pointed us out like an X on a treasure map.”

  Frestils was a large city siting on the convergence of two smaller rivers that became the southeastern flowing Allutian. It was a trade city between the northern and southern parts of the state.

  “Maybe they won’t see our trail,” Edin said hopefully. He spied them through the grass as the cool rain beat down outside their shelter.

  “I’m sure they will, and they’ll find us,” Dephina said drawing her blades from their sheaths. Edin slowly lowered his pack and drew his sword. Grent did the same.

  “They wouldn’t attack us, would they?” Edin asked.

  “It’s more likely they do,” Grent tilted his head and looked back through the stalks of grass with a furrowed brow. “I’ve heard the duke and his allies have begun amassing an army, boys from the age of thirteen are being recruited and they say ship builders have been busy for months trying to fill the desires of their lords. Dunbilston intends to go to war.”

  “So, they’ll try and recruit us?”

  “Or arrest us, you and the old man have a Resholtian accent.”

  Edin swallowed, he’d heard something about recruiting in Resholt. Berka had said he’d join the army if he couldn’t get through the basic training at the mage hunter academy. The dream of a bald Berka in a Por Fen cloak made him grit his teeth.

  “You know if they wish to go to war with Resholt and find us, they’ll claim they are being invaded,” Master Horston said flatly. “We’ll be the start of the war.”

  The duke’s men were stopped on the top of a ridge, their eyes scanning in a very Grentesque way. The front man on a large chestnut stallion pointed in their direction and took out a long tubular object and put it to his eye.

  “They approach,” Grent whispered.

  “What do we do?” Master Horston said.

  “Lecture them with your knowledge of accounting, it might bore them to death,” Grent said.

  The horsemen spurred their mounts toward the trees. Edin counted ten of them. Water splashed off their armor like a gray halo.

  Edin gripped the hilt tighter.

  As they rode, the men were scanning the sea of green grass. Their tabards held a blue stag on a gray field, its front paws rearing up ready to attack.

  The leader pulled out his sword and galloped hard in their direction.

  “Stay among the trees, the branches are low enough it may foul their attacks.”

  A war cry began to come from the men. The leader had a brown beard that hung just past his neck. His skull cap helmet had a blue plume on the top.

  They were within a hundred yards and speeding up.

  “Wait to attack, try and bring them down swiftly,” Grent said.

  Dephina started sliding to the right in the thick grass.

  Edin nodded but didn’t know how he’d do that. If he used his magic, once it left his hands, he’d be finished.

  They slowed within twenty feet then stopped. Edin tried to press himself deeper into the ground.

  “We know you’re here,” the first man said, his voice booming across the plains. “Come out now and you will not be harmed.”

  Edin glanced at Grent, the warrior’s face scrunched.

  A rustling came from behind him and he looked back. Master Horston stood from his spot and looked at the men. He squinted his eyes and raised his hand.

  “Greetings, I’ve been lost in these damned hills for days.” Master Horston said moving closer. His voice seemed to have a different cadence and accent.

  The leader kicked his horse and went toward him, his eyes still scanning. Edin would be seen in moments. The other men didn’t move from their spot at the edge of the canopy.

  “What are you doing down here old man?”

  “I was walking from my patron’s home, you know, see the country side when I got turned around.”

  “You look well equipped for a stroll,” the man said. “Who is your patron?”

  “Lord and La
dy Molser of Enndont.”

  “I have never heard of them.” The man kept his hand on his sword and kicked the horse.

  “They’re merchants… newly rich.”

  Edin watched Grent, his face was still scrunched up as if he was trying to hear or really constipated. He never saw the man in an actual battle and was curious.

  Grent stood, the leader almost jumped off his horse before pointing his blade in Grent’s direction.

  “Lieutenant Elva,” Grent said calmly. “It seems you’ve done well for yourself.”

  “Captain?” The leader said furrowing his brow, “Grent you ragged scoundrel, what in the bleeding name of the gods are you doing here?”

  Edin noticed neither man put away their blades. Though the horsemen were silently moving closer to them.

  The lieutenant seemed to notice it also and said. “Arms away.” He pushed his blade into his scabbard and leapt from his horse confidently strolling toward Grent.

  The terrin slid his sword back in his scabbard and they shook wrists.

  The lieutenant looked over his shoulder at his troops. “Men, believe me when I tell you we’d all be dead if the Captain here wished it so. Put your arms away.”

  “It’s good to see you,” Grent said.

  “You as well my friend.” Elva peered back at Horston and then scanned the rest of the tall grass. “I won’t be attacked will I?”

  “Edin, Dephina, you can come out.” Edin stood, Dephina didn’t. Grent looked at his friend and shrugged then led him out of earshot. Edin held his sword and watched the movements of the horsemen. They began moving under the trees for some protection from the rain as it began to pound harder and in sheets.

  Some of the men dismounted, others didn’t. A few spoke quietly while some more watched Edin and Master Horston.

  Lightning crashed in the distance beyond them. One of the men jumped.

  It was almost a quarter hour before Grent and Lieutenant Elva returned. Edin had seen Elva glancing in his direction a few times and each one caused him to catch his breath. Grent wouldn’t betray him, but what could he be telling the other man. Someone Grent clearly knew well.

  “Mount up men,” the lieutenant said when they returned.

  “But sir.”

  “Sergeant give these men the pack horse.”

  “Lieutenant?”

  “Now, do I make myself clear or do you wish to clean the outhouses upon arrival? We head north, we will be at Clyd by nightfall tomorrow.” The lieutenant nodded at Grent then turned his eyes to Edin. A small, almost sorrowful smile came across his lips.

  A thick built man about a head taller than Edin came over holding the reins of a small black horse. A few saddlebags hung from it but there was no saddle. The man eyed Grent as he handed over the reins.

  The man was older with dark circles under his eyes and a permanent scowl on his face, he turned and the troop began riding off. They waited until the cavalry men had ridden a few hundred yards away.

  Dephina dropped down from a tree limb and landed next to Grent.

  “Old war buddy?” she asked.

  Grent nodded toward the horse. “It’ll hurt, don’t know if you’d ever rode bareback.”

  “I have,” Dephina said nudging Grent. He shook his head slowly.

  “The boy rides first,” Master Horston said, “we’ll take turns and you can practice your mage powers.”

  Edin was tired of walking, but he was sure the old man felt the same. At this point, he did just want a rest and agreed. Shortly, the storm broke and the soft depressions became swamp-like as they winded their way east.

  There was no sunset under the gray skies and they camped on a damp ground behind a nearly mustard colored escarpment. His legs weren’t tired, but now his manhood, inner thighs and butt were hurting. Each companion but Grent rode for an hour before switching.

  Edin wished he could take an entire waterskin and pour it down his trousers.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Grent said watching Edin shift around his trousers uncomfortably.

  “I don’t think I want to,” Edin said.

  Master Horston asked about the lieutenant though Grent was coy about the details. He’d said they served together and that was it. He said nothing about the glances the man gave Edin.

  “How long until we get where we’re going?” Edin said.

  “We should come to a feeder for the Allutian day after tomorrow, from there we’ll follow it southeast for a few days,” Master Horston said.

  “You do have a map in your head…” Edin asked.

  “And you can’t remember a thing can you, mind always off dancing in flowers like a fairy,” Master Horston spat.

  “I don’t dance like a fairy,” Edin said.

  Horston snorted and waived a hand.

  “I’ve traveled through Dunbilston before. I’ve made it across the entire continent a few times before the war. These central plains are easy compared to the deserts of Porinstol,” Grent paused.

  He did know his history and was surprised Grent fought in the last war. It was a few years before Edin was born. The Duke of Calerrat, who ruled Resholt, seized duchies along the southern coast that were allied to the Grand Count of Porinstol. At that point, he declared himself Prince. No one called themselves king.

  The Count fought but didn’t have the numbers. After many years Resholt was expanded to what it is today. From the Great Cliff to the Sand Sea. The south western tip of Porinstol was the only place on the southern sea that the Count still controlled. Giant walls and stout defenders guarded the land while large reefs blocked any but fishing vessels from crossing them. It was said to be impenetrable from without.

  “So, what was it like… the war?” Edin asked.

  “It was terrible… many friends died and for what?” Grent said. “There was no reason for the war to the common folk except they die and send taxes to a new ruler.”

  “War is always on the horizon. There hasn’t been a long peace since before the Kingdom fell. And I’m not even sure I believe the old stories. A thousand years without war.” Master Horston snorted. “Thirty seems impossible.”

  “It’s been twenty-nine since the last,” Grent said.

  “So, we’re due.”

  Edin stared into the distance, the cliffs were just barely visible. He thought on what the old tutor had said. He’d met nobility, the earl of Aldenheim once. A trip to the city for fancy church clothes. He was nearly sixteen and his mother wanted to show him off to other nobles. The earl was kind and he didn’t seem like the power-hungry leaders Master Horston had spoke about.

  Dephina said nothing regarding the wars but seemed like she agreed with the men’s assessment.

  “What if the common folk just refused to go to war?” Edin asked.

  “Wouldn’t happen, first of all you couldn’t get a big enough group together for a protest in most cities. Besides, there’s opportunity in war. Some people do it for the money, pillaging, some for the glory, the worst join simply to inflict their will on others. It’s a risk reward proposition and for many, the reward far outweighs the risk.”

  12

  The City of Frestils

  Two days later, they made it to the river road. A flat dirt track a few yards from a muddy bank. The river was wider, at least two hundred yards across, and slower than the Crys. Floating on it would be relaxing as it wound like a snake through the hilly terrain ahead to parts unknown. Edin sat on a half-submerged tree trunk letting the fresh water soak to his feet and legs. After a long while, he attempted to clean himself by vigorously rubbing the caked-on dirt. Edin watched bubbles pop around him and saw small golden fish twisting and swimming between his legs.

  Edin dunked his head under and held his breath letting the current carry his hair. He needed a trim on top as well as a shave for the patchy stubble on his chin. A thick cloud of brown dirt poured from his body in a cloud before dissipating in the river.

  The water soothed his body. His light brown hair seemed to
have grown even lighter. It pushed forward past his head and floated tangled vines. Edin pulled himself out of the river and let the water cascade down his body.

  His muscles all over had become more defined, and his legs had thickened with lean muscle. Though he had more scars, scrapes and bruises than a month ago, he felt better than he had in a long time, maybe ever. At least physically. The slashes from the crillio cat and Dexal’s blade were the most prominent. A cross on his side.

  Throwing on his last pair of trousers, Edin walked up the muddy slope of the river feeling the gooey mud between his toes.

  As he approached the small copse of trees where they rested, he heard the throaty chuckle of a pipe smoker. Grent gestured wildly as Horston shook his head. Edin smiled broadly though he didn’t know why.

  Something felt good about seeing the two older men on the river bank, the master grinned as Edin came over and grabbed a hunk of the dried rabbit that Grent purchased in Brisbi.

  “Where’s Dephina?”

  “Washing up stream,” Grent said behind a glare. “Don’t you go looking boy…”

  “Afraid she’ll want to trade up? I figure she’s too much woman for you,” Horston said before turning to Edin. “You have to hear this merc’s story.”

  Grent’s glare faded and his smile peeked out beneath the black and now partially gray beard. He seemed just as excited as Master Horston to tell it.

  “Back in my adventuring days I was in in a troupe of sellswords. To be honest, not everything we did was up to Lady Laural’s standards… but then again I was young.”

  Master Horston tried to straighten his face as he nodded. Somehow Edin didn’t think the old disciplinarian knew anything about being young. The ends of his lips were curling beneath the white beard.

  “Well, we had a particularly good, well let’s just say expedition into Porinstol, a caravan of merchants requested our presence to help guide them through the deserts. Well, we reached Galara, crossing the entire Sand Sea. Anyways we were looking for some company.”

  “Courtesans,” Horston corrected.