Legend of Ecta Mastrino Box Set 2

by BJ Hanlon

  They reached a cross street and headed down toward the partially frozen harbor where usually they had cheap inns.

  After a few blocks of shops and houses, they found a small inn. The wooden sign was weather beaten and faded from salty air pummeling it. It may have been ‘The Mermaid’s House’ or ‘The Mermaid’s Blouse.’

  Edin threw his shoulder into the door to open it. It protested for a moment then flew open on screaming hinges and crashed against a wall.

  “Keep it down ya blasted blotard,” someone shouted from inside the dark room.

  Edin smelled old stale beer and possibly vomit. The floorboards were near gray and it didn’t look like paint, and the walls looked as if they’d been attacked by a roving band of wolverines.

  “Are you the innkeeper?” Edin asked spying a rotund man in the far corner.

  “The heck ya think boy?” He spat but made no move to get up. He glared with barely visible dark eyes. “What is his kind doing in here?” A thick meaty finger pointed past Edin.

  “We’re looking for lodging and food for a night or two,” Edin said ignoring the question.

  “That’s well and good, but I don’t let people like him in my establishment. Get him out of here and we can talk.”

  “My friend will stay, as will I,” Edin said feeling heat and fury flash over his face.

  “Ya think you be getting a welcome here coming with people like him? You best be joking, boy.” The innkeeper stood using his hands to push himself up from the table. The wooden table screamed under his weight. “You want a place, your other friends I don’t care… but not him. You hear? His kind are evil.”

  Edin stepped forward and threw back his cloak.

  The man stopped moving toward him and his eyes looked down. “You threatening me boy?”

  Edin grabbed the leather pouch of coins he’d hung next to his sword and pulled it from his belt. “I’m getting out my coin. You take coin here or does a backwoods bumkin like yourself only trade in sticks and sheep?”

  The man glared.

  Edin shook the pouch. “Two nights, two rooms for one gold.”

  “Let me see it.”

  Edin pulled out the coin. There were only three gold pieces, a few silver, and about twenty copper.

  “I suppose you be wanting food with that?”

  Edin nodded.

  “Well, we are slow. Ain’t no one gonna say Lob isn’t hospitable… even to murdering savages.”

  Edin stepped forward. “You don’t call him that and I don’t call you fat man.”

  With his face red, the fat man waddled over to a small desk and grabbed two keys. Edin figured they’d be the worst rooms the man had but took them anyway.

  “Rustle us up some food,” Edin said. “And don’t mess with it.”

  “Your friend would be wise to stay in the room while you’re in town. Folk round here have had bad run-ins with his type. Many have lost family to the… to his kind.”

  Great, Edin thought.

  The rooms had two small beds each and it smelled like fish that’d been left to rot in the sun, then frozen and left to thaw. It was dirty with leftover pantaloons, socks, and undertrousers in a corner. Edin wondered if the sheets had been washed in the last decade. They were threadbare and rough. But it was a bed.

  “Not as nice as the Reaches is it?” Dorset said throwing himself on the other bed.

  Edin nodded thinking of the lonely tower on the Isle of Mists, destroyed when the Por Fen attacked and when they murdered many people with exploding projectiles. He remembered Arianne under that tent, alive but hurt.

  As soon as he thought of her, he felt sad and sick and buried his head into a torn straw pillow. On the hike, he tried to not think about her and only wonder about what was to come. But thoughts of her came in waves. Edin forced himself to breathe.

  “I’m sorry,” Dorset said. “About Arianne… and everything.”

  Edin didn’t reply.

  “I’m going to see if Lob has anything cooked up for us. You want to join or do you want to stay up here?”

  “Here,” Edin said. “If he has whiskey… get a bottle.” Edin blindly tossed the coin purse to his friend. It sounded as if he caught it. That would’ve surprised Edin a few months ago before they started training in the sword and the Oret Nakosu. The former scholarly wimp was becoming adept with a blade. He heard Henny’s voice outside and closed his eyes trying not to cry.

  A bit later, Dorset returned with the bottle and a plate of food. Potatoes and a sickly-looking gray meat. Edin ate, trying to ignore the rancid flavor that was somehow better than the smell.

  The booze helped.

  Edin drank and watched as the day passed from his bed. The other three decided to explore the city. At that point Edin didn’t care.

  For hours, he stared out the window at passing clouds wondering what the world looked like from up there. He drank heavily and felt the bed sway like a boat on rough seas.

  At some point, he threw up out of the window with a golden spray that burned his throat but continued drinking.

  A conscious world came roaring back with pounding footsteps and the door slamming open. His hangover was worse than anything he’d ever felt before. It thudded behind his eyes like a spike. His mouth was worse than dry, it was barren.

  He felt a hand shake him. “Edin,” The voice was Yechill’s and there was some urgency in it. A lot of urgency. Another shake, his name was louder. Almost screaming.

  “What?” Edin moaned.

  “Help…”

  Edin looked up. His eyes hurt to open and his mouth tasted acidic but there was fear in Yechill’s face. Edin pushed himself from the bed and wobbled.

  Yechill grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the brightly lit door. Voices came from below. Many of them angry, some scared. He grabbed his blade and stumbled down the stairs.

  The dank front room was loud with thick accented voices coming from everywhere.

  “There he is, the savage,” someone called out.

  Edin wasn’t sure who did, but everyone around looked hazy and for a moment he wondered if this town produced an inordinate number of twins.

  Edin saw them turning toward him and Yechill. The tribesman was unarmed but he crouched with his fists clenched and looked nearly rabid. Edin glanced around for the other two but couldn’t see them.

  People surged toward him and Yechill.

  Edin drew his blade and held it out. It was a tight space and their backs were to the staircase. Edin blinked and crouched in a serpent stance and glared. Faces merged to individual men, bearded and hard, angry eyes with broad shoulders. They looked like a breed of brawlers.

  They paused for a moment. They seemed to regard the drunken swordsman with some fear. Then someone yelled, “get him.”

  There was a war cry like shriek and they surged forward. One man came at him with a long dagger. For a quick moment, he wondered if the man was all there in the head. Who attacked a swordsman with a knife?

  The man lunged and Edin dodged, he spun his swiped the blade and took off the man’s hand with a quick slice. He screamed and tumbled backward into the rest of the mob. A different swordsman appeared in his place. He swiped at Edin, it was a careless and awkward strike and Edin sidestepped. The man’s sword stabbed the wooden wall. Edin lashed a front kick at him, catching the man in the solar plexus. He gasped and dropped the blade and there was a large explosion like he’d ate a giant jar of beans.

  To the right, Edin saw Yechill leap into the fray. He used fists, knees, and elbow. One man received a painful knee to the groin. There were broken noses, wrists and feet.

  Edin spotted Lob standing in the corner, a smile on his face, that soon turned sour. Two more men advanced, one had a blacksmith’s hammer, another a woodsman’s axe. Edin didn’t want to kill any more people. He’d killed far too many in his life.

  But it was two on thirty. They were outnumbered and cornered.

  Yechill leapt at another group. He clobbered s
omeone in the temple, cracked a knee, broke ribs but then he went down under a flurry of fists.

  Edin blocked the blacksmith’s hammer, kicked at the man’s knee making it buckle, then he slashed at the woodsman’s leg. A large squirt of blood flashed from his sword spraying the advancing mob. They jumped back as the woodsman fell.

  He heard Yechill’s cry.

  Edin had no choice. He was a magus and his friend was in trouble. All of his friends were probably in trouble.

  Edin stepped back and held up a hand. A moment later an ethereal ball appeared. Suddenly, the room went silent. Except for the moans of the injured.

  “Abomination…” someone shouted. “Magus…” another cried.

  Yechill pushed his way out and crawled behind Edin.

  “Yes,” Edin said meeting eyes with each man. “Do you wish to see the mad magus of legend…” He yelled trying to sound crazy.

  “No wonder he runs with the savage,” Lob called.

  Edin summoned an ethereal knife and launched it toward Lob. It sailed past larger heads and slashed through the wood an inch above Lob’s head.

  It shattered the wood and a whistle of wind began to come through the opening. “Where are my friends?” Edin asked.

  No one answered.

  “If no one tells me, I will kill you all slowly,” Edin paused. “Though it may be more preferable then what is coming to you.”

  “They’re at the keep…” someone said. A small boy, probably about twelve. He hid behind a bigger boy, an older brother, Edin guessed. “The Baron has them in the dungeons…”

  “Quiet…”

  “Why?” Edin said.

  Then he began to hear the moving of soldiers outside. Metal armor jangling as men jogged. People began to turn toward the entrance in a slow wave.

  A moment later, it burst open and a tall helmed man stepped in. “Everyone but those two out.” He shouted with the vocal tone of someone used to his authority.

  “The swordsman is a magus…” someone said.

  Edin watched as the man surveyed the scene. He saw the injured and looked up at the two cornered. “You two are under arrest.”

  Soon, more soldiers began to displace the mob. Even Lob was pushed out of his own place, though he didn’t go without a fight. “I want to see… he broke my inn.”

  Men pulled the injured out. Edin doubted there was a healer in this crummy little town.

  “You magus, put down your weapon or die.”

  Edin looked at him, and the rest of the soldiers. They stepped closer and he felt a dampening of the talent.

  He glanced at Yechill. There were huge bruises forming over his body, his arm hung limp as if it were broken and he bled from at least ten different places.

  “Yechill, run home,” Edin whispered. Though he didn’t know if the man knew what he was saying. At least he could get out of this.

  They advanced closer.

  “Why are you here…” Edin said causing the man to stop.

  “You were harboring a savage, now…” his face sneered, “we have caught an abomination. You cannot do anything. You’re surrounded.”

  He saw movement out the closest window and a man held up a crossbow. His talent dampened further.

  “Run… upstairs window…” Edin whispered still not knowing if Yechill knew what he was saying. Or even if he could. run

  Then. Yechill did. He sprinted up the stairs as a crossbow bolt slammed into the wall just next to Edin’s shoulder. Men rushed after him, but Edin blocked the way.

  “Any who advance will be cut down.”

  “You are ready to die here? For that savage…”

  “Yes, the question is how many of you are.” Edin turned toward the leader, “and say that again, I will kill you first.”

  “You can’t use your curse here. We have wan stones.”

  A grin crossed Edin’s face. The footsteps upstairs ceased, hopefully because Yechill got out. It’d be hard for him to leave the city and harder to get back to the village… but hopefully at least he would escape.

  “Fine,” Edin said and sheathed his sword.

  Edin was shackled and a necklace holding a wan stone was placed over his neck. The guards kept their distance from him as they marched him through the streets toward the keep on a small hill overlooking the bay.

  Edin’s headache grew worse and his body felt completely drained of water as they passed below ramparts. Men with bows aimed at him. The courtyard was large and filled with barracks and outbuildings. There were no statues to the gods or anything ornate. It felt austere. They led him into a postern door and into a cold stone corridor of heavy granite blocks. The head guard opened a thick wooden door and led him down a set of stairs into a dungeon.

  The doors were all thick wood with small, barred windows. He didn’t see Dorset or Henny. The guard, a captain he guessed, opened a door and walked him in.

  Two nervous looking men took off the shackles and tied his hands behind his back. Then they tied that to a cinch at waist level forcing him to stand. The captain eyed him then slammed the door.

  An overwhelming smell ruled the place as if a dog had been left here to mark the entire room.

  Scattered about the dirt floor were shards of white bone that looked to have been gnawed upon by something with tiny teeth. Rats.

  Edin swallowed, trying to dampen his throat. He was tired, weak, and in too much pain from the whiskey.

  “Dorset… Henny,” he yelled.

  “Shut it in there,” a voice screamed and something thudded against the door. There was no response from his friends.

  Edin blinked and closed his eyes as he leaned back against the wall. It was uncomfortable and there was no way he’d be able to sleep. He remembered Master Horston and Grent in that cellar jail. They were so weak and weary from days in the darkness.

  Time moved slowly, the light from the oil lantern hanging from the ceiling eventually died and left him in darkness. In the darkness, he saw colored shapes, faces and stars. Things moved around in weird circles and figure-eights. He was becoming delirious.

  Edin pictured Arianne falling. He could’ve been able to reinforce the bridge with his talent; he should’ve been able to save her. His heart hurt like his body. Edin knew he deserved death. He should’ve jumped from the Boganthean Tower all those months ago… then she’d still be alive.

  His legs grew increasingly weary and shaky, but he couldn’t sit. He couldn’t do anything but stand. Pain wracked his shoulders, his wrists, his knees.

  Sometime later, he thought he heard movement and voices beyond the door. Many voices. Edin thought he could hear Dorset saying something, pleading with someone.

  A door slammed and there was a pained grunt. “He’s hurt… he needs help…” Dorset cried out. Another thud.

  “Don’t you lie anymore. Tell the truth and we’ll help your friend.”

  “It’s true… dematians… are massing.” Another smack, this time it was a meaty thunk. A door slammed shut and the cries disappeared.

  Henny was hurt, Dorset was going to be hurt worse. They didn’t even come to Edin. Maybe they’d just let him die of thirst.

  Sore and tired as he was, he could still feel the talent through the suppression of the wan stone. He had to hold onto that small bit. That was what he needed to escape. Edin wondered if they knew Dorset was a magus as well. If he wasn’t shackled with a matching necklace, he had a chance. They all did.

  Except Henny was hurt.

  The door slammed open again and he heard moans and cries. Then he saw light. A bright blinding torchlight through the barred viewing window. Edin closed his eyes with the pain.

  Footsteps came through the door but Edin didn’t look. “Don’t you know how to open a door without throwing it?” Edin asked.

  He felt a thick fist catch his gut and he doubled forward. The shackles snapped taut and his shoulders wrenched. But Edin didn’t moan. He didn’t cry out.

  Another strike across his jaw and Edin fell sideways. H
is head smacked the wall and he felt even more dazed.

  “That’s enough,” another accented voice said from the other side of the room. “I am Baron Tolson. This is my keep. Tell me your name.” There was a clipped nature to his words and they felt slimy.

  Edin said nothing. His eyes watered and his head was dazed.

  “Magus… we have sent for the Por Fen in Glustown. You will be executed upon his arrival.”

  Glustown? Did they not know the town was destroyed? Edin blinked and looked. The Baron was a man probably in his forties with a long graying beard though a dark brown mop of hair still covered his head. It looked odd. He held his chin up and wore gray robes that reminded Edin of Master Horston’s.

  “Oh yes, your friend told me, Glustown has been destroyed by dematians… oooh scary.” He mocked while shaking his hands next to his head. He dropped the hands when Edin said nothing. The man’s grin turned hard. “Tell us, what is your purpose here? Where are there more magi? Your death will be quick and as painless as an abomination deserves.”

  Edin said nothing. The man may not flaunt his position dressing like a teacher or a vagrant, but he exuded a strength and self-assuredness.

  “Hmm,” the Baron said and then nodded. A different man walked up, thick and strong like he lifted lumber for sport. He drew his hand back and slugged Edin in the stomach. It felt like getting hit by a stone in a tornado. He slammed into the wall. The shackles dug into Edin’s wrists and Edin’s body crushed them.

  Edin bent over, gasping for breath, coughing. He tasted blood and bile. A knee hit him in the forehead and he snapped back up, his skull smacking the stone wall. Edin’s eyes blurred and he didn’t see the fist crashing across his face. Pain exploded and he dropped from consciousness.

  Someone was wiping his face with a warm rag. He tasted diluted blood and coughed. Edin opened his eyes and blinked. After a few times getting rid of the blurriness, he saw above him an old man with an unknowable expression.

  Edin was seated, his hands chained to the wall above him.

  “You be getting more of that soon,” the old man said. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t die yet.” He wiped his face again and leaned back. He was appraising Edin. The man looked tired. Dark circles were under his bloodshot eyes. His head tilted slightly like it was too heavy for his neck.