by BJ Hanlon
The Abomination of Yaultan
Legend of the Ecta Mastrino
B J Hanlon
Contents
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1. The Crillio Beast
2. The Abomination of Yaultan
3. The Secrets of Family
4. The Last of the Line
5. The Darkener Forest
6. The Bard
7. Men (and a woman) of the forest
8. Bloody Hands
9. Why Do Predators Fly
10. Cavern of the Deep
11. Friends with Foes
12. The City of Frestils
13. First Day Off
14. Edin Exposing Himself…
15. Hollow of Sleep
16. A Bit on the Late Side
17. Alone
Also by B J Hanlon
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Acknowledgments
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Want a free book? Of course you do, though you can’t get it at this moment. Sorry.
I really hope you enjoy this book but after it, I have an offer for you. A trade as it were. The aforementioned free book is my part of the bargain and yours is to join my emailing list. This list gives you access to upcoming news about my newest books and possibly other little tidbits of info. I don’t email much so you can be sure your mailbox won’t get overcrowded. Of course if you don’t like the books and wish not to be on said list, you can always unsubscribe.
But, I sincerely hope you stay on and are entertained by Edin in his quest to do… quest to sav… I’d better not tell you since spoilers are no fun.
Thanks and enjoy!
BJ
1
The Crillio Beast
The hunt was on. Edin scanned the forest floor, his eyes climbing the trees where the target could climb. The orange rays of the sun cast misshapen patterns on the ground. This made it difficult to see, to focus his eyes. He’d trained for this, but his head twisted at every movement in his peripheral vision. A shiver went up his spine despite the spring heat. Was he being watched?
His breath was steady, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. Wafts of midseason blooms tickled his nose as barely formed leaves shudder around him.
He itched, trying to hold back a sneeze as not to give away his position. An abomination was in these woods, hiding and it was his duty to find the man. The hunted was a master magus. A man with powers no one should have.
Quick movement to the right drew his attention. He saw the blur of brown between the rising green fauna. Around him, birds chirped, wind blew, and animals scurried.
It was as it should be. There was no cracking of branches underfoot or shuffling of fallen leaves.
Edin had to catch the abomination and kill him. He would not fail.
He pressed down on the recently fallen tree trunk and vaulted himself over, silently landing in a clear patch of dark brown dirt.
Something around made him feel the need to draw his weapon. He held it before him, unsure of the threat.
Sword at the ready, Edin crouched, peering past the trees and bushes that were bringing life after the cold winter. Ferns were sprouting in the shade; spindly mushrooms grew from soil and on trees.
A step forward and his boot sunk deep into mud. With a firm grasp of a rough vine, he yanked upward tearing his foot out with a quiet slurping sound.
Where was his target? Two hours into the forest, and no sign of the man. The river, still freezing cold from snow melt, was a boundary he dared not cross. Edin’s heart was pumping as he slowly pushed deeper into the dark forest.
Find and slay the monster, it was the job of any mage hunter, a Por Fen as they were known. They lived quiet lives in the shadows, the sword arm of the Vestion Church. Despite that, Edin dreamed he could be the greatest of them and be rewarded with praises, riches, glory, anything he wanted would be his. The gorgeous Kesona would smile at him, beautiful brown eyes meeting his, her thin lips quivering at her desire for him.
A quick grin crossed his face. It was a dream for the future.
This day however, he was not going to earn any of those. It was a game and his target, Berka, had a two-minute head start. The time given was down significantly from the hour they’d given each other when they started.
Edin thought of it as specialized training for when they were old enough to set out on their own though they had no real tutors.
Their knowledge came from questioning locals and passing warriors at the Dancing Crane Tavern. This led to quick tips on how to fight, track, flee, build shelters, and more. They could never master any one aspect without a real teacher, but there was a wealth of knowledge that passed through the inn of Yaultan. Travelers used the high road that cut through the village curving and dipping through Bestoria like a river cutting a path through soft soil.
Edin took a couple more tentative steps, his shins slowly pushing through the damp leaves of the ferns, the small beads of water dampening his trousers. The rush of the river ahead of him was growing louder.
There were few places to hide in the ravine, behind curtains of vines, collapsed boulders, or fallen trees. Now though, the river had risen about a foot and covered most of the ravine on this side of the river. There was a slim patch of soggy dirt and smooth stone that ran the length of the water. It was treacherous and one slip could send him in.
The sound of the rapid flowing water could be used to muffle his movement. But it was a hindrance as well as a help as Berka could use it too.
Edin pressed through the underbrush, gripping tightly on the hilt of his carved wooden practice sword. He crested a short mound and glanced down the river valley.
The Crystalline River twisted from the mountains far to the north cutting through the dark forest, farm lands, and cities on its way down to the Mirasa Sea.
Edin grabbed a vine as wide as his wrist, and began to steadily descend the patch of muck and stone. As a young boy stuck in school, he dreamed of rafting hundreds of leagues down river to that sea watching towns and cities float by. He imagined seeing the great castle of Aldenheim, passing through the Halecon Lake and then farther, much farther to the capital city of Calerrat.
Edin’s leather boots stuck deeper into the moist earth, he trod on smooth rocks when available and the moist ground while continuing up river. The air seemed fresh and held a mossy aroma that again nearly caused a sneeze.
A few weeks ago, Edin and Berka decided to do away with the boundaries altogether. That meant the river was in play as well as the old ruins farther west and only a hundred or so yards into the forest. Despite that, the ruins sat in a grassy hollow where nothing but the shortest of shrub grass ventured. They dared not enter.
Edin felt brave out here in the living woods, but not stupid. Somehow, Edin hadn’t found a single trace of Berka.
The far-off peals of bells from Yaultan a half a league south began sounding. It was getting late. He listened. Six, dinner time at the manor. He’d promised his mother he’d be back by then. Through small breaks in the canopy, he glanced up toward the sun’s decline.
He adjusted his belt; he had to keep going. Mother would be upset, but he couldn’t fail. He never had before, especially since Berka’s ginger hair stood out like a fire on the prairie. At this time of day, with the low angle of orange sunlight pushing through the trees, it seemed Berka had the advantage.
Edin looked across the river; it was deep and freezing. Berka was brash but not stupid; crossing that was a gamble with his life. He glanced behind him
and saw his tracks in the mud and footprints on the stones. Ahead showed no signs of human presence.
Where could he be? He’d seen little signs: a half boot print, a broken twig on the ground. Edin knew men who could tell how fast a person was moving by a barely visible boot print.
Edin wasn’t that good and was certain he’d missed countless more. Berka was headed this way. There was no way the big lad could move silently through the forest.
Was he hiding, waiting for Edin to walk past and attack. For the last two hours, he’d been heading in this direction but for the last half-hour he’d seen no signs.
There had to be something.
But there wasn’t. Berka vanished. Maybe he headed west or circled back around. The river was the farthest east they’d ever gone in the forest and he usually made it a point to head that way. Far to the east, was the border with Dunbilston, lands ruled by a wicked Duke.
There were times when Edin and Berka would sneak a few ales from the cellar of Edin’s manor house and get far too drunk. Again, they’d tell stories and boast of heroics never accomplished. Berka declared the intention of one day breaking the armies of Dunbilstonian and liberating their people.
Scanning the area, he was silent. It was difficult to hear over the rapidly flowing water. Berka may even be heading to the manor by now.
Edin knew staying in the forest past dark was a bad idea. Terrible stories came out of these woods. Great monsters from deep underground, huge giants from the mountains far to the north, birds the size of cottages.
There were too many predators out here, both man and beast, his mother told him. Some were a mix of both. As a child, she warned that a bevy of crazed dematians, black-skinned creatures that walked upright and were hairless like men. Their hands were claws like a large cat and had rows upon rows of long needle like teeth some spilling out of their mouths. They could smell from a great distance and would eat man, woman or child alive without a thought. Some stories said they just drank the blood of their victims leaving corpses white and brittle like an icicle in the sun.
Edin wasn’t a young child anymore and didn’t fear the mythical dematians, he was a man. Seventeen years old and as strong as one five years his senior. At least that’s what he told himself. His shoulders were broad, his muscles thick. Despite his mother’s insistence that he learn the scholarly endeavors from Master Horston, he wanted to be a warrior, a hero.
He’d never failed to find Berka before. Until now. Usually when the met, they fought with their wooden blades. Berka would win those bouts more often than not.
With his father the town constable, Berka had quite a bit more training than Edin.
Edin sighed and shook his head. There was no option, he had to get out of the forest before dark or his mother would severely punish him. She’d probably make him help the servants with the dishes or sweep the floor of the great room.
He swung the wooden sword in a figure eight in front of himself as he turned back down the ravine toward the manor.
Edin could imagine Berka sitting at the edge of the forest, grinning his big stupid smile with teeth almost as white as his skin. He’d dance around and taunt Edin causing the ground to quaver just a bit. Berka’s father was a burly man, the biggest in the village and Berka was only three inches shorter than his father.
Edin was a bit thinner than Berka, some called him wiry while Berka was considered stocky. He was also six inches shorter, still a respectable height of five and three-quarters feet. He hoped he would continue to grow. Though he never met his own father, Edin was told he’d been a bit over six. He prayed to the gods that was the case.
Edin moved to the balls of his feet and started jabbing his fake sword into the open air. He slashed at an invisible opponent and parried their thrust. He blocked low and then high and leapt back with a wide arcing strike.
“You will never defeat me evil mage!” Edin said in a boisterous tone. He felt he was getting better with the sword. ‘Knowledge through pain.’ As Berka would say. If that were the case, he should be a master. It wasn’t, even after getting handily beaten by his friend he had very little to show for it.
His other knowledge came from watching the guardsmen, there were four though Edin wasn’t sure why they were there. They’d practice sparing with each other and one, Grent, practiced some sort of complicated sword form that looked more like a dance.
‘It’s too dangerous to be a warrior,’ mother had said. ‘And there is very little future in it.’
The suction of the mud made moving slow and would tire him quickly if he had to hike the entire river back home.
Edin scampered up the hill with the help of another vine. At the top the ground was harder and the walking easier though he had to be wary of sneaky roots, serpentine vines, and dead logs.
The sun was even lower now and the wind brushing through the trees held a cooler feel. At home, she’d yell, maybe even get the belt, though she’d only ever threatened him with it and never actually hit. There were other scarier options; instead of chores or a lashing, she may make him stay in his room to study one of Master Horston’s lessons or books. Trade, law, history, economics, diplomacy or worst of all accounting. It was never warfare or even the history of warfare. She forbade it. Edin knew his father was a warrior, a great one supposedly. Not that she ever spoke much of him.
He ran and put a foot on a large gray rock and leapt into the air twisting his body and slicing. It was a superfluous move—showy—and as he saw in the forms and the guards’ practice, a move never used.
His feet touched down and he felt something catch his right boot. He slid forward and felt a wicked wrench on his ankle.
Edin sprawled forward, grunting as his mouth filled with dirt, leaves, and mud. After a moment of catching his breath, Edin rolled to his back and sat up. He pressed on his ankle, a little dull ache. Not broken or sprained. That was good, he thought before looking at his clothes. His beige tunic now held a deep brown streak down the center that continued to his trousers. He’d certainly be doing laundry tonight.
Edin pulled a few twigs from the shirt and breeches and attempted to wipe the dirt off. He only made it worse. Edin stood and turned back toward the manor.
In front of him, a few feet away was the tall ginger boy, his own wooden sword pointed at Edin’s chest.
“Do you yield?” Berka said grinning.
Edin frowned. Where the heck had he come from? There’s no way he’d be able to sneak up on him.
“You walked right past me. I could’ve taken you out from there with just a spark if I were a mage.”
Edin found his sword and raised it, “die mage!” he shouted and lunged toward Berka. His friend parried the sword and sliced back. Edin blocked it and winced as he stepped on his sore ankle. He could fight through the pain. If he was to be a warrior, he’d have to.
The crashing of their blades caused his hand to sting. Edin twisted out of the way of Berka’s next jab and spun around sending the wooden blade toward the sky. He moved inside Berka’s guard but his friend bounded backward almost two full paces. Berka was stronger and more agile than Edin and Edin knew it.
Berka laughed, it wasn’t a taunting laugh, but one that seemed to say he was having a good time like kids playing in the mud. Edin glowered and closed the distance swiping in multiple directions. Berka blocked one then leapt out of the way of another.
Suddenly, Berka dropped and twisted below a third horizontal strike. He twisted his body without moving his feet. His legs tangled in one of the strangest moves Edin ever saw. The wooden blade stabbed into the back of Edin’s hand numbing his hand and sending the sword clattering off a tree.
Berka uncoiled and stood. Smiling he pointed the tip of the sword at Edin’s neck.
“Die mage.” Berka said.
Edin’s mouth dropped as he stared at the rounded tip. He couldn’t help it… it was brilliant. The thought brought his mind back around and he frowned. “You were the runaway mage today,” Edin said.
> “A mage never wins...” Berka was still smiling and lowered his blade. “Come on, your ma will be upset.”
Edin hobbled over to grab his sword and ran his fingers down it. A few extra divots were added to the piece of oak. Battle scars from their training. They started walking back toward the village. Berka didn’t have to worry about a scolding, his father worked long hours and his mother was too busy with three younger siblings to ever worry where Berka had been.
There were points when Edin was jealous of his friend’s freedom. Edin had the manor, his own bedroom, a private tutor, and no worries about the next meal. But the lack of restrictions meant Berka could come and go as he pleased. The big boy was well liked by most—children, villagers, farmers. He would make eyes at the village women, grab an ale at the Dancing Crane, and chat with the local laborers. Somehow, he could make them all feel proud of their lives.
Edin’s mother owned much of the land surrounding Yaultan. So, the locals tended to treat him with respect not friendship. Most people seemed to be very careful around him as he was considered a noble, albeit a minor one and knew not his title if he even had one.
He looked over at Berka who still had a smug look on his face like he had the answer to some question that had been bothering Edin all day.
“So that… attack.” The move seemed as crazy as his own leaping slash through the air, but it worked.
“I call it the twisting snake.” Berka said.
Edin laughed.
When he took the slash, Edin was off balance, putting too much strength into the cut. He ran through it in his head, could he counter that? How had Berka kept his balance? The twist was so low, in a position that seemed impossible for the big man.