Legend of Ecta Mastrino Box Set

by B J Hanlon

  “No,” Edin tried to say but it came out in a soft grunt. His body tingled though he felt paralyzed and words wouldn’t flow past his throat.

  “Drink more. The poison should be leaving you shortly.” Her accent was different, foreign to him but soft with long pauses on the vowels. She didn’t sound like anyone he’d ever heard.

  A few moments later, the clamp on his tongue loosened.

  “Thank you,” he said, though the words were choppy and coarse.

  The form of her head nodded. “I am sorry, I did not know the defenses were in place.” She paused for a moment. “You will be fine, you just need rest. When your strength returns, I will bring you tea my nursemaid used to give me.”

  Nursemaid?

  He still couldn’t make out any features. Her hair glowed with the firelight like the lightning bugs he and Kes used to catch. It was hard to keep his eyelids open. They were closing but he saw her smile.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. Then a moment later, she gasped.

  Sleep was coming, riding in like a tornado ready to tear him away to a different place. A hand groped at his chest. He felt a tug on his necklace then he remembered nothing.

  Eventually, he began to feel the world around him again. It was like slowly pulling himself from a deep soggy sand pit.

  His head held a dull ache behind his eyes. A growl came from his stomach that seemed to roar louder than a wild bear. Edin peeled his eyes open with a sticky plop. His sight was blurred for a moment, then they fixed. Above him, were thick square wooden timbers bracing a plank ceiling. “Where am I…” he whispered.

  The memory of the woman returned. Was she still there? He smacked his lips. They were moist.

  He lolled his head to the right and saw a sconce with a small flame inside next to a closed door. She was gone. In the corners were storage containers with a symbol burned brown almost black into them. Brands.

  He began to feel his fingers and feet again. He tilted his head and saw he was shirtless. With his stomach muscles protesting, Edin sat up.

  On a crate next to him was a wooden mug and a pitcher.

  His hands shook as he lifted the pitcher. Water swashed inside the vessel. His grip was weak, and the liquid splashed in and around the mug forming puddles on the crate that disappeared inside after a moment.

  There was a blanket covering his body to the stomach, thin but incredibly warm. It was bright blue with yellow dots that looked like stars. It reminded him of the lightning.

  Edin pushed the blanket off and twisted his legs over the edge of his bed.

  On the wall nearest his head was a small fire in a hearth. It wasn’t a huge, just large enough to keep the small room warm. Hills of gray and black ashes sat at the base of glowing logs. It had been burning for a long time. How long was he unconscious?

  Despite the fire, it was cool in the room. Gooseflesh prickled his skin. Edin slid from the bed, his bare feet landing on the cool stone floor. His tendons felt instantly frozen for a moment.

  He wore his trousers and nothing else. Unconsciously, he reached up for the fang.

  It was gone.

  His pulse quickened as he glanced around, looking at the containers, the shelves. His bed, which turned out to be a wooden plank across three identical crates.

  He threw the blanket and pillow from it, nothing. A wooden cabinet sat next to the hearth. His legs felt weak as he shuffled toward it gripping onto anything to keep him upright.

  Edin took a couple steps and almost collapsed. He kicked a sturdy hunk of wood and stumbled. His arm reached out and caught a gray metal handle on the front of the cabinet.

  Instead of stopping his fall, the door swung open with a squeak and he felt it tilt. Edin let go and it crashed back into place, the door slapping against the stone wall with a thwack.

  Clinks of glass sounded inside and he briefly saw jars and bottles, all black glass rocking and swirling. He fell, barely getting his arms out to keep from taking a bite out of the stone floor.

  A bottle smashed a few inches from his hand. Shattering glass and a greenish liquid all over him. He barely had time to think as he heard one rolling on its side ready for its suicidal dive.

  He saw the small brown stopper as it tilted and dropped. Edin reached to catch it. The bottle bounced off his palm, but his fingers were too slow to grip. It shattered next to its brother. A yellowish smoke puffed up. It smelled flowery and tasty almost like springtime.

  Footsteps pounded from outside and the door swung open. The woman entered and looked down at him. She was blonde with furious eyes.

  From above, Edin heard the rolling of another bottle coming toward the edge. He looked up but then felt a strong gust of wind pushing at him. He was thrown to the side and into the wall. Above him the rolling of the bottle ceased.

  A second later, she leapt in like a deer, her boots crunching the shattered glass.

  She wore a tight purple tunic, a blueish cloak, and tan trousers that clung against her lean form. He saw the glint of yellow earrings beneath her hair and a pair of large rings on her fingers. But on the black belt around her stomach was a sword and sheath.

  His sword.

  “My sword,” Edin said.

  Another gust of wind knocked him to the side and he rolled on the floor. Then it picked up and pushed him like an invisible hand and slammed his back into the side of the stone hearth with his arm whipping into the flames with a smack.

  Edin tried to pull back the hand, but the wind was keeping it there and pressed him against the hard stone like he were fiery steel being forged. Edin screamed and a second later he summoned the ethereal bubble to cover his body.

  The wind died down and he looked at her through the white haze.

  “What is wrong with you, you crazy blotard?”

  “Philios?” she said. Then her gray-green eyes narrowed. “Blotard,” she shrieked and tried again. The air was but a gentle breeze but he heard the logs smack the back of the hearth dully, the ashes flew up and out in a cloud of soot. The blanket and pillow whipped around the room as if stuck in a twister.

  Actually, they were in a twister. The wind was roaring around the room with such ferocity he was surprised that she was still standing.

  She put her hands down and glared. “You dare insult me thief! I will have your head.”

  She grabbed a vile of something from her trousers and tossed it into the fire. It shattered against the stone.

  In an instant she slipped out of the room slamming the door. A moment later, he heard a wooden bar clattering into place. He wanted to chase her, get his sword back, but was too exhausted. He was inside and warm. He just needed time to rest.

  He stood and began to look for something to put in front of the door to keep her out when a haze began to fill his vision. Edin blinked.

  A billowy orange smoke, possibly backlit by the embers, was coming out. He stumbled to the door. He gripped the handle and tried to pull and push, it didn’t budge.

  He was locked in and going to suffocate.

  As he tried to summon something to break it down, the light-headedness overpowered him. She was going to kill him. He was dizzy again. The second time she’d tried to murder him.

  His arms went limp and he collapsed into a crate. He bounded off it and his body hit the cold floor with a slap.

  A thought went through his mind: he was passing out more often than a drunk with a heavy purse.

  Needles were poking his hands, he woke to tight straps clamping his wrists. Edin shot his eyes open and stared at the blonde woman. Despite his blurred vision, he saw a thin, feminine face with thick lips and a set and angry jaw. Her gray-green eyes were intense. Her hair was done up in some braid that he could barely see.

  She tilted her head in a way that eerily reminded him of Grent. “Let me go,” Edin said gritting his teeth.

  He tried to focus, to concentrate on something, a bolt or shield. But he felt nothing. There was no energy in the room, it was as if it was drained.
He’d felt it before. She had a wan stone.

  “The more you fight, the more it will hurt,” she said leaning over him to check his rope. Edin noticed she hadn’t tied his legs. Bad move.

  Edin crunched his stomach up and threw his legs around her head. He twisted, his hips yanking her down until she was bent over him and her head near his bum.

  “Let me go,” Edin growled. He expected a wind to push at him so he tightened.

  Instead he felt something sharp poking his throat. There was a slight slash and he felt the trickle of blood.

  He realized she was gasping for air… but the knife wasn’t killing him. Even to save her own life she wasn’t taking his. For some reason, that thought went through his head.

  Edin loosened his legs and let them drop to the bed.

  She shot her head back with a gasp of air as more blood trickled down his neck. Her blonde hair was frazzled and her gaze became icier than the Crystalline.

  She rubbed her jaw and glared at him. “My father will hear about this, magus or not you’ll be executed in his dungeons, traitorous thief.”

  “You’re the thief!” Edin shot back. Never in his life had someone called him a thief. It was a dirty word that caused shame to the family.

  One day he’d seen one of the beggar kids from a shack near the river looking forlornly at warm bread on the windowsill at the manor. They’d never had a fence because as his mother had said, ‘we are part of the people,’ though Edin thought that was naïve.

  Edin, in some oddly blissful mood stole it and left it for the kid. When the cooks questioned him, he claimed to have eaten it. His mother sent him to his room, but he was pretty sure she knew what happened. She may have been even proud of him…

  A moment later, the blonde woman turned and stormed from the room slamming the door.

  He let his mind ramble for a second without trying to guide it. Who was she? Where was he? The last thing he remembered was coming up the black stairs now he was trapped in some storeroom prison.

  The flame in the hearth was bigger and the doors of the cabinet were wide open. Only, no vials were left.

  He craned his neck at the crate by his side. A wan stone. She must’ve brought it in after she used whatever it was that knocked him out.

  Her father, his dungeons? She sounded like some form of nobility. But why was she here with him. Where were her guards? Where were the jailors? No one of any status dealt with prisoners unless…

  She’s alone. It dawned on him quickly, there was no one else here. The fire popped and he heard a soft whimper from outside the door.

  This was her. The dreams weren’t dreams; they were visions. She’d held the blade to her chest, she cried… she was the one he’d tried to reach out to. Tried to tell her not to do it.

  Not only that, she is a strong mage. A wind mage. What was it Master Horston called them? He wracked his brain but couldn’t find it. And her movement… he didn’t notice her drawing a blade, it was quick. Her grace as she leapt over him was like a fish through the water.

  Edin pondered the thoughts trying to figure out who she was. He didn’t know all the noble families, but he’d heard of most. The duke of Dunbilston had sons. The Prince of Resholt, Feracrucio, had a son and a daughter, but from paintings they both had dark hair. She could be an Earl or Baron’s daughter, but why was she alone and why in the mountains? Was he still in the mountains?

  He needed to escape. Whatever she was, whoever didn’t matter.

  Edin tried moving his fingers to reach the ropes. They would barely twitch and seemed to be turning a frightful shade of white.

  She tied them to a board almost directly in line with his head. Hope came to him.

  Edin shifted his head a bit and moved his mouth to the right strap and started to dig his teeth into it. He rubbed side to side with his jaw. He felt a small strand snap, then another. An hour or so went by as he finally got to the last section of the strap. It snapped apart and Edin felt blood rushing back into his hand. He started squeezing and releasing his fingers to get the blood flowing again.

  Her sobs had stopped at some point during the chewing.

  Edin started work on the other strap, he worked at the knot. The rough rope seemed to shred the tips of his fingers until small bloody splotches appeared on it. Soon though, it began to loosen.

  He sat up and let blood rush back into the other hand.

  Edin quickly searched for his clothes. It wouldn’t be fun to make his escape in his undertrousers. Inside of the barrels he found powdery substances. Flour, enough to bake bread for all the villages he’d ever seen. In others, he found barrels of sugar, dry rice, and other cooking ingredients. No clothes.

  His stomach growled, “why couldn’t anything be eatable?”

  A sheen of sweat began forming at his brow as he moved to the door. With nothing but his undertrousers on, he reached for the handle and tried to push it open.

  The wood let out a soft groan, but the hinges were silent. She left it unlocked… and wasn’t guarding it. Odd…

  In front of him was a dim corridor with long glass windows a yard or so above his head. The cold hall was made of hewn stones that fit together perfectly. Stepping into it, he felt the temperature drop quickly. He shivered.

  He was at the far end of a corridor lit by the shimmering white light of the moon. It smelled damp. Closed wooden slat doors stood to his left. They seemed dulled by age or weather. It wasn’t the oily sheen he’d expect from a noble’s residence.

  At the baron of Aldenheim’s keep, the residences and halls he’d seen were bright. His mother had taken him there to meet a young woman. The opulence and formality of the life bored him and she was a snob. His mother agreed on the carriage ride home telling him there were many more noble women and not all were like her.

  She knew of his interest in Kes and didn’t forbid it, though she didn’t bless it either. Childhood sweethearts were fine, as long as it stayed that way. Mistresses were a sign of a weak resolve in her mind.

  The farther from his prison he got, the less of an effect the wan stone had on him. The familiar feel of the energy around him came back.

  Edin paused at the first door and peered inside. The light from the window showed another storage room, but no hearth. He searched it quickly and found jars of preserves and dried meats. He spied garlic and the other herbs hanging from a timber in the ceiling.

  Edin grabbed a mystery meat and bit. Dry and chewy with little flavor other than salt.

  The corridor came to an end and turned a sharp left.

  Edin continued silently on the stone floor. The first door on the right was partially open, he pressed his fingertips to it and pushed. A soft squeal of the hinges.

  Edin paused waiting for any sound of the thieving wind magus who thought she was nobility. Nothing came. He stepped inside and found a small room, windowless and dark. Again, no hearth. Edin concentrated and summoned his mage light.

  Another storeroom. Large oaken barrels sat on wooden benches against the far wall, spigots poked out from their bases.

  A wooden T handle reached up from the center. Edin popped it off and took a waft of the dark liquid. It smelled of a strong ale.

  Hanging on a wooden rack he found a metal tankard. The best ales are served in tankards. With a quick twist of the spigot, the dark liquid flowed into it.

  Edin took a drink and nearly cried.

  It was one of the best sips of anything he’d ever had. There was an oaky taste to it and it was smooth. He finished it and poured another. At least something good came from his kidnapping…

  A warming sensation ran through him trying to fend off the night’s cold. Man was not meant to walk around in his skivvies, he thought before moving on.

  After he left, he found other rooms were empty of people… or her he should say. He found the kitchen and a closet with brooms, mops, and pails. Edin twisted the handle off a broom. Close enough for a quarterstaff.

  At the end of the hall was a stairwell and a p
air of doors sitting opposite each other. Moonlight was pushing through the base of the door with air seeping in from the bottom.

  It was outdoors… and freedom. He felt the wind beneath it. It felt like winter. Dressed this way, he’d die in an hour or two from exposure. He had to find his clothes and get his gear back.

  He thought about the woman all alone. Through the dreams he imagined her as some sort of damsel… she wasn’t. She spat about her father’s dungeon and was just as spoiled and bratty as any noble’s daughter.

  Despite her beauty and gracefulness, she was ugly and vile on the inside.

  The staircase went up and down. A flight above him, he could see a soft flame flickering. Before he knew it, he was climbing the stairs.

  As he climbed, he saw huge oaken doors across from a large bay window. On either side of the door were torches burning. They emitted no smoke or any smell. Below them he saw no ash.

  He reached for a metal ring and glanced back toward the window.

  Breath escaped him and it took a moment for him to realize what he was seeing. Edin felt mesmerized like he’d seen one of those hucksters that came to fairs and made people do stupid things like stand on their heads or speak in only vowels.

  The view was… he couldn’t even put it into words. He was in the mountains. On top of one by the look of it. The sight looked like a masterful painting by the most renowned artist.

  White peaks capped the monstrous blue mountains for leagues. Moonlight twinkled on the snow crystals. It was as if he were on top of the world.

  Far across a gap, he spotted a V of dark specks crossing a white cap. Despite the window Edin could feel the freshness of the air. Clean and crisp and it filled his lungs. He nearly forgot about everything: the cold, the creepy building, the woman.

  It was minutes of being in that trance before he finally, he shook himself free of the sight.

  Edin turned back to the doors and pushed one open. It swung effortlessly and quietly as if it’d been oiled just yesterday.

  He held the broom handle forward to ward off an attack while he stopped to listen for movement. Edin was half expecting to meet a tornado-force windstorm.