Questing Sucks (Book 1) (60 page)

Sehn examined the things that had tried to end his life. Already they were melting under the hot sun. Sehn had no doubt that whatever happened was intentional. Something had tried to kill him. But what? He tilted his head to the sky, towards the direction where they’d come from.

Of course,
Sehn thought.
Even the fucking sky is trying to get a piece of me now.

Sehn’s shock faded, and he burned with a torrent of fury and hate. How dare the sky attack him? Sehn extended his palm skyward.

“Remmos Salas! Remmos Salas! Remmos Salas!”

Sehn launched fireball after fireball at the partially cloudy sky, and why wouldn’t he? Sehn didn’t back down from anyone or anything. He was the one who was a bully—he did not GET bullied. So, the sky thought just because it was a tiny bit bigger than Sehn that it could mess with him and get away with it? Hah!

“Fuck you sky!” Sehn shouted. “Get destroyed by my fire magic. Eat my flames!”

That’ll teach it,
he thought.

Sehn noticed after a moment that the squirrel was still where he’d left it. Only now, its Human-looking eyes were wide with shock and something else—something Sehn recognized as disappointment. Sehn growled at the creature. “You were rooting for the sky, weren’t you?”

The squirrel’s eyes changed, losing the eerie look of humanity. It looked around in confusion then chirped in fear, running away. Sehn didn’t care. Let it run and tell all its squirrel friends about how awesome Sehn was. Sehn remounted his horse and grinned.

It was then that a gripping fear entered him. “Crap!”

Sehn filled with despair and misery. During the entire ordeal, he had been the only one around. There were no witnesses. Cah’lia was never going to believe him about the awesome thing he did with his sword that was totally on purpose and intentional.

It’ll be all right,
Sehn thought.
I’ll just have Nero throw a bunch of spears at me and recreate the event for them. No one dares to call the Great Sehn liar!

Sehn grabbed the reins. “Yah!”

He laughed as he rode towards the mountain, his last stop on the way to Hahl. In that moment, Sehn decided—when he conquered the world, he would randomly launch five fireballs a day into the sky.

Chapter 54: In Fire and Flames

 

Patrick allowed his anger to fade, to slip through his fingers like a handful of sand. As the gates of Hahl widened and the city opened for all to enter, Patrick simply shrugged and took a step back, allowing Alan to be the only face visible to Rillith and the mass of kingdom soldiers gathered in the courtyard below. What’s done, was, as they say, done. No sense getting angry at things that could no longer be changed.

Patrick wasn’t a stranger to bitter thoughts and furious tempers, but he only allowed himself the luxury when in pursuit of something meaningful. Once things were set in stone and could no longer be altered, Patrick went with the flow and worked on what could still be fixed. Only a fool dwelled on the impossible. Only a fool lived in a world of immovable objects meeting unstoppable forces.

“That is wise of you, Patrick,” Saerina said.

Patrick wanted to question her—he really did, but the surprise of Saerina’s words lasted less than a heartbeat. Patrick paused before speaking and waved a hand at her. Why bother? Instead, he said, “you know what? I’m not even going to ask. So, you can read minds now too, can you? Why not? I mean…there doesn’t seem to be anything else you can’t do.” Patrick laughed.

“You find something funny?” Saerina asked.

“Oh, it’s just that I’m so used to expecting the unexpected from you that I don’t even care anymore. If you turned into a bird and flew away, I wouldn’t even bat an eye. If you moved an entire mountain and dropped it on my head, I’d die without a single lingering question.”

Saerina kept her eyes on Rillith and his men while she spoke to Patrick. “I cannot read minds,” she said. “I am just very intuitive. I saw the anger drain from your face, change into hopelessness, and then into determination. Is that really so strange?”

Patrick placed a hand on his heart and breathed deeply. “From anyone else? Yes. From you, not at all.”

Saerina seemed about to respond, but Saerith cut her off. The Elven prince’s agitation was plain on his face. He had trouble standing still, and Patrick could tell by the shaking in Saerith’s hands that the Elf could barely keep them at his sides.

“Are you serious, Patrick? Alan? Rebecca? Are you all serious right now?”

Patrick turned to Saerith. “Serious about what?”

“About her!” Saerith shouted, pointing at his sister. “Are we really going to let this one slide? Is no one going to ask my sister why she stole our water, turned it into ice, and then hurled it into the sky? I doubt she did it just to make the temperature cooler.”

“Easy now, brother,” Saerina said. “Let’s just—”

“Let’s just nothing! I have had enough. That’s it! You’ve done it first to Patrick and now to Alan, too. You do it to everyone!”

Patrick didn’t know what had the prince so bothered. Wasn’t he used to his sister’s antics by now?

“And what is it she’s done to us, Saerith?” Patrick asked.

Saerith acted like a child and stomped his feet on the ground. “She’s…you…come on, how can you not see it?”

“See what?”

Patrick grew alarmed when he spotted the moistness in his Elven friend’s eyes. Whatever upset him had to be serious.

“She’s done this my whole life,” Saerith said. “She’s done this since we were little. She does the strangest things at any given time, without regard for who or what she’s doing them to. But that’s not what bothers me. No! It’s that no matter who I introduce her to, after a short period of time it’s always the same. They stop questioning her and simply accept her madness. Gods, Patrick. Look at what she just did. Who does that? Who just…I don’t even know how to describe it. Who randomly hurls ice into the sky? And you’re not even curious?”

Saerina attempted to place a hand on her brother’s shoulder, but Saerith swatted it away. “No, sister. Don’t try to comfort me. I’m tired of this nonsense. It never, ever ends. Even mother and father don’t question you anymore. You’ve given orders to our mages, you’ve had buildings both constructed and destroyed, none of which was in your power to do. And through all of it, mother and father nod and do whatever you say. Am I the only sane one left?”

It took Patrick a moment to really consider Saerith’s words, but the more he thought on them the more he could empathize. It couldn’t have been easy being the brother to someone like Saerina. As a male, Saerith would one day be king of the Elven people, and as surely as night turns to day, Saerith must have realized that no matter how hard he struggled, no matter how firm his voice of command, he would inevitably sit on the throne as nothing more than a figurehead. No one could stop Saerina. She truly was an unstoppable force, and try as he might, Saerith could never be an immovable object, for no other reason than the fact that both cannot exist in the same world.

“At any rate,” Saerina said. “What I’ve done matters little. It didn’t succeed.”

“Will you bunch of idiots shut up already?” Alan snapped. “I’m trying to concentrate, and all I hear is whiny, obnoxious Elven voices. From now on, Saerina, you’re not allowed to speak unless you’re naked. And you, Saerith, are not allowed to speak period. All I hear is whining from you. ‘Oh, poor me, my sister makes ice cubes, boo-hoo.’ Shut it! Oh, and put down those daggers. You both know you can’t kill me. Not while I’m in command.”

At first, Patrick decided to—yet again—reprimand Alan. In spite of every disrespectful thing Alan had done previously, this was taking things too far. But then Patrick observed a change in the two Elves. Immediately, they settled their feud and refocused their anger on Alan, or…at least Saerith did. Despite the way Saerina’s eyes glowed with outrage while she drew her fist back, ready to strike, Patrick noticed a lack of genuine hatred in her expression. He’d seen Saerina when she was angry. The look was the same, but somehow the menace was absent.

So that’s what’s happening,
Patrick thought.
Alan and Saerina are calming the prince. Why am I always the last to realize these things?

Alan waited with open arms. “Well? Either of you want to take a shot at me? No? Then I’m getting back to the war effort. Saerina, I need something from you.”

She tilted her chin in defiance. “And what do you need, exactly?”

“Can you massage my back while I command?”

“And you think I’ll dignify that with a response?”

Alan twirled a finger at Saerina and grinned. “You just did.” He leaned over the walkway and shouted to Rillith. “Are your men ready?”

“Aye,” Rillith shouted back.

“Then go! Attack their catapults and kill their archers.” Alan turned to the nearest runner. “You, boy, order our archers to provide cover fire.”

In a matter of seconds, the mood changed and became grim. Rillith drew his blade and raised it into the air, shouting “for the kingdom!” before kicking his horse and taking off at a gallop with the rest of the mounted men following in a line. Swordsmen and lancers sprinted behind, and with haste, the men of the Kingdom of the Seven Pillars raced into battle. They leaked out of Hahl like blood from an open wound. Slow at first, but then more and more rapidly. Hahl grew less densely populated by the second, and as the last soldier left the gates, Patrick mumbled a prayer to Helena. Gods, he hoped that Alan knew what he was doing.

The men paused just outside of Hahl, forming into two massive lines. Up front, Rillith and his horsemen stretched out horizontally across Hahl, while the ground soldiers formed groups behind them containing a mix of swordsmen, lancers, and crossbowmen.

Alan folded his hands behind his back. “And with that, we sit and watch.”

“We watch?” Saerith asked. “How do you command from here on out?”

“I don’t.” Alan lifted his chin and for a moment closed his eyes as a breeze rolled in from the mountains. “At this point, unless the right opportunity presents itself, we can do nothing but trust in the men. The fate of our soldiers is now in Rillith’s hands, not mine.”

Patrick took in the brave forces lined up outside the city, moments from their suicidal charge. “Rillith is a good soldier,” Patrick said. “But he is not a good field commander.”

Alan shrugged. “He’s all we got though, no? Unless you know someone else who could potentially lead these men.”

Patrick wanted to cry but instead released a genuine laugh. “You want me to go down there, don’t you?”

Alan’s mouth fell open, and he put on one of the most insincere looks of shock that Patrick had ever seen. “Me? Of course not! You’re our prince. I can’t let you go out there.”

“Save it,” Patrick said. “I’m of no use up here, and I’m not afraid to die.”

“Then what will you do?” Saerina asked. Her eyes seemed to glow while she looked at Patrick.

“The only thing I can. Alan, can you tell Rillith to halt for a moment?”

Alan grinned. “Do you see the men marching? No? I guess he already has.”

Again Patrick laughed. “You are one shrewd man.”

Patrick turned when he felt Prince Saerith’s hand on his shoulder. “I may as well go with you,” Saerith said. “I’m not doing any good standing around here either.”

Saerina leaned over the walkway and mumbled something under her breath. She spun around and grabbed Patrick, and then released him and grabbed Prince Saerith. “Patrick, brother, it will waste too much time for you to go walking around the city. Jump off the walkway and join the men.”

“Jump?” Patrick asked. “Would you like us to die before we even leave the gates?”

Saerina was unmoved. She held her head high and stood regally at attention. “Do you think I am some courtside magician that deals in magic tricks, Patrick? Draw your weapons and jump.”

“Just do what she says,” Saerith said. “My sister isn’t the type to let people down.” He sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it.”

Patrick glanced over the walkway and shivered at the prospect of falling to his death in the courtyard below. But with a nod to Saerith, he broke through his fear and drew his sword from his scabbard. A gift from his father, the blade shimmered in the morning light. He and Prince Saerith exchanged one final look, and then together, they ran forward and hopped over the walkway. Nearby servants dropped pots and jugs of water, shouting at what must have looked like a coward’s suicide.

Patrick felt the wind hit his face the moment his palms slid from the guardrail behind him. Acid rushed into his stomach as he entered into a free-fall with his blade clutched tightly in his left hand. The wind rippled his tunic, pressing the fabric into his chest and added the sound of flapping clothing. It only took a few seconds for Patrick to realize what a mistake he’d made.