Questing Sucks (Book 1) (45 page)
Rillith looked at the Drashian boy with pride. They’d only been together a few days, but already he’d taken a liking to him. Kellar stood on a podium in the small town’s square, answering questions as they were asked.
“Is it true?” an old woman asked, leaning on her pitchfork. “Was it you who done saved the children, you and that other one, with the lightning? Me grandson’s been going on about that nonstop since he heard it.”
“It’s all true,” Kellar announced. There were whispers from all four hundred people in the gathered crowd, all assembled to hear what the boy had to say.
“It’s also true,” he continued. “That their village was one of the lucky ones. Many of the Kingdom’s villages have been destroyed, many children slain. Some of them were infants. Your Kingdom needs you to defend it! Please, I beg of you, gather together all of your able-bodied men and join those I have brought with me. Or it could be your homes that are burned to the ground next time.”
Rillith was thoroughly impressed with the made-in-training, or whatever title he held. Already they’d rounded up six hundred additional soldiers from the neighboring towns around Hahl, far more than Patrick estimated. This was the final stop, and from the looks of things, it would be worth it. Already men were raising their hands, shouting their loyalties to Prince Patrick and the throne.
When the crowd parted, Rillith approached the boy. “Did I do well, Rillith?”
“Aye, you did, boy. We’ve got seven hundred men in total, all waiting for your command.”
“My command?”
“You’ll be leading them, they trust you.”
“But as a mage of the order, ah, I mean mage in training, umm, I can’t participate in any wars.”
Rillith gave him a pat on the back. “You already have, boy. You already have.”
Rillith mounted his horse and rode with Kellar to the edge of town. The men were assembled in twenty rows of thirty five, each with crudely fashioned weapons and armor. Anything would do, though, anything at all to slow down the enemy’s pursuit. Rillith was not an emotional man, he did not believe in crying. But as he thought of the men whose lives he’d be blatantly sacrificing—the men would die for sure—the children who’d be fatherless, and all for the sake of a city he couldn’t save, his eyes grew moist and he swallowed his pride.
“Come, Kellar,” he said. “It’s long past time we returned to Hahl.”
Kellar nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Chapter 43: We're leaving.
The fear and confusion on the young soldier’s face was understandable—Patrick couldn’t blame him. After all, who’d expect the prince of the Seven Pillars to come strolling up to them and casually announce his arrival?
The man—a boy, really—appeared to be no older than sixteen. He gripped the hilt of the blade at his side, and threw a nervous glance at the entrance to the mayor’s home behind him. “S-So you’re Prince Patrick?” he asked. “
THE
, Prince Patrick?”Patrick tried to keep his patience with the boy, he really did, but wasted time was not something so easily afforded. It also didn’t help that he had to shout to be overheard. The loud smashing of horse hooves onto pavement drowned out the sound of his voice—Hahl was busiest during the early afternoon. Riders on the street behind him shuffled back and forth. Many were deliverymen, busy hauling baking ingredients, materials, and a myriad of other assorted items to various businesses.
“Bring me to the mayor at once, boy. Quit your gawking and get a move-on!” The soldier reddened, saluting and offering his sincerest apologies. He spun around and led Patrick into the home.
At once Patrick was disgusted, shaking his head at the gross abuse of the mayor’s wealth. It wasn’t the home being lavish that bothered Patrick, but rather the way he treated his servants. All the females were given attire that barely covered their bosoms and buttocks, while the male servants degraded and reigned over them. Patrick spotted an elderly steward whipping a young Elven servant across the backside. If he had the time he’d reprimand the man for it.
In some places it almost resembled something that Sehn would dream up. There were an abundance of servants, most doing little more than dancing in place as if they were nothing more than living wall ornaments. Music played from everywhere and anywhere, another waste of the Kingdom’s funds. Patrick was not averse to the notion of Kingdom officials having a few musicians, but Mayor Rumpus clearly went overboard. Between the fancy rugs, the pointless servants, and the constant abuse of power, Patrick decided that if by some miracle Hahl survived the coming battle, he’d have the mayor removed from office.
The young solider walked with Patrick up a wide staircase with golden banisters, the clicking of feet dulling the ambient sound of harps being played around them. “He’s in here, your grace,” the solider said, pushing open a large red door at the top of the staircase.
If Patrick had been disgusted earlier, then now he was downright revolted. Rumpus did not hear them enter. He sat at a desk far too large for him, holding a children’s toy in each hand. He slammed them together, making spluttering sounds, imitating explosions. “Hi-yah!” he yelled, controlling the arm of a small soldier and making it strike the other with a plastic sword.
“You will not steal the princess!” Rumpus declared, adding a course edge to his voice, in what Patrick assumed was his best imitation of a gruff, battle-hardened soldier.
“Oh yes I will!” Rumpus answered, shaking the other toy, pretending the dashing, young, and plastic prince was the one doing the speaking.
“Then, you shall have to taste my—”
Patrick cleared his throat. Rumpus stopped mid-sentence, his eyes bulging in alarm. He coughed, loudly, and then swung open his desk and threw the toys inside of it. For a moment he looked into the face of his prince with a blank expression, before licking his lips and laughing loudly, waving his arms in an inviting gesture. “Ah! My good Prince Patrick, how wonderful it is to see you in Hahl. I was just running some, umm…battle simulations. It never can hurt to be too prepared, you know? To what do I owe this honor?”
“To war,” Patrick said. He stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him, dismissing the young solider that guided him.
“War, your grace?”
Patrick knew he was dealing with an idiot, and his words would more than likely be wasted, but he needed the mayor’s cooperation. “Listen carefully, Mayor Rumpus. I know this is going to be a lot to take in, and I know this won’t be easy to hear, but tomorrow morning, probably at around dawn, an army of sixteen thousand men will be attacking Hahl.”
The mayor didn’t move—his only indication of alarm being the twitching of his right eye. “Is this like, a fire drill, my good prince?”
Patrick lost control of himself. In quite the un-princely manner he stepped forward and slammed his palms down onto the mayor's desk. “No, you fool! We’re being invaded, and we’ve less than twenty four hours to prepare. I want every single commander, general, and sergeant, assembled in a planning room within forty minutes.”
Patrick could see Rumpus was shaken up, yet the man at least managed to do his job. Standing up on trembling feet, and holding himself upright with a palm on his desk, he pulled a stringed-lever attached to the luxurious maroon curtains that filtered out the sun. A young, scantily-clad attendant entered the room an instant later.
“More tea, mayor Rumpus?”
Rumpus jumped up and down on the balls of his feet. “No, no, no! There is an emergency, Patricia!”
“A tea emergency?”
“A what? Why would it be a tea emergency?”
“You did pull the tea string, sir.”
“Oh, did I? Damn, I meant to pull on the emergency string.”
Patrick was baffled by the mayor’s waste of kingdom funding. So, he not only had strings installed that summoned servants, but he even had them segregated according to task? Patrick emboldened his resolve and remained calm. “Please, Mayor Rumpus, there is little time.”
Rumpus nodded. “Patricia, summon all the war-officials of ranks five and higher to the room of heavenly council at once! Oh, and fetch Alan Marshall, he should be in the city still.”
Patrick felt a rush of excitement at the name. “Hold on a moment, Mayor Rumpus. Did you just say the name Alan Marshall?”
“Oh! Yes, how could I forget? For some reason he’s in Hahl on some business or another, hmm, I think I overheard his first lieutenant mention your name. Maybe they were looking for you?”
Despite the terrible situation, Patrick felt the beginnings of hope. If that man—that lewd, vile, and downright obnoxious man, had entered Hahl...There might still be a chance of saving the city, however small.
“I will return shortly,” Patricia said. She left the room in a hurry.
Patrick knew the trouble that marched towards Hahl. princess Saerina departed earlier in the day on Shina’s gryphon to scout the enemy’s position and number. Patrick wasn’t surprised she was able to ride the beast—nothing about the woman surprised him anymore. Patrick didn’t know why they only brought a small fraction of their overall army. If the reports were to be believed, then the army numbered far greater than the sixteen thousand soldiers marching on Hahl. Still, Patrick was grateful. He needed to buy time. He needed to get Sehn to the capital, to the weapon.
“My prince,” Rumpus said. “Why are we being attacked? And who is attacking us? I shiver to think what I’d do if anything were to happen to my poor city of Hahl.”
His city?
Patrick thought.
It’s my city!“I’m not at liberty to say, but hear me on this. This army is not interested in looting, or stealing, or rape. No, they want nothing more than the deaths of every last one of us. They leave nothing alive, neither the oldest man nor the smallest child. I want you to order the evacuation of all citizens. Send them south, to the nearest Pillar.”
“Your will be done, my good prince.”
Patrick inhaled, and readied himself for the coming council of war. It wouldn’t be easy for any of them. Never, had the Kingdom been forced to prepare for war on such short notice. Yet there was still hope. There was still a chance. Alan Marshall. He was alive, and he was in Hahl.
Cah’lia,
Patrick thought.
You need to get Sehn out of the city, and you need to get him out now!
There was an explosion, followed by the sound of screaming. Carriages halted, and horses reared. Citizens on either end of the wide street turned to look, some cowering in fear. Parents grabbed their little ones and held them tightly, probably wondering why the center building on the street was shooting flames. The flames spread, melting and collapsing the stone columns, turning them into liquid. The roof caved in, falling to the street with a crash, startling the nearby spectators.
“Just keep walking,” Sehn whispered. “Act like nothing happened, Nero. That’s good. Just keep walking.” Sehn crept along the city’s sidewalk, grabbing Nero’s hand and making sure the boy followed. There was no way he could’ve known this would happen.
Nero moaned and complained, claiming Sehn was tugging too hard, but Sehn didn’t care. He wanted to be as far away from the scene of the crime as he could get. If Cah’lia thought for a moment he was responsible, she’d be on his case forever.
At least no one got hurt—not that Sehn would’ve cared! The sole occupant, the firework salesmen, had made it to safety long before the building caved in.
“Nero, this is all your fault!”
Nero flailed his arms around in denial. “B-But Sehn, I didn’t even do anything, how come you’re blaming me? It’s not fair, cause I was the one saying not to do it. I’m gonna tell Cah’lia! It's not, not, not, my fault!”
Sehn growled, baring his teeth. “It is your fault!”
“But you were the one who wanted to play with the fireworks.”
“Yes, but you were the one who was supposed to stop me!”
“But I tried, and then you got mad at me.”
“Of course I did, you fool! No one stops the Great Sehn!”
“But then…”
“No buts, Nero. The Great Sehn is immune from taking responsibility for anything. Now, hurry your pace. I want to be gone before they spot us.”
Sehn wished he didn’t mess around with the Human-made fireworks. How could he have known they were so powerful? He looked behind him as he hurried away, and prayed Cah’lia didn't find out about (Nero’s!) accident. The building was literally crumbling before his eyes, all the while more and more fireworks were triggered, sending sparks and booming explosions in every direction. There were no surrounding buildings for the fire to spread to, so at the very least the damage would be limited to just the firework shop, although the nonstop explosions were painful to listen to.
