Questing Sucks (Book 1) (58 page)

Saerith didn’t handle his sister’s words well. He stood defiantly before her and sneered. “Sometimes I grow tired of this ridiculous shroud of mystery you cover yourself in. But by the Gods, sister, you speak as if you know the future for certain.”

“Because I do,” she said. “And when night falls on Hahl, none of you will be in it.”

Patrick, Saerith, and Rebecca all whirled on her. Patrick knew they were feeling the same outrage as he did. What could possibly possess Saerina to make such an outrageous claim? As if Patrick didn’t already have enough to worry about. Now, one of his own allies promised him death.

“You’ve gone too far this time, sister!” Saerith shouted. “I do understand that you’re a smart woman, perhaps the smartest I’ve ever known, but that does NOT give you the right to claim to know what only the Gods may. That is blasphemy of the highest order.”

Patrick wanted to voice his agreement, but despite his annoyance with the princess, he would not engage in such disrespect. Instead, he remained quiet and watched Saerith point a finger at his sister, inches away from her eyes.

“I’ve put up with a lot from you,” Saerith said. “I’ve played the role of dear brother, and I’ve stood by you since we were children. But you’ve always kept secrets from me. You’ve always gone out of your way to be subtle and mislead me. I want to know. I want to know once and for all, what is it you hide from us? How can you speak with such certainty?”

There was laughter from beside them. “Can I just say one thing?” Alan asked.

“No!” Patrick, Saerina, and Saerith answered together.

Saerith resumed his tirade. “I’ve had enough. I want to know what it is that goes on in that mind of yours. We are struggling here, sister. We’re struggling, and yet all you do is make snide remarks and promise us death? Is this some sick form of humor? Because despite all of the unbearable secrets, I’ve never thought you one to be so cruel.”

Sweat poured down Saerith’s face and he panted, struggling to regain his breath. Patrick had never seen him so worked up, not even when Sehn had challenged him over Cah’lia. Saerith turned to face away from Saerina.

“Either you tell me what you know,” he said. “Or you tell me nothing ever again, and I denounce you as my sister.”

Saerina’s eyes flashed with a pained look, but it was only for a moment. Then, emotion left her expression and she sighed. Once again, she rolled up her sleeve to reveal the tattoo of the staff. This time, the art did not take reality—smoke did not rise from her skin.

“Do you truly want to know?” she asked.

“Of course,” Saerith said. “I’ve always wanted to know.”

Patrick found himself momentarily forgetting the approaching battle, intrigued by whatever secret it was that Saerina protected so dearly.

She balled her hands into fists and inhaled. “On the surface, I am the princess to the Elven people,” she said. “But I am so much more. I’m sorry to say this to you, my dear, sweet brother. But I am a—”

A bolt of red lightning broke through the cloudless morning sky, slamming down into an empty field in front of the city’s gates. With a thunderous boom, dirt, grass, and rocks were sent hurling into the air, leaving a crater large enough to bury a caravan.

“What in the Gods!” Rebecca cried.

The earth shook. Archers grabbed hold of the walls as they rocked back and forth. Alan grabbed hold of Rebecca, while Saerith steadied his sister. What was going on? Was the world ending? Another bolt of red lightning struck in front of Hahl, directly at the midpoint between the kingdom’s forces and the enemy commander’s.

What kind of storm is this?
Patrick wondered.
Have the heavens themselves come to take part in this battle?

There was a cry—no, it was more like a wail. Saerina’s face contorted in misery and rage. She ripped herself free from her brother’s grasp and grabbed the sides of her head, shouting. Patrick didn’t know what to do. What could he do? What was going on?

“S-Sister! What’s happening?”

Rebecca sobbed while she buried her face in Alan’s chest, as another bolt of red lightning tore another chunk out of the earth, followed by the crackling sound of demonic thunder. Oddly, despite the cataclysm occurring around them, Patrick still took notice of the way Alan shrugged and continued to sip tea. Did anything frighten the man?

Saerina’s wails grew in pitch and intensity. Patrick ran over to her and tried to assist Saerith in grabbing hold of her. “What’s wrong?” Patrick asked. “Princess Saerina, please tell us what’s wrong.”

In an instant, the rumbling stopped and so did the lightning. The previous cheer on the faces of the kingdom’s soldiers was replaced by looks of pure terror. Rillith marched around from soldier to soldier checking for injuries, while the Elves around the city prayed to Helena.

“No,” Saerina whispered. “No, no, no!”

Saerith tried to hug his sister, but she pushed him off of her. “No!” she screeched. “No! That moron! That Idiot!”

I’ve had enough,
Patrick thought.
I’m done with her cryptic nonsense.

Patrick broke all pretense of formality and roughly grabbed at Saerina’s shoulders. “Damn you, princess, tell us what is happening.”

A wrinkle formed, running from Saerina’s forehead to her mouth. Her lips pulled back into a scowl. “It’s that Elf. That ridiculous, foolish Elf.”

Patrick tried to make sense of her words. What foolish Elf? The only foolish Elf he knew was—

“Sehn?” Saerith asked. “Are you speaking about Sehn?”

Saerina’s words came out in a rumbling growl. “Yes. Him.”

“What about him?” Patrick asked.

“Somehow, by some means, he has just defied the Gods themselves and changed destiny. What you just saw was the result of that.”

Saerith backed away from his sister and shook his head. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘he changed destiny?’”

“What I mean,” Saerina said. “Is that right now, he’s on his way here. All of this will have been for nothing!”

Patrick filled with dread, weakening his knees. He gripped the guardrails to prevent himself from collapsing. As much as he wanted to doubt Saerina’s words, somehow, he knew that whatever the Elven woman said was more than likely the truth.

“Please, tell me you’re not serious,” Patrick said. “After everything we’ve done. After everything we’ve prepared for—that moron is on his way here?”

Saerina spoke with such anger that spittle flew from her lips. “Yes. It shouldn’t be possible. It shouldn’t…it’s not supposed to happen like this. Damn him! Damn that trouble-making Elf!”

Alan laughed uproariously. “Great Sehn is coming to play?” he asked. “How wonderful. Rebecca, make some extra tea.”

Patrick didn’t know how he managed to remain standing. Everything was falling apart. “We need to dispatch riders,” he said. “Have them apprehend Sehn and drag him in the other direction. If he dies, then our own deaths will have been worthless.”

“We can’t,” Alan said. “The enemy has that route pretty much blocked off. If he’s coming this way, then he’ll come whether we want him to or not.”

Saerith drew his weapon and violently threw it to the ground. “Damn it all! Why is this happening? What are you laughing at, Human?”

Alan shrugged. “Me? Oh, nothing. I’m just amused by that foolish formation the enemy is using to charge at us.”

Patrick moaned. “Please tell me they’re not already—”

“Yup,” Alan said. “It’s starting.”

Patrick looked off into the distance, where the largest assembled army he’d ever seen raced towards his city. And to think, it was still only a small part of what the man with the Hawk-mask had under his control, and the only Elf in the world capable of stopping him was on his way to get himself killed.

“What is it that only Sehn would say?” Patrick whimpered. “Fuck my life!”

Chapter 53: From the Heavens

 

Things didn’t happen the way Patrick expected them to. There were no final heroic speeches, no last words spoken or battle cries shouted—there was only the blur of archers releasing arrows into a sea of men. As more of the black-armored men died, Patrick thought he could sense the crossing of a line. As if any chance of peace and resolution were thrown out of the window, replaced by the desire to slaughter and kill.

Through it all, Patrick stood in fascination of Alan. Even Saerina had gone quiet once the enemy came into archer range. She stood regally at attention, but her eyes narrowed and worry formed a crease on her brow. Alan, however, remained firm, alert, and stood without the slightest trace of fear or hesitance.

The first of the Kingdom’s men died as enemy archers returned fire from behind the charging swordsmen. Patrick cried out in shock when several of his men on the front wall were sent sprawling backward and over the railing with arrows jutting from their chests. One landed on an unfortunate solider waiting in front of the gates below, killing both of them instantly.

Saerith placed a reassuring hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “It will be all right,” he said. “Just bear with it.”

Bear with it?
Patrick thought.
If only it were as simple as that.

“It’s only going to get worse,” Alan said. The edge to his voice disturbed Patrick. Whenever the man was serious, nothing good came of it.

“What are you implying, Alan?” Patrick asked.

Alan turned to face him, and Patrick could spot genuine sympathy in his eyes. “I think you should go back into the command center and wait. There’s no need to see your people die.”

As if brought about by Alan’s words, a tremendous crash echoed from the front of the city as stones released from the enemy’s catapults slammed repeatedly into the walls. Most of the sections held, all except for the western wing where several dozen Elves and Humans either died to the exploding rock or fell from the broken section of wall. All this, while counter fire hammered the Kingdom’s archers and flaming arrows forced men hidden on rooftops to abandon their burning buildings. Now, every few seconds, another man clutched his stomach or neck and died.

“How is this even possible?” Patrick asked, breathing heavy. “Catapults should not be able to do this kind of damage. Not without weeks of hammering our walls.”

Saerith hissed. “It’s volatile rock. Somehow they’ve acquired some of it.”

“Volatile rock?”

“It’s normally found in the mountains near Elvadin,” Saerith said. “It’s a type of explosive rock found deep under the ground. Under normal conditions, it remains passive. But launch it hard enough at something and—”

Saerith’s words were cut off, and as if mocked by the Gods, the rocks put on a demonstration in place of Saerith’s explanation. The kingdom walls shook as the second round of catapult fire assaulted it, but miraculously, none were destroyed.

Alan signaled, and two runners appeared. He pointed. “Have our men concentrate fire on the catapults. Ignore their archers.”

Saerith pushed one of the runners aside and made his way to Alan. “Are you mad?” he asked. “If we don’t return fire on their archers then our own will be picked off one at a time.”

“No they won’t,” Alan insisted. “Look closely.” Alan extended an arm towards the enemy formation. Thousands of men with swords, pikes, or shields made way to allow archers and teams lugging rams and catapults to press forward.

Patrick didn’t understand the significance of what Alan pointed out. What did it matter what formation the enemy used? Unless Alan focused the brunt of his force on the enemy archers, there’d be no one left alive to even focus on the catapults. No matter what, the archers needed to die first.

“I think Saerith may be correct,” Patrick said. “We need to—”

The catapults assaulted Hahl with a third round of fire. Again, most of the wall held, except for a section to Patrick’s immediate right. The walkway rocked under the impact, and Patrick struggled to maintain balance while he watched his men die first hand. One held onto a crumbling section of rock, and in that moment, the solider met Patrick’s eyes. Then the rock broke loose with the young solider still holding on. There was a pleading cry for help, and then both the solider and the rock met their end in the courtyard below.

Patrick choked out the words and ignored the carnage. “We need to keep focus on their archers. Something has to put those men down, or they will continue to put
us
down.”

“I agree,” Alan said. “That’s why I pointed out their shift in formation. For the first time, their archers and war machines are up front along with their battering rams. They’re defenseless. I think it’s time we stuck Rillith on them.”

Patrick needed a moment to register his words. “Rillith? What do you…Gods, Alan! Are you talking about opening the gates and ordering a charge? That’s suicide!”

Alan shrugged. “You said it yourself. We need to take down their archers. Now’s our chance.”

“But Alan!” Patrick shouted. “That’s what the enemy wants. That’s the whole reason they brought along rams and catapults in the first place. They’re trying to tear down the wall or bash a way in. The moment the first of our horsemen leave the gates, the archers will just run back behind their swordsmen. We’ll be caught out in the open against twice our number. You’re handing them victory on a platter.”

“No,” Alan corrected. “I already did hand them victory on a platter, and they ran away from it, remember?”

Patrick wanted to trust the man, he really did, but this time he had to remain firm. “You’re wrong about this, and I’m not signing off on it. We’re not opening our gates. That’s the same as declaring surrender. I’m putting my foot down on this one, you got it? For the first time, I’m putting my—ouch! Alan! My Gods, man, did you just kick my foot?”

Patrick’s ankle exploded with pain. How dare the man attack his very own prince? Worse, Alan barked his usual series of laughs.

“Damn right I did,” Alan said. “And no, I’m not letting them win.”

Patrick growled under his breath, but somehow he found a way to calm himself. “You can act as childish as you’d like. But I’m not allowing this order. Our men will stay inside the city until the walls have fallen, and then they will fight to hold their ground.”

“Duuhard!” Patrick called.

The commander, positioned on the other end of the walkway, came running over. “You called, my prince?”

Patrick pointed at Alan. “From this point on, you are to ignore all commands from this man. I’ll be taking over. Let the men know to follow my instructions and my instructions alone.”

Duuhard’s
face tightened as he spoke. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, sir.”

Patrick’s mind erupted in an explosion of shock. Was the loyal commander Duuhard disobeying him? “What do you mean you cannot do that?” he asked. “I, Prince Patrick of the Kingdom of the Seven Pillars, have given you a direct order, at a time of war, no less. Disobedience is treason, punishable by death.”

Duuhard nodded. “True, my prince. But the way I see it is this—if I disobey you, then I, holding the rank of commander, will be privy to a quick and painless death. On the other hand, if I allow this city to fall by going against commander Marshall’s wishes, then I’ll probably end up having my groin chopped off and my head placed on a pike. At least this way, I can hang knowing I’ve served my kingdom to the best of my ability. Forgive me, my prince.”

Patrick wanted to slap the man upside the head. He wanted to have him flogged and fined. But he didn’t want to see the man die. He didn’t want to see any of his people die. “Very well,” Patrick said with a sigh. “We’ll do this Alan’s way. But Gods help me if we lose this battle.”

“Gods help us all,” Duuhard agreed.

Alan barked another laugh, and surprisingly, Patrick was relieved to see humor return to his face. He put an arm on Patrick’s shoulder. “I take it I have your permission now?”

Patrick waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever. If you can convince Rillith to go along with it. Don’t forget, it’s him who’s leading those men down there, and he’s quite battle hardened himself. He’ll never go along with such a ridiculous plan. If you can somehow, by some means, actually manage to convince him then you may do whatever you please.”

Alan shrugged. “Really? Is that all?” He leaned over the walkway. “Yo! Rillith!”

Rillith spun his horse and looked up at Alan. “Aye, commander Marshall?”

“How’d you like to get out there and cause some trouble for me?”

Rillith lowered his head and addressed his men. “Boys!” he shouted. “Commander Marshall wants to know if we’d like to go running out into the battle like idiots.”

Patrick grinned. He knew Rillith was too smart for such a foolish plan. Patrick was only moments away from gloating, when seconds later, he feared his heart might stop as the men unanimously roared their approval.

“Let’s kill em!” Patrick heard them cry. “For the Kingdom!”

The men shouted so loudly that Patrick wondered if the enemy’s archers could overhear. Rillith held out his hands to silence his men and then returned his gaze to Alan.

“It’s about time,” Rillith said, laughing. “I’ve been getting tired of sitting here all day doing nothing.”

Alan and Rillith exchanged smirks, and then Rillith pointed his horse towards the front gate. Patrick’s stomach bubbled with worry. He knew Alan was a smart man, perhaps the smartest alive—at least in the arts of war—but trying to take on the enemy army out in the open was like trying to add one plus one and get six. Why throw away their defensive position? Patrick understood that the enemy archers needed to be slain, but even if Rillith pushed his men to their limits, the archers would still have enough time to get behind their guarding swordsmen and shield bearers.

“Shall I give the command to open the gates and charge?” Duuhard asked, motioning for the runners to be ready to deliver the message.

“Not yet,” Alan said. “Wait for it…any moment now…there it is.”

“There what is?” Patrick asked.

Alan’s mouth curved into a lopsided grin. “You’ll see.”

Does he enjoy torturing me?
Patrick wondered.

Patrick was snapped from his thoughts when he heard princess Saerina moan. She’d been so quiet that Patrick had forgotten she was even among them. The usually outspoken woman was still as a statue, with her eyes closed and her lips mumbling something inaudible. How long had she been doing that?

Saerith looked at Patrick, and then followed his eyes along Patrick’s gaze to his sister’s. “Is everything all right?” Saerith asked. “Sister, what’s the matter with you?”

Saerina’s eyes darted open. “I don’t want to kill him. And I hope this doesn’t. But he needs to be stopped. I’d rather have him die than fall into enemy hands.”