Questing Sucks! Book II (64 page)

“Is…that the end of it?” Ammecia whispered.

“I don’t know,” Duncan said. “I don’t even understand what I am bearing witness to. It’s almost as if they’ve been…no, no, that’s not it. But then how…?”

“Looks like there’s more.” Ammecia pointed, Duncan grunted, and Shina, Patrick, Kellar, and Orellia sobbed while their execution was cruelly dragged out for a reason that not even Duncan appeared to understand.

This time, only one of the robed men appeared, and he was also wearing a purple robe. He made his way on stage, much like the others had, then moved his way across it, just as the others had, and then finally he…he…wait, what
was
he doing?

Cah’lia waited for him to turn and move towards the edge of the stage. But he didn’t. In fact, this time, not only did he not inch his way closer to the stage, but he did not even face the direction of the crowd. Yet, for some reason, he resumed speaking right where the others had left off, only now he was too far away to be heard and he was facing in the wrong direction.

Duncan and his High-Mages watched with what could only be called detached fascination as for nearly five minutes the man continued to speak despite the fact that no one could hear him. And then he
too
exploded—all of him. He simply vanished into a purple puff of smoke. And before this smoke had dissipated, yet another purple-robed man was climbing onto the stage and strolling right up to Duncan. This one also died. Cah’lia wasn’t sure how or why. She only looked away from him for a moment and, when she looked back, his head was rolling across the stage.

“Stop yelling at me!” a voice squeaked from somewhere far at the back of the crowd. “And hurry up! I’m getting exhausted. Yes I
can
get exhausted ‘cause I’m a person too. Yes I
am
a person, yep-yep-mhmm!”

I wasn’t imagining it after all
, Cah’lia thought.
Someone or something is out there
.

Cah’lia tried to find whoever it was that was speaking, but despite being certain she looked in the right direction, she didn’t see anyone who stood out among the crowd aside from yet another purple-robed man who swiftly made his way across the stage towards Duncan.

“This time,” he announced, “you will all get to hear the prophecy. It’s definitely going to happen this time.”

“Enough of this!” Duncan shouted. “I don’t know what kind of suicidal death cult has decided to crash my execution, but we have no need for this sort of trash in Magia. Send all of your friends forward, and I will eliminate the whole lot of you in one fell swoop!”

I don’t understand what’s happening anymore,
Cah’lia thought.
Who are these people?

Duncan clearly wanted to know the same, as he demanded that the purple-robed man give over his name and the names of all such “robed figures” whom he accused of trying to make a “political point” by using suicide as a form of protest.

“I’ll do the deed for you,” Duncan remarked. “I will not be swayed by pity.”

“As I was saying,” the purple-robed man began, completely ignoring Duncan; the Archmage’s eyes bulged at the slight against him. “If I do not warn all of you of what I have come to warn you about, the world will end and everyone will die.”

The strange man spun around so that his back was to the crowd. Now, he moved
away
from the edge of the stage, towards Cah’lia, and then past her. He said nothing as he walked by. He continued onwards, making his way through the High-Mages who did not even bother to stop him as though too confused to know how to react.

He did not stop until he stood near Patrick and the others. Was he going to hang his own self? Cah’lia could not understand what drove this man. He must have been very ill in the head. Not only had he and his friends volunteered to die, but they all appeared intent on doing the deed themselves.

The man positioned himself so that he stood directly in front of Patrick. Then, in a loud, ominous cry, he shouted, “The Gods foretold of this moment! The only way the world can avoid destruction is if Prince Patrick Vasilis, who sucker-punched the Great Sehn when he was
not
—I repeat,
not
—ready, gets bitch slapped in front of everyone for
daring
to strike our God-King, Sehn, who once again, I must repeat was
not
ready, because Patrick knew that if Sehn had been prepared, he would have gotten a foot lodged in his ass!”

Oh…Gods,
Cah’lia thought, her toes and fingertips tingling.
It sounded like…but what if? No, it can’t be possible. Maybe I’m the one going insane. No! I know what I just heard! Twice now. And I’m sure he said “Nero” just before
.

Cah’lia didn’t know what was going on. She couldn’t. Because there was no brain in the world that could possibly interpret this situation as being anything other than completely insane and lacking in any reasonable explanation. But nevertheless, she continued to watch, her fear now forgotten. Who was this man? And why was it that, despite having an entirely different voice, the way he spoke reminded her so much of…?

The old man raised his hand, his palm open. Then he drew back his arm as if readying himself to deliver exactly what he’d promised: a slap directly to Patrick’s face. As far as the why, how, or what were concerned, Cah’lia failed to think up an answer to even one of these questions. And even if she had, it wouldn’t have mattered, as things somehow took an even stranger turn.

To begin with, something fell out of his hand as he pulled it back. It flew off behind him and landed with a clack on the stage right in front of Cah’lia’s feet. She wasn’t sure what it was, and she was too transfixed to look down at it.

Then, rather than slap the prince, the old man’s arm fell off. There was no reason for it. At least none that Cah’lia could see. It merely snapped off like a twig then plopped down on the stage before vanishing into another cloud of purple-colored smoke.

“I don’t…I just don’t know or understand anything anymore,” Patrick said, weeping. His words came out in a series of mumbles and sobs. His face was scrunched up, and in the same whiny, shrill voice, he repeated those same few words. “I don’t know anything anymore.” He sniffled. “Nothing makes sense.”

All eyes were now fixated on this mysterious, one-armed lunatic who, much like his friends before him, seemed built by the Gods just to die—which he did. He fell over onto his side, and there was a low thud as he hit the stage. Shortly afterwards, he vanished into the very same quickly dissipating cloud of purple smoke just as the other robe-wearing men had done.

Cah’lia looked over her shoulder and saw Archmage Duncan watching all of this happen without once blinking. Then, as though something important had finally dawned on him, his eyes widened, and he spun around to face Ammecia.

“That was a lesser summon!”

“A what?” she asked.

“Don’t you know what a…oh, right, you wouldn’t have been permitted to know of it, as you’re not an Archmage and have only recently been promoted to High-Mage. A lesser summon is a…” Duncan let out a frustrated-sounding sigh. “I lack the time needed to explain it. We must execute the prisoners
now
. It was a mage who did this.”

“A mage killed that man?” Ammecia whispered, sounding horrified. As a testament to just how strange a turn things had taken, the people watching from behind the barricades leaned forward as if trying to get just a little bit closer to the stage, likely in an attempt to overhear what was being said.

“No, that man wasn’t a man at all. He was…” Duncan grunted. “It doesn’t matter what he was. We need to find the mage who did this so we can—”

“Lord Duncan!” one of the High-Mages called out. “Look! Here comes another one.”

A commotion erupted from within the crowds. People fearfully got out of the way from what Cah’lia assumed must have been another robed figure. Before long, a space opened up around a man in a purple robe: a man who, like all the others, looked exactly the same as the one who’d just vanished after trying to slap Patrick.

Based on the way he walked with his left arm extended and his hand already in a slapping position, it seemed that his desire to slap Patrick was far greater than his desire to continue living.

“This has gone on for too long,” Duncan said. He harshly shoved Ammecia out of his way, and the woman was knocked onto her side, though she expressed no anger or hurt at the act. Duncan extended his hand in the direction of the purple-robed man coming towards them, who in turn extended his own hand at Duncan—no, not at Duncan, but at Cah’lia.

“Hurry!” it yelled just a moment before its head exploded like the others; only, this time, Cah’lia had the sense it was the result of some kind of magic from Duncan, who with a frenzied hiss prepared to gun down yet another one of them as they made their way through the startled crowd.

The people of Magia who’d come to the city square now likely wished they hadn’t. They nervously shifted back and forth to get out of the way wherever one appeared as if desperate to avoid being caught in the crossfire between Duncan’s magic and the robed men.

All of this made no sense. It went so far beyond what her mind had the ability to rationalize that she didn’t bother trying—which was exactly the point in which it finally
did
make sense. And when it did, Cah’lia found strength replacing all of the fatigue and hopelessness that had come upon her like a fire lit anew.

Gods, please let this be what I think it is,
she thought, a powerful surge of hope renewing her.

She lowered her eyes to the stage’s surface, where one of the purple-robed men had thrown something at her feet. To her delight, she saw what appeared to be a small dagger concealed in a black sheath.

In one powerful, eye-opening moment of understanding, the purpose for all of this struck her like a gallon of ice water poured over her head. Somehow, along with her rise in determination, her cool, levelheaded self also made a reappearance.

Now free of her terror and hopelessness, she was able to see what had eluded her up until this point: that all of this strangeness was not without purpose. It was all a distraction. It was a ploy. It was a chance for her to save her friends.

That’s what these men are dying for.

Cah’lia closed her eyes, but only for a short moment as she gathered both her wits and her will. When she reopened them, she was ready.

While Duncan continued to bark orders that his underlings both failed to understand and act upon, thus forcing him to deal with these mysterious robed figures on his own, Cah’lia got to work on saving the lives of the others. Finally, she understood what this was all about, even if she didn’t have a clue what exactly was happening or how any of this was possible.

Slowly, she got down on her knees. Then she paused, looked around to ensure she remained unwatched, then bent backwards to lie on her back. She felt for the dagger, then gripped it with her hands, which were still bound together just above her waist and behind her. Once able to get her fingers around the base of the weapon, she carefully rolled over onto her stomach, climbed up to her feet, and then glanced over to where Kellar and Shina stood on top of the stools with the nooses already around their necks. Thankfully, they were still alive. The suicidal men in the multicolored robes had distracted the executioners—for now, anyway. The executioners only needed to kick out their stools and then that would be the end of her friends. She needed to hurry.

As much as Cah’lia wanted—and intended—to save all four of them, she knew there was a chance she would fail, which was why she needed to prioritize rescuing the kids first. But if she did succeed in rescuing all four of them, then what? Maybe they could disappear in the swarm of people and create some kind of panic that would send everyone fleeing in every direction. That would be the perfect cover for their escape.

She used the distraction provided by the robed men to walk backwards and away from the High-Mages. Then, once she was close enough to risk making a break for it, she spun around and bolted as fast as she could to where Patrick and the others were still trembling while they awaited their death.

Cah’lia fought to keep her fear under control as she closed the distance. Fortunately, all four executioners were still so caught up in watching the Archmage killing the suicidal robed men that not a single one of them paid her any attention or even noticed that she was running straight for them.

I need to save Kellar first. That’s the only way we’re going to get everyone else out of here alive
.

Cah’lia charged at the executioner standing behind the boy, moving in on him from the side. The executioner spotted her once she came to within inches of him. He opened his mouth, probably to shout out in warning, but it was too late.

With her hands behind her back, she was forced to shuffle forward in a dance-like slide, using her hips, knees, and heels to give her increased mobility. Then she twisted her body in a fast-moving circular arc, one that enabled her to spin full circle and slice open his stomach with the dagger in her bound hands. He groaned, and she again twisted her body, this time striking him in the jaw with her shoulder blade, which sent a painful shock down into her arm and through her fingers. But at least it was enough to cause the shirtless man to stumble backwards until he fell off the rear-facing end of the stage and out of sight. The stone that he’d been holding against Kellar’s back went with him as well.