Questing Sucks (Book 1) (51 page)

Something was wrong. Sehn didn’t know what, but each time his horse splashed down on another puddle of mud, he became more and more dubious with everything that had been happening. For one, it never occurred to Sehn—at least not until then—just how ridiculous the idea of a gold giveaway was. Why would anyone in their right mind give away free gold? Or toys, for that matter. Also, why would everyone look so frightened, instead of excited and enthusiastic?

Something isn’t right. What’s going on here?
Sehn wondered.

Nero babbled away about the stars, the breeze, about anything and everything, but Sehn ignored him. He was too concentrated on the thoughts plaguing his mind, on his uncertainties. He straightened in the saddle, trying his best to find a comfortable position, hoping the pain didn’t show on his face.

Everything hurt him these days. Everything. Pain shot up his wrists, traveling into his shoulders every time he moved them. His legs were the same way, the agony running from toe to hip. Even riding instead of walking gave him trouble breathing. His appetite, well, he’d forgotten what an appetite was, or why anyone bothered to eat food in the first place.

I can’t let them know,
Sehn thought.
Not Cah’lia, Shina, or Wolly, none of them. But especially not Nero or Rina. No, they cannot know, they cannot know that I’m…that I’m…that I’m…

Sehn shook his head like a dog drying itself, clearing the ridiculous thoughts from his mind. What on earth was he thinking? Him, the Great Sehn, dying? No way.

“So, do you think they’ll have some cool toys?” Nero asked. “I wanna get there already.”

Sehn turned to face Nero—and stopped. His neck wouldn’t move. His body locked up on him.
No!
He thought.
Please, not this again, anything but this. Not again!

There was a tickling sensation in his head. A surge of emotion ripped opened the door to his mind and bolted inside. It filled him with a feeling of panic, a sense of urgency that rivaled any he had felt before. It was the same as in Koringrath, when he had foreseen Nero’s death.

The panic grew exponentially, continuing until Sehn reminded himself that Nero was safe, riding only a few feet next to him. He tried to move. He tried to speak. But his mind flooded with images, colors, and patterns. None of it made any sense, at least not at first. Eventually they took form, stabilizing, until a picture formed in his mind.

Patrick!

“You’re no champion!” Patrick drooled on the floor, more blood than saliva. He was hurt, fatally so, a sword piercing his chest. The man holding the blade was a nightmare turned reality. He was tall, muscular, with thick strands of brown hair leading down to his cat-like eyes. “Gods, man.” Patrick coughed, leaking more blood onto the floor. “You killed your own damned commander.”

“Ghell was a fool who had it coming. Now, tell me. Where is he?” the man asked. His voice was calm, eerily soothing, and there was a power behind it. His words carried a resolute command. He pushed the sword forward ever so slightly, and another few drops of blood parted Patrick’s lips, as did the wound in his chest.

They were in a room. There was a round table, and a few windows overlooking the city. Old sets of armor hung on the walls, displaying trophies from ages past.

Patrick laughed. He lapped up the blood on his lips and then spat it into the man’s face. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Can you be more specific?”

The man showed no sign of anger. He simply wiped the blood from his face, and then again pressed the sword against Patrick’s wound. The prince did not scream, or display any other emotion. He only fell to his knees, grabbing the table as he dropped, ripping off the cloth and knocking two goblets to the floor.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Do not play games with me, Prince Patrick. I want the Elf, Sehn. We know he exists, and we know you have him. Why deny it? You cannot convince me against that which I know for fact.”

Patrick shrugged, raising the blade as he raised his arms, furthering the damage as it tore into him. It didn’t matter—he was living on borrowed time. “He’s gone. He’s gone, and he won’t be coming back. Game over for you, I’m afraid. What is it he would say? Suck a Cockalith.”

Now the man did show emotion. His lower lip drooped and his eyes bulged, but still his voice remained calm, commanding. “Very well, we'll do this your way. You two, kill the woman first. The old one.”

Two men in black armor crossed the room. Patrick’s tormenter watched them as he spoke. “Only you can stop this, Prince Patrick. Tell me what I want to know.”

There was a giddy, childish laughter. It came from the lips of an old, silver haired woman. “Just kill me you worthless mockery of men.” She ignored the men surrounding her, turning to gaze one last time at Patrick. “My prince, let me say it’s been an honor serving you and your father all these years, and that I have always loved you like my own child.”

“Seehara,” Patrick whispered. “I love you too.”

She didn’t cry when the men beheaded her, and even her head, rolling on the ground as it did, grinned in defiance as it left a bloody stain trailing behind it.

One by one they executed the men and women in the room, each using their final moments to pledge their undying loyalty to the Kingdom, until only one remained. She was an Elven woman. She stood firm, regal. “So,” she said. “Is it my turn, now?”

The man with the cat-like eyes pointed his blade at her. “Yes it is. Kill her. Now.”

Princess Saerina smiled. “Do you really think you can kill me? You, a mortal?”

A soldier licked his lips as he approached her. “O’ course we can, lassie. We is gonna do to you what we do to your brother.” Three men surrounded her, raising their blades to strike.

Saerina stood defiantly, but sadness crossed her beautiful face. “I loved him, you know? Even if he was a mortal, I truly did love him. I should kill you for what you’ve done to poor Saerith.”

Patrick called to her, ignoring the soldiers only moments from ending her life. “Saerina! Why do you not help us? Why do you stand there and watch? Use your power. I know you can destroy them!”

“Out of my way,” Saerina said to the three soldiers. She walked by them without a care in the world, and when they brought their weapons down on top of her they cried in surprise. It was as if she were transparent, nothing more than a walking shadow. The blades went through her, but they did not harm her body. It was like attacking a ghost, a specter in the form of an Elf. She knelt beside Patrick and kissed his cheek.

“I am limited,” she said. “In what I can do for your kind.”

For a brief moment the man with the cat-eyes changed. The look of cunning was replaced by understanding, mixed with a bit of surprise. He sighed. “So, that’s what you are,” he said. “I understand now.”

The black armored soldiers tried repeatedly to harm Saerina, but with each attempt, their weapons passed through her as if she were an illusion. “Stop,” the man said. “You cannot harm this woman.”

Saerina hugged Patrick, affection running down her eyes in the form of tears. “You’re such a good man,” she said. She ran her hand along his chest. “It hurts, doesn’t it? I cannot stop this. But let me tell you this, Prince Patrick Vasilis of the Kingdom of the Seven Pillars. When you die, you shall awaken in paradise. And I will see to it that you are cared for by my father.”

Patrick looked at her with such longing, pleading eyes. “You…you’re a goddess, aren’t you?”

Saerina nodded. “I always have been.”

“Please,” he begged. He wheezed as he spoke. “I don’t want to die. It’s not my time. Oh, please, Goddess. I beg this of you.”

She hugged him again, rubbing his neck. “I cannot intervene more than I already have, Patrick. I will not let you suffer, though. The moment he punctured your lungs you were destined to die. I will kill you now, so that you will suffer no longer. This, I can do for you.”

“B-But.” Patrick coughed, and a splash of blood erupted from his lips. “I-I don’t. I don’t want.”

“Shh,” she whispered. Light filled the palm of her hand, casting a radiant glow around the dark room. “Sleep now, my prince. Sleep, and join me in paradise.”

Paradise? What Paradise? What…

“Sehn! Oh, please, please wake up. Please, Sehn, open your eyes for me. Sehn!”

Sehn moaned, feeling a soft hand rub his forehead. He opened his eyes, slowly at first, seeing Cah’lia’s face fill his vision. The moment his eyes opened she pulled away from him, clutching her hands to her chest. Her eyes grew moist for just a moment, but she wiped her face soon after and sighed in relief.

“What happened? Why did you fall from your horse?”

Sehn looked around him, struggling to regain his sense of awareness. His head tingled, the back of it moist from the damp ground. Cah’lia wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her chest and cradling him like a child.

He was too groggy to feel humiliated, and the warmth of her body helped fend off the sudden cold he felt chilling him to the bone. “W-What happened?”

Shina was by his side, with Wolly and Nero surrounding them. “You screamed,” Shina said. “For almost five minutes straight, and then you fell off your horse. B-Brother, are you okay? If something were to happen to you, I’d...I’d die.”

Tears filled Shina’s eyes, and again Sehn felt no humiliation. He fought to gather his wits about him, to piece together the last few moments. He blinked with the effort, until finally he remembered.

Patrick. You live, don’t you? But not for long. For a day at the most.

Cah’lia shouted a startled cry as Sehn bolted upright, ignoring the pain in his body. He looked around him. Rina and Nero stared at him in confusion, while Shina eyed Cah’lia, as if for some idea of what to do.

Sehn marched past all of them. “W-What are you doing?” Cah’lia asked. “Talk to us.”

Sehn ignored them, and climbed on top of his mount. He looked at the five of them. They stared back at him in wonder.

“I won’t abandon Patrick again. No, the Great Sehn does not flee twice. Once in a lifetime is already too much. Let it be known that every man makes his mistake, and I’ve already made mine. This time, I’ll be there.”

“What in the Gods are you talking about?” Cah’lia asked. “Sehn, have you gone mad?”

“Mad? No, not at all.” Sehn turned his horse around. “I’m going back to Hahl.”

Cah’lia’s eyes lit up with such surprise, that for a moment she looked like a woman struck by lightning. “Gods, but why?”

“Because as we speak there is a mother fucker in desperate need of being Sehn’d. And I do hate to disappoint. Out of my way, Cah’lia. For the first time in my life, someone has DARED to challenge Sehn to an actual fucking war.” Sehn unsheathed his Elven blade. “Remmos Salas!”

He didn’t give his companions time to react. Before any of them could remount, he kicked his horse in the sides and took off at a gallop, his blade trailing fire as he hurried back towards Hahl to change the future.

Chapter 48: Letter from a Friend

 

 
“Not gonna lie,” Daniel said. “I’m pretty nervous.”

“As you should be,” Calen agreed. “There are a thousand men heading our way.”

Calen knew he was taking a grave risk by ordering the ambush. They were huddled together inside of a small cave behind a hot spring. The rising steam, combined with the dark of night, completely obscured the hundred men lying prone with bows ready to fire, and although it was somewhat difficult to breathe, it was a small price to pay for the element of surprise. Besides, it was easy to ignore the heat and humidity when a man’s life was on the line.

Since fleeing from the enemy’s camp, Calen had ordered his men to sprint for over an hour. It didn’t take long for the Humans to mount and pursue, and only by skirting the rockier areas of the valley, had Calen been able to avoid being caught in a pincer.

He calmed himself, inhaling in slow, labored breaths. Calen knew he needed to stop second guessing himself—he needed to trust in his opinions. Yet, he kept wondering if attacking was the right decision. On the one hand, while Calen’s Elves—and the two Humans—were more than agile enough to flee indefinitely, at some point they’d need to begin picking off the enemy soldiers or the entire excursion would have been a waste. On the other hand, a simple tactical error—one wrong move, and Calen would find his two hundred Elves face to face with a thousand Humans.

“I can see it on your face,” Lira said. “You’re doing it again. Calen, you’ve been trained for this. Stop doubting yourself.”

Lira was a remarkably beautiful woman despite being so gruff and rough around the edges. It was little wonder why Daniel was so enamored with her. Heck, Calen didn’t care much for Human women—at least not romantically—but even he found something in her to be devilishly attractive.

“You made the right choice,” she reassured him. “Now follow through with it.”

“I will.”

The plan was simple. Within fifteen minutes, the black-armored soldiers would march down the slope that ran alongside the hot springs where Calen’s men were hidden. More than likely, they weren’t aware of the cave hidden behind the steamy mist. Once a few volleys of arrows had been fired and a sufficient amount of damage had been inflicted, Calen would retreat into the cave and out through the other side. The men wouldn’t be able to follow unless they wished to abandon their horses. From there, Calen would stage another ambush and yet another after that. Hit and run, those were the tactics that Alan Marshall demanded of him.

An Elf patted him on the shoulder. His voice was razor sharp, and when he spoke it sounded as if there were daggers in his throat. “Don’t worry yourself, Calen. Even if ye get us killed, the Naris clan lives to die. Ain’t that right, boys?”

The Elves knew that silence was prudent, so rather than cheer in return, they raised their bows ever so slightly, and in unison clicked them against the rocky ground. Calen smiled. “Thank you. Now, let’s pray to Helena for success. May she grant us victory and strength, and may our enemies’ deaths be quick and merciful.”

The other Elves nodded. Calen was surprised when Daniel nodded along with them. “Odd,” Calen said. “I thought Humans wished to inflict fear and terror in their enemies.”

Daniel shook his head. “Not all of us. At least, not Lira or I. I like to make my kills as quick and clean as I can. Anything less is cruel, and pointless. No honor is gained through torture.”

“You know something, Daniel? I’m glad you tagged along. You’ve been invaluable.”

Daniel chuckled. “I’m glad someone thinks I’m valuable for once. In the past few months or so I haven’t really felt like it.”

Calen sighed. “Because of Sehn?”

“Who else? “

Lira observed the both of them with amusement plain on her face. “I really must meet him one of these days.”

Calen and Daniel spoke at the same time. “Gods forbid it.”

“How bad can he be?”

“Let’s put it this way,” Daniel said. “If he were here right now, he’d be standing over there.” Daniel pointed to a place beyond the hot springs, just a few yards ahead of them. It was the brightest spot in the valley, the place where the moonlight reflected off the water and cast light onto a small patch of grass. “He’d probably complain that hiding is beneath him, and then he’d try and take on all thousand men by himself.”

Lira rubbed her chin, eying Daniel skeptically. “You’re exaggerating, surely.”

“Exaggerating? Lira, one time Sehn tried to pick a fight with the moon for glowing too brightly when he was trying to sleep. I’m pretty sure he’d have no problem taking on an army single handedly.”

“Why do I have the feeling you meant for me to take that literally?”

“Because I did.”

“He sounds like a fool,” Lira said. “A dangerous, yet delightful fool.”

Calen shared a laugh with Daniel. “Oh, he is,” Calen agreed. “But if you asked him, he’d say he’s the most dangerous of all fools, and that no fool has ever been either more foolish or more dangerous.”

“And,” Daniel added. “That he’s also somehow the best at NOT being a fool. Such is the paradoxical nature of being the best at everything, I suppose.”

Calen’s spirits lifted while he bantered with the two Humans. It helped to ease the fear of death, both the prospect of dealing it and having it dealt in return. A scaly green lizard crept casually past Calen, pausing a moment to eye his party. When it realized the Elves were of no interest, the small creature continued on its way and vanished into the steam coming from the hot springs.

The next few minutes would be unnerving. By Calen’s estimations, the enemy would be pursuing at a gallop. With the steam obscuring not only the enemy’s vision, but Calen’s as well, the Elves would be forced to fire based on sound alone. Fortunately, the Humans were traveling together in a large enough group that accuracy wouldn’t be too big of an issue. Even if an arrow missed, it was still likely to hit a horse and down the rider, which would then cause the fallen soldier to be trampled by another nearby horse.

Such ugly business,
Calen thought.
I hope all this death amounts to something.

Eventually, there was little noise aside from the occasional whispers, but even those died out when stamping hooves could be heard in the distance. Calen inhaled before speaking. He held the breath, knowing it could very well be his last. The sound of approaching horses grew louder. Insects and small lizards scurried away, as if sensing the coming bloodshed.

Calen spoke as he exhaled. “Ready bows.”

The Elves didn’t hesitate. As a whole, they raised their weapons.

“Draw.”

Arrows were removed from quiver. The stamping horses were too loud for the sound of sliding bowstrings to be overheard.

Here we go again,
Calen thought.
We did it once before and we can do it again.

Daniel and Lira kept their bows pointed forward, but their eyes locked on each other. The Elves, on the other hand, stared through the mist with such intensity that Calen was surprised their gaze didn’t pierce through the steam and reveal the horsemen beyond the spring.

Calen waited. Ideally, he wanted to attack the men in the middle. Attacking the front or rear provided too much advantage to the enemy. If he attacked the front, then the men behind would be able to swiftly close on the Elves and either slaughter them, or prevent Calen’s men from doing any further damage, in which case Calen would be forced to order a retreat. If he attacked the men in the rear, then all they had to do was speed up, and aside from a few minor casualties, no significant damage would be done.

He strained his ears, mentally trying to approximate the number of passing horses by sound alone. After a moment he gave the command. “Aim.”

The men pulled back on their arrows. The front line remained lying down, while the middle line crouched, and the back line stood. “And…fire.”

The snap and hiss off two hundred released arrows sounded in the night, followed almost immediately by the cries of men and horses. The arrows disappeared into the steam and hopefully into the hearts of men.

“We're being attacked!” a voice cried. “Halt the formation! We’re under fire!”

Calen ignored the panicked cries and chaotic shouts. He remained calm, collected. “Reload.” he ordered. “Fire.”

Again Daniel, Lira, and Calen's men fired, sending two hundred arrows into men they couldn’t see, but whose wails and final words reached their trembling ears. “Where are they!” men shouted. “Where!”

“I don’t know!” a voice answered. “But find them!”

“Help. Please, my leg. Please, help!” cried one. Even the horses added their deathly screams to the tortured shrieks of the men.

Calen refused to dwell on their suffering. Again, he calmly spoke. “Reload. Ready. Fire.”

Again and again the Elves fired, and even the stoic warriors of the Naris clan showed remorse on their faces. It was in the wrinkles that formed under their eyes, in the way they bit their lips. Not even the Elves of the Naris clan could ignore the sounds of slaughter—sounds they were the cause of.

By the fifth volley, Calen’s instincts told him to flee. He could still hear the confused shouts of the disoriented soldiers, shouts that demanded to know who, what, and where they were being killed from. Calen knew better than to be overzealous.

“Be ready to flee,” he whispered.

“But Calen,” Daniel said. “They’ve got no idea where we are. Why ruin this opportunity?”

The Elf with the razor-sharp voice lowered his bow and patted Daniel on the shoulder. “Let it be,” he rasped. “Knowing when to pull off is wise—greed brings death to the otherwise victorious.”

With the wave of Calen's hand, the Elves lowered their bows and prepared to flee. Calen hoped he was making the right call. He prayed that he’d again be given such a ripe chance to lower enemy numbers. When the first of the black-clad forms appeared through the steam, Calen knew he’d made a wise decision.

Enemy soldiers emerged by the dozens. Through the moonlight, Calen could see the rage and terror on their faces. Fear tried to take control, to overwhelm him, but Calen forced power into his voice and bellowed. “Ready daggers!”

Once again, the Elves did not hesitate. The sound of sliding metal came from all around as Calen’s men unsheathed their blades. “Their swords versus our daggers,” Lira said. “This should be fun.”

The black-armored men trailed steam as they approached, the smoke-like vapor wrapping around their swords and snarling faces. “Over there! Kill the Gods cursed tree-people.”

Calen wanted to whimper—there were hundreds of them. He’d been wrong. They were clearly willing to abandon their horses and pursue on foot. Fortunately, the opening to the cave only permitted a few dozen to enter at a time.