Questing Sucks (Book 1) (56 page)

Chapter 51: Alan vs. Ghell

 

The quiet was unsettling. Patrick peered out of a window in the central command room and shivered. Soon, it would start. He clutched the blade at his side and prayed. Everything was in the hands of Alan now, and Patrick hoped he’d made the right decision in trusting the wild, unpredictable man.

Alan hopped up from the round table and yawned. “I’m going outside.”

Alan’s words hit Patrick like a blast of wind. Was the man nuts? “Gods, Alan, if you’re going to command, then by all means, command, but do it where you can’t take a stray arrow to the throat.”

Alan waved dismissively. “Don’t give me that nonsense, dear prince. I need to get a better look at things.”

Alan attempted to walk casually out of the room. He hummed while approaching the door with a confident stride. Patrick signaled, and three guards raised their blades and pressed them against his chest. “Get back in your seat, commander Marshall,” one said. “It brings us no honor to hurt you.”

Alan laughed in their faces and continued to walk, forcing the guards to step backward or risk running him through. “Go ahead, hurt me. But then who’d lead the war effort? Now, you lot can hide in your precious tower like cowards, but if I’m gonna die here, then I’m damn well gonna enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?” Saerith asked. “What do you mean by that, Human? What’s here to enjoy?”

Prince Saerith didn’t look angry. He looked riddled with confusion. He turned to his sister, but Saerina only shrugged and cocked an eyebrow. “Do not expect me to explain the actions of a fool,” she said. “Instead, look to the fool himself.”

Alan barked a laugh. “It’s simple, Elfey. We’re probably gonna die here.” He spoke as if the end of their lives were of no major concern. “And if we do, then we do, and if we don’t, then we don’t. But in either case, I want to be where I can see it. Not in this Gods-cursed hidey-hole. Now, are you coming or not?”

Patrick growled under his breath. Why did the man have to make everything so complicated? He stood from the table and followed Alan out, along with Saerith, Saerina, Rebecca, and several of the higher ranking military officials.

Patrick followed Alan down the winding stairways, until halfway down, he exited to the city walls. He led them past lines of Elven and Human archers placed in defensive positions along the top of the wall. Looking down to the courtyard by the front gates, Patrick took pride at the sight of his defending men. Minus the thousand farmers and two hundred or so Elves that Alan had sent off on some ridiculous mission, a few less than seven thousand men were ready to defend Hahl.

A thousand cavalry formed a line directly behind the giant stone gates, led by Rillith. Daniel—at the last minute—had volunteered to assist Calen with his mission, and so after careful consideration, Alan decided that Rillith would be a suitable enough replacement. Another thousand swordsmen formed up in ten lines behind Rillith. That left five thousand archers scattered among the rooftops, walls, and spire towers around each corner of the city.

Alan halted on the center of a long, elevated walkway that ran from the front of Hahl all the way to the rear. “This is a good spot,” he said. “From here, I can see everything that goes on above and below. It’s high up, but not enough to put us in the line of fire.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Do you really think we’re going to die, Alan?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Why did I even ask?”

“Shh.”

Patrick tried his best not to howl at the show of disrespect. “Did you just…‘Shh’ me?”

“Of course I did. Look, Patrick! The sun is rising. It’s finally time to see what we’re up against.”

Any anger Patrick held towards Alan vanished at the mention of the enemy army. Patrick looked beyond the castle walls and into the Valley of Hahl. As a ray of light fell over the first of the black-armored men, Patrick dropped to his knees at the sight that greeted him. “Gods,” he whispered. “We’re doomed.”

As the sun brightened the valley, the endless rows of soldiers became visible. Stretching from just out of archer range, to as far out into the valley as the eye could see, the enemy awaited with weapons drawn. Patrick felt the air leave his lungs, and he forced himself to breathe. The light did not touch their midnight armor, creating an array of black dots that looked like a dark ocean spreading over the land. Even if Alan’s plan had worked, and a few thousand of them were separated from the main force, the enemy’s number was still double their own.

Saerith helped Patrick back to his feet. “This is a nightmare, Patrick. Truly, a nightmare.”

“Nightmare or not,” Saerina said. “All dreams must be endured, at least until awakened from. As that, along with our faith, our honor, and our glory, are the things which—”

Saerina shrieked. There was a slapping sound, and Patrick turned to see Alan whipping a hand across her buttocks. “Preach on, princess! I love heroic speeches. Nice butt by the way. Hey, why are you looking at me like that? Whoops. Was I not supposed to do that?”

Saerith dove at his sister at the same time she removed a dagger from her trousers. “I’ll kill you! I am a princess and a God—ah, I mean, a guardian to my people! How dare you treat me with such perversions? This is now the second time you’ve done this to me, you imbecile! I’ll have your head on a platter for this.”

Saerith gently placed his hands over his sister’s and took the dagger from her. “Easy now, sister, we need this man. I’m sure we can have him hung when this is all over. Isn’t that right, Patrick?”

Patrick cleared his head. He was transfixed by what he saw. The normally dispassionate princess was once again stricken with a raging fury, something that only Alan Marshall seemed capable of bringing out in her. Patrick wanted to whimper—he wanted to fall back to his knees and cry into his arms. Why did the world’s greatest tactician have to also be the world’s most disgusting pig of a man?

“We can’t deal with this now,” Patrick said at last. “Princess Saerina, I am terribly sorry if my commander has disrespected you. I’ll have him hung when this is over, but for now, we still very much need him.”

As usual, even threatened with death, Alan coughed out more of his hearty laughter and shrugged. “Well, it was worth it. Hey, princess, ya wanna get a drink sometime?”

The princess spat on Alan’s shoes. A trickle of sweat fell down her face and she bit her lip. “As long as it’s your blood I’m drinking, I’d love to. Stop laughing like such a fool, commander Marshall. Should I so desire, I could rain down lightning upon you, and unlike one such insufferable Elf, my threats are more than mere boasts.”

Alan’s face changed. Amusement left his eyes and he placed his hands on Saerina’s shoulders.

Damn!
Patrick thought.
He’s touching her again. Why must he continue to make trouble?

Patrick took a step towards Alan until he felt a hand on his own shoulder. He spun around and looked into the fiery red eyes of Prince Saerith. “Let them be, Patrick.”

“But he’s starting trouble again, Saerith. He’s—”

“This is different,” Saerith insisted. “Look at him.”

Patrick calmed himself and examined the commander. It was true—something was off about him. Alan’s posture was straight, and his cocky grin was absent entirely.

“Please, princess,” Alan said. “Repeat what you just told me.”

Saerina did not appear alarmed by Alan’s touch. She narrowed her eyes as she spoke. “I believe my words were clear. If I so wished, I’d call down lightning from the skies and turn you into nothingness.”

Alan nodded. “And if you command such incredible power, then tell me, princess, why do you not offer the same service to us now?” Alan pointed at the endless lines of the enemy soldiers and then waved his hands in a sweeping gesture. “If you act now, perhaps you can kill a few hundred for us.”

Patrick’s heart beat faster at Alan’s words. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “It’s true!” Patrick exclaimed. “Gods, but Alan is right. My princess, after what I saw you do to that scouting party…you could probably kill several thousand of those men all on your own. My city, my kingdom, all of it can be saved!”

Saerina raised her arms to her shoulder and removed Alan’s hands. Then, she titled her head to the ground and turned away from all of them. “I cannot,” she whispered.

“What do you mean, ‘you cannot?’” Patrick asked. “I make no claim to understand how magic works, but surely you could recreate what you did on our journey here?”

“There are rules,” Saerina said. “Rules that you cannot know, rules that I am not permitted to speak.”

Patrick ran the words over in his mind but came no closer to understanding them. “What do you mean? Are these some Elven rules of war?”

“I cannot say.”

“Saerith, do you know what she’s talking about?”

Prince Saerith stepped forward. He looked to be on the verge of speaking, but each time he opened his mouth, he again paused. Finally, after several tension-filled seconds, he glared at his sister. “I find myself wondering the same thing as Patrick. There are no rules that forbid us from using magic during war. Father would have taught us at a young age, if any such—”

“This has nothing to do with Elves!” she snapped. Saerith took a step back and almost tumbled over the railing. “This has to do with things that even you do not understand, my dear brother. Elves, Humans, Dwarves…these are words that mean little next to Helena’s grace.”

Saerina rolled up her sleeve and revealed the tattoo of the staff that ran from her wrist to her shoulder, ending with a depiction of flame. But it was different this time. It changed, right in front of them. Patrick blinked his eyes and then rubbed his face. Was he hallucinating? Judging by the gasps from Saerith and Rebecca, he thought not.

The tip of the staff, just below Saerina’s shoulder, gave off smoke as if it were actually on fire. The flames moved, as well, seeming to pop off of her arm and take on a form of their own. Patrick caught Saerith’s eyes, and he could see there was pain in them. Saerith stared intently at the tendrils of smoke that left her arm and evaporated into thin air.

“Sister, what have you done to yourself? You told me the marking of the staff is nothing more than a trophy given to one gifted in magic. What in the Gods is that tattoo? What secrets have you hidden from me?”

Alan chewed on the corner of his lip as he watched the smoke rise into the air. He tilted his head and gave an examining look, before shrugging. “Rebecca!”

“What is it?” Rebecca asked.

“Did you spike my tea this morning? If so, I won’t be mad at you, because whatever you put in it is freaking awesome.”

“Of course not!”

“So then, you see what that tattoo is doing too?”

“Yes,” Rebecca whispered.

Alan shrugged again. “What a stupid tattoo.”

Patrick forced the commander’s foolish words from his thoughts. He addressed Saerina. “What does this have to do with why you cannot help us? What’s this to do with rules?”