Questing Sucks! Book II (19 page)

There was a man sitting at the desk: large, human, and with a red bandana wrapped around his forehead. His face was scarred and butchered, rendering him hideous. His teeth, unlike the rest of his face, were so white as to glisten. He wore a tight fitting brown vest with matching trousers. The door closed on its own behind Sehn.

“Where are the three I sent to bring you here?” the man asked. His voice was higher pitched than Sehn would’ve expected from such a large, brooding man. He stretched and stood up from his chair. He glanced around, as if searching for the guards, then finally his gaze settled back on Sehn.

“You wished an audience with me,” Sehn said, “now here I am.”

The man rubbed a thick patch of stubble under his chin. “Did you hurt my men on your way here?”

Rather than answer, Sehn stormed his way across the room and slammed his palms down on the man’s desk.

“Let’s get something straight right off the back, human! I know you’ve brought me here for an interrogation. But I, the Great Sehn, will be the one asking the questions. Do you understand me you sad excuse for a man? Now, kiss my boots and then we shall begin
your
interrogation.”

The man’s expression remained blank, though he didn’t need to frown to look intimidating; the scars did the job for him just as well. He made his way around the desk and then paused when he stood but a few feet from Sehn. He licked his lips.

“I’m going to enjoy this, elf. My name is Gaun, by the way—Gaun Redlith, and I am the warden here. And you, my friend, are about to learn why I’m called The Breaker.” He twisted his neck, his muscles cracking with the motion. Sehn had to admit he appeared more muscle than man; his hands alone seemed large enough to crush a man’s skull. His breath reeked of cheap liquor.

“I get a lot of inmates like you,” he continued, now close enough that Sehn could see the fury in his diamond-colored eyes. He raised his mammoth-sized hands and placed them on Sehn’s shoulders, giving a rough squeeze. “Yet you always end up screaming in the end.” He let out a deep, roaring chuckle. “One way or another, I’m going to—”

Sehn kneed him swiftly in the balls. The warden yelped once before collapsing. There was a thud as his face slammed against the wooden floor on the way down, and with that, Sehn had won the fight.

“That was easy.”

Sehn released an even mightier, heartier laugh than the unfortunate warden had only moments before his defeat. It occurred to him how much colder it was up here than back down in the cellblock, and he shivered. This place sucked.

Before leaving, he removed a quill from the warden’s desk and drew a fake mustache on his face. He rifled through the warden’s pockets and found a few shiny coins. There were a bunch of keys on his belt, which Sehn assumed would unlock any cell in the prison. He reached for them—and paused.

Something felt wrong. He couldn’t explain why, or for what purpose, but something told him he needed to stay and learn something of importance from that woman, Orellia. It was nothing more than a tingling sensation, but it compelled Sehn. He shook his head. What was this feeling?

With a grunt, he left the keys on the warden’s belt, choosing instead to steal a shiny gold ring off the man’s desk before leaving the room. When he returned to the cellblock, the two unconscious guards were no longer there, but the cell door was still open. And so, with nothing better to do, he reentered his own cell, ignoring the incredulous looks from Cah’lia and Orellia as he slid the door shut behind him.

“What the hell happened?” Cah’lia asked. “Where…what…what’s going on?”

Sehn shrugged. “I defeated the warden and stole his valuables. But I got cold so I came back here.”

Cah’lia rushed over to the cell door. She grabbed it and tugged but to no avail. “Then
why
didn’t you free us?” she hissed. “Tell me you stole the key and you didn’t just lock us back in here.”

Sehn’s heart skipped a beat. “Fuck! I knew I did something wrong! This is
your
fault, Benjamin.”

“M—my fault?” the old man said. “What does this have to do with me?”

Sehn winced as Cah’lia grabbed his shirt. “You idiot! Why would you come back? What the hell! What kind of an idiot would escape from somewhere and then go back to the very same place?”

“Silence, Fool’lia! I wasn’t thinking tactically at the time. Excuse me for defeating, like, the most powerful human in the world with a single knee to the balls.”

For the second time that day, Shina had to restrain Cah’lia. Sehn didn’t care, and why would he? He just stole a ring worth at least fifty elvens! His joy was short-lived; the sound of shouting men filled the hallway. Voices came from every direction: above, below, to the sides.

“Where is he? Where did he go? We need to find the man who attacked the warden!”

Guards shuffled back and forth, entering and exiting the doors on both ends of the hallway. There had to be several dozen of them. Finally, one stopped abruptly as he passed their cell, and his eyes settled on Sehn. He blinked, as if not believing what he saw, and then shouted, “I, ah, I think I found the escaped prisoner.”

“Really?” someone shouted from the other end of the hall. “Where?”

“He’s, ah, he’s back in his cell.”

A dozen guards sprinted over, their feet making skidding sounds along the polished floor. When they arrived, their faces lit up with shock. “Gods,” one whispered. “I don’t believe it.”

Cah’lia mumbled, “Neither do I.”

“That’s definitely him,” one of the guards said. “He’s the one that knocked out the poor Warden. Damn, Archmage Duncan paid big money for that actor, too. And now he’s quitting.”

Sehn watched as both Shina and Orellia’s eyes widened. Shina jumped off the bed and scrambled over to the cell door.

“Hey, did you just say ‘actor’?” Shina asked.

A blonde guard slapped the one who’d spoken on the back of the head. “Quiet, you idiot—you’ve said too much.” The guard drew his sword and banged it against the steel bars, causing Shina to flinch and jump backwards. “Now, I don’t know what happened, but the prisoner is back in his cell, and that's good enough for me. We need to tell Archmage Duncan to up the security in this place. Come on, boys, let’s leave ‘em be until we get a new warden and interrogator.”

The guards mumbled uneasily among themselves, and Sehn heard their voices carry into the distance as they exited to both ends of the hallway. For a while, no one spoke, until with a nervous sigh, Orellia said, “I think I know what’s going on here.”

“You do?” Iona asked.

“I do.” Orellia walked to the back of the cell and gazed out of the window. Sehn watched disinterestedly as she rubbed her chin.

“We’ve been wondering all this time why the other Archmages haven’t freed us,” Orellia began, “and we weren’t sure if they were complicit or simply didn’t know of our captivity. I think now we have our answer.”

Shina nodded her agreement. “I’m pretty sure we’re thinking the same thing, Mistress Orellia. That man, he said the warden was an actor, and I’m not certain any of these guards are really from Magia, either; they speak and act like cheap mercenaries. It’s no wonder Sehn was able to waltz through this place and come back without a scratch.”

“Silence, Shina,” Sehn growled. “I was able to do all that because I am filled with the power of creation itself.”

Iona’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see what you two are getting at,” she said.

It annoyed Sehn that no one was paying attention to him, so he marched to the back of the cell, near Kellar, whose lips twitched as if he were struggling to contain laughter. Sehn sat on one of the beds with his back to the wall, facing the rest of his cellmates.

Cah’lia spoke next. “I don’t know much of what’s going on here, but I think I’ve pieced it together.” She looked at Orellia. “You and everyone who accompanied you to Hahl were wrongfully imprisoned by a man named ‘Archmage Duncan’, yes?”

Cah’lia waited for Shina, Orellia, and Iona to voice their agreement before continuing. “And then you were taken away, in public view, and you wonder why none of these other ‘Archmages’ haven’t intervened?”

“That’s correct,” Orellia said. “So, what do you think, Cah’lia?”

“I don’t think they know that you’re here: that you’ve all been imprisoned. And the fact that a guard referred to the warden as an ‘actor,’ coupled with how easily Sehn just marched through this place, tells me this isn’t a real prison.”

“It’s a good theory,” Benjamin said. He scratched his gray, balding hair. “But thousands of people saw us taken into custody. There’s no way the Archmages wouldn’t have found out.”

Sehn laughed at their stupid problems. He decided to offer unhelpful advice just for the fun of doing so.

“Maybe this Duncan-fool lied and told everyone you’ve been sent to the Great Sehn for repentance,” he said with a snort.

Rather than anger or laughter, a nervous tension crept into the room. Shina’s eyebrows rose to the top of her face, and Orellia gasped.

“He’s right,” Orellia said. “Our actions, though criminal, were made with good intentions, and the usual punishment for that is…Gods! Duncan must’ve told the other Archmages that we’ve been sent away for a few months on a repentance mission to the elven temple of Goddess Helena. Sehn is right!”

Did someone just say I’m right
?
Sehn thought.
Yes
!
YES
!
I finally fucking contributed something
!

Sehn concealed his surprise behind a grin. “Of course I am right, you fool. Everything the Great Sehn says is true and wise.”

“Please,” Shina grumbled, “you got lucky.”

Sehn glared at her. “Keep pushing your luck, Shina. I’ve already sentenced you to twenty consecutive life sentences in a prison far worse than this. Care to make it twenty-one?”

“Let’s all just calm down,” Orellia said. “We’ll discuss this in more detail later, but I have a feeling we’ve stumbled upon the truth. The Archmages likely have no idea we’re still in Magia, let alone held against our will in this disgusting prison. And for Cah'lia and Sehn to be in here with us means that he's somehow duped them a second time.”

Orellia’s eyes fell over Sehn. “Elf, do you want me to, ah, begin…” She trailed off, her mouth forming words but no sound escaping her lips. Kellar left the spot next to Sehn and walked across the cell, then whispered something into her ear. She nodded. “Do you want me to begin teaching you how to recall the spell that you already know how to use and are already powerful enough to cast but are only learning it again for the sake of amusement?”

Sehn shrugged. “Very well. I shall allow you to remind me of a few of your lesser magic tricks.”

“Are you ready to begin now?” she asked.

“Of course I’m ready, mage-woman. The Great Sehn requires more power!”

“Good. Then let’s begin.”

Issius Montarch, Holy Magus of Magia, head member of the ruling council, tapped his mallet against the surface of the large, square wooden table that wrapped around the entirety of the hall. There was little in the way of décor in the Hall of Governance; it was a place of decision-making, not beauty. The four-sided table ran the length of the room, enclosing around a lone podium where a single person could offer testimony before the gathered members of the ruling council. A pair of guards ensured that only those who were called upon might enter.

Issius cleared his throat and motioned for the woman addressing the council to step down from the podium and leave the hall.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “You are dismissed.” He snapped his fingers at the pair of guards blocking off the hall’s entrance, signaling them to bring in the next witness.

Issius sat at the side of the table farthest from the door, with the three present Archmages sitting nearest to him. The farther away from the Holy Magus one sat, the lower their rank. A dozen High-Mages sat at the table, twelve to a side, and a few of the senior-most Masters and Mistresses occupied the seats closest to the entrance.

As a thin, sickly-looking man entered the Hall of Governance, a chill ran down Issius’s spine. So far, seven people, both male and female, mage and powerless alike, had been interviewed; their answers to the council’s questions had been identical, which wasn’t good. The tension could be felt in the air. This was the most disturbing gathering of the ruling council that Issius could recall in recent memory. He waved at the man to stand upon the podium.

“I don’t like this,” a voice whispered. Issius turned to look at Archmage Bennet, thought to be the oldest man in Magia. He was unusually short and quirky, yet even with his squeaky voice and wide ears, the old Archmage exuded a sense of power and authority. Despite being over a hundred years of age, there was still fire in his eyes.

“None of us do,” Issius replied. “Yet we cannot ignore this matter—something is gravely wrong here, and it is my duty to find out what exactly that is.”

As the elected Holy Magus, it was Issius’s right to make any ruling or judgment as he saw fit, yet tradition dictated he only use his power in the event of a tie in a vote among the council; to do otherwise was considered a form of great disrespect.

“Shouldn’t we at least have Archmage Duncan present?” Bennet asked. “It is…odd that he does not sit here with us.” Bennet pointed to the empty seat beside him where Archmage Duncan usually resided.

Issius sighed. “If our suspicions are correct, then it would be unwise to keep him someplace he can intimidate the witnesses.” He raised his voice and addressed the man now standing before the council. The man’s knees trembled and he wiped a trickle of sweat from his face. “Sir, please state your name.”

“I am Yaboro,” the man said. “I’m an apprentice mage and resident of Magia.”

From the other end of the room, a records keeper scribbled down each of the man’s words into a thick red tome.

“Do you swear in the name of all the Gods to tell us the truth, Yaboro?” Issius asked.

“I do, Holy Magus.”

Issius hesitated before asking the next question, one he knew was on everyone’s mind. This man would be the last witness. If his answer was close enough to what the other witnesses had stated, then action would need to be taken.

“Excellent,” Issius said, concealing his nerves behind a smile. “What are your chores and where do you perform them, Apprentice Yaboro?”

The man answered immediately. “I oversee the transportation and relocation of mages who are expected to depart Magia for long periods of time. I am stationed on the outskirts of the city.”

Issius nodded. “And how well does your memory serve you?”

“To what end, Holy Magus?”

“For example—would you recall something out of the ordinary, such as several-dozen mages being shipped off to serve repentance duties at one of Goddess Helena’s shrines?”

The man cocked his head at the question, but answered, “Ah, yes, Holy Magus. I would certainly remember something such as that.”

“And do you? Do you recall such a relocation of, say, fifty of our mages?”

“No, Holy Magus. I do not.”

The ruling council stirred; there was a scraping sound as many in the hall shifted in their chairs. It was understandable. Issius knew it was something few wanted to hear. The implications of the man’s words caused him to shiver with upset. He dismissed the witness and waited for him to leave before addressing the ruling council, which had gone silent.

Around the Hall of Governance, faces paled, and one particular High-Mage, a young male, looked to be on the verge of tears, though Issius wasn’t surprised by his reaction. He was far younger than the others, who were usually old, balding and cranky. This young man was, at most, in his mid-twenties. It was quite the feat to be appointed the rank of High-Mage before one had entered their late forties at the earliest.

Issius smiled reassuringly at him. “Be calm, Thomas. All may still be well.”

The High-Mage, Thomas, bowed his head. “I fear for Orellia, Holy Magus. I…I fear the worst.”

“Do no such thing, child,” Issius said. “Whatever has happened here, I am sure it will soon be resolved. Archmage Duncan would not harm the sons and daughters of Magia. I am sure this is all just one big misunderstanding.”

Issius said the words more for the benefit of restoring calm than out of a desire to speak the truth. He himself wasn’t sure he believed them. Witnesses had all spun the same tale; the fifty mages, whom Orellia had led in the defense of Hahl, had returned to Magia, only to be sent away on repentance for acting without the authority of the ruling council.

If that were the entire story, then the council would be merely offended, for Archmage Duncan would’ve acted above his station—such a harsh disciplinary action required a vote to pass. Yet that wasn’t what’d transpired. No, things were looking grimmer.

What have you done
,
Duncan
?
Issius thought.
Where are my mages
?

It was only by sheer coincidence that Issius had stumbled onto this mystery. He’d been touring Helena’s shrines as part of his sabbatical, and he’d not seen Mistress Orellia—or any of the other mages, for that matter—at any of the places he’d visited. Still, Issius trusted his Archmages, and when he’d returned to discover that Duncan had sent them away, he’d simply assumed that they hadn’t arrived during his stay at the various temples. He’d chalked it up to nothing more than bad timing.

But then he’d been briefed on the other report.

On the night Issius had returned to Magia, the city was abuzz with news that some…mentally insane, delirious elf had arrived, claiming himself to be one of the Gods and declaring war on them. Thankfully, the poor, insane elf had been safely apprehended without harm, yet when Issius had asked to meet with the elf, he’d been informed that the elf had been sentenced to “repentance” along with the other mages. This had set warning bells off in Issius’s mind, and so he began his investigation into the odd dealings, thus far not liking what he’d found.

All of the witnesses interviewed had said the same—neither Orellia and her mages nor a lunatic elf had departed Magia, at least not through the normal channels. But where had they gone? Why had Duncan overstepped his role and issued a sentence without trial or vote from the ruling council? This was too bizarre. It was time for answers.

“I think we are ready to call forth Archmage Duncan,” Issius announced. There was a sharp inhalation of breath from the mages around the hall.

“I agree,” said one of the High-Mages. “I do not enjoy the idea of questioning one of our own, but there is too much here to answer for.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the council. Issius nodded. “Then let us bring him in. Guards,” he said, raising his voice. “Summon Archmage Duncan to us at once.”

The two guards stationed in the hall looked at one another, before one responded, “That won’t be necessary, Holy Magus.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because he’s already waiting outside.”

Issius kept his suspicion in check. “Very well, send him in.”

Archmage Duncan could be smelled before he could be seen. Issius liked him the least of the Archmages. Hideous, crude, and always with a contemptuous scowl, Archmage Duncan had the personality of lizard. Still, he was an Archmage, and Issius would not jump to conclusions. He might not have liked Duncan, but there was no reason to believe the Archmage would bring harm to fifty of his fellow mages.

Duncan strolled into the hall as if overjoyed to be there. Even had he not been the current subject matter of the council, his entrance would have drawn him attention. With each step, he released short, derisive cackles. He twirled his staff while he strutted, nodding at no one in particular. When he reached the podium, he stood with his hands behind him while he tapped his staff against the back of his neck, a devious, malicious grin planted across his lips.

“Holy Magus,” he said, bowing his head. To the rest of the room, he merely smiled. “Council.”

Issius decided not to waste time dispensing with formalities. People were worried, and he needed to set the record straight. He slammed his mallet once, signifying that questioning would begin, and anything said would henceforth be in the official record.

“Archmage Duncan,” Issius began, “thank you for joining us.” The other Archmages, High-Mages, and Masters and Mistresses sat up straighter and appeared more alert while he spoke.

“I am going to ask you several questions concerning what are, quite frankly, alarming reports that this council has heard in regards to your…behavior, as of late. Do you swear in the name of all the Gods to answer these questions truthfully?”

“I do, Holy Magus,” Duncan said sincerely. “In fact, that is the only thing I will promise. Nothing I say to you will be a lie.”

There were several whispers from the Masters and Mistresses, who lacked the self-control of the High-Mages. It was understandable; Duncan’s reply deviated from protocol. Issius chose to ignore it and continue.

“Archmage Duncan, as I’m sure you are aware, Mistress Orellia and fifty mages of The Order—some of whom were apprentices—departed Magia to assist the Kingdom of the Seven Pillars in their fight against the Hawk. Now, it is beyond question that their intervention was misguided. The Hawk is an enemy who must be fought with extreme care and decisive, calculated action. Risking the lives of mages to win one meaningless battle will not have done much for the overall cause. However, regardless, their hearts were pure and yet still you felt it within your power to issue them sentence without a vote from this council. Is this not true?”

“It is, Holy Magus,” Duncan said.

Issius again had to slam his mallet as outraged murmurs came from all but the Archmages at the back and center portion of the table. When the room had quieted, Issius chose his next words carefully. It stung just to think, let alone say them.

“Archmage Duncan,” he continued, “I have just returned from a tour of all of Helena’s shrine temples. None of the mages you claim to have sent away were stationed at any of these.”

“Well, of course not,” Duncan said, his grin turning into a sneer. “I didn’t send them away.”

“Then…then where are they?” Bennet asked. He covered his mouth a moment later; it was forbidden for any but the Holy Magus to ask a question during the first phase of questioning. Issius waved a hand to show that no offense was taken. This was hardly a typical meeting of the council, so some lax in protocol could be forgiven.

“Answer Archmage Bennet’s question, please,” Issius said. “Where are our mages?”

Duncan sucked on his rotten, yellow teeth. He hummed and tapped his chin, as if trying to remember something as trivial as where he’d left his favorite hat.

“They are imprisoned, Holy Magus—all of them.”

At first, Issius thought Duncan to be jesting, but peering into his dark, scorn-filled eyes, Issius knew his words to be truth. He felt the blood leave his face as he whispered, “Why would you do such a thing? Where have you imprisoned them?”

Duncan released another bout of his short, derisive cackling. “I’ll answer the second question first. As for the mages, my own personal men are keeping them safe in the abandoned dungeons on the outskirts of Magia. As for the first question, well, I needed to separate them from the rest of the population.”

Before Issius could reply, a rare thing happened; order among the ruling council was broken. High-Mages and Archmages alike shouted at Duncan.

“How
dare
you, Duncan!” Thomas shouted.

“Who are you to imprison our own? You treat your brethren as animals!” exclaimed Archmage Uramore, who sat just to the left of Issius.

Issius struck the mallet hard enough to break off a wooden chip and send it flying off the table. “Quiet! Members of the ruling council, you forget yourselves. Settle down and behave as you are expected.”

It took a moment, but the outrage faded and peace was restored to the hall. Issius straightened his back and then gave Duncan a stern look. A terrible anger churned in his stomach, but he refused to make any judgment until he had all the answers.